I'm back! First off, I'd like to apologize for the extreme break between updates. Finals mixed with projects and good ol' Writer's Block is not a good combination. So, to make up for my absence, this chapter is a bit longer than the others.
Shout outs: thank you to darkfinder, Ranschaj, and everyone else who was stuck with this story so far. Your support means a lot to me.
Now with all the sappy stuff out of the way, let's get on with the chapter!
As always, I hope you enjoy.
Mass Effect belongs to BioWare.
AvP belongs to 20th Century Fox.
XXX
Zivos Station
"So what you're telling us," Shepard began, "is that these… things… are just some lab experiments gone wrong?"
Loriik stifled a laugh.
"Well, you're half right. Yes, they are experiments, but they haven't 'gone wrong,' as you say. They are perfect killers. Weyland-Yutani made a good investment in them."
"This company must have a substantial amount of trust in its employment if it shares its secrets with hired guns," Samara remarked.
The Batarian snorted.
"Ha! The word 'trust' shouldn't ever be mentioned in the same sentence with 'The Company.' They only tell us what we need to know: where to guard and how to guard it. If there's even the smallest chance that someone could leak The Company's secrets, that person gets shot. The only reasons why I know anything about the Xenomorphs are because some of this station's scientists can't shut up about their 'work,' and because I've fought them myself."
"Although… tried would be a better word to summarize my efforts." He gazed downward, somberly recalling the deaths of his squadmates.
Shepard stepped forwards.
"Now the only thing you haven't explained is the presence of that masked creature."
Loriik shrugged helplessly.
"I don't know! They just showed up not that long ago!"
Urdnot Grunt perked up at the Hunter's mention.
"They?" he repeated.
The mercenary grimaced.
"Yeah. There's three of them. And they're all very good at their job."
"Any information you'd like to share regarding them?" the Spectre inquired.
The Batarian placed a gloved hand over the claw marks on his chest plate, grunting in displeasure as his palm slithered over the damage. He didn't much care for the new feeling of vulnerability it left him.
"I only know what I've heard from the radio chatter of other squads," he said at last.
"Besides, I think it's time for me to ask you some questions. It's not that I'm ungrateful for your help; I would just like to know a little bit more about the strangers onboard this station. First off: who the hell are you?"
Grunt started forward, a growl resonating in the back of his throat.
"You will show respect towards my Battlemaster, worm! Fail to do that, and I'll rip your spine from your body."
"Grunt, that's enough," Shepard chastised. The tank-bred Krogan gave a 'humph' before stepping back.
The Spectre turned back to Loriik, only to find the Batarian having increased the distance between himself and Shepard's squad to a good seven feet. She beckoned him over. Loriik reluctantly complied.
"To answer your question," Shepard said, "my name is Shepard, Spectre and commander of the SSV Normandy."
The mercenary's eyes widened to a comedic proportion.
"Y-you're serious?"
Shepard nodded.
"W-well, then," he coughed, "I guess that's enough questions from me. If you were here to kill us, I doubt you'd have saved me from the bugs."
"Our mission is to evacuate everyone from this station. We could use some help navigating this station, though."
Loriik, having recovered from his earlier shock, nodded.
"I can guide you to the secondary Communications Hub. With me by your side, the Blue Suns won't shoot at you."
"'Secondary Communications Hub?" Samara raised a brow.
"What's wrong with the primary hub?"
"And why do you even need two of them? This space station isn't like Krogan; it needs no redundant systems."
Loriik sighed.
"Let's walk and talk; we've stayed in one place for far too long. I'll answer any of your questions on the way."
"Agreed," Shepard stated. She unholstered her assault rifle.
"Lead the way."
XXX
Yautja lived for the Hunt. It gave them purpose. It gave them status. It gave them experience.
The Hunter had lived through more Hunts than he could count, both for sport and against the Kainde Amedha. Over the course of his life, he had encountered many creatures that had either turned and fled from him, or faced him head-on.
Fighting against a Yeyinde, a Brave One, was an incredibly rewarding experience: they could die an honorable death, while the Hunter would gain a trophy that he could look at and fondly remember his duel.
Because of this gratifying feeling, he had taken it upon himself to separate the cowards from the Brave Ones. This decision had culminated in him adding customizations to his Bio-Mask. Among these modifications was a voice amplifier.
Other species viewed the Yautja as intimidating (and for good reason), so the Hunter utilized his voice amplifier to play on their fear. He would scream as loud as he could, the amplifier transforming his cry into a blood-curdling wail. Once his opera of terror was over, he would fight whatever didn't run away.
His methods were frowned upon by his Hunt-Brothers, for they were immersed in the techniques of the Shadow Striker Clan; a Clan that encouraged the approach of stealth over brawn. The Hunter didn't care what his Hunt-Brothers thought; he was no Bad Blood, and he had not violated the Honor Code. He could do as he pleased.
So it was with this modus operandi that the Hunter earned his nickname among the Pyode Amedha: "Banshee."
When the translators in his Bio-Mask relayed the name's significance to him, he had been delighted to have been named after the ethereal figure. He would continue to emulate his namesake and cause as much terror as he could.
However, now was not the time for terror tactics. Not against something that was terror personified.
These were Banshee's thoughts as he plummeted towards the group of Kainde Amedha below him.
XXX
Specimen Three was the first to react to the descending Hunter, diving out of the way to avoid being crushed by the Hated One's bulk. Its Kin followed suit. The only casualty was a Drone who had been a millisecond too slow, and suffered with the Despised's spear skewering it through its cranium.
Three looked upon the Despised's imposing figure, its lip curling back in a snarl.
HATE IT! KILL IT! TEAR IT LIMB FROM LIMB!
The Queen's hatred was translated into corporeal action, the Xenomorphs pouncing at the ancient enemy of their species. The member of the New Caste withheld its powers to avoid catching its Kin in the line of fire, instead retreating into the background.
The Despised expertly rolled out of the way of the leaping Xenomorphs, coming up to one knee and grabbing a discus from its belt. The discus sprouted a rim of blades, now resembling a rising sun with stretching rays. The Hated One let the shuriken fly, not even watching the projectile embed itself in a Drone's skull as it blocked a strike from another Warrior. The two stood at eye-level. The Warrior hissed before dropping its jaw, the Xenomorph's inner mouth in full view.
The Hated One moved its head to the side, barely managing to avoid the Warrior's close-range attack. The Xenomorph now had a vulnerable part of its body in close proximity to the Hated One, however, and the Hunter took advantage. With impressive speed, the Hated One grabbed hold of the Warrior's inner jaw, and ripped it from its place in the Xenomorph's mouth.
The Warrior howled, acidic blood geysering out of its wound. It lashed out with its bladed tail, opening a gash on the Despised's thigh. The Hunter let out a snarl before slicing open the Warrior's throat with its spear.
The Hunter was quick to flick the blood from its spear, reducing the risk of corrosion on its weapon.
Now was time for the New Caste to show its worth in a fight.
The pale Xenomorph gathered a significant amount of blue aura around itself, rearing back as it did so.
The Hated One was preoccupied with a Runner. The canine-like Xenomorph, its ebony skin appearing like scales, glided around the Hated One, staying just outside the Hunter's killing arc, but close enough to still pose a threat the Hunter.
Its target suitably distracted, the pale Xenomorph let loose another of its piercing screams, the biotic attack racing towards the Hunter. The Hunter turned towards the sound at the last moment, buffeted back by the biotic waves. The Runner had long since retreated to a safe distance once the pale Xenomorph's attack was ready.
The Despised, not expecting such a powerful assault, was knocked down, its spear flung from its fingers and clattering to the floor, at the feet of a Drone. Three's Kin hissed as thick rivulets of saliva cascaded from its mouth, its ire raised from the sight of the helpless Despised.
XXX
"Cjit!" Banshee cursed.
Stupid. Stupid! Stupid!
It had been incredibly idiotic of him to completely ignore a Kainde Amedha, especially one that was an unknown variable. It was downright amateurish.
And now that mistake had cost him his combi-stick. Even now he could see it being kicked away by a spiteful Drone.
No matter.
He was far from defenseless.
The Drone that had kicked his combi-stick launched itself towards him, arms and legs splayed, its claws and tail aimed directly for Banshee's throat.
In one fluid motion, the Yautja rolled into a kneeling position, wrist blades extended from both of his gauntlets, and scythed through the Xenomorph's form. The Drone's head slammed into the deck, followed moments later by its torso, with its legs being the last to hit the ground. Its blood started to pool from the three dismembered pieces that used to form a whole body.
One more Drone, enraged at its sibling's dismemberment, attempted to avenge its slain comrade. Its efforts resulted in its read rolling away from the freshly-made corpse on the ground. He flicked the blood from his blades, more of a reflex than anything else; one born from a time in his youth when he didn't have the acid-resistant material he now sported.
Banshee turned his attention to the pale Xenomorph. It would not catch him off-guard again.
Another projectile was launched from the Kainde Amedha, this time a blue orb. Banshee dodged out of the way, turning his attention back to the offending Xenomorph as soon as he was out of harm's way.
A red, triangular laser painted itself on the biotic Xenomorph's forehead. Mandibles flared behind his Bio-Mask, Banshee prepared to avenge his earlier tactical hiccup.
Two orbs of plasma were launched from the Yautja's shoulder-mounted Plasma Caster, the two iridescent spheroids making a beeline for the pale Kainde Amedha.
What passed for a grin lit up Banshee's face as the plasma moved ever closer to the biotic…
The grin was replaced by a scream of rage as the Runner made a sudden reappearance, leaping into the line of fire, shielding the biotic Xenomorph with its own body.
The Runner was blasted apart by the first plasma orb's impact and subsequent explosion, its frail body unable to cope with the unstable matter making contact. The second orb passed through the newly-formed acid blood-mist, and impacted against its original target.
The pale Xenomorph was blasted to the ground, somehow still alive after the damage it had sustained. A shimmering blue aura flickered in and out of existence before finally dispersing seemed to be the explanation for its continued survival. Evidently, the barrier hadn't been strong enough to alleviate all the damage it had received before it broke.
The other Warrior, the one with an ooman digit inscribed on its forehead, skittered across the floor, positioning itself to the Yautja's side, then launching towards him with claws outstretched. Banshee whipped around to face his assailant, bringing up his wristblades and slicing through the Xenomorph, leaving a wound in the shape of an X across its chest. The Kainde Amedha collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain.
The momentary distraction was all the biotic needed to right itself. Skin melting from the incredible temperature of the plasma, the Xenomorph attempted to limp away. Banshee wouldn't let that transpire.
He fell into a dead run, sprinting towards the escaping Xenomorph. His quarry turned towards him, letting out a hoarse hissing sound. Another flare of its blue aura, and it was throwing a punch. Banshee skidded across the floor, turning on his heel to avoid the incoming fist, and then making a swing of his own.
The Xenomorph danced backwards, still surprisingly nimble despite the amount of damage it sustained. Its tail whipped out, parrying his right-hand wristblades before wrapping around his left gauntlet. Not wasting its advantage, its inner mouth darts out. Banshee roars in pain as small teeth burst through his Bio-Mask and eye socket. But with its success in wounding him, the Kainde Amedha had sealed its fate. Now entangled with its opponent, the Xenomorph could do nothing to stop Banshee from bringing his right hand into the side of its face, the extended wristblades impaling it through its skull.
Banshee wrenched the corpse's inner mount off of him, grunting in displeasure as well as pain as his eyeball accompanied the Xenomorph's body on its journey to the ground, still trapped within its inner jaws. Iridescent green blood mixed with acidic ichor on the blood-soaked and scorched deck. The floor now contained pock marks where acid had burned holes in it, in addition to new corpses to go along with the Blue Suns and other Xenomorphs that had been there before.
With the Kainde Amedha swarm dealt with, Banshee allowed himself to indulge in a moment of rest.
It was a mistake.
In an instant, a black blur at his side accompanied a sharp pain in his left arm. The Xenomorph stood hunched over, the X-shaped scar on its chest no longer leaking blood and already starting to scab over. Banshee's arm lay on the ground, severed at the elbow, where no armor protected. In an incredibly spiteful gesture, the ebony creature continued its assault on the severed limb, completely destroying the gauntlet, along with every one of its advanced systems. The creature's tantrum finally ended with it stomping on the ruined mess that had once been Banshee's arm.
He didn't know if the beast understood the magnitude of its destructive outburst, or was just venting its pent-up frustration. It didn't matter. Its actions, and the result of its actions, was already in the past.
The shock at seeing the self-destruct device, his last resort in the case of removing all traces of his existence as well as giving him an honorable death, allowed the Kainde Amedha to launch another attack.
With a shrill scream, the Kainde Amedha slashed its claws across his Bio-Mask, marring the smooth metal. It hooked its fingers into the wound it had created in the Bio-Mask, wrenching it from Banshee's head and exposing the Yautja's face to the environment.
It placed a foot against his chest before kicking him onto the ground.
The Xenomorph crouched, ready to spring towards the Yautja and finish him off.
A loud, deep, rumbling roar broke the tension.
Banshee gazed upward, and what he saw made his spirit sink.
XXX
Specimen Three did not need to look up in order to know what was arriving. It could feel them, their minds interacting with one another, with Three's own mind.
More Kin had come, drawn by the sounds of battle and the distress of their siblings. Even now, Warriors were climbing down the atriums walls, navigating across various bridges and dropping down to the floor below.
And then, Three felt it. The mind of a Young One just beyond the bottom level's open door.
XXX
Banshee felt the Warriors pin him to the floor. He knew why they were keeping him alive. Never in his long life had he known such fear.
The Head-Grabber's spidery legs, while quiet, didn't make zero noise. The Head-Grabber's skittering, along with its whipping tail, gave Banshee a good estimate of its location.
The Warriors didn't restrain his remaining arm. Evidently, they assumed he was too weak to resist.
He would not let that insult stand.
A soft whoosh arose from where the Head-Grabber made its leap, calculating its jump so that its downward arc would land it on top of Banshee's face.
Only, it never made it there.
With a roar of defiance, Banshee activated the extension of his wristblades. The larval Kainde-Amedha suddenly found itself on the receiving end of a pair of blades, intercepted before it could reach its goal. The Head-Grabber let out a dying wheeze as its lifeblood dribbled down the length of the twin blades.
The hysterical shrieks of the Kainde Amedha was apoplectic.
The Warrior with the digit engraved on its forehead, scarred by his blades, loomed over him, bladed tail descending towards his face.
It was the last thing Banshee ever saw.
XXX
The trio of Miranda, Mordin, and Garrus closed ranks, facing the monstrosities on either side of them. Said monstrosities were slowly slinking forward, hunched low to the resin-covered floor. Their sleek forms, added with their ability to blend in with their surroundings, made for very difficult targets.
Fortunately, the Cerberus operative had a plan. With a quick spoken warning to her comrades, Miranda gathered a torrent of biotic energy, then released it towards the creatures in front of her. The monsters were lifted up into the air, and amidst surprised squealing, were dashed back into the ground, their lithe bodies smashed from the impact.
Taking advantage of the newly-created opening, the squad committed themselves to a full retreat, the Turian and Salarian laying down suppressing fire.
Alas, Miranda's actions provided a less-than-desirable effect. The nightmarish creatures at their backs, far larger in numbers than the group Miranda had thrown, launched themselves into a dead sprint, utilizing all four of their limbs to increase their speed.
In practically no time at all, the vanguard of the ebony creatures caught up to the fleeing Normandy crewmembers. The leading creature drew back a claw for a swipe, only to be met with a hail of bullets from Mordin's Tempest. Garrus unloaded a three-round burst into the alien behind the now-deceased leader.
Miranda readied another Throw.
"Back!" She exclaimed through clenched teeth. Her comrades didn't need to be told twice; they were already behind her when she readied her attack. Another blue wave washed down the corridor, picking up and tossing away the lighter-weighted creatures, and causing the heavier ones to skid backwards, their claws digging into the ground for support.
Miranda had to fight to keep herself standing; using so much biotic energy in such short increments was physically taxing. Garrus supported her while Mordin continued to lay down suppressing fire.
He was so focused on the creatures in front of him that he failed to notice the narrow passageway snaking off to his left. And from that passageway came another one of the beasts, the creature barreling down the corridor whilst letting loose a keening wail.
However, the noise the creature produced gave ample warning for Mordin to face the new threat.
Turning and priming his Omni-Tool, the Salarian launched an orange, glowing plasma round into his attacker's center of mass. The monster fell backwards, screaming itself hoarse as the Incinerate melted through its chest cavity.
While the scientist was preoccupied by the distracting ebony monstrosity, more of the nightmares closed the gap between the squad and themselves, hurling themselves towards the Normandy crew members at high speeds.
In a split-second decision, Miranda wrenched herself away from Garrus, and raced in front of Mordin. Nobody under her command would be dying today. Yet again channeling her biotic powers, Miranda threw up her hands in a defensive stance, as if shielding her squadmate from the looming terrors. A blue biotic dome was conjured into existence, serving as a bulwark against the horde.
The pouncing creatures were reflected off the dome's side, their speed betraying them as they slammed into the wall at high velocities.
Miranda couldn't hold it for long; she was already exhausted from using her biotics. The barrier collapsed, and now it was Mordin's turn to support her. The bug-like creatures near them were still dazed from their impact. Garrus finished them off with well-placed bursts from his rifle.
The three squadmates utilized the momentary reprieve to put as much distance between themselves and the abominations they had encountered. Garrus, being the only one of the group who was not encumbered, took point, the barrel of his gun tracking the shadows around them.
"Must make haste," Mordin stated in his usual rapid-fire way.
"Need to leave this hive."
"Hive?" Garrus' tone was questioning, and he inclined his head toward the scientist in a non-verbal request for the Salarian to continue his line of thinking.
"Yes, hive. Explains the odd resin coating environment, and creatures' fierce defense. We're in their home, and Workers defend it."
"Which gives us even more incentive… to get out of here," Miranda said, the act of forming words almost being too much for her.
Her biotics had taxed her more than she had thought. The fact that all of her attacks had been charged in some way, and that she hadn't been given proper time to 'cool down' after using her attacks, didn't help matters.
Garrus groaned in frustration as the squad encountered the end of the long hallway. A dead end.
"Great. Just great," Garrus said aloud.
"There were branching pathways back the way we came," Mordin offered.
"We should take one of those."
With a chorus of agreement from Miranda and Garrus, the trio turned around, and set off once again.
XXX
Specimen Three was distraught.
Although it had succeeded in killing the Despised, that still didn't excuse the loss of the rest of its Kin-Pack, and the death of the Young One. Had the infant reached the Despised's face, the Hive would have gained a valuable asset.
But now, due to Three's oversight, that potential was never realized.
The Warriors had long since departed, spurred on by whatever directive the Queen had given them.
The Queen was disappointed with it. Why else hadn't She given it a directive? Why wasn't it to accompany the other Warriors? Disappointment with its failure was the only explanation Three could come up with.
So it stayed in the atrium, filled with self-loathing, staring down at the corpse of the Despised.
Little One…
Three's head shot up. The Queen was… conversing with it? Did She feel its sorrow? Or did She wish for it to be known that She no longer tolerate its existence? Failing the Queen was the worst action a Kin could take; if a Kin couldn't be useful, then it wouldn't have a place in the Hive.
Why do you linger? You still have much to do in the Hive's service. Claim the rest of the Prey's nest.
With that, the Queen's presence in Three's mind departed.
The Xenomorph's depression dissipated immediately after the Queen's order, brief though Her presence was. The doubts in Three's mind had been laid to rest. The Queen wasn't upset at the deaths of Three's Kin. If She was, she hadn't made it known. One of the Despised was dead, so the Xenomorph's attack was a success.
There was no need to mope.
The fact remained that Specimen Three had been given a directive. Paying no more heed to the carnage around it, Three scampered up a nearby wall, and climbed onto one of the room's many walkways, exiting through an open door.
It would not disappoint its Queen.
XXX
The trio of Mordin, Miranda and Garrus had backtracked, taking a series of interconnected pathways that they came across.
They weren't "stumbling around in the dark," however. Prior to boarding, EDI had seen fit to upload a map to their Omni-Tools after conducting a scan of the station. The map was proving extremely useful in the labyrinthine hive; it utilized the user's Omni-Tool to project an estimation of their position on the map. The only problem was that they didn't know how far the hive extended; for all they knew, the rest of the station (minus the area around where they had docked at) was covered in the hive resin, and swarming with more of those… things.
Miranda had recovered somewhat from her exertion, and could now walk on her own without having to be supported. Garrus was still the trailblazer, followed by the Cerberus operative, with Mordin bringing up the rear.
There had been a strange absence of Bugs ever since their full-on assault, and the eerie quiet greatly unnerved the three Normandy crewmembers.
Were the Bugs intelligent enough to plan a sneak attack?
Of course they are, Miranda thought.
They've done it once to us already. We're in their domain; they hold all the advantages.
The dim lighting wasn't helping, either. It had progressed to the point where they had to use the flashlight attachment on their weapons just to see a few yards in front of them. Mordin made sure to check behind them every so often, making sure they weren't being followed.
They were still too vulnerable…
What sounded like something spitting out a loogey alerted the group a split second before a thick, sickly-green blob impacted against Mordin's back.
The source of the projectile was revealed to be a Bug, albeit a variant of the ones they had previously fought. Exact details of its appearance were limited to what was illuminated by the flashlight beams, but they could just make out a crest on its head, with what appeared to be yellow-green pustules on either side of its skull. Whereas the other Bugs had an ebony exoskeleton, this variant's body had more of a blueish hue to it.
A loud hissing accompanied by a gasp of pain from Mordin drew sharp glances from his squadmates. The area the substance had impacted was being melted through by said substance. The skin beneath Mordin's armor was being severely burned by the revealed acid.
"Take it down!"
With the shouted order from Miranda, the squad opened fire on the Bug variant. The Acid-Spewer weaved its way around the hail of bullets for a short amount of time, crawling on the walls and ceiling to avoid being hit, until one of its acid pouches was grazed by a mass-accelerated round. The resulting explosion from the ruptured pouch was enough to tear the Bug apart amidst a spray of the corrosive substance.
Unfortunately, the creature was able to get off another shot at the Salarian; this time the gobbet of acid impacted against Mordin's hip.
With the Acid-Spewer's death, the signal for the rest of the Bugs to attack was sounded. From the shadows came another swarm of the things, clamoring over each other to tear the intruders apart.
The front ranks were met by a hail of gunfire, but still they pressed on.
Miranda unleashed a Slam into the next rank of Bugs, smashing them into the floor after suspending them in mid-air for just a few moments.
The other Bugs, now wary of Miranda and her comrades, halted their mindless charge, instead keeping out of the line of fire by constantly shifting between floor, wall and ceiling. Using this strategy, they were slowly closing in on the intruders while taking far fewer casualties.
It was at this time, staring down a living, shifting mass of claws and teeth, that Mordin made a decision.
"Get out of here!" He shouted at his two companions.
"What?" Garrus shouted.
"I will delay them while you escape."
Miranda blasted the brains out of a Bug that was getting way too close for her liking, the body dropping from its position on the ceiling to the floor below.
"That's not an option!" Miranda yelled.
"It's the only option!" Mordin countered, after riddling another beast with bullets.
"My injuries prevent me from keeping pace with you," Mordin reasoned.
"Against these creatures, speed is imperative."
A Bug was within leaping distance now, and it lunged towards the center of the group. Before it could reach its destination, it was thrown backwards into its brethren by a three-round burst.
Although Miranda was loathe to admit it, Mordin was right. These things were incredibly fast, and could easily catch up to them even without an injured member.
The acid was still burning through the Salarian's skin. At this rate, Mordin wouldn't even be fit to walk, much less flee with them from the nightmarish Bugs.
The Cerberus operative took a deep breath before addressing Mordin's decision.
"It was an honor to get to know you, Mordin."
Garrus was incredulous.
"You can't be ser-"
"And I, you," Mordin responded, cutting the Turian off.
"Tell Shepard that I'm glad she recruited me."
Miranda's only response was a solemn nod. Garrus stared at the ground, eyes full of sorrow.
"Farewell."
With that final word, the group split apart, Mordin charging towards the chittering horde with his weapon blazing, and Garrus and Miranda disappearing into the inky darkness of the corridor.
XXX
Nothing got past Weyland-Yutani. Nothing. There were cameras all over the station, providing a constant stream of information to the operators in the command center. Through one such camera, the exchange between the Blue Suns mercenary and the Asari, Krogan, and Human was recorded. This camera was brought back online from its encounter with the Android's EMP through a system of rerouted power.
Maverick clicked his tongue in a disappointed 'tsk' sound.
"You see, this…" he addressed the employees in the room with him, gesturing towards the screen.
"…is why we shouldn't hire mercenaries. I mean come on! Are they really without loyalty as to betray The Company at the first containment breach they encounter? Honestly, we're better off without them."
He called over a Combat Android, distinguishable by its bulkier frame compared to the other models.
"I regret to inform you," he began in a mock-sincere voice, "that the Blue Suns have violated Clause 66-b of our contract. You know what to do."
"Acknowledged," the Android replied in its heavily-robotic voice. It relayed the appropriate orders to the rest of the Combat Androids on the station via the transmission implant embedded within its head.
As it did this, Maverick let out a dramatic sigh.
Just can't find good help these days.