Act I-Scene III: Restroom Quickie

A deluge of icy cold water propelled Whistler back into the world of the living. He looked around wildly. Three figures stood before him- Shepherd, her pretty face etched into a sour expression, Kasumi, her hood thrown off and an ice pack held to her pale forehead, and the Turian who had went yard on Whistler's head earlier. All three regarded him with suspicious eyes and crinkled frowns. Whistler cleared his throat, and decided to make first move.

"Let's see," he murmured half to himself, licking his lips. He jerked his chin, the only free part of his body, towards Kasumi. "That's Kasumi Goto, the master thief." He turned to the turian. "That's former C-Sec officer Garrus Vakarian, nightly known as the turian vigilante, "Archangel"." Finally his gaze settled. "And you must be Lieutenant Commander Shepherd, former Savior of the Citadel, Hero of the Alliance, now wanted terrorist and consort of ultra-xenophobic group codenamed "Cerberus"." Whistler shook his head, pausing to tug at the bonds that held him to the chair. He was in a dank and dirty bathroom, probably still in Afterlife.

"Impressive resume, isn't it?" Shepherd responded nonchalantly. "Don't you think, Garrus?"

"I'd hire you." Garrus thumbed the machine pistol at his side.

Whistler snorted. "Oh, now what's this, eh? Good cop and bad cop? Shepherd's the brains, you're the muscle, she asks the questions, you adminster the pain…?"

Shepherd took two steps forward and backhanded Whistler with her gauntlet. Whistler's head jerked to the side, and he grunted in pain. There was momentary silence in the cramped bathroom, but then Whistler spat a thin line of bloody saliva to the floor, and looked up, his smile crimson and horrible.

Shepherd moved to his left side. "Mr. Whistler, you appear to be operating under the delusion that this is a 'good cop, bad cop' situation. This isn't a 'good cop, bad cop' situation, it's not even a 'cop' situation. This is 'between a rock and a hard place' situation. You're between a turian vigilante," she said as Garrus took post at Whistler's right, "and a wanted killer with very little to lose."

Garrus squeezed Whistler's shoulder none too gently. "We'll be asking the questions, scum bag, and you damn well better answer them."

Whistler sighed. Behind his back, his fingers were already picked at the knotted cords that bound him to the chair. "Well, at least you got the expression right."

"Excuse me?"

" 'Scum bag'. You're the first turian tonight to actually properly insult me. Some turians say 'muck bag' or 'fuck bag', which, in themselves, are actually half decent insults. But some really screw up and say 'cum bag', and that, that's just three shades of wrong."

Garrus glanced at Shepherd. She shrugged, then focused her gaze on Whistler. "Alright, your name is Whistler. You're a mercenary, hired by the Alliance to hunt me down, because they think I'm responsible for the colony abductions. You were sent to bring me in- alive, I'm presuming- not kill me. That about right?"

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

"That's just great. Now," Shepherd stooped eye level with Whistler and focused her scalpel gaze on him, "how long have you been following me?"

"Since Horizon."

"Since Horizon?"

"Yep. That was the only positive sighting the Alliance had of you since you dropped by the Citadel and cursed out the Council. Nice move, by the way."

Shepherd ignored the comment. "Who sent you, specifically? Who gave the order?"

"There were three of them, two underbosses and one ring leader. They brought me in, plunked me down in a shockingly similar situation to this, and gave me the specifics."

"Give me their names."

"No."

A strike from Garrus, right cheek. Whistler spat blood on the turian's boot. "Regards from my aching jaw, you mandible mouthed bastard."

Shepherd continued. "…How much did they pay you."

Whistler matched her searing emerald eyes with his disinterested brown stare. "They paid me enough for me to start tracking you, but not enough to buy my discretion."

"How typical. The only code you hired guns live by is the cash." Garrus spat.

"Cash and discretion, Archangel. The two go hand in hand. And seeing as how I've broken the discretion rule, I might as well break the cash rule too." He looked back towards Shepherd. "Take me. I'm yours."

Even under her ice pack, Kasumi giggled. Everyone else was silent.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sitting here, bound and helpless as it was, my life in your hands. How much time has gone by since Aria gave you the restroom? Ten minutes? Fifteen? You can have me here a week and a half and fuck me up, down, side-to-side and I won't breathe a word of what I know…"

"You know jack-shit!"

"I know things, you know jack shit."

Silence.

"My fate is in your hands. You can kill me, but that won't help you any which way. You can torture me, and get a good laugh out of it, and that's all. You can recruit me, and I'll point you in the right direction, help hunt down those pecker suckers that called the dogs on you. So, I sit here, on the threshold of damnation or salvation, telling you, 'I'm yours. Take me'."

All three of his captors looked at him in stunned silence. Garrus looked vaguely pissed, Kasumi, under a mask of irritation, looked somewhat intrigued, and Shepherd simply looked shocked.

"Kasumi, Garrus, wait outside."

"Shepherd, wait. Are you sure…"

"Just do it."

The two slunk out of the restroom, leaving Whistler and Shepherd alone. The latter drew something from her thigh holster. Whistler recognized his sidearm. "So, that's where you scampered off to."

Shepherd said nothing as she examined the pistol. Finally she looked up. "I've never seen anything like this before."

"Alliance prototype, Special Ops handgun. Designated XM66 Sidewinder. Whisper quiet with an enhanced mass accelerator for hyper velocity rounds. Fifteen shots per heat sink."

Shepherd snapped the heat sink into the slot and aimed at the wall. "Custom sights. Nice."

"Thank you."

Then Shepherd aimed at Whistler. "Now, this is me aiming your Sidewinder at you. What's your first reaction?"

Whistler closed his eyes, the cool muzzle feeling great against his blistering headache. "Bliss."

Shepherd laughed, harshly but at the same time musically. Whistler smiled. The laughter cut off almost immediately though, and Shepherd regarded the captive with a strange look.

"What is this?"

"I'd say a hostile interrogation."

"No, I mean, why? Why would you offer to help me? You're a mercenary for crying out loud. You were hired to bring me in, not to turn coat and help me? So, you tell me, what are you playing at? Why?"

Whistler was silent. He looked down and studied the bloodstains on his boots. When he spoke again, it was with a far off voice, as if he wasn't there, but somewhere in his past. "Because a long time ago, I knew a person just like you. A person who was doing the right thing, but getting killed over it. And there was no one to help them." He looked up, brown eyes calm and sincere. "Now, if you're going to execute me, spare no hesitation. If not, then lets get the hell out of here."

Shepherd studied him, then slowly replaced the pistol into her holster. She took a step back, and studied her reflection in the cracked mirror. "So, assuming you're actually speaking the truth instead of spouting bullshit, you know who these guys are?"

Whistler's fingers were aching, but he had the first knot undone. "Yep."

"You can contact them?"

"No, but I know how to find them."

" 'How to find them', not 'where to find them'?"

"Yep."

"Why should I trust you?"

Second knot was undone. "So don't. But I know the names, and you probably know the place already."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't know. They just said I'd make the drop off at the place. Said it was fitting, considering all the times you and your black-ops buddies gathered there."

It came back to Shepherd suddenly, the information slipping through her mind like acid. "That place."

Whistler's fingers stumbled on the third knot. "What place?"

Shepherd didn't tell him. She didn't tell him the name of the place- The Ex-Patriot.

The Ex-Patriot was not a bar or a club, but a chain of bars and clubs that spanned the entire galaxy. Of course, they all went by one name or another, but they were all known as the Ex-Patriot. The one in particular Shepherd was thinking about was located on…

"Luna. This order came all the way from Earth?"

Whistler shrugged, fingers working like fairies. "They want to bring you home, Shepherd. That's where it all started, that's where it should end. Full circle, poetic, in a morbid way."

"Can't argue with you there." Shepherd rubbed her cheek, where a bruise was already forming. "So, I know the place, and you know the guests. I guess all that's missing is the time of this party."

"I can get that.

"…I'm listening."

"I have one contact. Some weasel of a Lieutenant. Ludlow. We find him, get him to arrange a time at the place, which, I'm assuming you know, and then we go there, I'll ID the faces, we grab the ringleader, and save your pert little ass from certain damnation. Savvy?"

Shepherd turned to face him. "I guess under the circumstances, we'll have to work together."

"You guess correctly."

Shepherd looked at him. "I don't trust you, but I don't have any choice." She drew a switchblade from a patch on her arm, and leaned over to slice the knots holding Whistler to the chair. "Welcome abroad, Whistler."

"Charmed, I'm sure." Whistler suddenly stood up from the chair, cord falling away from him. Shepherd started back, eyes widening. "No, no way. I tied those knots myself…"

"Then that's why they gave me so much trouble." Whistler rubbed the raw skin where the cord had dug in, then looked around. "Did you, per chance, pick up my poncho? I'm rather fond of it."

Shepherd didn't answer. "You could have bust out and knocked me out again."

Whistler turned to her, expression incredulous. "And what good would that have done? I had to convince you to let me help you." He held out his hand. "Now that that's settled, my pistol, please?"

Shepherd hesitantly surrendered the pistol, which Whistler promptly holstered. He spotted his poncho in the corner, and threw it over his head. Adjusting it to cover his cestus armored right hand, he glanced up. "Oh, and for the record, I'm sorry slugged you back there."

"You'd better be." Shepherd self consciously rubbed her cheek again.

"The bruise will fade. It always does."

Shepherd sighed, and turned to walk away. "Stay here. I'm going to have to explain this Garrus and Kasumi, then we'll move out." She gave him a hard look. "You'd better be straight up with me."

Whistler gave her a curt nod, but as she turned to go, said, "Shepherd?"

The commander turned back. "Yeah?"

Whistler's expression was unreadable. "If we're being straight up with one another, then I want you to know something. Once you take me under your command, you take on the knowledge of this rule, this one rule I have."

"What's that?"

"I finish every job I'm paid for- every…single…one."

Shepherd stared at him, expression also unreadable.

"And when the time comes, you'll have to deal with that."

"…Yeah."

And with that, Shepherd walked out the door to inform her crew that they had a new member, and a new mission, and a new complication.