Note: Later than I was hoping due to a day trip but I wanted to spend extra time on the edits. Definitely having fun with some of these chapters even if they get a bit overly dramatic and crazy. It's only gonna get wilder from here on out so strap yourself in and get ready to feel the G's... Garak, that is haha. Thank you all those of you following along this insanity it's been a blast. C&C is always welcome.


Garak has never considered murder to be his first solution to a problem. Oh certainly it is a tool like anything else to be used when appropriate, but Garak had learned early on that while the dead could most certainly be useful in the gathering of information, the living were far more advantageous to his particular skill set. After all, one does not spend a lifetime honing a craft of nuance, of misdirection, of manipulation, only to fritter it away with something as crude as a phaser blast. Whatever garish romanticism, Westworld humans have granted to such things as "showdowns", raids, train robberies, daring shootouts and the like, Garak knows such things for what they truly are; lazy and sloppy solutions to more complex problems. Even given all of that, however, he finds himself more than a little disappointed when Julian does not immediately suggest the most expedient solution to their Section 31 issue. At this point it would seem a far greater liability to allow them to return home. Westworld, after all, is a planet without alliance, without central authority, an outlaw haven really, and as Garak has come to understand it is generally accepted that those who venture onworld take their lives into their own hands as it were.

"I hardly think that we'd be met with a swarm of Starfleet down here should they not return, given what I've been told of Westworld's somewhat unique status," Garak points out reasonably after Julian gives him the entire ridiculous explanation. "And I should think it obvious by now that unless you send a very clear signal they're just going to keep coming. I believe that little display established, my dear, that you're not above a little convenient murder when it suits you so-"

"There is a very clear line between defending one's family and murder in cold blood," Julian retorts heated. "For God's sake, I'm not a killer!"

"Mmm... a killer... one who kills. Perhaps you meant to say murderer. But then again I suppose you don't consider passively allowing a man to be consumed by an alien creature to be anything that could be helped. Ah, that's right for you were clearly incapacitated so one would hardly expect you to be able to assist. Convenient when we take into account that a man of your capabilities would be more than able to rescue a man in distress. Your problem, dear Julian, is that you go to great lengths to retain some pithy semblance of human nobility while lording it over us lesser creatures like the rest of the Federation."

"If you think I'm going to stand here and take any kind of moralizing from some Cardassian spy-" Julian is in his face, and Garak is more than willing to get right back in it, not backing down in the slightest.

"Is that all? Spy is going to be your go to insult? I'm terribly disappointed in you, dear Julian, of all the aspersions, all the castigations that one could throw at this murderous Cardie, this sadistic spoonhead, the fact that you seize upon such a pedestrian descriptor, is frankly a far greater insult than any insult such an unimaginative tongue could possibly-"

"Unimaginative tongue?!" Julian interrupts him, eyes wide, adorably so really if he were being quite honest. "I assure you, Mister Garak, Mister superior Carassian nobody," Oh, you've no idea how deliciously that one stung, my dear. "That if there is one thing your lying lizard mouth has ever said about my bloody tongue, unimaginative is not one of them!" That raise in Julian's tone, that heated shout makes the ridges of his neck swell flush in this the most inappropriate of times.

"I shall concede that point," Garak answers sweetly, storing that tease for a more opportune time.

Julian, however, does not quite seem aware of how these things are meant to go, still hooting at him like some primitive hominid. Garak supposes that he'll need to further Julian's education on the matter when all is said and done.

"Concede the point?! You're missing the point entirely! You still haven't agreed to-" Julian stops abruptly, face losing that flush in an impressively quick drain of blood. His eyes look behind Garak, past him to some sight he was surely not expecting. "You traitor! You miserable treacherous snake!"

"Please control yourself, my dear, this is hardly the time for such a licentious courtship."

"Don't play games with me, I knew I couldn't trust you!" Garak has an idea as Julian stares hard behind him looking delightfully furious as to what it is he's witnessing. What concerns him, however is that his instructions were quite clear, and there is no reason that he should encounter anyone still miles out from the caves.

Garak has never been one to easily dismiss warning bells in his head. So even as he offers Julian a smile that serves to infuriate him further with a slow turn, he keeps his guard most assuredly, up. He's thankful that he does. He does not recognize either of the two men approaching seemingly out of nowhere. And while it's entirely possible that in the year that he's been out of commission so to speak, that there have been those who've risen up through the ranks, he's also made it a point to watch those promising young recruits for a considerable time. The young man on the left vaguely resembles a somewhat competent fellow named Krim Tark. Competent, unimaginative, but incredibly proficient at bureaucratic espionage and assassination. But he, if Garak recalls correctly (and he almost always does), isn't one who's that intimately acquainted with Lok, and even if he was, would be all but useless for the purpose which Garak requires. No, Garak is quite certain that this is not Tark. The other man, the shorter one looking around anxiously is even more suspect. But nonetheless, Garak has always been thorough and he would be remiss if he didn't at least pretend to vet their credentials.

There's also the matter of Julian who could be either an invaluable ally in this extremely suspect encounter or a grave liability. He's going to bet on the former, turning around completely.

"Normally I take issue with having a strange man at my back, my dear, but strange and angry though you may be, it may very well be necessary for you to maintain that position." He speaks the words in standard, mouth nearly closed, a crack at the corner, some ventrilo-something or other trick Jadzia was quite proud of. He's a fair mimic, at least in Federation Standard, and he's sure that despite the imperceptible volume that Julian still hears him. At least that is his hope as he steps warily forward, taking note of their attire. It's a wise decision. Some of the more daring sectors of Rush Valley have adopted, Garak has read, to clothe themselves in the manner of the scattered desert outposts that border the hot sands just north of Nyissa. They wear large tan bolts of fabric, ponchos, they're called with a myriad of pockets dotting the inner lining. It's a handy garment, and when coupled with the large wide brim hats make identification particularly difficult. Garak himself has found the rush woven fabric though to be terribly fussy for the fine stitch length that he prefers to employ.

He doesn't know the practicality of such garments in Port Town but not having been able to explore it on foot he can't rule it out entirely. Still, they don't seem to have come from there. It's likely they've even come from points further west or south. All signs point to an indirect route. They wouldn't have come from the drill. None of the towns between the drill and here would offer such clothing without a deliberate intent and a fair amount of knowledge. Then the most likely answer is-

"May justice be served from the shadows." The taller one speaks, accented, the code an Order code not used in at least a hundred years from the history that Garak knows. They're from Nyissa then- onworld. Which raises so many more questions and at least twice as many alarm bells. What he knows right away though is that Lok isn't the one who sent them. But then that raises the next question of how an intelligence agency that he knows has no connection to the existing Order would come to intercept a message offworld. It was his understanding from his briefing that he was to have no contact with them and that would be to his own benefit.

Naturally, his mind immediately jumps to the most nefarious of scenarios and given the evidence so far he doesn't think that a stretch. And yet they hadn't opened fire upon seeing him. He cannot imagine there to be any confusion about his identity. Surely they've had a clear shot… A clear shot, but no cover. And Julian has been able to see them for quite some time now, hasn't he? There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, far too great a chance of being exposed no… the best opportunity is subterfuge. Perhaps even divide and conquer. The only thing you can be sure of is that there could not possibly be a third man. The rock plain still stretches as far as you can see flat and barren. If there is a third then he wouldn't be here. You don't know what weapons they employ onworld for assassinations, for all you know the second they're close enough you'll get a poisoned dagger in the gut. Your only saving grace in this instance is Julian, the unknown factor. You'd be dead already if they could be sure of their own safety. Of course that means they'll be targeting you both but that can hardly be helped. Two on two, that should allow for even odds in theory but you've no idea of their identities or capabilities and therefore, Elim, assume you're outmatched.

There is the deeply held truism that one cannot succeed in the Order if one tends to their own pride above all else; in the short one perhaps, but in the long run, justice shall always be triumphant. And Garak, while being quite proud of his achievements, has never allowed his confidence in his capabilities to cause him to underestimate an opponent. Nor does he, like Nal Dejar enjoy the game so greatly that he would deliberately drag it out, give an unnecessary handicap, or anything else that might cost him. As he approaches cautiously, but not overly so, it galls him that he must rely on Julian's backing in addition to his own cunning, but the odds grow far worse should he not account for him at all.

"I'm sorry, I believe you must have me mistaken for someone else. You see we were on an expedition for some raw materials that I might use to dye some bolts of fabric and seem to have become hopelessly separated from the rest of our caravan. I'm sure you gentlemen can appreciate the danger out here what the with the… snakes and all." It's the best he can come up with under the circumstances until he's afforded an opportunity to incapacitate and question. Now, all Julian needs to do is play along-

"Oh we're not going to do secret handshake?" Julian asks still sounding quite vexed, and while Garak supposes he cannot fault him given the circumstantial evidence, it is quite inconvenient for what he's trying to accomplish. He resists the urge to flat out chastise him, knowing that they need to believe his relationship to Julian's close enough that the human would risk life and limb to protect him. The smile never leaves Garak's face even as Julian continues shouting. "Oh, I'm sorry, pardon me, you're still pretending to be a bloody tailor. How could I possibly forget you're not Elim Garak, spy, traitor, and killer. Yes, I'll just shut up while you continue your business we'll just pretend you're discussing fabrics and patterns and not some double entendre for how you're going to slay the lot of us and make off with the bloody Kironide!" Garak keeps smiling. He's certain that Julian could not have given an absolute better opening to the two in front of them if he was actively trying. Ah, I believe this is one of those occasions where the colorful human term completely and utterly fucked would best apply. Alright, Elim, there goes your impregnable front and doubtless the two will likely seek to separate the two of you or convince Julian that your death would be advantageous to him. And this is exactly why, for better or worse, Dejar prefers to work alone, you know.

"You'll have to forgive my lover," Garak offers with a bow trying to quickly scan the resources of his memory to determine if he caught enough of that signing to be able to convey a message. No, no he hasn't. In which case there's only one choice that falls to him and he isn't sure how subtly he can manage it with their attention so firmly on him. "I'm afraid the heat tends to make humans irritable, and he may in fact be suffering from a bit of mild heat stroke. Do you have a doctor with you?"

"I am a doctor, Garak, as you're quite aware unless you expect me to hang myself all over you and pretend to be your dull-witted utterly besotted lover who couldn't tie his shoes without you."

"My, what a fanciful and vivid picture you paint," Garak observes mildly as every inner part of him wants to do nothing more than merrily throttle Julian mercilessly into the ground by that lovely neck of his. "Clearly you've given that particular bit of censure some thought." Well then, it appears they're going to have to go with plan B, after all.

Garak sighs rather dramatically, and is about to speak, when he realizes a very important fact in this entire equation; Julian has not moved from where he stands behind him. Which in a true argument would not make any sense. There's no reason for Julian to remain, half hissing those aspertions to the back of his neck. That's not normal human behavior. That's not normal Julian Bashir behavior. He should be standing in front of him waving his arms, pointing his finger the same way he was a moment ago. He should be grabbing Garak's shoulder, demanding he turn and face him. The fact that he doesn't, the fact that instead Garak feels a pinprick of pressure to his back aside that holstered gun tells him everything he needs to know. S…O…S…Yes! And that is when Garak realizes exactly what it is that Julian's doing. He feels a pang of guilt for doubting Julian's cunning but guilt, like scales are meant to be shed to the ground with routine regularity. You have my assurance, my dear, I'll more than make it up to you later. But this, I can work with. Oh you've given me a beautiful amount to work with...

He is aware that during this terse exchange the two men in front of him have been observing quietly. Their focus has been a careful vacillation between him and Julian and it pains him to think that two potential talents might be put to waste in such a foolish endeavor. He can only hope that Julian will afford him an opportunity to question one as he sees fit, but again, the odds of that are slim for a well trained agent. Garak feels the slight press of fingers again as Julian indicates with that subtle pressure that he's going for the gun. Garak has no idea how fair a shot Julian is, but at this close range, he's sure that there won't be any misfires- at least not unintentionally.

"I'm sick of this ridiculous charade, Garak. I'm sick of your lies. You've already gotten the others killed, you've drug me out here with promises of fame, glory, infamy, you promised me this was the last time, the last mad treasure hunt and you swore on the bloody State-" Ah, now that's a nice touch. "-that you'd sent the transmission to Lok that you were wrong, that we didn't need anyone else and that this is all ours-"

"If I may interject, just a moment, Julian, I might add that quite possibly-"

"No. I'm don't with your interjections, I'm done with your shit!" He feels the slip of the gun from its holster and taking a silent breath, Garak's hands go up above his head as he turns with a step back, impressed at their improvised coordination. He notes that while hands from the two men hovered dangerously above their own weapons, they were stayed the moment Julian turned the firearm on him. He takes another nervous step back knowing that he'll have to rely on Julian's awareness of their movements. Of course they're finished now. They might have had a chance in a fair draw but they'll be dead now before they can even think to counter.

Garak had been curious as to the believability of Julian's performance that would cause such a foolish letting down of their guard, but when he sees Julian's face, he decides that however overly dramatic, it's certainly effective. Perhaps you don't have quite the grasp of the nuances of human behavior to fully appreciate what you're witnessing, gentlemen. In fact, if he didn't know any better himself, he would swear that Julian was a man completely at his limit and more than capable of shooting him dead. His hand wavers on the gun just the right touch, his face dark flushed and furious. Garak takes another nervous step back far too professional to let any secret looks pass between them.

"Julian. Put the gun down." He speaks the words clearly, firmly, as if he truly were in fear for his life and there is just a small part of him that considers Julian may very well shoot the lot of them dead.

"I'm done listening to you Garak. I'm done with the broken promises. We're both going to die out here before we even reach the caves and so help me if you think I'm not taking you and your damn cronies with me you are very sadly mistaken."

A bit overdone but effective enough. Garak can feel the tension practically radiating from the men behind him, the shorter stepping forward still at Garak's back.

"We're not the agents he sent for, human," that low voice is disdainful, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world, speaking in accented Federation Standard. Well, Garak supposes it would be to anyone trained, but Julian can hardly be faulted for that.

"For God's sake, is lying some esoteric Cardassian virtue?! You actually expect me to believe that the two of you crossed an ocean, a continent, a galaxy oh but you're not working with him. Right. I've got a bridge to sell you in Yuna while we're at it."

"The request came from the Detapa Council." Garak wonders if that isn't some other agency of the Cardassian State of Nyissa. He doesn't recognize it from what he's learned about the ruling government. "Your lover here is a wanted man. But you'd know that already, you can't miss it. That unfortunate face is all over the planet."

"The picture hardly does him justice," Julian answers in a tone that makes Garak wonder if he's not in fact being insulted. "So you want the bounty then." He snorts. "Sorry, I've given this miserable lizard the best years of my life. If anyone's earned a stipend for their troubles, it's me."

"You're not going to kill me, Julian," Garak says mildly. "You haven't even turned the safety off the gun." The cue is received perfectly. Garak has his doubts that Julian has much experience with the piece but the way he's holding it one handed, too stiff, it might be to Garak's advantage if the successive recoil breaks his arm. Then again that could be merely part of the act as well. Regardless, the more the men believe this charade the better for him. Julian switches the safety off and cocks the hammer back for dramatic effect.

"The hell I'm not." Julian looks at them with that little puppy dog determined face Garak's come to find irresistible. "If you don't think I'll shoot the both of you for that bounty either I suggest you think again."

"You're the one who isn't thinking, human," the taller man scoffs with an arrogance that Garak finds a little sad considering he's going to die. Still, he hopes Julian shoots him first, that nasally voice offends him. "Do you think that the State spares valuable resources for pithy bounties? This is an order from the Detapa Council on Cardassia Prime. They want the head of the snake."

"It's not surprising when his own lover's about to kill him," the poor man's Tark chimes in nastily.

There's a laugh that follows that and Garak is careful not to allow any shock to cross his face for Julian to see. The snake…? No… it can't possibly be…

"Well would you look at that, Garak, even your own government wants you dead."

"The ruling body on Cardassia is the Central Command, Julian," Garak answers as loftily as he can. "Perhaps you'd do well to pay closer attention to those little details although I'm aware that your limited human attention span doesn't allow for much beyond sexual intercourse and promises of riches."

"Perhaps you'd do well do remember who has the gun here and I don't imagine then that your countrymen are going to help you either."

"No one's going to help him. The Council's been overthrown. The Order is gone."

"Offworld fools. That's what Archon Lissette calls those who chose to remain on Cardassia Prime. Slaves to the shadows. But the Council has a better vision for Cardassia now that that bloated slug of corruption Tain is dead."

Garak looks straight ahead for a moment, seeing nothing but painful bright sky, finally dropping his eyes to the rock beneath his feet as the two continue talking. He's never had much patience for those who would rather cling to a foolish fantasy world rather than accept cold reality staring them in the face. Face it and adapt; that's been the story of his life up until now. That's what you do, Elim. Face it. Adapt. You could see it coming. You could see the work of those whispering dissenters but… But does that mean you failed? Does that mean it even matters? Tain gone… order gone… Council, council what… then how can you… Can you go home now? Home to what? What the… What in the State is the… Garak swallows hard processing, trying damn hard to keep the ground from dropping out underneath him. Just… just… He takes a deep breath deciding that there's nothing wrong with letting that genuine reaction show through. If anything it will just…

"It would seem…" Garak begins slowly, not able to lift his head to look at Julian. "It would seem that you are correct then, my dear… No one is coming for me."

But there is a slight shift that he sees in Julian's feet. Boots on the ground, one small sway, shifting of weight forward and that does prompt him to look up just long enough to see an equal flicker down from Julian.

"Haven't I always told you, Garak… screw enough people over and you get exactly the end that you deserve." That tone makes him want to spit pity right in Julian's face, take the barrel to his stomach and pull the trigger himself just to see that stunned look on when his intestines are blown all over that shirt.

"You've told me a lot of things Julian," he answers softly.

"If you think I've a shred of pity for you-" I can see it written all over your face, in your voice, in that tension on the trigger, Julian. Not pity, but that damned empathy of yours and I don't know what's worse right now. In fact, Garak isn't sure what exactly to feel about anything right now. He's not even positive that he's thought to blink. He sees Julian look to the two still behind him. "What are you going to do to him?" He projects that uncertainty well, Garak gives him that. He notices absently that the blood drain from his arms is starting to make them ache.

"What else do you do with a snake, human? You cut off its head and let the body thrash around until it stops moving."

"Maybe you burn it." That nasally whine again and Garak almost laughs, imagining setting that short sour faced dullard on fire. But he doesn't allow that to distract him. He doesn't allow ennui to distract him... No, that's not the proper word. Litost. That's the word; the torment of realization of one's own despair. But even that depth of misery can't be allowed to keep him from seeing it. Because there's a very particular piece of this puzzle and possibly the last that he's not going to miss. The snake. Not just that word but that emphasis. Not just a noun but a title. That title. And you know exactly who uses that title. Of course it's a common thing on world here… it's a common metaphor. But not when it's this convenient, not in this context. Even so, this doesn't have Dukat's touch. None of it does. Not exactly…

"Then I hope you don't mind me finishing this here myself," Julian says softly, such a believable man about to mercy murder his lover that it makes Garak wonder what memory it is that he's surely dredged from the depths to affect such a performance. He can picture the indifferent hand wave and he's almost eager enough for Julian to do it that he doesn't ask, but that would be unforgivably lax for the sake of being petty.

"Wait," he interjects, starting to turn, aborting that, a man in turmoil. "Tell me who sent you… Please," he begs, catching Julian's eyes so that he'll hold off just long enough to- What's with that look on your face, Julian? He'd thought it a deliberate affectation before for the benefit of their two targets, but now that he looks closer it seems that Garak was misreading him. Why are you- He doesn't finish that thought, the two gunshots coming in quick succession as they ring out. They don't come from Julian's gun. In fact they come from behind him. He doesn't need to see the two men drop. The splatter of fabric and grey matter to either side of him is all the evidence he needs of their demise. His first thought, oddly, is for the stains that are surely never going to come out of his clothing. The second, naturally is far bleaker, a sinking feeling that this is only the beginning of what promises to be the greatest hell he's ever lived through.