The small private lounge, like Aria's loft, was almost perfectly sound-proof. The rumbling storm of music cut off almost completely as soon as the door slipped shut.

A batarian was sitting on a low bench inside, dressed in armor blazoned with the Blue Suns tag. His face was haggard and scarred, one of his four eyes lost in a tangle of scar tissue. Looking up from a PDA in his hand and focusing on Shepard and Lawson he smirked a little.

"Sorry ladies, stripper auditions are the next lounge over."

"Watch your mouth," Jacob scowled.

"It's all right, Jacob," Shepard smirked, folding her arms. "He's just jealous because mine is bigger than his."

The batarian set the PDA aside and stood up. "You wanna test that theor-" he started, hand going to the pistol on his hip. He cut off a breath later as the barrel of Shepard's Miitgard crammed painfully up under his chin.

"Theory proven, I think," Shepard growled. The batarian narrowed his eyes a little, then smirked.

"Finally, some goddamn spirit," he said. "I've been getting every whiner and wet-end on this goddamn station in here, thinking they've got balls bigger than asteroids because they know which end of the gun to hang on to. They're good for cannon fodder but that's about all. Mind taking your weapon out of my face so we can talk details?"

She lowered the rifle, shipping it again as the batarian bent and picked up the PDA. "I want to make it clear you're freelancing only," he said. "We're not looking for new recruits. Pay is five hundred a head once the bastard goes down, and your friends do not collect your share if you take one between the eyes."

"Is Archangel by himself?" Shepard asked. The batarian scowled.

"Yeah, but don't get cocky. Sonuvabitch has got himself squirreled away nice and tight, and he's been picking off you freelancers by the dozens. Most last about five minutes. You…I'd give you at least ten. Go outside, west end of the plaza. There's one of my boys, Salkie, waiting there. Tell him Rodo said you were good and he'll shuttle you to the site."

Turning, Shepard strode back to the door, coming up short as it slid open and she nearly ran into someone entering.

It was a kid, probably not a day over fifteen. His brown eyes were earnest and smug as he blinked at her, then cocked what he probably supposed was a charming grin. "Well, hey baby," he cooed. "That is some wild ink."

He was referring, of course, to the thin red lines that were still visible over her cheeks and forehead, mistaking them for some kind of tattoo.

"Thanks, it was expensive," she replied sarcastically, half glancing at the stone-faced Miranda. Spotting the pistol jammed in the front of his belt she said, "You here for the freelancer gig?"

"Fuck yeah," he bragged, then pulled the pistol out. "Gonna break this baby in."

"May I?" she asked, holding out her hand. He passed her the pistol…a move which only proved just how out of touch with reality this kid was. He'd probably grown up just one step off the streets, poor enough to fit in with a more desperate crowd but still with a roof over his head, food in his stomach. He'd learned that so long as you acted tough, most smaller than you didn't push it. They even showed you respect. At most, he may have been in a fight or two and been lucky enough to win…or unlucky enough. Combine that with a teenage ego that thought he was immortal and untouchable and the kid was ripe for getting his ass handed to him.

He was so secure in himself that he handed her, a complete stranger, his only weapon. Shepard didn't correct him. Instead she looked over the pistol admiringly, checking the sight before ratcheting it open.

"Serris Mark IV, not bad," she lauded. "How much you pay for this?"

"Fifty creds, I got it at a steal," he grinned. She lifted her brows as if impressed.

"Most of these go one fifty new, easy," she told him. "You have to be careful though. See this here?"

Slipping her finger into the open weapon she indicated a small piece of thin metal. Part of the firing assembly, it was in place to keep the ratchet tracked along a straight line.

"Yeah, that's the guide," he said, as if everyone knew what it was.

"Yeah, see…problem with the Mark IV is they don't weld them down tight enough. See how it swings a little?" She shifted it with her finger, demonstrating that it was slightly loose. "When you're firing, if that guide swings just far enough over it'll catch on the ratchet and jam up your gun. And if it gets bent…"

Moving the guide out with her finger until it actually protruded from the weapon, Shepard turned and slammed the pistol hard against the wall. The boy barked in surprised alarm.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

Shepard turned back to him and showed him the now impossibly bent guide sticking out of the firing mechanism. "…then the gun becomes nothing more than a fancy looking paperweight, you see?"

She tried to ratchet it closed again but of course the mechanism jammed against the damaged guide. She pulled the trigger, but nothing happened save a click.

"You broke my fucking gun, bitch!" he wailed, snatching it out of her hand and frantically trying to bend the guide back. He only managed to snap it off, rendering the pistol even more useless.

"I saved your fucking life, kid," Shepard replied as she stepped past him and up toward the club. "Don't be in such a fucking hurry to die."

The occasional snap of a distant gunshot broke through the smoky atmosphere. The air filters in this building were clearly faulty or broken altogether, and the haze leaking underneath the door from the next room was enough to make Miranda's eyes water a little.

Eclipse, the Blood Pack, and the Blue Suns had holed up in this building at the start of a narrow boulevard, deep in the slums of Omega's lower districts, setting up a kind of HQ. According to what they'd learned so far, Archangel was alone in another building a block away, separated from this one by a bridge. They'd had him cornered in there for two days now, unable to ferret him out.

It was the bridge that was the major obstacle. Open the entire length, and completely visible from the second story windows of Archangel's hidey-hole, anyone trying to cross it to get to him was greeted by a sniper bullet. The gangs themselves were trying to figure out an alternate way into the building but so far had been unsuccessful. The only other way, it seemed, was to cut in through the vent tunnels and into the basement of Archangel's building, but the walls were thick enough only heavy explosives would do…explosives that were proving almost impossible to get.

The strategic thing to do would be to simply starve the man out. He was trapped, no access to food, none to water since they'd shut off the building's aqua-feed. He didn't dare sleep and had to be exhausted. Another day or two of simply waiting and the man would either become so sloppy that they could take him out, or he'd drop dead from dehydration and exhaustion.

Unfortunately, these were merc gangs, and they were not known for their patience. They didn't want to take the sure course and starve their enemy into submission. They wanted him dead. Now. And preferably in the most painful way possible.

From what they'd been able to glean the merc leaders were planning to send a wave of the new freelancers on a full out charge across the bridge, backed up by small mechs. It was a suicide run, of course, but the hope was that while Archangel was distracted with the freelancers, a small infiltration team would be able to slip past the carnage and get into the building to take him out.

Almost as soon as reaching the HQ, she, Shepard and Jacob had split up, trying to gather as much intel about the merc set-up as possible. Jacob and Miranda had rejoined company in the storage room just a few minutes ago, but Shepard had yet to return.

"I have to say she's nothing like I expected," Jacob stated, looking over at his friend.

"Who? Shepard?" Miranda replied. "She's exactly as I expected."

"Course she is. You spent two years studying her. You probably know more about her than she does. I wasn't privy to all her private records and vids though, remember?"

"Well what was it that you expected?" Miranda asked.

"I don't know," he told her honestly. "I kind of always pictured her a bit more quiet, you know? Reserved. That stoicism you always see in decorated generals…stone-faced and stern. She looks smaller than I thought she would too."

"Well, she still has some filling out to do. Her muscles haven't returned to their former condition quite yet, and she was two years on IV only nutrition. A few more meals and that gaunt look about her will disappear."

"Yeah, but not quite what I meant," he told her. "She does have a lot of energy for such a little package, though. The way she handled Aria was stellar, and then that kid…I wasn't expecting that."

"Shepard has a soft-spot for those who can't protect themselves…even from themselves. That's part of the reason we chose her, you know that. And she doesn't give up."

"You do realize that means she won't give up looking for Dr. T'Soni," Jacob pointed out.

"That is being taken care of," Miranda stated.

"Is it," Jacob stated disapprovingly. "I don't th-"

He broke off as the door to the storage room opened, Shepard entering in a swirl of smoke. Behind her they could see a group of Eclipse gathered around a table, playing some card game amidst the detritus of a meal and several beers.

As the door shut behind her Shepard asked, "You two hear the plan?"

"The suicide charge? Yeah, we heard," Jacob told her.

"They have a heavy mech," Miranda stated. "It's charging in the basement. It seems they either trust their freelancers a bit too much or don't consider us a threat…they didn't even have it guarded."

"Did you take it out?" Shepard asked. Miranda shook her head.

"Better. I reprogrammed it. if they try and activate it, it will turn on their own men."

For the first time, Miranda found herself on the receiving end of a genuine grin from the Commander.

"Nice. Good work. I heard they have a gunship too, not too far from here. Apparently Archangel was able to take it out once but it's under repairs. A Sergeant Cathka is heading the maintenance team and lucky for us, the freelancers are gathering not too far from there. I say we go pay Cathka a visit, see if we can't hedge our bets a bit further."

A clot of freelancers, around twenty, were gathered just outside the large maintenance area, sharing smokes with a couple of the mechanics and bragging about which one of them was going to put a bullet in Archangel's head. The three slipped into the gunship's dock unnoticed, and a few minutes later slipped back out again. As they rejoined the gathering, Shepard reached out and drummed the back of her fingers against the shoulder-pad of one of the men. When he looked at her she nodded toward the cigarette in his mouth.

"Can I bum one?" she asked. Squinting at her, he drew out a pack and, tapping one out an inch, held it toward her. She drew the smoke out, promptly snapping off the filter and flicking it away, before tucking it in her mouth and accepting his lighter.

She sighed at the first draw, the sound a mix of pleasure and disgust. The freelancer smirked.

"You don't look too happy with that," he said.

"I fucking hate cigarettes," she told him. "Normally I stick to cigars."

One of his dark eyebrows lifted a little. "Women don't usually like cigars," he stated. "In fact, I don't think I've ever seen anyone beyond big ugly militia-men chomp down on a stogie in my life."

"I like to think I'm a bit unusual," she replied.

"Yeah…I bet you are," he told her, then held out one hand. "Name's Joseph Conroy."

She squinted a bit, before taking the butt from her mouth and exhaling a stream of smoke, then taking his hand. "Del."

"Nice to meet you, Del," he grinned. "So…does assaulting a do-gooder in his fortress land on your resume under 'unusual' as well?"

Shepard snorted, taking another draw. "Conroy, you said? I ain't flirting with you. I just wanted a smoke."

"Hmm. Maybe you are and you just don't know it yet," he chuckled. Shepard looked at him dryly.

"Trust me. I ain't."

"Let me guess. I'm too pretty for you," he joked good-naturedly. Shepard smirked and gave him a wink.

"Not pretty enough," she told him, and he barked a laugh.

"All right!" A voice barked. A rather large krogan in the red armor of the Blood Pack strode up, glaring over the group in general. "You freelancers get in position! We hit that bridge in two!"

"Well, nice to meet you, Del," Joseph told her, dropping the butt of his smoke and grinding it out under his boot. "Hope to see you in one piece on the other side."

She shrugged, flicking her own smoke away. "Watch your back, Conroy, and you might."

As the freelancers moved toward the barricade at the end of the bridge, Shepard fell back to Miranda and Jacob's side. "We go in at the tail end of the pack," she told them. "Hit them from behind, take out as many as you can before they get across and then focus on getting your asses into the building. Hopefully Archangel will see us doing half his job for him and realize we're on his side, but just in case he doesn't, watch that goddamn sniper fire. If the infiltration team makes it inside we'll have to take them out too before we can get to the second floor."

"Once we do get in, how are we going to get out again with Archangel?" Jacob asked.

"The fuck you asking me for? I make this shit up as I go," Shepard retorted, and moved toward the barricade. Jacob blinked at Miranda.

"Tell me she's kidding."

Miranda just looked at him, then followed after the commander.

There was a general roar of bravado as the decoy pack of freelancers surged over the barricade and rushed out onto the bridge. Gunfire opened in a furious halo of carnage, focused on the second story windows where Archangel lurked.

Snap.

The sound was almost lost in the cacophony, but the visual pop of a skull could not be missed. The already dead man skipped on his feet and slammed to the ground in a rain of blood, and he was only the first to fall.

Snap. Snap.

Despite the cover fire, despite the sheer number of men and women charging onto the bridge, Archangel was holding his cool. He was low, firing from an angle that afforded him complete cover, and taking down an attacker with every swift flash from his sniper.

Snap.

Shepard, near the back of the pack with the other two, did not charge up the middle of the bridge but flanked the side. Immediately in front of her she caught sight of Joseph Conroy, the man wisely taking the same tack. Shifting her grip on her rifle she jabbed the butt of it sharply forward, colliding with his skull right at the base. He folded like wet laundry, unconscious.

"Thanks for the smoke," Shepard panted to the limp form as she stepped over him and righted her gun.

Three freelancers fell as she opened fire. Normally she was not one for shooting people in the back, but exceptions had to be made for nearly every rule. Jacob added his own gunfire, chewing through the charging group from behind even as Archangel sniped from the front.

Miranda was not shooting. Instead she had generated a biotic shield, protecting their flank from the direction of the barricade. The moment the gangs saw that three of their freelancers had gone rogue they'd be open to gunfire from that quarter as well.

Four more freelancers dropped to Shepard's gun before she felt a slap against her shoulder, hard enough to turn her a little but not enough to penetrate the padding. That shot had been Archangel. Scowling, she opened fire on the lancers again.

Confusion was churning through what was left of the group, the survivors realizing they were being gunned down from behind as well as before. When one turned toward Shepard, lifting his weapon, she smoothly shot him in the throat and then ran over his corpse. Another turned only to be taken down by Archangel.

I think the fucker has finally realized we're on the same team.

The last of the pack of freelancers fell even as the trio reached the lower floor of Archangel's hideout. Two of the infiltration team had made it in. One took a potshot at them as they entered and was quickly dropped as Shepard headed for the stairs.

Archangel had, naturally, secured the door leading into his make-shift bunker. The second infiltrator, unaware of what had happened downstairs, was busy trying to hack it. His efforts halted abruptly with a bullet, just as he managed to get the lock open.

Kicking his pistol away from his dead hand, Shepard strode into the room, not lowering her rifle.

Archangel was across the room, on the small sheltered balcony overlooking the bridge. Even crouched, back to the door and in a full combat hard-suit, it was clear he was turian.

She was a bit surprised when he didn't turn around, his sniper rifle still fixed on the bridge below. Not lowering her rifle she called out, "Knock knock!"

He didn't try and take a shot at her, which she had half-expected. He didn't jump or so much as turn his head. Instead, he lifted one hand in a universal 'one second' gesture, then returned his grip to his gun. A breath later the sniper rifle fired. His target must have dropped because he straightened a little, drawing back from his position and getting to his feet.

Sitting wearily on an overturned sofa he pulled his helmet off, exhausted gray-blue eyes fixing to hers.

"You didn't vanish," the turian said with weary amusement. "Guess that means you're real."

Shepard lowered her rifle with a blink. "Garrus? Holy fuck, what are you doing here?"

"You're asking me?" he snorted. "Last I knew, you were dead, Shepard."

"Long story," she told him, then looked at Taylor. "Jacob, see if you can't re-secure that door, and keep an eye on the stairs."

As he turned away she shipped her rifle and went over to the turian's side, crouching down and looking at him critically. "You hurt?"

"Nah," he replied. "But I've been going for two days straight. I'm exhausted. Truth told when I saw you coming up that bridge I thought I was hallucinating."

"That why you took that shot at me?" she smirked. "To see if I'd pop?"

"It was just a concussive round. Can't blame a man for making sure." He held out his hand. "It's good to see you again, Shepard."

She took his hand, slapping it lightly with her other. "It's good to see you again, too, Garrus."

"What happened? I know you were dead, Shepard. There were rumors for a time, you know the kind. Conspiracy theorists and fringe whack-jobs who tried to insist that you were on some covert op somewhere but we all knew better. Even if you'd accepted some weird undercover op there's no way you'd let the Alliance pull you from duty in such a way as to put your crew at risk, and you sure as hell wouldn't let Liara think you were dead."

Shepard shook her head. "No, you're right. I was dead, Garrus."

She gestured toward Miranda, who had moved to the balcony vantage point to keep an eye on the bridge and to give them a moment to talk. "Cerberus, apparently, found my body and spent two years putting me back together."

"Cerberus," he grimaced a little.

"Yeah, I know. It really is a long story, Garrus…one I'll be glad to tell over a good meal and a stiff drink back aboard ship, but right now we've got to get you out of here."

"You bring an army with you?"

"No, it's just us three."

"Then that's going to be tough," he replied, then commiserated, "But not impossible. I've held this building for days now thanks to that bridge. Should be even easier with the three of you here, but getting out that way is just as much suicide as getting in."

"Shepard, I have movement behind the barricade," Miranda announced. Shepard rose and headed over as Garrus got to his feet. A spare sniper rifle and a few boxes of thermal clips were set against the wall nearby. Picking up the rifle Shepard lifted the scope to her eye and carefully turned it onto the bridge below.

"They're sending their small mechs," she said as she scanned over the scene. As the first cleared the barricade she focused on its eye-lights and fired. The mech collapsed and she lowered the sniper, looking at the others. "Looks like our dance card isn't quite full yet. Miranda, Garrus and I will hit them as they come over the bridge. You and Jacob make sure no one makes it through that door downstairs."

As the turian took up a position near her he smiled sadly. "Almost like the old days."

"Oorah," Shepard murmured and lifted the scope to her eye once again.

It wasn't until the gunship appeared that things started going so far sideways that even Shepard started to worry.

The mercs may have been desperate, they may have thrown most strategic sense out of the window, but they were pushing and pushing hard, and had sheer numbers on their side. After an onslaught of mechs and Eclipse which were only partially turned back by the tampered heavy (the moment that heavy had turned and started firing on the Eclipse troops was a moment Shepard wished she could have on vid), there was only a brief hiatus before the Suns, apparently, finally secured sufficient explosives to blast their way into the basement.

The eruption had shaken the entire building. Shepard and Miranda had rushed down to the basement to turn back the tide of incoming mercs and seal them out again while Jacob and Garrus were left to thwart those trying to take advantage by rushing the bridge. It had been hard work forcing the Suns back into their tunnel far enough to close the emergency vent doors and reseal the basement, and Shepard was still not up to her full strength. Her muscles were seriously protesting their overuse as she and Miranda charged back upstairs, only to be greeted by a rain of death as the gunship swooped over the balcony and dumped a dozen of the Blood Pack directly into the second floor.

They were cut off from Garrus and Jacob, forced back to the stairwell.

Vorcha, the sentient equivalent of rats and cockroaches, swarmed them. Tenacious, vicious, the vorcha had teeth like daggers and were not averse to biting in combination with shooting and stabbing. They were also extremely hard to kill, often taking twice as many bullets as any other race before they would finally go down.

As Shepard slammed her rifle butt into the grinning teeth of one that clambered over the stair railing, Jacob suddenly shouted over her ear bud.

{We're getting torn up Commander! Garrus is down!}

"Fuck! We're swarmed with vorcha! Where's that gunship?" Shepard barked back.

{Gunship is history but I'm pinned. There's a couple of very angry krogan in here!}

"We're coming!"

She ducked flailing limbs as Miranda sent four vorcha sailing over her head with a biotic blast. Turning to shower the ones below them with rifle fire, Shepard's eyes suddenly widened.

Whirling she grabbed hold of Miranda, throwing the other woman down onto the stairs hard enough to make her bark with pain. A breath later a heavy cough of flame scattered the vorcha pack in a flaming mess of body parts, tearing up the lower staircase right along with them. Shepard snatched for the railing as the stairway beneath them groaned and then leaned to the side, settling at a right hand list.

Lifting her head, she looked down as Joseph Conroy shipped his rocket launcher and drew a pistol, evacuating the skull of one of the dazed and injured beasts.

Her own pistol snapped up to aim at him, but wisely he did not return the gesture. "Well, go on then," he told her impatiently. "Angry krogan and all that, remember?"

Narrowing her eyes, she pushed herself to her feet, pulling Miranda up with her and then rushing for their companions.

Garrus was indeed down, limp in a slowly spreading pool of sapphire. The krogan had Jacob pinned behind the sofa at the other end.

Shepard opened fire on the nearest, drawing his attention as Miranda sent the second flying off the balcony with the biotic equivalent of a backhand. As the first krogan brought his gun around, mouth opening for a battle cry, Shepard landed two shots squarely in his eyes, popping them in flat spats of blood and fluid. His battle cry emerged instead as a death rattle, and he collapsed.

For the first time in what felt like hours, silence reigned. Shepard shipped her pistol, rushing forward to the turian's side.

"Garrus!"

He was still, one hand outstretched toward his sniper rifle which lay just out of reach. Shepard gripped his shoulder, certain he was gone, certain she had failed yet another friend…when suddenly his eyes flew open and he gasped. The sound was wet, thick, as his fingers momentarily stretched again toward his weapon.

"No, don't move," she urged.

"We have to get him to Chakwas, now," Miranda said, her omni-tool lighting as she scanned him. "His wounds are bad, Shepard…he doesn't have much time."

Shepard's eyes snapped up to Jacob, who limped over, clasping one arm that was also bleeding. "How bad?" she demanded.

"Some flesh, nothing serious," he replied.

"Notify the Normandy that we're coming. Is there a hospital…a clinic even, on this level?"

"Yes."

The answer came from the doorway. Shepard's gaze turned toward Joseph, standing there and calmly watching. When she looked at him his eyes lifted from the turian to hers. "There's a small clinic less than a block from here. They won't have the facilities to treat these kinds of injuries but they will have means to keep him stabilized and transport him."

"Call them, get someone here now," she ordered. She had no idea who this man really was, or why he was even attempting to help them, but she didn't have time to question or argue right now. She wasn't going to lose another friend, goddamnit. Not now and sure as fuck not like this.

That he was helping was enough for the moment. She'd sort out the reasons later.

Gripping hold of the turian's hand, noticing his eyes were still open if glazed with pain, she leaned over. "You just hang in there, Garrus. That's a goddamn order."

The med team from the small clinic nearby appeared not too long after, looking incredibly nervous and jumpy as they gaped around at the war zone that surrounded them. With a little aide from a biotic bubble from Miranda, they got Garrus lifted onto a hover-gurney. Jacob, who'd already plastered his wound with their small field supply of medi-gel, waved off their attention.

Getting down the ruined stairs was a bit tricky. When they reached ground level, Shepard moved ahead to make sure that none of the mercs had lingered behind, clearing the way for the gurney to pass as quickly and as easily as possible.

A shuttle from the Normandy, complete with Chakwas and her team, met them not far away and as they loaded on board Shepard noticed that Conroy was gone. With an irritated scowl she waved away the clinic docs and closed the shuttle door, letting Chakwas take over treatment. In minutes they were back aboard the ship, Garrus vanishing into the med bay in a flurry of activity.

"Chakwas is good," Jacob told her. "Garrus will be all right."

"I know she's good," Shepard replied, irritation still coloring her voice. "Garrus is tough, he'll pull through."

She couldn't focus on Garrus and how badly he was injured, what might happen to him. Emotionally she'd been through way too much the last few days and had been given little time to adjust to any of it. To let her fears in even a little right now would be giving them free rein to run rampant…and send her spiraling into places she had no want to go.

Instead she put her energies into being a commander.

"Jacob, you're off duty until the doctors treat and clear that arm. Miranda, I want you to find out anything you can on that merc, Joseph Conroy. I don't buy that he just decided to lend a helping hand, not after I half-cracked his goddamn skull. I want to know who he is, why he was there, and where he's gone."

"Certainly, Shepard," Miranda replied. "I'll see if I can't pinpoint Mordin Solus and Zaeed Massani as well."

Shepard turned, striding for the elevator even as she unbuckled her armor breastplate. "And I want to know the moment the docs have word about Garrus!" she barked as she did so.

Miranda watched her until the doors slid shut, then looked at Jacob. "Shepard's right. I don't buy for a moment that it's coincidence this man just decided to help us. There's got to be more to the story."

"Could just be he was there for the creds, then realized he was hardly on the paying side."

"That's motivation to leave, not motivation to risk himself to help people for no profit."

"Not everything is about creds. Maybe he's just a good guy."

"Really? Under any other circumstances might be right. But this is a merc, a hired freelancer on Omega. He was promised money to do a job, and that money fell through. Risking his life for no pay is one thing, but what happens if the Blood Pack, Blue Suns or Eclipse find out that he helped Archangel escape? He'll have a thousand and one thugs gunning for him…all to help someone he doesn't know, who, as Shepard pointed out, hit him in the head with her rifle. I find it impossible to believe his only motivation was the kindness of his heart."