"Ugh. What kind of krogan hangs out in a place like this?" asked Grunt, looking around at the neon atmosphere in Afterlife. Shepard noticed that his eyes lingered briefly on an asari dancing with a pole above their heads. She led Garrus and Grunt to the door at the back of the club that led to the lower level. The door whispered shut behind them, but they could still hear an echo of the music inside. At least it was cooler in the hall, she thought, and less crowded. Shepard would never say that she was claustrophobic, but crowds like the one at Afterlife put her more than a little on edge. Steeling herself, she opened the door to Afterlife's lower level. Blaring electronic rhythms assaulted her hears, she could feel the vibration of the bass in her hardsuit. Shepard waved her squad to the sunken door nearby, indicating their destination. She scooted, slid by, and otherwise maneuvered her way through dancing and partying patrons to the door. Once inside Patriarch's den, she found she could finally breathe.
Patriarch paced, talking animatedly to a couple of batarians. "It was a good fight. I watched the life drain out of that turian general myself – I remember it from time to time. Good for the spirits," he said. Noticing the batarians' attention shift to the well-armed newcomers, Patriarch turned around. He opened his arms widely when he recognized Shepard, his voice boomed, "Commander Shepard! My krantt, back from death again I hear!" The old krogan shook Shepard's hand vigorously. When he broke his grip, Shepard wondered if she would ever regain feeling in her hand. "I had heard you were on Omega, of course. I'm glad you found the time to visit old Patriarch."
"It's good to see you again, Patriarch," said Shepard. She found a seat on a bench and crossed her legs casually. "Grunt, this is the Patriarch. Patriarch, Urdnot Grunt. You remember Garrus." Shepard jerked her head toward her turian companion. The krogans looked each other over; Patriarch with subdued curiosity, and Grunt with barely concealed contempt.
"An Urdnot, eh? I used to be a friend to that clan, once upon a time. Strange, you do not bear the Urdnot crest on your armor," said Patriarch.
"I kept the armor that was given to me by the warlord Okeer, my – creator," said Grunt, unable to better describe Okeer's relation to himself. Grunt did not harbor any sentimentality for his creator, but neither did he have any special allegiance to his new clan.
"Ah yes, I have heard of you. It honors me to finally meet you, Grunt," said Patriarch. Grunt huffed and crossed his arms. Shepard wondered what she had expected if not this. She looked at Garrus, he shrugged his armored shoulders. Patriarch turned to the commander. "Commander, I assume there is more to your visit than just these introductions."
"Indeed. We were hoping you could help us out with some information. Sensitive information," said Shepard, with a pointed glance at the few bystanders in the Patriarch's private room.
"Ah," he said simply. "Fin, the door. Everyone else, out." Patriarch's fans shuffled out of the room without complaint. Shepard wondered briefly how often they were asked to leave. Fin, one of the batarians, closed the door behind him. Shepard glanced around the room, scanning briefly for any visible bugs. Satisfied, she reclined in her seat. "You're here about the Blue Suns, of course," said Patriarch.
"Yes," said Shepard. She was not going to bother questioning his knowledge of her quest. News traveled fast on Omega, and even faster when the news was of valuable interest.
"You realize that I am Aria's advisor, I would have told her everything I know," said Patriarch. Shepard raised an eyebrow.
"She's not listening to you, is she, Patriarch? The breach in her defenses has got her paranoid," said Garrus from the corner. The old krogan looked over at Garrus, narrowing his red eyes.
"She has cut me out – in a manner of speaking. She makes a show of keeping everything looking normal to outsiders, but she's basically running this whole operation by herself now. Of course, if anyone knew that for sure, it would all be over today."
"So why not take over? You could be running this station. Why stay down in this hole?" asked Grunt, his deep voice accusing.
"How do you propose I do that, huh? Sure, I have contacts that I have not shared with Aria, but the most valuable are still loyal to her," Patriarch crossed the room, gesturing wildly. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I've become complacent, turned into an old coward! Don't think that I haven't already accused myself of this! Part of me wants to see Aria brought down - the stupid part that holds the old grudge. The smart part of me knows that I could not do it myself with what I have now, and this is why I have not acted. However, I also know that a takeover by the Suns would be disastrous." Grunt did not look mollified by Patriarch's explanation. The old krogan found his seat again and took a sip from a large glass of green liquid. "You're young, Urdnot Grunt. I remember what that was like, even if it was centuries ago for me. You want to kill everything you see; no challenge is too big. Savor that feeling, so that you may remember it if you live long enough for people to disrespect you in your old age."
Grunt mumbled something that sounded a lot like "pathetic old man, lost his quad" to Shepard. The commander ignored Grunt and looked intently at Patriarch, inching forward in her seat.
"No one here has come to disrespect you, Patriarch. What we've come for is information on the Blue Suns defenses. Anything you could tell us would be helpful," said Shepard. She tried her best to keep from sounding patronizing, but she wasn't sure if she succeeded. In the corner, Garrus rolled his eyes.
"I can't tell you much, obviously. I do know they've been heavily recruiting around the apartment blocks and the markets. They're hoping numbers alone will give them the edge, but they're fools. Giving a bunch of overeager kids guns does nothing but shorten their lifespans. Alpha isn't doing everything wrong, though. They've got mechs, loads of them – and firepower. You're not going to be able to take their base head on," said Patriarch, shaking his large head.
"Where is the base?" asked Garrus.
"Well, it's where it always was. Near where you holed up not too long ago, Archangel," Patriarch glared at Garrus, then turned to Shepard. "You know the warehouse."
"So Legion was right," said Shepard to no one in particular. "Is there anything else you can tell us about their firepower?"
"You're going to need all the heavy weapons you've got. I don't keep a list of their inventory around here, Shepard. That's the most I can tell you." Shepard looked thoughtful for a moment, trying to remember what else she wanted from the old krogan. Her face brightened, remembering.
"Do you know anything about the main server room?" asked Shepard, hopeful. Patriarch smiled widely.
"I suspected something was going on in there, but your curiosity confirms it. There has been some strange interference around the extranet routers, but it's difficult to pin down. I had my man Fin get me the security codes to the server room earlier today. Hopefully they still work. You are welcome to find out - they are yours now." Shepard raised her eyebrows and looked around at her team. Garrus' face was unreadable. Grunt paced in the far corner, grinding his fist into his palm. Shepard turned back to Patriarch.
"Thank you. I think this will help us out," she said.
"We should get there soon, who knows how often they change those codes," said Garrus.
"Good point. Thanks again, Patriarch," said Shepard.
"I am glad that I am able to repay the debt I owe you," said the old krogan ceremonially. He brought up his omni-tool and transmitted the codes to Shepard's. "Let me know what you find when you check out the server room. I have many theories as to what might be there, but I want to know which one is right." Shepard nodded. Grunt banged his fist on the door, signaling his desire to leave to the bodyguard stationed outside. Fin obliged, opening the door from the outside. The loud electronic beats burst into the room. Garrus and Grunt led the way, Shepard followed. "Commander," said Patriarch to Shepard's back. She turned around. "I don't know what Aria told you she wanted, but when you find the traitor – I think it would be best for everyone if you were the one to kill him."
"Noted," said Shepard. She saluted the Patriarch and followed her squad out of the club.
Afterlife never closed, but there were lulls, and no one stayed in the club forever – not even Aria. It was 03:00 when Patriarch finally left to retire to his home for the night, such as it was. He made his habitual sweep for bugs or explosives, turned off the lights to his private room, and locked the door. He was a tired old man and didn't move as fast as he used to, not that many krogan are known to be light on their feet. He was glad to see Shepard again, even if he had his doubts about the company she kept. He hoped she made it off Omega alive. It would be insulting for a warrior like her to be cut down by a bunch of mercenary upstarts with big guns. He waved to a pretty asari dancer as he left and she rewarded him with a smile and a shimmy.
Always keeping a watchful eye, the bartender made his way to a patron hunched over an empty glass on the far side of the bar. The bartender leaned over and whispered something to the patron. The patron took out a credit chit, placed it under the empty glass and pushed himself away from the bar. The bartender pocketed the credit chit and disinterestedly went back to polishing glasses. The patron made his way casually toward the room the old krogan came from.
He'd had a long day already, and he was tired of taking orders and being yelled at. Alpha said things were going to be different when he was in charge, but they didn't feel any different yet. He hoped he would get some kind of bonus for completing his task in Afterlife, especially after all the complications he'd had to deal with. No thanks to anyone who was supposed to have his back. He couldn't believe another batarian would risk his neck over some old krogan. The mission started out easy enough: convince the batarian bodyguard that his family's lives were in danger so he'd plant the bug. No matter that they couldn't actually locate the man's family in enough time to make it a more convincing threat. The bodyguard folded like a sheet of paper. The patron hadn't expected the bodyguard, Fin, to turn around and try to be some kind of hero. He almost got his head blown off, and for what? The patron was no assassin, which is why he was expecting to be compensated for having to take care of the unruly bodyguard. It wasn't as if hiding bodies on Omega was particularly difficult or unusual, but it can still be risky business – especially with the hero of the citadel walking around.
The patron didn't have anything against Commander Shepard. In fact, he was impressed by the things she'd done what with taking out the Collectors and killing that reaper. She was just inconvenient to have on Omega, especially if she was planning on backing up Aria. The patron input the code to the door and slipped inside. He had a chance to scope the place out earlier, even if it meant he had to listen to that insufferable old krogan reminiscing about his glory days. The patron brought up his omni-tool. A blinking light flashed on a screen, glowing brighter as he neared the sofa. He pushed the sofa aside, scanning the wall. A few thumps on the wall sounded a hollow spot and he pressed his fingers against the sides of the tile. Eventually, it clicked open revealing a tiny electronic device – the bug. The man palmed the thing and replaced the furniture. He wasn't sure if it would matter tomorrow if the Patriarch found his room exactly as he'd left it, but he wasn't usually one to take chances. He plugged the bug into his omni-tool, listening to its recording of the afternoon's events. Annoyed, he forwarded through the bits he was there for, and listened to the entirety of the Patriarch's meeting with Commander Shepard and her crew. He put his hand to his earpiece.
"Base? This is Agent X, I have the recording," he said into his communicator. He waited a moment longer than he expected for a response.
"And?" An annoyed voice on the other end replied simply.
"You want me to just tell you over the comm?" he asked, uncertain. The man, Agent X, wanted to leave the room and the club, but he didn't want to be overheard as he walked around. His hands were cold and clammy as he replayed the recording.
"The bodyguard?" asked the disembodied voice.
"Taken care of," said the man.
"You've done well, Agent X. You will be compensated for going above and beyond," said the voice. The line closed with a beep and the man blinked at his communicator. He pulled his hood over his head nervously and turned to leave. About to open the door, he was surprised to see it already opening. Agent X found himself standing face to face with Patriarch. The krogan raged and charged and the small batarian without asking any questions. Patriarch crushed him against the wall where he fell limp. The bug rolled out of his hand onto the floor. Patriarch kicked the intruder to make sure he was out, then shot him in the head for good measure. He picked up the electronic device from the floor and looked at it, disgustedly. Coward spies, he thought. He mentally kicked himself for not being more thorough earlier. He pocketed the device. At his desk, he found the data pad he had come back for and pocketed that as well.
Leaving what he considered his office, Patriarch flagged the bartender down and jerked his thumb toward his door. There was a mess in there that needed to be cleaned up. The bartender nodded, picked up a tray of cleaning supplies, and made his way into Patriarch's room. Patriarch listened to the recording on the bug, confirming his suspicions. Alpha was planning to set a trap for Shepard, no doubt. Patriarch would be damned to help out that upstart kid in any way, especially against his will. The Suns have their damned fingers everywhere, he grumbled to himself. He was beginning to consider the revamped mercenary group as a worthy adversary. Bad news for them. The Patriarch headed back down to his apartment. He wondered how long it would take to polish up his old armor.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading/subscribing/reviewing/favorite-ing! Hearing that you like what's going on makes my day! (Really, it does.)