Act 1-Scene II: The Afterlife Situation

"NOW!"

The blur struck. All hell broke loose.

The stranger saw the turian's eyes shift at the last second, and managed to squirm his body to the side- just in time to dodge the blow of the hooded woman who appeared out of thin air behind him.

Below the hood, a pair of bright luminescent eyes widened in surprise.

The stranger grabbed the woman's arm with rattlesnake speed, twisted it behind her back, and grabbed her other arm as she reached for the Locust submachine gun strapped to her side. Wrapping his paw around her small fist, he guided her like a puppet, slamming the butt of the SMG into the turian's face. The turian, who had dove for a shotgun hidden under the bar, was knocked out cold.

The stranger spun around with his back to the bar, jamming the Locust under the woman's chin with one hand while his other forced the girl's arm closer to her shoulder blade. He wasn't surprised to see that nearly everyone in the club had drawn a weapon. Patrons had drawn concealed heavy pistols, Aria's bodyguards were brandishing assault weapons from their raised platform, and even strippers had produced hummingbird sized handguns from discrete holsters. The music had stopped; the DJ popped out of his booth, waving a pair of SMG's. Everyone was yelling and screaming, except for the stranger. He removed his gun hand momentarily from the woman's head, pressed his thumb and middle finger to his lips, and let out an earsplitting whistle.

So voluminous was the shriek of that whistle, vorcha in the tunnels below the club howled and bashed their heads against the walls.

When the whistle stopped, the club was deadly silent. The stranger spoke. "Thank you, everyone, for shutting their fucking pie holes for a moment."

The woman squirmed in his grip. He twisted her arm further, and she let out a squeal of pain. He leaned closer to the woman's hood and whispered into her ear, "Sweetheart, I admire your tenacity, but if you don't stop fidgeting, I swear to God, I'll break your goddamn arm off!"

She stopped, panting and cursing him out in Japanese. He paid no attention. "What's your name, my little minx, and please, don't lie to me."

"Kasumi." Her voice was racked with pain.

"Kasumi. Kasumi Goto, the master thief, I presume?"

"Yes."

"Now who do you work for Kasumi?"

"You know who."

"Say…her…name."

"…Shepherd…" she breathed.

"How long were you behind me, Kasumi?"

"Long enough." She whispered through clenched teeth.

"You know why I'm here?"

"Yes."

"Why am I here?"

"To kill Shep…" She stopped short as he drove her hand within touching distance of her shoulder blade.

"That is incorrect, Kasumi. That's one strike against you. Two more and its batter out. Savvy?"

No response. The stranger poked the SMG harder under her chin. "Savvy?"

"Yes, you cow's twat!"

"Good. Now, contrary to what you think, I'm not here to kill Shepherd. Assuming we've established that increment, perhaps we can move on with this relationship. For starters, is Shepherd here? Is she in this room, at this exact moment in time?"

"Yes."

"Good. Would you excuse me for a minute?" Raising his head, he addressed the still silent crowd in the Afterlife club, yelling at nobody and everybody. "Shepheeeeeeerd! I know you're in here. Now if you're as half as smart as everybody keeps telling me, you've already set up a sniper position, and got a bead on me the moment I entered this room. Good plan, you covering Kasumi while she eavesdropped on me. Course, you probably didn't take into account the fidgety bartender, or that Kasumi had even a china man's chance of missing me. That, then, brings us to our current situation. I got a gun on Kasumi, you've got your gun on me, and everybody else has guns on everybody else. I'd say that makes a nasty Mexican stand off, would you agree?"

Silence. Then Kasumi's omni-tool glowed as she received a call. The stranger shifted his pinky, felt around her ear, and clicked the earpiece that connected to the omni tool. Kasumi listened for a moment, then spoke to her captor. "It's for you."

The stranger quickly took the earpiece, inserted it into his own ear. The voice on the other end spoke. "Yeah, I'd say this is a Mexican stand-off."

The stranger grinned. Just like the voice in all those recruitment ads that had plagued the extranet for nearly two years. "Sterling. So, since we're at an impasse, how about we find a mutual agreement? You come out, we both put down our guns, and you, me, and sweet Kasumi here walk out like the badasses we are?"

"No. Not until you answer some questions."

"Is this really the time? Kasumi, you tell the Commander, is this really the time?" The stranger twisted her arm further and the master thief cried out in pain.

The commander's voice was icy. "If you hurt her, I'll…"

"You'll kill where I stand, whereupon I shoot Kasumi on reflex, and you leave here with one less ally on your ship and one more problem on your shoulders."

Silence. Then, "What do you want?"

"Peace of mind."

"No, what do you…"

"I want you and I to talk, face to face. No guns, no guns you, no guns me."

Silence again. Then an armored figure appeared on the balcony where the dancers stood, cloak vanishing off her N7 armor. A red-headed, pale woman with vivid green eyes and a long scar on her cheek, armed with a Viper sniper rifle, pointed directly at the stranger. The stranger yanked the SMG out from under Kasumi's throat and pointed it at the sniper. "Shepherd, now, what in the hell is this? I said no guns, and we got guns on each other. That is not an agreement, that is right back to a Mexican standoff!"

Shepherd calmly squinted down her scope. "Yeah, and it'll stay that way until you answer my questions."

"Hateful witch," the stranger murmured, but he shook his head and gave in. "Alright, shoot."

"Who are you?"

"A mercenary."

"Name, idiot."

"…Whistler." Whistler let out a low whistle to emphasize his point.

"Alright Whistler, lets talk. The Alliance sent you, but you're not here to kill me?"

"No."

"You're lying."

"Then shoot me. Start a shit storm and make sure nobody leaves this room alive. That's what those Alliance boys told me you're good at."

"What?" She spat furiously.

"Raising hell, leaving no survivors. That's why the fingered you for the abductions."

"Then they're getting stupider than I thought."

"Desperate, is more like it. There's no colonies left to loot, everybody's in an uproar, Alliance's looking for somebody to blame. It's not personal, it's just that it's your turn to be on the shit end of the stick."

"So it seems. And that's why you were sent to find me?"

"And bring you in, yes."

"And if I have no intention of being, 'brought in'?"

"Well, that brings us right back to square one, then, doesn't it?"

"Yes it does." Shepherd lowered her rifle, slowly, and stood up straight. "Kasumi…"

"Yes, Shepherd?" Kasumi murmured weakly.

"I'm sorry." Then the commander disappeared as she cloaked a second time. Whistler brought the SMG back under Kasumi's chin.

The sound of a shotgun cocking shifted his aim, however, and he spun around and pumped a dozen rounds into the turian barkeep, who had revived long enough to grab his shotgun. Kasumi, seizing the moment, twisted out of his death grip, grabbed her SMG, and cloaked. A shot rang out, and a high powered round was deflected off a barrier surrounding Whistler.

That's when hell really broke loose. Everyone opened fire at everyone else, cutting the air with light and sound. Whistler rolled under the gunfire, came up with his arms free. The poncho had fallen away, revealing his right arm.

The appendage glowed with biotic energy. A complex series of channels ran down from his elbow to the glittering cestus that armored his right hand. Flexing, the cestus became engulfed in the energy, and a pulse of blue erupted from his fingers and struck an unfortunate batarian, sending him into a crowd of panicked customers who were firing wildly in all directions.

With his left hand Whistler drew a slim, long barreled pistol with an extended magazine from a holster at his side. The pistol spat, nearly silent, and armor piercing rounds sent three turians and an asari crumpling to the ground.

Whistler waded through the crowd, alternating between firing with his pistol and sending bolts of biotic energy from his fingertips. Those that got too close received a crushing blow from the cestus itself.

Whistler caved in the skull of a human, shot two more batarians, and spotted, through the crush, Shepherd and Kasumi. They were moving quickly towards the door, firing machine pistols at anyone who took aim at them. Time was of the essence.

Concentrating, Whistler roared, and loosed a series of shockwaves from his fist. The combatants in front of him bowled over like pins, and Whistler closed distance in two strides. Shepherd looked up from finishing off a turian armed with a knife. She raised her pistol to strike Whistler, but he was faster, and sent his armored fist into her side, around the spot where her lungs were. She gasped and crumpled. Kasumi raised her fist to strike and was rewarded with a head butt that sent her sprawling.

Whistler stooped to pick up Shepherd when a hammer blow slammed into the back of his skull. He dropped to his knees and found an armored knee waiting for his chin. Sprawled on his back, his vision swam, then momentarily focused on the cold turian face looking down on him.

"What the…where'd you come….where'd you come from," he murmured weakly.

The turian didn't answer as he raised his Vindicator rifle like a baseball bat.

Quite suddenly, Whistler's head found the floor.

Voices, distant but distinct.

"…I'm sorry, Aria."

" 'Sorry' doesn't clean the bloodstains off the floor, Shepherd."

"I didn't mean for it to end like this. If you're looking for someone to blame, I'd suggest looking towards the bartender and his itchy trigger finger."

"You were the one who was running a sting operation in my nightclub. You were the one who brought me a bloody mercenary and asked for a favor."

"Aria, if they came after me, it's only a matter of time before they send more."

"Is that a threat?"

"A warning. How do you think business will fare if an Alliance strike group shows up on your doorstep?"

"…So then, what do you need?"

"A private booth, no interruptions, for two hours."

"You have the restrooms for an hour and a half. After that, you, your ship, and your new 'friend' had better be gone, or I'll be ruining my nice streak tonight, Shepherd."

"Thanks."

Boots marching off. Silence. Then-

"Are you alright commander?" The slightly sibilant voice of a male turian resonated.

"Fine. A cold gun barrel prodded his head. "What do you think?"

"Definitely a mercenary m'am. I didn't think the Alliance would steep so low."

"Neither did I."

"I say we put two in his back, leave him to rot in some gutter."

Silence. Whistler tensed slightly.

"No, not yet. We need to see how much he knows. We'll take him, put the pressure on him, get as much information as we can. Then, and only then, we'll decide if he's worth keeping, or killing."

Whistler relaxed, which was good, because his headache was bad enough without tensing up. He was captured, but alive, if for only an hour and a half more.

A lot could happen in an hour and a half.