Chapter Three
The less-visited regions of Omega carried an even seedier atmosphere about them; thankfully, that was exactly the kind Zaeed had been looking for. Here, in the absolutely destitute apartment blocks that peppered the lower levels of Omega, he would find his courier.
Years of experience traveling Omega's back alleys and sleazy pubs allowed Zaeed to pinpoint The Hole, a low-class strip club and bar buried deep within the urban sprawl. He entered the dark bar, his ears immediately assaulted by the deep thundering bass of electric beats, his good eye all but blinded by the neon adverts along the walls boasting imported liqour and cheap sex. He made his way up to the bar tended by a scarred krogan and slid onto one of the wooden stools. The krogan, a long silver of wood twitching between his scaly lips, approached him and grunted, "What'll it be?"
"The good stuff," Zaeed replied, laying his rifle beside him on the bar, and gesturing at the assortment of bottles behind the krogan. The barkeep produced a glass, fetched an unmarked bottle, and poured a helping of thick green liqour. He pushed it towards Zaeed, who caught it and took it down in one smooth motion. He snarled slightly as the burning liquid seared down his throat, then gestured for another one. While the barkeep poured him another shot, Zaeed took a moment to survey the bar's other patrons.
A trio of shady turians sat in the corner, their spiky heads concealed in half-hoods as they whispered amongst themselves. They sneered at Zaeed in what they considered a threatening manner and continued their private conversation. Some young batarians surrounded another table, dancers of various species perched in their laps and looking thoroughly bored. One of the dancers, an asari with bright facial markings, caught his eye and smiled invitingly at him. Zaeed let his eyes drift away from the hopeful young woman, grinning when he found his future courier.
A rotund volus sat on a stack of books, his tiny hands gripping an oversized jug of what appeared to be batarian ale. He appeared more anxious than normal, his beady eyes scanning the room and his breathing very audible through his mask's vents. Zaeed couldn't determine the portly alien's age -- could never tell with suited people -- but got the gut feeling this one was relatively young. Young meant easily manipulated.
Zaeed motioned to the krogan for a second glass of the strong liqour, then walked over to where the volus sat staring widely about him. He started openly when Zaeed's shadow crossed over the rickety table, his breath hissing through the vents sharply. "Oh! Hello, Earth Clan," he greeted in a shaky voice. "Can -- can I help you with something?"
"On the contrary, friend, I think I might be able to help you with something," Zaeed replied smoothly, sliding into the chair across the volus and pushing the second glass in his direction. The volus peered at the viscous liqour apprehensively, then glanced back up into Zaeed's face.
"Thank you," the volus replied, pulling the glass towards him with grasping fingertips. Just as with his previous drink, he simply sat there with it between his hands. "So. Uhm. Come here often?"
Zaeed gave a soft snort and shook his head. Must've picked that up from a human somewhere; didn't even sound like he knew what it meant. Young and stupid. The perfect combination. "Now and again," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. He took a slow sip of his own drink, single good eye watching the tiny alien in front of him. Volus were almost as greedy as batarians despite being very adept at gathering fortune. It was usually hard to swindle an experienced volus trader, but this one looked like this was his first time off his homeworld.
"You look like you're waiting for someone," Zaeed remarked conversationally. The volus stared at him, silent.
"I'm not, not really," he admitted. "I just thought this place looked interesting."
"Why come down here and not up near Afterlife? This place is a shithole."
The volus cast a nervous glance at the scowling krogan barkeep, the latter's sharp hearing having picked up on Zaeed's comment. "No, no, I like it. It's very, uhm...rustic."
"I'm thinking," Zaeed pressed, leaning over the table closer to the volus' masked face. "that you come here because you're too poor for Afterlife."
The volus blinked and inhaled loudly. "Yes," he acquiesced. "I am too poor. I was mugged leaving the port when my shuttle left. Thugs took everything. I found some creds lying on the sidewalk before I got here. I just wanted to be off the street and this was the closest place."
"That's a damned shame, friend!" Zaeed thumped his fist on the table, feigning sympathy for the volus' plight. This went unnoticed by the sighing alien, who shrugged his small shoulders at his misfortune.
"My friends told me Omega was the place to go," the volus continued, seemingly happy to have an audience listen to him complain. "They never said I would be robbed!" He breathed in, a great wheezing sound that made Zaeed's blind eye twitch. "I don't know what I'll do now. How am I supposed to get home without money?"
"I knew I could help you," Zaeed declared firmly, stabbing the air between them for emphasis. "You're in luck, friend. I have a certain job that would be perfect for you!"
"What is it?" the volus perked up on his book stack. Zaeed, knowing it would be best to keep the volus on tenterhooks about the details of the job, feigned reluctance and leaned back in his chair. The volus wriggled more on his books, clearly eager.
"It might be too dangerous, now that I think about it," Zaeed mused with false despair.
"I don't mind danger!" the volus insisted. "I kicked the thugs who robbed me! Did I tell you that?"
"Well done, friend!" Zaeed exclaimed, continuing to bait the ignorant alien. "All right, all right. If you think you could handle it, here's what I need you to do..."
********
Zaeed gazed out across the courtyard with his sniper rifle's scope, following the awkward gait of the volus as he approached the Blue Suns recruiting base. Upon discovering the Suns were still using all of the old buildings on Omega, Zaeed had smirked in contempt. Vido had become careless, believing stability was the best way to conduct business. He'd always been more of an entrepreneur than a merc, treating his role in the Suns as though he were a businessman and not a grunt for hire. Zaeed had always handled the meaty details, doling out factions to those with enough creds to afford it. Seeing the same beat-up warehouses and guard points hardened his determination to reclaim what was his. He would make damned sure not to be so obvious once he was in charge again. If he had to, he'd blow the old bases to rubble and rebuild elsewhere. No wonder Garrus had been able to infiltrate Omega's faction: they practically had a welcome mat on their front stoop!
The volus was at the door now speaking to a Suns sentry. Zaeed adjusted the comm feed from the bug he'd slapped on the alien's enviro-suit, listening in.
"-- have a job for you," the volus was saying importantly. Apparently the wad of cash Zaeed had shoved into the volus' paws had given the alien a sense of self-importance. And arrogance. Zaeed gave a small grunt. Volus were smug bastards already; guess it came naturally when creds were involved.
Good. The volus was inside. Zaeed could hear a mishmash of alien voices as the volus moved through the base. In order to facilitate the lie better, Zaeed had fed the volus some farfetched tale of revenge on another volus merchant he and Shepard had encountered while on Illium: Pitne For. Of course, they would never make it out past the courtyard to check into the false job before Zaeed ambushed them and established his first wave of command. It would be simple: flash his Suns tattoo, shoot off a few rounds to intimidate them, and begin laying down some ground rules. No doubt all factions had heard about the deaths of Vido and of the multiple captains in the Terminus. Many of the remaining bosses would probably be marshaling their remaining forces, maybe even deciding on a new CEO. Good thing Zaeed was there to fill the role.
It wasn't common knowledge the position of the Suns tattoo mattered. Many of the original members bore their marks out in the open on their necks. It was an easy way to identify the commanding officers while in a fire fight or out of uniform. None of the Suns he'd seen during his time with Shepard possessed the iconic neck tattoo; this meant very few of the "old guard" were still alive. He knew reaching them would be crucial in reclaiming dominance. They would be the only ones left who knew Zaeed to be the second founder and original merc commander. While he doubted any of them were present on Omega, it was still an ideal kick-off point.
It took about fifteen minutes for the volus to be escorted to the captain's quarters. Zaeed had taken to leaning against the building's ledge while he listened in, toying with his rifle while he waited to strike. Then, the captain's voice sounded through the uplink: deeper than a young captain would sound, the captain's voice was gruff, experienced. Zaeed twisted to look back down at the base through the scope, scanning the windows for signs of the captain's quarters.
"I'll be damned..." Zaeed murmured, a feral grin on his face. "That old son of a bitch is still alive!" He lowered his rifle, collapsed it, and slapped it back into it port. He hurried over to the steel ladder leading to the ground, slid down it swiftly, and started for the base. The captain of the Omega faction had turned out to be one of the founding members, a battle-roughened ex-Alliance soldier named Samson. He'd been with Zaeed and Vido damn near the very beginning, acting directly under Zaeed's orders when on jobs. He'd been one of the best mercs the Suns ever had next to Zaeed himself. Knowing he was alive and right here bolstered Zaeed's enthusiasm. Regaining control over the Suns suddenly seemed a lot more cut and dry.
As Zaeed neared the base entrance, a sudden hail of gunfire erupted over the comm link. Zaeed wrenched the ear piece away with a surprised shout, still able to hear the apparent massacre raging inside even at this range.
Sabotage!
The veteran merc withdrew his twin pistols and kicked in the door, sending it splintering before him as he raced inside. He rolled for cover as a stream of shot exploded overhead, pinging sharply against the wall behind him. The entire place was in a panicked uproar. Armored man upon armored man poured out from the various doorways, their weapons ablaze with gunfire. Zaeed craned his head to seek out the attacker. A gleam of what seemed like blue armor flashed briefly from a catwalk as its owner took cover again.
"Samson!" Zaeed breathed. "That bastard is after Samson!" With the realization that his first successful capture of a Blue Suns faction was about to be ruined, Zaeed shot out from cover, pistols aimed towards the catwalks and fired a few warning shots, hoping to lure the assassin out. In the mania around him, none of the Blue Suns took notice of this stranger in their midst, their attention firmly focused on disabling the intruder. Zaeed dodged through the ocean of blue and white armor, his face and legs peppered with blood spray from the men as they fell around him. He spied a stairwell that led to the catwalks, diverted his course, and sprinted up it.
Behind a pile of packing crates a shadowy figure hunched. Zaeed barked at the intruder harshly, causing the other to become distracted briefly. From below, a bullet sliced the air and struck the assassin in the shoulder, knocking him back with a grunt. Glancing down, Zaeed saw a bloodied Samson with a rifle in the crook of his unbroken arm. Temporary relief washed over him to see his old friend still standing and fighting back; a fatal error that allowed the assassin to fire off a few shots at him. A bullet struck his thigh and he collapsed, cursing loudly. From the corner of his eye he saw the man take aim and release a single shot. The familiar kershunk of a headshot meeting its target echoed in the base and Zaeed knew then Samson had been killed. He grimaced against the pain in his thigh, turning narrowed eyes to the assassin's bulk. Another flash of blue and the man was gone, having thrown himself through a skylight. Zaeed could hear heavy footfalls thundering on the roof above, then silence.
He lay crouched on the catwalk, blood seeping from his leg wound as he fumbled in his side pack for medigel. He could hear the surviving mercs screaming for medigel as well, not that it would've done much good for a headshot victim. Zaeed leaned against one of the crates wearily while the medigel stopped the bleeding, listening to the commotion going on below. When he heard one of them announce Samson was dead, he closed his eyes tightly. Whoever that assassin was, his lifespan just got a lot shorter.
Deciding it would be best to reveal himself, Zaeed heaved himself up onto his good leg and limped down the catwalk stairs to the main floor. Immediately, a dozen or more rifles and shotguns were pointed at him; no doubt they assumed he'd been with the assassin. A reasonable suspicion. He hobbled to the middle of the assembled armored men to where Samson lay with his rifle over his chest. The laying of one's weapon on their bodies was a sign of respect. Nice to know that hadn't gone out of fashion during Vido's reign. Ignoring the jerky motions of the guns at his head, Zaeed lowered himself to Samson's side and bowed his head.
"Hey," one of the mercs on his right said, bringing his weapon down a bit. "Look!" He pointed at Zaeed's neck. His companions crowded around the two men in the center of the room, murmuring in confusion and surprise. Zaeed inclined his head towards them, good eye staring them down with every ounce of authority he possessed.
"How many more of the old guard are alive?" he asked gruffly of the young man nearest him. The merc shook his head, puzzled by the question. Zaeed drew a deep breath, steadying himself. "Original members, you daft bastard. How many more?"
"I...I don't know, uhm, sir," the merc replied uneasily. "There's just too many factions to be sure of every member."
Zaeed cursed softly, then started to rise. Two mercs close to him put their arms out for support and helped him to his feet. A turian in the back lifted a hand for attention.
"Who are you and why do you have a neck tattoo? That's reserved for high-ranking officials only."
"That's because I am a 'high-ranking official', you stupid son of a bitch," Zaeed snapped irritably. He straightened to his full height despite the pain still screaming in his leg. "Name's Massani. Zaeed Massani. I founded this damn group twenty-five years ago with Vido Santiago. This," he jerked his finger at his neck tattoo, "was given to me by Vido himself. I was the one to give him his. Vido is dead. The Blue Suns default to me by right."
"Assuming what you say is true, Massani," the turian countered, "you can't just come in here and expect us to follow you."
"That so?" Zaeed demanded almost casually. The turian nodded.
"Yes, that's so."
The turian smiled smugly, but only until the single bullet fired from Zaeed's gun had blown it from his face forever. The turian's headless body crumbled to the floor, the mercs behind him covered in navy blood and openly screaming in terror. Zaeed stood in the center of the room, smoking pistol in his hand. He jerked it violently and sent the heat sink to the ground, his eye glaring around at the remaining mercs. Many of them looked about ready to shit themselves; perfect. Exactly the kind of reaction he'd been hoping for.
The crackle over his commlink with Shepard sounded in his ear, followed by Shepard's voice. "How're we doing, Zaeed?" she asked. Zaeed calmly touched his earpiece, eye still on the mercs around him.
"We've got a problem."