A/N: After a work-related delay (forty hours chained a desk, yay!) we have chapter 3. After reading sinvraal's excellent Onus and Inuctio, I've taken some notes and dropped in some more sci-fi-type references, mainly with regards to the hardsuit sensors picking up energy signatures from other hardsuits in the area.

Chapter Three: It Begins

Karrick Entertainment Enterprises in Association with Batarian State Arms brings you the latest in combat games. For the first time, witness a Council Spectre on the run from the finest hunters. You know them, you fear them - the mighty krogan Bex, the wily turian enforcer Va'ath and last but not least, the Sisters of Sin known as the Twins.

All of this and more, only on Pay Per Slay.

---

"You see? You see? I told you that Karrick had a Spectre!"

"Well...I'll be damned."

"Hey, Kirin, you got your subscription to Pay Per Slay paid up?"
The volus bartender drew in a gasping hiss of breath, "Of course, batarian-clan. That giant vidscreen is the only reason people like you come here."

"Well yeah, that and the nuts."

---

"So, what made you want to participate in Karrick's brand of entertainment in the first place?" asked Va'ath as he inserted a fresh block of ballistic compound into the receiver of his Armax sidearm.

"He promised me the chance to test myself against the best warriors the galaxy has to offer," Bex replied, upper lip lifting in a snarl. "He lied. Until now, all I've had to 'test' myself against are badly trained pirates and mercenaries."

"And that surprises you?" Va'ath said, mandibles twitching with suppressed mirth. "I doubt anybody with any degree of combat training would willingly volunteer to be used as live prey for the amusement of others."

The krogan merely grunted his agreement then muttered. "Oh, great. Here come the cameras for the blasted behind the scenes footage of the hunters preparing for battle."

A pair of automated holocameras floated into the barracks area, repulsor lifts humming quietly as they moved. Smile for the cameras, Bex thought sourly, aiming a murderous snarl at the nearest camera and holding the look long enough for the camera to pick up some good footage for the freaks congregating in taverns throughout the local systems.

As always, the turian pointedly ignored the camera, instead he stared off into the distance and let his hands disassemble his Sokolov shotgun. Normally, a sense of nationalistic pride prevented Va'ath from using human-manufactured weapons but the Sokolov produced by Rosenkov Materials appealed to him for the sheer ease with which it allowed him to slaughter his victims. The fact that most of his victims were also human filled with a great deal of satisfaction.

After a few moments, the camera drones floated away for more behind the scenes footage elsewhere. Va'ath rolled his eyes as he heard the asari sisters making all sorts of lewd comments, no doubt for the benefit of their legion of followers. Tarts.

"Why did you agree to all this?" Bex asked, waving an arm to encompass the motley collection of competitors preparing for the latest hunt.

"The credits, of course."

"That's all?"

Va'ath noted the disapproval apparent in the krogan's voice. "I could find any amount of work as a mercenary, make a name for myself but I find life out here more to my liking. And besides, it's easy credits. I go out, make a show of hunting down some scum, put a bullet in his head, get paid and go to sleep."

"Don't you ever feel...I don't know, disheartened by the lack of challenge?"

Va'ath shrugged noncommittally, finished assembling the Sokolov and slot it into the hardpoint on his armour. "I have a feeling this Spectre they've captured will be enough of a challenge for us all."

"Yes, I am actually looking forward to this," Bex said, "Finally a foe worthy of my abilities."

---

The hardsuit she'd been issued was a piece of crap, Storm decided. Not 'crap' as in Aldrin Labs Onyx Mod 1 but 'crap' as in 'ablative plating almost non-existent and shield capacitors operating at forty-two percent of maximum.'

After her 'appointment' with the salarian medic and being pronounced fit to be slaughtered, Hailstorm was escorted at gunpoint to an armory of sorts. Inside, she'd been met by an unsmiling batarian seated behind a battered metal desk. Arrayed on the bare metal walls of the room were several hardsuits suitable for differing types of physiology. None of them was in what could be termed serviceable condition. Bastards are stacking the deck in their favour, the Lieutenant thought.

The guard stood outside the door, waiting for the quartermaster to issue a hardsuit.

"Put this on," the quartermaster snarled at Storm, flinging a hardsuit at her with considerable force. Instead of attempting to catch it, Storm sidestepped to the left and the suit crashed to ground.

Bending to inspect the armour, Storm felt almost physically ill. The suit, a medium-weight Mercenary Mod III was in bad repair - the layers of ceramic plate heavily scarred with old bullet impacts that had been haphazardly repaired over time. The suit's chest piece bore a large crater-like depression, which Storm could very clearly see was the result of a shotgun blast delivered at close range.

"You can't seriously expect me to go out wearing this?"
"Wear it or don't, just get out of my armory, scum," the batarian sneered.

Meeting the batarian's glare with one of her own, Hayley was suddenly keenly aware of the holocamera recording her every move. With a sudden burst of anger, she tore open the front of her uniform shirt and threw it over the camera, blinding it. Working quickly, face flushed with rage and embarrassment, the Lieutenant stripped to her underclothes and worked herself into the hardsuit.

Muttering a string of obscenities under her breath, Storm flipped open a panel on her left forearm and initiated a diagnostic. Kinetic barriers at forty-two percent efficiency, medical interface inoperative, radio transceiver inoperative. So she wouldn't even be able to tune the comm system to the frequency used by the Normandy's shore party and contact Shepard. Brilliant.

"I suppose it's too much to ask for a gun? Or an omni-tool?"

"Guard, get her out of my armory."

---

Karrick stood before the assembled hunters he had decided to set against Shepard and her companion. He looked each in the eye as he paced slowly before them. Bex, the krogan with the misplaced sense of pride and honour, Va'ath, the wily turian former special forces operative on Palaven, and the asari sisters, one of whom blew him a kiss.

"As you have no doubt been made aware, lately my ratings and by extension profits have been dwindling. Thus I have set in motion a plan to reverse this trend. One of my capture teams has taken the human," his mouth twisted as he spoke the word like a curse, "Spectre, Shepard."

The hunters nodded and muttered to each other. "I realise that some of you," Karrick eyed the krogan, "have expressed concerns of late regarding the quality of those you are hunting. Fear not, for this Shepard possesses rare skill and experience...for a human As a further incentive to giving my audience a good show, I will gift the hunter who brings me Shepard's head with a bonus of one million credits. I want her head intact. You may do as you wish with the rest of her and her ally but I want her head."

Jorik waited until the last of the hunters filed out of the office before approaching Karrick with the latest subscription figures. "Pay Per Slay subscriptions are already at record levels and we haven't even began airing the preliminary hunts," he reported.

"Good. Shepard is improving our lot without even know it."

---

"O-ho, check her out," Karn gestured to the human woman onscreen. The main vidscreen inside the bar was currently displaying behind the scenes footage of both the hunters and their prey. The object of Karn's affection had just torn open her uniform blouse, and the holocamera operator had zoomed in for some nice shots of her cleavage when the view went black.

"Oh, that slag! She just blinded the camera with her shirt! I hate it when they do that!"

Lurn shook his head, "I don't understand what you seen in human females. They're physically repulsive."
"Says you," Karn shot back. "Did you see the way the strands of her hair were flying around as she moved? That was poetry in motion."
"How can you find beauty in something that only has two eyes? And that horrendous pale skin?"

"I'm just saying she was looking good with her top off, is all."

---

"Do you have any words for the viewers before the hunt begins?" a batarian armed with a microphone asked Storm. Behind him floated yet another holocamera, filming everything. She merely stared into the batarian's upper set of eyes, felt her upper lip curl in contempt.

"Very well. Just so you're aware: you will be granted one hour before the hunters are set on you. During that time, you may want to apply yourself to locating a weapon."

Hands sweating lightly inside their gloves, Hailstorm turned from the batarian and faced a set of three identical blast doors built into the surrounding grey metal wall. The doors were each marked, in standard with a number. It reminded the Lieutenant of the vids of old-Earth gameshows she'd seen as a kid. What lay behind Door Number One? A pack of slavering varren?

"As soon as you pass through one of the three doors, your time begins," the batarian said from behind her.

Well, here we go. Roll up, roll up! Pick a number, any number! This is worse than that time I got lost in the hall of mirrors at the fair when I was seven years old. A lot worse. Ah fuck it. When in doubt, go straight up the middle.

Fists clenched tight, Hailstorm went through Door Number Two.

As the door slid shut and locked itself down behind her, the flickering holographic head-up display generated by her hardsuit computer and displayed on the inside of her helmet visor began counting down her one hour grace period. Suddenly, as though her body was only just now fully realising what was happening to her, Storm was wracked by a series of uncontrollable shakes. Chattering teeth bit down hard on the tip of her tongue and her eyes squeezed out pained tears.

Her knees unable to hold her upright, the Lieutenant slid slowly to the floor, still shaking. Two minutes had passed. After thirty more seconds, the worst of the shakes had subsided and Hailstorm got to her feet. In one corner, above the doorway, the red light of a camera stared down at her, pitilessly recording her in her moment of weakness.

With an inarticulate yell, Hailstorm disconnected the helmet of her hardsuit and swung it at the camera with as much force as she could muster. Helmet and camera met in a satisfying crunch of ceramel and metal. Storm examined the helmet, saw it was no worse for wear and reconnected it to the locking points at her throat.

The camera's lens was shattered and the red glow snuffed out. Filled with grim satisfaction, Hayley set off down the dimly lit hall. The hallway was more of what seemed to be standard batarian-style decor: dully gleaming grey metal walls with lighting panels set into the ceiling.

Hayley's eyes constantly moved around inside their sockets like well-oiled bearings, scanning for threats and anything she could use as a weapon. Fortunately there seemed to be none of the former. Unfortunately there were also none of the latter and Hailstorm doubted she could pull off using her helmet as a crude blunt instrument against a live target.

"Times like these, I wish I could kill people with my brain," she muttered, jogging along the seemingly endless corridor. A glance at her HUD told her she had just over forty-five minutes left. Why don't I just stay here? What are they gonna do? Come down and physically drag me out? Forget it, you need to find Shepard and you can't do that stuck in here so pick up the pace, Marine.

Breaking into a jog, the Lieutenant arrived at the end of the hallway and a door identical to the one she'd entered by. A control panel glowed green in the dimly lit corridor and with a deep breath, Hailstorm laid her hand on it.

---

Shepard experienced a moment of fright in the armory. It wasn't about having to don the badly damaged Titan suit with who knew how many sets of eyes leering at her courtesy of the holocameras. It was about how to conceal the medigel injectables and scalpel she'd 'liberated' from the salarian's clinic between stripping off her bloodied uniform and getting into the hardsuit.

Then, figuring that males, no matter the species had a thing for half-naked women, she swallowed her pride and performed an impromptu striptease, drawing out the process of removing her uniform blouse and trousers. That's right, you four-eyed bastards, drink it in. Don't pay attention to me subtly stuffing the thigh pockets of the hardsuit full of contraband, just focus on my tits and ass.

Standing upright, with the suit sealed and powered on, Shepard bowed mockingly to the camera.

"Enjoying the show so far?"

"Get...her out of my armory," the quartermaster ground out. He sounds a little rattled, Shepard thought with a brief smile. As she left the armory, again under the guns of the faceless guards, Shepard looked back over her shoulder and blew the batarian a kiss.

Though she wasn't aware of it, Shepard stood in the same spot occupied by the Lieutenant only an hour earlier, facing the microphone-wielding batarian interviewer. By now Shepard was learning to ignore the cameras. The half-dozen sentries posted in the area were more difficult to disregard. They all carried themselves in the manner of combat veterans and Shepard knew if she tried anything, they wouldn't hesitate to gun her down. Bide your time, Shepard. You'll get your chance to turn the tables on them.

"Do you have any last words before the hunt begins?" Shepard flicked a glance from the microphone in the batarian's hand to his head, and then to the guards. As tempting as it was to grab the mike, smash it into the man's face and unleash her biotics, Shepard instead forced a charming smile.

Staring into the camera, carefully enuciating each word, Shepard addressed the watching audience, "There will come a day of reckoning and all of this," she spread her arms wide, "Will be cast down. As long as I have breath in my body, I won't rest until this sick circus is nought but flames and rubble."

The interviewer smirked, "There you have it folks, a dire warning of things to come. Now, contestant, you have a choice of three entries into the hunting grounds. Choose one and your one hour grace period will begin."

Shepard studied the three blast doors, identical but for the numerals on them. When in doubt, pick C. Without another word, the Spectre hit the control panel for the right-most door, ducking beneath it before it was halfway up.

On the far side of the door was nothing but three blank walls, with the door sealed shut behind her. Casting her eyes downward, Shepard registered the metal grating and the fetid stench at the same time. Oh joy of joys, an entrance down into a sewer. You sure can pick 'em.

Faintly Shepard could hear water flowing sluggishly below. With a sigh she worked her fingers below the grating and heaved it out of the way. Positioned atop the ladder leading down, Shepard pondered whether she should make a slow, measured descent or just slide straight down, maybe take anything down there by surprise.

Bracing herself, Shepard took the express route down.

The Spectre landed, knees bent, in foul-smelling muck that came up to mid-calf when she straightened up. The sewer pipe's diameter was large enough that she was able to stand with her head only slightly bent as she walked forward. Loud sucking sounds heralded her every footstep as the greenish sludge clung to her legs, hindering her progress.

A glance at her HUD's sensor display gave her no sign of any hardsuit energy signatures nearby. Further up the tunnel, she heard small splashes and things skittering around in the dimness, likely the local equivalent of sewer rats. Shepard paused briefly, listening for anything larger moving around but heard nothing. Eyes scanning the tunnel ahead, Shepard unsealed the flap over her left thigh and eased out the scalpel. Thus armed, she renewed her trek through the sewage.

---

T'larn trudged through the muck and slime of the sewer pipe with a grimace. He should have remembered to replace his helmet's air filters. But he hadn't and now he didn't know what he was inhaling through his helmet faceplate. On a rational basis, he knew he was at a far higher risk of dying from a hunt gone wrong than he was from inhaling bacteria but still, he didn't get off on it.

Technically, the young batarian wasn't even supposed to be in the sewer pipe but after being dropped from the main event and relegated to participating in the opening games, he felt less accommodating of Karrick's rules.

T'larn had a one in three shot at encountering the Spectre in the pipe and, to him, that was damn good odds. If he could take out the human before she even made it to the hunting grounds proper, he could claim Karrick's prize and show up the other hunters as well.

Warily, T'larn approached a side tunnel that fed into the main channel, shotgun at the ready. He paused, hearing something small moving about. Vermin. Setting off again, T'larn's mind began to wonder as he thought about what he could do with all that money.

---

She was no longer alone, down here in the tunnel. Her HUD flashed up a red blip, just on the edge of the fifty-metre detection radius. After a moment's thought, Shepard shut down the kinetic barriers on her own suit, effectively blinding the enemy's sensors to her presence. It was a gamble, sacrificing what little protection she had with the hope of taking the enemy by surprise. If the hostile had a chance to shoot, the barriers would take too long to reactivate. Why so worried, Shepard? You've been on borrowed time since Akuze and you know it. On the other hand, there are less complicated ways of committing suicide and damn you, Shepard, you owe it to Storm to get her out of this.

With an effort, Shepard hauled her mind back to the here and now. Immediately to her right was a secondary tunnel. Moving as quietly as possible, the Spectre eased up to the mouth of the tunnel and peeked around. Clear. Good. Sidling into the cross tunnel, Shepard crouched in the shadows, blade in hand, waiting.

---

Mentally, T'larn had already spent his million credit bonus - a luxury cruiser so he could sail the stars at leisure with a bevy of women catering to his every whim. Hell, his own island on a tropical world somewhere. The young batarian had forgotten a very basic lesson - always maintain situational awareness and, as fate would have it, he was about to relearn that lesson.

Ignoring the gagging stench, Shepard took several deep, calming breaths as she centred herself. She could hear the hunter - for who else would it be? - sloshing up the tunnel towards her position.

A tall hardsuited figure strode along, passing the cross-tunnel without so much as a sideways glance. Rising from her crouch, Shepard extended her right arm, tensing and relaxing the muscles in a specific sequence. Her body was suffused in the blue-purple corona of a biotic manipulating dark energy. The glow illuminated the area around Shepard and now the hunter took notice, spinning around to face her, shotgun swinging up, but too slowly. Her very being hummed with power and, channelling pent up anger aimed both at the batarians and herself, Shepard slammed the hunter into the tunnel wall. He hit hard enough to cause dirt and dust to rain down from the curved roof of the tunnel and as he fell limply forward into the sludge, Shepard saw a number of cracks radiating out from the impact point.

Warily, the Spectre moved in on the hunter, alert to any movements. He was probably dead - the impact likely enough to shatter his spine and pulp his organs but probably wasn't a gamble she was willing to take. Reactivating her kinetic barriers, Shepard worked the toe of one boot beneath the limp form and flipped him so he was face up. Quickly, Shepard unsealed the helmet and tossed it aside. Oh yeah, he was dead, all right. All four eyes were rolled back in their sockets and blood trickled from the nose and ears.

Methodically, Shepard began stripping the corpse of anything usable. The shotgun was a model unfamiliar to her but she was glad of it anyway. Carefully examining it for any signs of damage, Shepard saw a sigil engraved into the weapon. Probably the batarian version of Death Before Dishonour. Executing a mental shrug, Shepard ejected the ammunition block and held it up to the light. Shredder rounds. Beautiful.Shotgun reloaded and clipped to the small of her back, Shepard turned her attention the rest of the batarian's gear: a sidearm loaded with inferno rounds, an assault rifle and even a sniper rifle. You're a regular boy scout, aren't ya?

Smiling slightly, Shepard fitted the weapons to the hardpoints on her armour before removing the omni-tool from the batarian's left forearm. The omni-tool bathed the area with the same amber glow common to all such devices as Shepard activated it and began examining the stored data files for anything of interest. At that point, Shepard's good luck evaporated - the files were all in batarian and while Shepard could identify a few words or phrases, without some way of translating it, the information was useless. Still, if she could find the Lieutenant, Storm would be able to make effective use of the omni-tool's offensive abilities.

Before continuing on down the tunnel, Shepard examined the batarian's hardsuit. The compact powerplant feeding the kinetic barriers and sensor suite had been crippled by her assault but Shepard noticed a secondary kinetic barrier emitter that seemed undamaged. Though not trained in electronics, Shepard noted that the secondary emitter was a universal type that - theoretically at least - could be used to augment her own hardsuit. Working carefully, Shepard prised the emitter from its housing, felt around on her back for the port on her own suit and slot the emitter into place.

Nothing happened.

"Son of a whore!" the Commander hissed through clenched teeth before slamming her fist against her suit's rear armour plate. For a wonder, the 'percussive maintenance' seemed to do the trick as the emitter powered on, hummed briefly as the suit's power output spiked then stabilised. Her HUD readouts indicated that her barriers were operating at peak capacity.

Sparing a final glance at the batarian who had so willingly donated his gear, Shepard continued up the tunnel towards the exit.

---

The mission timer on her HUD told Storm that thirty minutes had elapsed since her grace period expired. The Marine officer pounded across the cracked urban landscape she'd found herself in after exiting the hallway. It was still night. This world has one hell of a long day-night cycle, she thought randomly as she ran. Hers wasn't the mindless, panicky flat out run of prey struggling to flee a hunter. Hers was the measured run of a soldier with a destination in mind - the line of residential buildings crumbling into dust a few hundred metres up the road. If she was lucky, she'd be able to find a makeshift weapon in one of the units. Failing that, a place to hole up for a little while and plan. She snorted laughter as she neared the closest building. Plan. For what? Your funeral? Slowing to a walk, Hailstorm approached the apartment unit at a crouch, keeping below the level of the windows.

The door to the apartment building was gone and from the way the door frame was twisted and warped, it appeared to have been blown open with an explosive charge. Feeling the pulse beat in her throat, Storm sidled through the doorway, taking time to allow her eyes to adjust to the dimness.

The timer in her HUD ticked down her final thirty seconds as she moved as quietly as possible through the ruins of the apartment building. The furniture, long abandoned by the planet's former inhabitants lay mostly in ruins of old timber and tubular metal framing. Keeping an eye on her sensor displays, Hayley began picking through the wreckage. Ideally she wanted a firearm, preferably something in a large calibre but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Kneeling over a hefty looking wooden table leg, a red blip flashed up on the very edges of her sensor display. "Damn it," Storm whispered. Holding the table leg in a two-handed grip as though about to swing a baseball bat, she moved deeper into the apartment.

Through the scope of his rifle, Va'ath watched the human run towards the apartment building and disappear inside. It would have been depressingly easy to stroke the trigger of the sniper rifle and put the woman down with a single shot to her heart. Instead, Va'ath decided to do things up close and personal. It would be more fun that way. Perhaps even challenging. Collapsing the rifle into its storage configuration, Va'ath began closing in on his target.

Well, here we go Hayles. You've got yourself an admirer and he's about to make his interest in you known. Fuck, he's only twenty metres away; he's practically on top of me. Jesus! OK, OK. Breathe, breathe. I wonder if I'll ever see my nieces again...

Va'ath stepped nimbly through the twisted front entryway, his bulk belying his graceful motions and paused to remove the combat talon from its left forearm sheathe. A glance at his HUD revealed a stationary red blip somewhere inside the building, about twenty metres from his position. He snarled in disgust - the silly bitch hadn't even deactivated her shields and the energy signature was leading him straight to her. Oh well, what could one expect from a human?

Sweat trickled from the Lieutenant's hairline and into her right eye, stinging but she didn't dare release her grip on the makeshift club to wipe her eyes. Footsteps crunched across the wrecked furniture on the other side of the wall. Hayley pressed herself up against the wall alongside the doorway leading into the bedroom where she was lying in wait. The hunter had to know she was there but probably believed that, fully armed and armoured, he had the advantage. And in a way, he did. What he didn't have was the nothing to lose, all or nothing attitude of a soldier who was likely about to die in the next few moments but determined to go out swinging for all she was worth. Hayley hoped that would be enough.

The human was right on the other side of the wall. Briefly, Va'ath considered foregoing the blade and opening up with his shotgun right through the wall then shook his head, discarding the idea. He would honour his victim in hand to hand combat. Or in this case, hand to blade. Mandibles twitching in amusement, the turian stepped through the doorway. A flash of movement from the left heralded the heavy piece of timber slamming into the side of his helmeted head. Grunting more in surprise than pain, Va'ath spun to face his attacker, the woman he'd observed earlier. She swung the wooden table leg again, hoping to connect with his head a second time but Va'ath easily ducked the swing, lunged forward and, before the woman could move to block him, slammed the combat talon into her abdomen.

For a brief instant, Hayley had the advantage. The impact of her improvised club against the turian's head sent a jolt along her arms. Her opponent wheeled around to face her and Hayley raised the club again, had time to think I may have made a slight tactical error before a searing pain slammed into her stomach. Her mouth opened to cry out but no sound came, only a pained gasp. Her hands opened, releasing the leg to the floor. Storm's knees buckled and she would have fallen if not for the turian clamping one hand to her shoulder to hold her upright while the other yanked the blade out. This time she did cry out.

Va'ath sighed to himself. It was too easy. Even handicapping himself by using only a blade, he'd still managed to take down his quarry with little appreciable effort on his part. Of course, the human was still alive but, judging from the flow of blood from her hardsuit, she wouldn't be for much longer. Va'ath studied her without pity, laying on the floor, breathing in shallow, pained gasps, hands pressing uselessly against the rent in her armour, a futile attempt to stem the flow.

Va'ath sighed again. There won't even any cameras in this particular room to record the moment, that really irked him. "Human, call me a media whore if you must but you and I have a date with the cameras." Va'ath picked up the woman, slung her over his shoulder as though she were a sack of grain and headed back outside.

Barely conscious, Storm was still faintly aware of the turian slinging her over his shoulder and heading back through the apartment. Just finish me off, you sadist. Slung over the hunter's shoulders, her hands dangled oh-so-close to his sidearm. With gritted teeth, Hayley's right hand closed over thin air mere centimetres from the grip. Before she could try again, she was flung bodily to the hard ground, the impact sending agony through her. It felt as though she'd been run through with a steel girder. Waves of blackness washed over her and her ears were filled with a roaring sound. Desperately she fought to hold onto consciousness, fought for the will to do something, anything. Oh great, now I'm hallucinating! Coming in behind the turian at a full run, aglow with biotic energy appeared to be Commander Shepard. Yeah, I'm bleeding out, going into shock and hallucinating. Still, there are worse things to see before I punch out, I guess.

Hayley's eyes slid closed.

---

Oooh, a cliffhanger. I'm a right bastard, aren't I?