"Stache! Dave! Get in 'ere!" Several hours had passed since Little Steve's meeting with Big Ben, the day having transitioned to afternoon. During those hours, the cynical, vertically challenged man had been closely observing his wide screened laptop for any activity from his old flat. Its door had just been unlocked and pushed open, a cone of light from the outside hallway expanding into the room to reveal little more than additional doors and plain wooden floorboards. Bastards musta hacked the lock, or overridden it. Probably overridden it... Bastards. Steve sat on the couch, laptop set on the coffee table, as he awaited the entry of his associates.

Dave was the first to arrive, bursting through the door to the sitting room after having sprinted in from his quarters. "Yes boss?"

"Sit down." Little Steve indicated the spot next to him.

"Yes boss." Dave did as told.

Several more seconds passed without any apparent activity from the flat's other occupant. "Stache!" Pause. "Stache!" The short tempered man was almost apoplectic with rage. "Moustache man! Pull your thumb out of your arse and get it in here!"

Said man burst into the room as Dave did but with anger rather than haste. "My name is Daws." He spoke in a slightly gruff but cultured English accent.

"Your name is whatever I God damn tell you it is now sit down before I get physical!"

Daws complied out of necessity although he was evidently displeased with doing so. He took his place on the other side of Little Steve from Dave.

"Now gents, observe."

All attention focused back onto the laptop screen, it could now be seen that eight NDA troopers carrying shotguns, assault rifles and various sidearms had entered and were preparing to search the rooms. They were dressed in all black attire with numerous elliptical segments of pliable under-armour lining the arms, legs, chest and back, dark grey rings surrounding each piece. Heavy metal plates of markedly unpliable over-armour were placed along the front and rear of all extremities along with two especially large plates on both sides of the torso. Even more intimidating was the striking, face-hugging half mask half helmet composite situated on their heads with built in, blacked out goggles covering the eyes.

"Fuck me, they come ready for a fuckin' fight don't they?"

"Yes dey do." Dave answered the rhetorical question in his usual unintelligible drawl.

Little Steve just glanced up at him before returning his gaze to the screen. The soldiers had produced three pairs, each approaching one of the room's doors. One member of the pair would open the door and the other would have a cursory look around before entering first, followed by his partner's gun, then followed by his partner. The remaining men simply stood looking around the room, weapons up, ready to provide assistance to any pair that may need it.

Despite the third person perspective, various things were eliciting a sense of nostalgia in Little Steve such as the creak of certain floorboards as they were stepped on and the whine of unoiled hinges as the door to the bedrooms was opened. These homy remembrances sent the man into the zone, phasing him out.

Upon Daws shaking him slightly, he returned to reality "Look." The moustache bearer pointed at one of two troopers that had just entered flat holding assault rifles. "That looks like the squad leader."

"Wow. He's a big fuckin' fella." It was true, the leader must have been around six and a half feet tall.

"Mmm."

They listened as the soldiers in various rooms called back "Clear." When the last group reported as such, the four occupants of the front room lowered their weapons and the other six squad members returned there, waiting by their respective doors. Each pair stated what they had found.

"There are three bedrooms through this door." The man stood beside the portal on the right of the room. "They cleaned the place out thoroughly, there's not even any furniture left. You can see dust patterns and drag marks where they've moved it. One room wasn't entirely empty though, it contained a pornography magazine with 'Courtesy of the boys.' written on the front. I believe it was a joke." None of the soldiers were laughing.

Little Steve commented "More like courtesy of me huh gentlemen."

Another pair continued, this one standing by the opening opposite the flat door. "This leads into a sitting room and kitchen. Again, no furniture or appliances remaining other than the kitchen sink, which is anomalously covered in what looks like acid burn marks."

The third and final pair standing next to the door on the room's left took over from here. "The bathroom didn't have much to take out in the first place but there are no utensils or equipment left in there. The sink, bath tub and toilet are all also covered in acidic burn marks. The space notably stank of some kind of chemical."

"We could smell that too."

"Us as well." spoken by the other pairs.

The squad leader sniffed the air a few times before finally speaking "Yeah the whole place smells of chemicals." While rough, the voice was distinctly feminine.

"Holy shit that's a lady?" Little Steve was dumbstruck, Daws' eyes were slightly wider than before and Dave looked confused, but on that point, Dave always looked confused.

"It's familiar, think it's a gas used to purge finger prints and other organic evidence. They must've used acid to do the same to places the gas couldn't reach, like the sinks and piping. Shit. They didn't do a half arsed job did they?"

"Damn she's huge! I'd probably die if she fell on me." Steve looked considerate for a moment before adding "Fat bitch."

At this, Daws stated "I know your manner is direly uncultivated but must you speak of women in such a way?"

The short man's attention was now solely on the moustached man. "What the fuck you talking about?"

"It's discomforting for me when you say that word."

"What? 'Bitch'?" In his curiosity, Little Steve's tone had become quicker and higher pitched.

Daws cringed slightly. "Yes."

"Why?"

"I grew up in a household of women. It's engendered in me to despise that word."

A questioning frown spread across the shorter of the two's face before he shook his head and turned back to the laptop, muttering "Weirdo." under his breath.

During the boys' interlocution Joanna had ordered her men to swab what they could of the rooms anyway to see if any fingerprints had been overlooked. In addition to this, UV scanners were used to try and detect bodily fluids and other organic byproducts. Meanwhile the woman herself had entered a one on one over the comms in her helmet. "Despite all the self-deprecating monikers these guys clearly know what they're doing. They're serious." She paused for a moment, presumably while receiving a reply from the person on the other end. "We're in the process now but it doesn't look like we'll find anything." A further delay occurred, the sound of boot steps and the groan of floor boards being a constant feature in the flat. "Well we've looked at the plans of the building and everything here seems to match up. The place is so bare too. We'd be able to see any modifications to the architecture. So no spinning book cases or secret passages I'm afraid." She nodded her head a couple of times. "Cool, I'll speak to you later."

Little Steve chose this moment to speak up. "I do believe I would call this a success boys. Daws, get us a couple pints will ya?"

The man was all too happy to carry out this action. Upon his return he heavily sat down on the couch with three beer cans. He passed two to Little Steve who passed one to Dave. Each can was metallic black with white writing and various blue streaks surrounding a golden logo with the word "Denny's" diagonally aligned in bold print across it. Each produced a quiet decompression as the three men cracked them open in sync, and each released a small quantity of froth post-opening.

Little Steve raised his drink in the air. "To a fuckin' flawless shiftin' of house, and may our associate in the NDA's basement not tell them anymore shit about us."

"I couldn't a said it meself." Dave of course.

Everyone took a swig and Steve exhaled contently before responding. "Of course not. Oh and Daws, I won't say 'bitch' around you again."

"Cheers."

"Everybody gets one. Dave's is that I don't talk about his intelligence while he's in the room."

"Oi, you said about my... About my... Smarts."

"I didn't 'said' about nothin', I talked about talking about your smarts."

"You what?"

"Just drink your beer and be happy that we're not gonna get shot and killed."

"Yes boss." He took a large gulp from his drink.

Steve spoke quietly to himself. "Thank fuck he's a brain surgeon with firearms. Fuck me."


"Agent Johnson." Our favourite sangheilian diplomat was lent back in his chair, long blue scaled legs sticking out forwards and similarly constructed arms stretched out and resting on them.

"Ambassador Pulam." Johnson found himself standing before the sangheilian ambassador, if in visual form only. As always, he was wearing a smart black suit with a red tie and white shirt, hardly unique for someone in his profession. As always, he could have had a rigid steel rod in place of his spine and his hands, for all we know, could be cuffed behind his back.

"What is it that you wish to discuss?"

"Chief Joannan's raid operation."

"Ah yes, were you able to retrieve any individuals there?" The NDA operative's voice was so tonelessly formal that the ambassador could not glean from it whether the op was a success or failure.

"We were not. All that she found there was dusty floorboards, rusty pipes and acid bathed plumbing."

"Acid bathed plumbing?" Pulam raised an eyebrow ridge in question.

"The gang members seemed to have used gas to remove finger prints from the rooms and acid to remove biological evidence from the sinks, toilets, baths, et cetera."

"So they're not as foolish and unprofessional as they make themselves sound."

"It would seem so."

The ambassador thought for a moment, his face creasing into a frown. "So you found absolutely nothing to help catch these men or to indicate anything they might do next."

"Unfortunately not."

"That is a shame." Hand running over his head, mandibles flapping with agitation and fingers tapping on the back of his neck, Pulam asked one final question "Was there anything else?"

"As of yet... No."

"Right," his arm returned to his lap, "well if you'll excuse me there is a formal event to celebrate my brother's replacement starting the job which I must prepare for. What do you humans call one of these things? A ball? I still fail to comprehend the correlation between a hall full of partially inebriated upper class individuals laughing at poor jokes and dancing to pretentious music, and a spherical object commonly kicked or thrown as part of a sport."

The agent tilted his head to the side, one of his first motions throughout the whole exchange. "I honestly cannot see the similarity either."

"Mmm. Oh," the ambassador perked up a tad, "and I looked at the guest list and noticed that you would be attending."

"Yes I received an invitation to the event. But I won't be attending this evening, there is a lot of work I need to be doing."

Pulam made a slow upwards gesture with one of his arms. "I am aware that the investigation of my brother's murder is important business but you have no leads, and even if you did then there are others less significant than yourself who could follow them up. So consider it my order that you must be there."

"Ambassador?"

"If I don't see you at this ball then I will start an interspecies incident then and there."

Johnson nodded his head politely. "Ambassador."

"And bring Joanna with you as well. I'll add her to the guest list."

Agent Jonathan Johnson had been partial to numerous conferences with officials, politicians and high ups alike. However, this was the first time he had truly lost his composure during one. His hands were shaken free of their cuffs, dropping to his sides while the steel rod in his back was melted to the point of flexibility once again. And so he stood, shoulders slumped, posture down and mouth hanging open. "What?" was all he managed to force out.

The sangheili re-clarified. "Tell your associate Joanna that if she doesn't attend then there will be an interspecies incident." The sangheili paused, looking up momentarily before focusing back on Johnson. "Let her know that she may wear her normal attire as well."

"But... But..." Johnson took a deep, calming breath and reimplemented his stately posture; although his arms were still by his sides. "While I hold a massive amount of respect for my colleague her 'normal attire' makes her look like a homeless person fresh off the streets. And besides, she doesn't do aristocrats and pretentious music."

"Well I suppose it is a good thing neither you nor she has any say in the matter then. Goodbye Agent Johnson." Pulam shut down the communication, preventing any form of rebuttal.


Joanna was still waiting for her men to finish checking for evidence when she heard muffled shouting from the flat opposite. She looked towards the sound source, assault rifle raising to eye level. Listening closely she could make out a few words and phrases.

"Don't ... fuckin' hit me again!"

"... the gun down ... the fucking gun down!"

"... dog! ... gonna fuckin' end you."

Then came the unmistakeable sound of a gun shot, resounding through the environment and no doubt heard from quite a way away. It drew the attention of two other soldiers in the front room who both dropped their swabs. One removed a weapon similar to Joanna's. The other removed a shotgun. Both braced themselves on either side of the door while Joanna crouched just back from the doorway with rifle borne on the opposite flat's entrance.

A few tense seconds passed in silence before a man in boxers and a grey tank top burst out from the flat, he paused upon seeing the three soldiers and one of those universally recognised awkward moments occurred as they stared at one another. However, the moment was broken as three bullets erupted from the man's torso accompanied by three fleshy thumps and puffs of blood. He slumped forward, stone dead, to reveal a woman wearing a baggy man's shirt and likewise shorts. The pistol she held was raised from the dead man and aimed at Joanna as she squeezed off three more shots, preceding two loud bangs and an even louder boom as the woman was shot twice in the head and blasted by a shotgun in the chest.

Joanna's chest plate and helmet had saved her from the bullet impacts, each projectile simply deflecting off or splintering into smaller pieces.

The deceased woman's clothing and skin did not have the same ballistic properties as these armour features, explaining why she now lay four feet back from where she had stood with blood pooling all around her.

The NDA troopers lowered their weapons, the rest of the squad now massing in the room having heard the gun fire. Joanna leaned to her right and whispered into her shotgun wielding friend's ear "Yohannes, wipe your finger prints off of that shotgun with a cloth, and place it in the dead man's arms. Then let's get the fuck out of here."

The man got to work with this instruction, removing a wipe from somewhere on his body.

In the mean time, Joanna spoke to the rest of the squad. "You guys got your swabs?"

Several of them spoke. "Yes mam."

"And taken your UVs?"

The rest of them spoke. "Yes mam."

"So shall we depart back to the van then?"

All of them spoke. "Yes mam."

Joanna leading the way, each of the group jogged out of the front room in single file, passing a shadow over the male corpse and producing a scuff of boots on wood with every step. The last man out closed the flat door with a quiet thump and click.

Yohannes had turned the body over slightly, clamping the man's hands onto the shotgun and posing him to make it look like he'd fallen down and shot the woman with his last breaths. Then the scuff of his boots sounded as he sprinted after the rest of the group.