It's those who are overlooked by the people around them that you want to keep an eye on. They see more than they tell, and they think more than they say. You want them as a friend. You don't want them asking questions about you.
The Reclamation Effect
Chapter Six
pup·pet·eer (noun)
1. a person who manipulates puppets.
"Well. No. Not quite." The Drell smiles, dark eyes gleaming.
"What do you mean?"
"When it became apparent that we would be unable to defeat the Broker by financial might, one of Aria's enforcers offered us a certain incentive to bid regardless."
Damn Drell and his evasion. "And that might be?"
Miranda takes over. "The location of the handover. Aria's man called it a consolation prize for the runner-up. She knew what would happen. She didn't become the ruler of the most chaotic part of the galaxy by luck. She knew the Broker would outbid us and still wants to get even. It's the only possible conclusion."
"So, you're saying Aria's still pissed about Collectors on her station. That she wants us to try and take the body by force and screw the Broker over." I shake her head. "That's reckless. Even for Cerberus."
Lawson's eyes flash with anger. "It's either take Commander Shepard by force or leave her for the Collectors. I think anyone should be able to see the obvious decision we should make."
"There are mitigating factors," Liara interrupts quietly. "Aria T'Loak is known for her habit of holding grudges against individuals who have wronged her. Usually it doesn't matter since any offender is dead or demoted almost immediately. In this case Aria must be nursing anger towards the Broker. Otherwise she would not have interfered in the battle at the Hegemony base."
That's... true. A well thought out, unbiased logical conclusion. Aria wants to screw the Broker over, so she steals the cargo and makes him pay a premium for its safe return. But in the end, the Broker still wins. That wouldn't be enough to satiate the Queen of Omega's vengeance. Unless someone else steals it.
"The Shadow Broker has to be operating on a loss with this deal, though," I point out. "There's no way the Collectors would have agreed to pay the Broker two billion for the body. For the Broker this is now about pride, not money. About proving he can follow through on his promises. That'll make him even more deadly. There will be more reinforcements and you can bet that Tetrimus Rakora will be heading it up personally. Even if Aria isn't going to oppose us, is it even feasible?" Just because someone wants you to risk death isn't a reason to actually do it.
Miranda sighs. I guess now that she knows I'm not just objecting out of fear of Aria my concern is a touch more relatable. "A better question is, 'can we afford not to'?"
The second sentence goes unsaid but I hear it clear as day. This is our last chance, our last shot. We wouldn't even have it if the Broker wasn't such a dick. Can we really just walk away from this?
"There's also the prospect that the Broker paid extra to flush us out," I grumble. That would be one hell of a trap.
Miranda blanches for an instant. I guess she hadn't thought that far ahead.
"Even so, you're right." I groan, gritting my teeth against the pain. I pushed myself up, my first time sitting since I woke up. Three days. My whole body feels stiff as hell and the muscle pain is like nothing I've ever experienced. I've felt some pretty bad muscle burns in military training and keeping up with Shepard's crew, but this is like swimming in acid. "How long do we have?"
Lesson for the day; medi-gel doesn't do much to heal damage inflicted by Life Transfusion. Cuts and burns and gunshot wounds, sure. Structural internal damage? Not so much.
"According to Aria's files, eighteen hours," Feron answers. Thank God. That might just be enough time to feel human again. No pun intended.
"Well I'm going back to sleep," I huff, turning over. Wait, didn't Mordin say I couldn't sleep here anymore? Damn it. Anyone else I'd call their bluff but this is a guy who kills mercs and strings their corpses up as warnings. Might be better to err on the side of caution on this time. I turn pleadingly to Liara, who sighs in anticipation.
"Yes, you can use my bed," she huffs.
I extend trembling arms, calling upon all my puppy dog eye skills. "Carry me?"
"Parker," Miranda says, shaking me awake. I'm alert instantly, rolling away from the touch, hands out ready to block. Biotic luminescence fills the room. She blinks at me.
"I've seen Special Forces that don't react that fast. And you still haven't told me how you got green biotics."
I let the aura fade, silently grateful that my instincts weren't paranoid enough to go straight into Life Transfusion. I'm still in my underclothes, and the instinctual roll threw the covers off me... Screw it, what do I care. The first casualty of any combat operation is modesty. "I thought you knew 'everything about my condition', Ms. Lawson," I shoot wryly. "I've always been a fast riser. What's the time?" Hell, my old clothes are covered in blood and gore so it's not like I have anything to change into.
She ignores the deflection of her probe and my near nudity; she was probably trying to get information from me in a drowsy state or profit from any embarrassment. What a dirty trick. I approve. "We're planning on being at the handover point one hour before the auction ends," Miranda answers, ignoring my question. "We move out in thirty minutes."
"I only need five," I grumble. "You could have let me sleep more. Not like I've got any armour left. I lost my gun somewhere too, probably when the Suns picked me out of the gutter." Someone looking through the trash got lucky, that was a good gun. Not that I could hit anything with it, but still. I liked that gun.
Miranda nods, producing a set of ordinary clothes. They sure as hell won't stop a bullet, but they'll protect my modesty. What little I have left, I guess. She stops for a minute, actually looking at me properly. "What's that thing on your chest?"
I have to move my hand; I didn't even notice I was scratching. There, just under my sternum, dead centre, a little patch of green material clings to my skin. No, not clings, I realise. Bonded to. It's itchy where the skin joins the resiny material, clicking when I brush my fingernails against it. What the hell? It's right where Benezia hit me on Noveria. Right where my injuries were the worst. I frown, puzzled. It feels like it's part of me. "Hell if I know." I pull the clothes from her hand, drawing the shirt over the mark.
Near-nakedness is one thing. Weakness is another.
"No awkwardness at all?" Am I still high on tranquiliser, or is there a trace of respect in her voice? I let the statement lie until I get the trousers on, honestly more concerned about being attacked with my mobility impaired than anything else.
"Modesty is the first victim of combat," I reply, a little bluntly. I remember when Ash was mauled by a varren on Feros, all but tore her chestplate off. It was awkward and red-faced and weird, and it stopped me doing my job until she nearly contracted an infection.
"On another note," I ask, "have you realised just how good this plan of ours is for Aria?"
Miranda tilts her head. "I understand she wants to get back at the Shadow Broker. Isn't that it?"
I wave my hand, lost in thought. "No, it's a lot more than that. It's about beating him at his own game. It's about plausible deniability. In one move, risking none of her own pieces, Aria can take two billion credits from the Shadow Broker, publicly denounce him as incompetent and destroy all chance of future alliance between the Collectors and Shadow Broker. All the while she elevates her own status as a power of the galaxy. Even if the Broker calls Aria out for treachery and really pushes it, all she has to do is scapegoat a troublesome enforcer to cover herself. That's if we succeed. If we fail and die, Aria spins it as a favour to the Broker and comes away with him in her debt. It's brilliant."
"It's a warning as well," Miranda intuits. "She's warning the people working for her as well. That if she'll do this to the Shadow Broker, what will she do to them?"
"Exactly." I lift my head to the sky, staring into the fluorescent light. "And the best part of it is; she doesn't take a single risk. All of the Broker's wrath and guns and assassins will come against the ones actively choosing to fight against him: Us. Sure, he'll be pissed at Aria, but he'll swallow it. He'll have no choice. After this, Cerberus won't be able to do even a single piece of business with the Broker. You know that, right?"
Miranda crosses her arms, shrugging. "We always planned for something like this. Maybe not so soon, but yes."
Probably doesn't hurt that they basically stole the Alliance's entire intelligence division out from under them.
Now that I'm fully dressed, there's something I need to do. I don't know whether it was the trauma of letting the Rachni loose or reliving the entirety of Rachni memory, but my own memories are back. All of them.
"Miranda." My tone is subtly different, the Cerberus liaison tenses. "I have to ask something."
"Yes," she responds guardedly.
I take a deep breath. Am I really sure I want to do this? There's no taking it back.
"I want to join Cerberus."
Emotions whirl across Miranda's face, from surprise to interest to caution. "There's no doubt Cerberus would be happy to have someone of your skills and position," she begins slowly. "And I can't deny that your personal knowledge of Shepard would be helpful throughout the project. We expected you might be persuaded to work with Project Lazarus."
"I do want to join Project Lazarus. But I also want to join Cerberus." There it is. The statement of difference, clearly differentiating the two. As for why, it's because I need to be stronger. Faster. Deadlier. I can get that kind of training from Cerberus.
Miranda soundlessly takes The Illusive Man's hologlobe from her gear. Jack Harper's form flickers into being, his face expressionless. I guess that's about as close as I'll get to surprise. "Yes?" He asks, facing Miranda.
"Mr. Parker has a question," she deflects, and Cerberus' master turns to me.
"You want to join us," he guesses.
"That's right."
The hologram smiles and even though there's nothing unusual about them, his eyes are unnerving.
"We accept your offer, of course." He smiles, lighting a cigar. "You'll have your choice of assignments. I'm glad that you're willing to extend an olive branch considering your history with Commander Shepard."
The response instantly puts me on guard. Too easy. It could be a trap, part of a plot I don't see; maybe I'm being used as a pawn? They'll definitely want to examine me, figure out what makes my biotics work. At best that means mundane tests, at worst vivisection and everything in between. I've got my defences against that kind of thing, but still. "We'll talk more when the operation is done," my new boss replies. "Good luck." The hologram vanishes, leaving the two of us alone.
"So what's the plan?" I ask. It has to be good to get away with what we're up to.
"You're thinking of an elaborate heist plot, I assume," Miranda demurs, and I nod. "Well, we've got nothing like that."
Damn. I was kind of looking forward to being in Ocean's Eleven.
"This is a smash-and-grab," Miranda continues. "We distract, disorient and divert. In the middle of the chaos we move the body to an airvan and get out before any pursuit can be scrambled. Fifteen minutes from the start of the operation we have the cargo off-station and through the relay network in twenty. Simple, fast and effective. Enemy casualties are meaningless. Understood?"
It makes sense. It's the smartest option, the plan that will require the least revision because it doesn't actually matter what the Broker brings. "What kind of stuff do we have for diversion and distraction? Last I checked we were a little short in the munitions department."
Miranda leads me out of the room and into the main living space of the apartment; Liara and Feron are busy rigging explosives of some sort. Since when did we have bombs?
"You've been out for three days," Liara explains. "With the extra funding from Operative Lawson some of Feron's associates were able to set us up. What do you think?"
"We're not going to rip off the Hegemony's trick from earlier, are we? I really don't think they'll be caught by explosive bombardment again."
"Probably not," Miranda agrees. "Which is why we have something else planned. Feron, how are those airvans we sourced?"
The Drell shakes his head, wiping grease from his hands. "Both are functional. However, I believe transport is the weakest portion of our plan. Neither transport is in excellent condition. They will not stand up to sustained attack."
"Once we get Shepard in the back, we won't have to worry about them shooting us," Lawson counters. "They can't risk damaging her. Since they won't know which van she's in, they won't be able to fire at either of them."
It's a sound plan, but I can't help wondering if it's all going to go as smoothly as this. "If there are two cars, how are we splitting up?"
Miranda and Liara trade a look. I guess it was a rather heated conversation. "You're with me," Miranda states. "You're still injured, and I need to be there to get onto our ship. Feron knows Omega the best; he has the greatest chance of losing any pursuers. He and Liara will run interference, take any pursuit. Ideally we'll be in and out before they know what's happened, but if need be they'll bait Rakora."
…I'm a little glad I got injured.
Liara grunts. "It's time." She suits action to words, shouldering a bag of explosives and leaving the room. Time to make some noise.
Once again the handover is in a large, open plaza. Devoid of civilians, of course. For a moment I have this bizarre thought that maybe the whole point of this elaborate deception is to throw us off completely; maybe the handover is on the other side of the station and we're about to ambush a fat load of nothing. I might have been happier with a few Hydra missile launchers, but none of us are really trained in heavy weapons. Besides, they hamper mobility like nothing else and this plan depends on speed.
Aria's force arrives first, led by her Batarian bodyguard. At least we're in the right place. Aria's force numbers fifteen, all equipped in mismatched armour and weapons probably according to personal preference.
The Broker's force arrives a few seconds later, touching down in three obviously custom troop carriers. Matte black, of course. We'll need to take them out if we want to make a proper getaway. The first car contains six Broker troopers, fanning out and securing the area. None of them enter the nearby buildings, thankfully. The second car adds another six black troopers to the area, swarming like black ants.
The third car reveals two Collectors and the Dagger himself. One Collector must have died storming the Hegemony base; that's good news. Twelve Broker soldiers are trouble. At least Harbinger hasn't shown up so far.
"When do we go?" I whisper. Liara is set up in an apartment complex across the courtyard, Miranda and I peering carefully through darkened glass in our own building.
"The moment the Broker's troops have the body," she whispers back, her words carrying easily to Feron and Liara's earpieces. "All set?"
"In position," Liara responds.
"Ready," Feron murmurs from the airvan five hundred metres away. Setting up a slave system is easy; just duplicating input signals lets you fly two cars as easily as one. It's not a sophisticated system, but it works.
The two leaders approach one another. I can't hear a thing and lip-reading Batarians and Turians is pretty much impossible. There's flicker of orange from omnitools and Grizz beckons to the four men carrying the casket. They step forward, mirrored by four of Rakora's men, ready to take custody of the corpse.
Miranda sees my body tense in preparation and she raises a hand, a silent signal. Wait.
The four black-armoured soldiers raise Shepard's body on their shoulders, one Collector with flaming eyes peering through the toughened glass and nodding. Aria's men turn and begin to walk away.
"Go."
We move in perfect synchronisation, hurling packages through the blown-out windows. Each package is a collection of grenades, separating and falling like explosive rain. It's the same tactic the Hegemony used to interrupt the first handover and it's just as effective this time. Two Broker troopers die instantly, blown to pieces. Most of the black soldiers are uninjured; we can't risk throwing explosives too close to Shepard. The four of us rise from our concealment, opening up with the heavy rifles Feron's contacts brought us. All I have is an Avenger, but the omnidirectional barrage claims another trooper's life. One of the coffin-bearers. The casket dips dangerously as he falls.
In revealing ourselves we've become targets. The remaining nine Broker troopers and two Collectors separate into two groups and retaliate with overwhelming firepower, forcing us back behind the windowsill as bullets tear into the walls. The two Collector's beams are a different story, cutting cleanly through the thick outer wall and sweeping across the ceiling. Miranda and I drop to the floor; a lucky hit could mean the end of everything.
"It's going well so far," I comment, ejecting the spent heat sink.
She nods. "All good over there?" she asks, stealing a tiny glance at Liara's position. This won't work if it doesn't happen all at once.
"Uninjured," Liara replies dryly. "Mine are almost in position. Estimate fifteen seconds for yours."
The woman smiles a terrifying smirk. "All training and assassinations, no battlefield experience," she summarises. "Ready on my mark."
A booming sounds from the lowest level of the building; they're inside. In a few moments they'll climb to this floor, catch us out and kill us with crossfire.
Assuming they survive those few seconds.
"Mark." Miranda jams her finger down on the detonator as I cover my ears; a helmet would have been really nice right about now. The blast is deafening, but with a few floors as a buffer it's manageable. Miranda and I vault from the windows, kicking off the ruined windowsill for distance. It's a four-story drop, but that's meaningless to biotics.
It's as well we're leaving. The horrendous amount of explosives Feron and Miranda wired into the ground and second floors of the buildings obliterates the foundations, sending the entire dilapidated structure to the ground in a hail of broken masonry and synthetic polymers. Across the courtyard Liara reacts similarly, leaping from the window as her building disintegrates into a roiling fireball. Without a doubt, any Broker trooper that took our bait and tried to flank us is history.
Green biotics flare around my hand forming a Throw that curls through the air, knocking one of the last three coffin-bearers off his feet and sending the casket itself to the ground. Miranda kills the Collector supressing our position; Liara incapacitates the Collector firing on her with a singularity. Feron's airvans scream into the clearing just in time to catch Rakora as he struggles free from the wreckage of my and Miranda's toppled building. Seems like even a skyscraper falling on him isn't enough to stop him. Shit.
Everything happens so fast; it's all I can do to take it in. Feron hurls his recharged Phase Inhibitor at the dazed Turian; it'll buy us maybe three seconds before the Dagger gets out of the device's range. The two Broker troopers carrying the casket seem torn between dropping it to fight and making a break for it. In the end they draw sidearms but a few pistol bullets into my barrier mean next to nothing.
Another Throw from Liara knocks one out and Miranda incapacitates the other in a powerful Slam. I grab the casket, catching a brief glimpse of Shepard's face through the viewing window. She looks more zombie than human. A burst of biotics reduces the mass of the coffin, allowing me to heave it over my back and stagger towards a patch of open ground. Feron parks the airvans on either side of me, hiding me and the casket from view. Miranda climbs into the cabin, disengaging the slave system while Liara opens the side door, helping me shove the casket into the cargo hold. That done, I dive inside and slam the door, moving from there to the passenger seat
"Go!" I scream at Miranda. She hits the throttle, blasting off and heading for the sky. Through the window I see Liara and Feron's van do the same, peeling off to the side and hauling into the distance. The clearing itself is too far and too dark to make out from the sky, but the blue glow of thrusters lets me know we're not done yet. Shit.
"They're on our tail," I grunt as Miranda hauls the airvan through what passes for Omega's atmosphere. She curses. This wasn't the plan; we don't have an answer for this kind of problem. The whole thing hinged on Feron and Liara pulling the Broker's forces away, even that was supposed to be a worst-case scenario. Damn it. I hiss in irritation. "Two cars on us, two more after Liara and Feron. I can't see who's in our two, windows are blacked out. Windscreen is clearer, give me a second. Looks like Collectors in one, can't see the other."
Miranda's lips curve into a scowl. We're supposed to lose any pursuit in the chaos then transfer the body off-station to begin the Lazarus Project. It should have been simple. Now it's not. We'll never lose them, not in this bucket of bolts. "I don't suppose we have any weapons on this thing?" I ask hopefully.
Miranda glares at me, not that I care. She's not pissed at me; she's pissed at the situation. I'm a convenient target. "Maybe if we're lucky the whole back of the van will fall out and hit them," she spits, every word dripping sarcasm. As if on cue the derelict van wobbles again, groaning at the unholy speeds the Cerberus officer demands from the engine.
"Hey, at least they can't shoot us without risking damage to Shepard. Are we rated for vacuum in this thing?"
Lawson snorts. "This rust pile has more holes than a bad plot."
I sigh, punching the dashboard in frustration. "So we need to lose them and we can't lose them. That about sum it up?"
My driver growls an affirmative.
"Our guns won't get through their shield, and we don't have anything big enough to throw that would damage their car. Guess there's only one choice," I conclude, unbuckling my seatbelt. Miranda spares me a momentary glance, confusion written on her face.
I make my way carefully through the airvan into the hold at the rear. I need to make sure Shepard's casket is locked down properly; this is going to be rough.
So complete is Miranda's focus that she doesn't notice what I'm doing. Anchoring myself to the floor with strong biotic force, I throw the back doors open wide. Two Collectors pilot the lead chase car, nothing else I can see. The second car I can only see flashes of, flickering in and out of view. The Collector vehicle accelerates forward with one side hatch open. A verdant beam of energy lances towards me, missing as Miranda jukes the van to the side. So much for not shooting, I guess.
"What the hell are you doing!?" Miranda shouts, almost having to scream to hear over the roaring of wind.
"Getting them off your tail," I reply, lower my mass and leap.
For a frozen, crystalline moment, I take in everything. The threadbare atmosphere of Omega, the dull red light pulsating through the station. The twinkling of the stars overhead, the perfect blackness of space above. Below me, three hundred metres straight down, is the station's surface. My reduced mass reaches the zenith of my flight and in that single moment I'm perfectly weightless. I think this is the one thing I love most about biotics; the feeling of absolute control.
I increase my mass again before the howling wind can blow me off course, falling toward the Collector's car like a shooting star. The driving Collector tries to move the car out of the way but a heavy gravatic pulse swings me back on course, my unarmoured boots crunching the windscreen of the designer aircar in one moment of horrifying brutality. My knees flex with the impact, increased mass shrugging off the impact.
There really is something therapeutic about destroying something worth a lot of money.
One Collector dies immediately, crushed by my ten-ton impact. The second loses an arm at the shoulder, momentarily incapacitated. That's fine. A moment is all I need. The car immediately pitches into a nosedive and I leap again, mass once again reduced to a feather. Trailing smoke, the doomed aircar plummets to the ground, exploding in a shower of metal and flame in my peripheral vision.
Smoke billows around me and I lose my second target in the haze. With no warning, the second aircar roars through the dark plume and with only a few feet of visibility when the only thing I can do is harden my barrier and pray.
The toughened glass of the windshield shatters under my rapidly-increasing mass, bursting into a hail of sharpened shards that spear into the car's driver, bouncing harmlessly from full armour. A helmeted head swivels towards me, black armour in the distinctive Turian style.
Shit.
The Dagger looks at me, blinded for a single second. I ram him in the shoulder, knocking the steering vane off course, dragging the speeding aircar towards a skyscraper. The Turian retaliates with a biotic push, shunting me painfully into the half-open side door. The panel breaks and falls away and the only thing I can do to stop from falling is cling to the metal body with my fingertips. Damn it, any second now he's going to notice I'm still on the car and then I'm dead at his leisure. I have to bring this thing down right now.
From inside the shields, hanging under the car, I have a point-blank shot at the delicate electronics making the thing fly.
Building a warp is a simple matter even if I need to let go of the car with one hand to throw it properly. The corrosive biotic field eats through the machinery, tearing through hoses and casing alike, disintegrating the car's base. The vehicle reacts immediately, shuddering and slowing, leaning drunkenly to the side. The shaking nearly knocks me off the ledge, my lightened body almost flapping in the wind. Rakora looks over and sees me trying to haul my body back into the cabin, immediately wrenching the car sideways again, aiming to scrape the edge of the car- and me- along the side of a building. I'll get shredded if I stay where I am and between certain death and likely death I'll go with likely every time. I let go of the car, gravity and momentum taking me on a collision course with the skyscraper. No two ways around it: this is going to hurt.
The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. Gravity immediately takes hold, dragging me down towards the pavement. I jam one hand and both feet against the transparisteel windows, grinding into them and forcing myself slower with pure friction alone. A light pull field holds me against the side wall, but careful. Too light and I'll fly away like a leaf in a hurricane. Too much and I'll flatten myself and shred my face. The descent shreds my palm, melts the rubber of my soles. It takes all I have not to scream in pain and twenty metres up I just let go, falling hard to the ground. I hit hard and roll to a stop, chest heaving in and out in a combination of hysteria, adrenaline and pain.
Thank god for biotics. Even that last drop might have broken a leg without them.
My hand shivers and shakes, unresponsive. No wonder. It's raw and bloody, all the skin and muscle torn off by sheer friction, crimson bone peeking out of the gore. I can see a streak of red up the side of the skyscraper like some kind of macabre decoration. I pull a syringe of medigel from the canister on my back with my good hand, jabbing it into the deadened palm. I could use Life Transfusion, but I've already lost a kidney. I'd rather go orthodox for now.
"Hey buddy, are you ok?" a human asks, leaning over me. I guess it's not often that you see a guy fall out of the sky. I know I should be in pain right now, but I'm just glad to be alive. He's probably planning on picking my pockets, but what do I care?
Some more faces enter my field of vision, surrounding me. "I'll live," I answer, grinning weakly. We did it. It's over. Miranda's home free, nothing left to stop her.
Sweet, sweet victory.
I think it's the first time I've really stopped in weeks, ever since the Battle of the Citadel. Maybe since before that; since I signed on with Annie in the first place. And now, for all my ineptitude and meddling, we're back to ground I know. Because now I remember: Shepard was meant to die. She was meant to end up with Cerberus and they were meant to resurrect her.
And I made it happen.
Sure, Cerberus having complete access to Shepard probably isn't a best-case scenario. She'll hate their guts. Assuming she can actually bring herself to hate anyone, that is.
I think the real reason I'm happy is that for the first time since Liara called me in that shadowed apartment after the Battle of the Citadel, the deathsinger is silent.
"Hey, Liara?" I grunt into my earpiece. Somehow it survived the fall; I just hope she's listening. "I might need a pickup. You think you can spare a few seconds?"
An aircar wobbles into view as I rise, the crowd fleeing in panic. The flailing car trails black smoke as it falls, almost indistinguishable against the red light. It throws up sparks as it glances off the side of a building, fishtailing into the rim of another. The car flips and falls, crashing heavily to the ground on its nose.
An armoured Turian emerges slowly from the wreck, a tear in his vambrace leaking a few drops of blood. His helmet is torn off too, a long gash on the underside of one mandible. What does it take to finish this guy?
I figure there's just one last thing to do.
"You ruined everything," the Dagger seethes. The last time I fought him he came across as aloof, untouchable. As if nothing we ordinary people did could ever affect him. The boot's on the other foot now, isn't it?
I settle into a ready stance: legs spread, hands low and apart ready to block or strike. Green power pools around my body, the most vibrant aura around my hands. Adrenaline starts to flow again, my injured hand all but recovered. Against all expectations, all common sense, I'm looking forward to this. The Deathsinger is silent and for the first time going into a fight I don't feel like a mindless berserker. Like I've been walking with shackles on and now I'm finally free.
I still have a few medi-gel shots left, even if they don't work all that well on internal damage they help a little. Probably enough to use Life Transfusion for a few seconds. Any weapons the Turian had were lost in the crash so this'll be pure biotics.
My left hand jabs forward in a lightning-fast Throw, not a mote of wasted movement in the action. The green projectile moves like a spear, significantly faster than anything I've thrown in the last few weeks. Bringing the hand back, I throw out a pull. Left hand continuing to flicker in and out, I send six biotic projectiles downrange in half as many seconds. Warps, Throws, Pulls, all intended to throw the Turian off balance. I have a trump card, a one shot wonder that could win even this fight. It's my ace in the hole, my only unique skill.
Burst: A specialised offensive variation on Reave. Any Reave grounds out the target's bio-electrical system, using that grounded power to power the attacker's barrier or attacks. I don't know whether it's a result of my Rachni biology or if nobody has tried it before, but I found a way to cut out the middleman. Burst is, in essence, a skill that manipulates the enemy's body to attack themselves. It only works on biotics and the power is utterly dependent on the target's own strength. Against Tetrimus, as long as I can hit him without a barrier it should kill him instantly.
The Turian slips around my onslaught with practiced ease, deflecting one Throw away with a barrier-protected hand. His own talons arch forward, snatching up a veritable landslide of debris and hurling it at me in one all-encompassing biotic wave. Damn. That kind of control and sheer power is absurd. The shards of broken steel, stone and plastic fly towards me like a tsunami, leaving nowhere to dodge.
I leap and shove forward with my own biotics, knocking away a portion of the wave and reinforcing my barrier, tanking the few objects my throw didn't knock away. If I can get him in close, land one good hit on him...
I land to see the Turian with arms outstretched, palms facing toward each other as if holding a ball in front of himself. A wordless menace hits my skull, more on instinct than anything else I lower my mass and using my barrier like a solid surface, sliding away. It's as close as Asari commandos get to a combat roll even if it is more biotics intensive. There's a flicker of blue light, faster than a bullet, faster than any eye can track. The ground erupts in an invisible explosion, the very steel I stood on a few seconds ago disintegrating into dust. Holy shit, that was the same thing that nearly killed me when we first fought. Some kind of instant-kill beam? If it didn't take a second to set up I'd be gone.
I keep moving, charging straight forward. No, I wouldn't have died immediately. The explosion was targeted on my legs.
Hell, he's not even trying to kill me. He's trying to take me alive.
Rakora doesn't move from his stance, just allows me to get closer. One hand goes behind his back as he drops into a combat stance, drawing some kind of curved knife. I lower my mass for an extra burst of speed, trying to surprise him with an alpha strike.
Rakora handles my quickened rush with ease, sidestepping my fist and drawing his curved blade up, holding it backhanded. The blade is only about as long as a Turian's talon; as he draws it past my arm the limb feels like it's on fire. The blade cuts through barrier, skin and muscle with ease, tearing tendons and cutting bone.
I snatch my arm back, leaping away from the Turian. Holy hell, what is that thing made of?
Taking a closer look, that blade looks a lot like a talon itself. Good god, did this lunatic mount a dead Turian's talon on a knife hilt and use it as a blade?
I guess that's where the name comes from.
"Try again, human," he gloats, his own biotic glow waxing as the blade itself bursts into cerulean fire. No wonder it cuts; he's managed to channel a warp through the blade itself.
Damn it. I figured I could win a fistfight, or at least drop his barrier and Burst him to death. Now that's never going to happen. Long range, I get ripped apart by his beam of death. Mid-range, his Barrier will easily absorb my hits and that Beam still takes me out. Close range, that knife carves me into a thousand pieces.
Checkmate.
My right arm is basically useless; I turn on Life Transfusion for a second to heal the injury but nothing happens. Shit, Warp stops any kind of accelerated healing. I jab another medi-gel syringe into my forearm, hoping the regenerative fluid will prevent the worst of the damage. It stops the bleeding at least. Damn, I'm going through medi-gel like water. The amount I had on hand at the start of the fight would have been enough to see Shepard's team through a full mission and then some. I'm half out already.
I slam my hands together, my left mostly useless. Medi-gel might help but it'll take time. No ordinary shield will stop that knife but hopefully my weird biotics can do it. Blind hope, that's all I've got left. Close combat is the only chance I have to win, every other range is just a slow death.
I close in again, watching the knife carefully. Too carefully. I can't move fast enough when the Turian's other hand snakes out, fist snapping hard against the side of my head. The world goes fuzzy, all sound replaced by a high-pitched whine. Disoriented, I lash out as hard as I can at the hazy figure next to me. I miss, of course.
Rakora slashes the knife through my legs, severing my hamstrings. I fall like a lifeless puppet, collapsing in a bloody heap on the ground. A measure of clarity returns, brought back by a terrifying lack of feeling. Another pass of the knife sunders all feeling in my left arm and the assassin rolls me over with one armoured foot to reveal my last operable limb. He's too good. Too well trained, too experienced. I might be able to hit with a Warp or a Throw at this range, but does it even matter? Not like one attack will get through his barrier.
Green power curls into existence around my right hand, and I weakly throw the aura forth. Stasis is a form of biotics I studied for medical use, but it wasn't until Liara gave me some pointers that I could make it work properly.
Rakora freezes, the knife halted centimetres away from the tendons in my right shoulder. I doubt my Stasis will hold him for long, but it's long enough to shove myself over, getting some distance. It's long enough to conjure a Reave in my free hand, long enough to shoot it into his face from point blank range.
"Burst, motherfucker."
The biotic field envelops the Turian as my Stasis fails, twitching as verdant green power envelops his head. The Reave tears at his shields and sending him staggering away, the follow-up explosion echoing through the street. I'm lucky he moves so fast, or I wouldn't have been out of the blast radius by the time the Burst exploded. The wave of force catapults the Turian away, slamming him against the far wall.
Please let that be enough to put him down. At least it gives me a second to catch my breath, fumble another shot of medi-gel into my body. God, I'm getting carved up like a Christmas turkey.
Rakora rises from the debris, armour cracked and burnt. Of course it's not over yet. Christ, the guy's a juggernaut. What does it take to put this guy in the fucking ground? Blood flows freely down the Turian's leg and it trembles when he puts his weight on it, but he moves. His right arm hangs limp, like it's dislocated. But he's alive.
"Aah, that hurts," Rakora grunts. "Didn't think you'd have something like that, you little shit." He grabs his wounded arm, snapping it back into place with a sickly crunch. His biotic aura flares again, just as strong as before. Life Transfusion can't regenerate Warp injuries and medi-gel takes time. I can move a total of one arm right now and I'm officially out of medi-gel. I don't have the strength to throw out another Burst and nothing else will get through that Barrier of his. He clenches the knife, slowly limping over on that bad leg.
Guess there's nothing to do but wait for the end. Damn, that's just sad.
A speeding aircar smashes into the torn-up ground, shrieking and kicking up sparks. Rakora throws himself backwards, avoiding the speeding hunk of metal. The car screeches to a halt in between us, separating us.
Feron leaps from the grounded car, pistol firing as fast as it can cycle, spinning to avoid a blast of biotic force. He tosses out a grenade, covering his movements. Rakora backs down, snarling. At least he's faltering Surviving a falling skyscraper, an aircar crash and my Burst must have taken something out of him; the Rakora we fought before the Batarian's safehouse would have torn Feron apart already.
Liara leaps from the other side of the car, sprinting for me. I raise a hand weakly, lowering my mass. The medi-gel is still working, but it's not gotten around to knitting my tendons back together. The reduced mass will make me easier to carry, at least. The Asari scoops me up with ease, dropping me in the aircar's back seat. "Feron!" She shouts. "We're leaving!"
The Drell reacts immediately, rolling backwards and dropping a smoke grenade behind him. Noxious grey clouds billow around the informant's retreating back, covering his dash to the car. A ball of biotic force flies through the cloud, missing by centimetres. Our scaly driver drops into the seat, sending the engine into overdrive before the overhead cover slides shut, directing the car into the open sky.
"How are we doing?" Feron asks tightly, pulling the car into a tight turn. My head slides across the seat and into the side panelling, clunking audibly. Liara winces, mouthing a silent apology.
"Two still chasing," she answers. She bites her lip, visibly worried. "They got a lot closer. We'd almost lost them…"
"Time is short," Feron advises. "Lawson will leave without us to secure the cargo. We need to lose our friends and get to the spaceport immediately."
"We should find alternate transport," Liara suggests.
"We lose them in the air," I croak. "Moving on foot is going to get us killed." You don't carry someone wounded with you on Omega. You go through his pockets, take what you can and leave the body for the Vorcha.
"He has a point," Feron acknowledges.
"Are they in range?" I ask weakly, trying to move my fingers. They twitch, so at least my body is working again. The car jolts and shudders, the passenger side window shattering into fragments halted a centimetre from Liara's eyes by her barrier.
"Apparently," Feron grunts, voice tight.
"You alright?" I ask.
"Fine," Liara whispers, holding her arms over her head protectively.
"Unharmed," Feron reports, voice still strained. "Our engine, on the other hand, is not quite as fortunate."
"How bad is it?" Liara asks, pushing the rest of the window out of its frame.
"We're leaking fuel and are unable to maintain altitude," the Drell supplies calmly. Oh, wonderful. Apparently the fact that we're about to crash isn't all that noteworthy.
How long can we stay in the air?" I ask, trying to stay calm. I hate powerlessness. Absolutely hate it and being virtually immobile and told our speeding aircar is about to crash isn't doing wonders for me right now.
I can feel it happening. The nose of the car dipping downwards, inertia and gravity pulling me in subtly different directions. Don't panic, whatever you do. Panic will just make it worse. Fucking hell this is some heavy shit we've gotten ourselves into.
"I can set us down two hundred metres from the docks," Feron answers. "If we're lucky. The winds are fickle at this height. We may be a klick away when we come down."
A whole kilometre. Damn.
"How mobile are you, Parker?" Feron asks, leading us through some kind of industrial smokestack. It'll hide us for a few seconds, at least. One of the Broker skycars tries to follow us in, guns firing though the smoke provides enough cover to protect us. Feron whips the car to the side, narrowly dodging a smokestack hidden in the fumes. The Broker's car crashes into the steel tower a second later, tearing the top of the stack away as the car itself dissolves into a short-lived fireball.
The Drell's eyes still have that calm cast that they always do as if being chased through Omega's skies by two cars of elite Shadow Broker-trained mercenaries who want to kill us dead is an everyday occurrence.
"Mobile enough," I grunt back. I can flex my hands and curl my toes, I can probably walk. Running, I won't know until I try. Biotics aren't an option; I just don't have the energy.
"Prepare for impact," Feron announces, and I shove myself upright into the seat as best I can. No time for seatbelts, just time to brace.
The aircar smashes into the ground and my head bounces against Liara's headrest, whiplashing back as stars dance in my eyes. The car lifts, gliding awkwardly for another five metres and slamming down hard again, tearing up the steel plating as if it were cardboard before slamming into something solid. The impact throws me hard back into the seat, eyes dark. Vision returns after a few seconds, my skull throbbing like a Krogan stomped on it.
"Urgh," I gurgle, trying to make some kind of coherent sound. My eyes aren't seeing clearly; I can't find the others. "Fron? Lara?"
"Goddess," Liara groans, her chair buckled to the side. If the side glass hadn't been blown out her head would have gone through the pane. "Feron!"
My neck feels like it's on fire, I can't move it. I can't move my arm either since it looks like I have a second elbow. Fantastic. We hit a skyscraper, that's what finally brought us to a stop. The car hit on the diagonal, just before the driver's door.
"Feron!" Liara calls again. Out of the corner of my eye I see a bald head turn ever so slightly. "Are you alright?"
"No," Feron replies, his voice pained. "I'm unable to move."
"Oh, no," Liara whispers. Somehow, the words carry more emphasis than any swear and I haul myself forward to see. The entire front right of the car is crumpled inwards, torn metal and warped plastic pinning the Drell in, trapping half his body from the neck down. Blood drips from torn metal, enough to make me worried. We need some kind of tool, the jaws of life or something. He's being crushed.
"Can we free him with biotics?" I ask. Most of my skills are blunt and dangerous. Meant for combat, not rescue work.
The scarred Asari bites her lip anxiously. "No. Not with my skills. My mother could have, I'm sure. I'm not skilled enough."
I curse under my breath. "You hurt?"
"No," she replies on autopilot. "My barrier protected me."
"We have to leave," I croak. "The Broker's men are coming. We might have lost them for a second, but they'll find us. Then they'll kill us. We have to get to the spaceport." I turn to Feron, who tilts his head as best he can to return the gaze. "I'm sorry," I murmur resolutely. "There are no other options."
"Leave him behind?!" Liara bursts, eyes hopeless. "We can't!"
"We can't stay here, and we can't help him!" I hiss back, holding onto the seat to keep myself upright. "We can't fight. I can barely walk, I've got no armour and even making a barrier is a stretch for me right now. Feron's trapped. You want to take on three of them at once? By yourself?"
"Go," Feron grunts, interjecting before Liara can reply. "Parker is right. You cannot remain here and live, and you cannot remove me in the time you have available. In any event, I doubt I would survive the extraction." He winces and shifts minutely. Liara recoils back at the words, stumbling away from the wreck. "Parker. Place this on the engine and go."
He hands me a small cylinder with his good hand, holding a detonator of some kind with it. I nod, attaching it to the car's underside. Liara pulls my arm over her shoulder, and together we hobble away.
We make it maybe twelve steps and around the corner before the second car catches up. They took the safe route, staying out of the smokescreen, dropping in on us from above. The three of them pile out behind Feron's crashed car, guns up. Liara and I watch anxiously, powerless to intervene.
"Take them alive if you can," The lead trooper orders, approaching the crashed car. Liara's face pales instantly, her body sagging.
"I can't let him be captured. I can't let him suffer like that after all he's done for us. For Shepard."
The Asari drops me like a sack of potatoes and with nothing to hold on to I hit the ground, air shooting uselessly from my lungs. My throat is burning, I can't shout. Can't scream. Can't tell her that Feron won't be taken alive. She didn't see, wasn't paying attention. Feron can't see her with his side pinned. The three Broker troopers approach the car, Liara crouching low and moving fast. She turns back to look at me, unarmoured face worried.
The car explodes in a flash of blue fire, white comets of blazing debris lancing in every direction. The three Broker soldiers go down instantly, dead or not I can't tell. The cerulean explosion picks Liara up and slams her into the ground like the hand of God, burning eezo spreading a in a luminous blue cloud. Even from my positon on the floor I can see her armour cracked and falling apart, black burns across her neck and torso.
Silence reigns over the plaza. Anyone with any sense ran when our aircar crashed into a skyscraper and even the idiots were wise enough to run when the Broker's forces touched down. I pull myself to unsteady feet, hobbling as best I can towards the wreck. I have to pull her out. She needs to live. She's too important, too vital. Aside from Shepard herself, Liara might just be the most important person in the story. Stabbing pains shoot through my broken arm, as much a blessing as a curse. If it weren't for the pain I'd probably pass out.
A figure in black armour rises from the blackened crater, armour pitted and scorched, body faintly glowing with decaying element zero. One of the Broker's soldiers, a Turian. He staggers to his feet, trembling and twitching, one hand pulling off a useless helmet. Both of his mandibles are torn clean off, cauterised by the heat of the blast. Unsteady hands raise an assault rifle, apparently heedless of the fact that the front third of the gun is melted to slag.
Evidently he realises and the gun falls from his hands. "Ach… Rija," he begins, the words indecipherable without the mandibles to give them shape. But I can see the hate and pain burning in his eyes as he reaches for his pistol with enervated hands.
I don't have any weapons, no gun or knife. Just biotics.
Life Transfusion, on.
My shattered right arm reknits slowly, much slower than usual. Even if Life Transfusion lets me burn my body for power, there's barely anything to burn. The Turian sees my green aura, hesitates. Confused.
I sing through the touching of thoughts.
I pluck the strings, and the Turian understands.
He places the barrel of his pistol under his shattered mouth.
He obeys. And then he dies.
I drop to my knees, vomiting at the sudden loss of contact. Having a mind connected to you lie that, then feeling it vanish… It's like a part of me dies too. Ignoring the steaming corpse, I collapse next to Liara's unconscious body. It doesn't look like the blast penetrated her armour, though I can't detect any kind of barrier. The blast probably ripped it to pieces. Turns out the dead Turian had a shot of medigel. Hopefully it'll help.
Time passes. I don't know how much. Another skycar lands softly next to us, Miranda running. Her face is set, grim. That's it. It's over. There are no more enemies to fight, no more tricks to play.
It's over.
A/N: Well. That took a lot longer than I'd expected. I can only say sorry, and that Christmas is a black hole of time that I could not escape from. For that reason, this chapter has taken forever to iron out :/
Well, that's one reason. The other is that finding out you're going to be a dad and the subsequent preparation takes A LOT OF TIME. That said, I'm over the moon. I'm sorry that the chapter was delayed, but not sorry why it was delayed... if that makes sense. Especially because this is the last chapter! Yeah, barring epilogues and postscripts this is the last main-story chapter for TRE. I know it's a lot shorter than TTE, but I wanted to try my hand at a smaller, simpler story. Anyway, I hope all of you had a very merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year's and at the risk of being super corny, here is my present to all of you!
Once again, a massive thanks goes to LogicalPremise for allowing me to use his OC Tetrimus Rakora. I also have to extend my thanks to DelVar0 who over the last month and a half has been the best idea-sounding-board that I could ask for, it's been pretty damn cool man. Finally, I have to give the greatest shoutout of all to The Extroverted Recluse for being flipping awesome and the most amazing woman ever.
As for the future, now that the period of super-intense chaos is over updates will once again be every two weeks. The next update will be the epilogue for the story, then the postscript. After that, well, on to ME2! I'll probably take a little break before starting, but not long. I don't really need a breather just yet :3
To bring the story to a close, I just want to say thanks to everyone who reviewed and commented. I love reading feedback, it really feel it helps the story become better with every chapter and I can't thank everyone enough for their investment. For everyone reading, a massive thanks to you as well! This story wouldn't be anything more than a text file on my hard drive if you weren't coming back every time I update. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.