Disclaimer: Bioware owns everything. Talented bastards.
A/N: I posted this chapter early per reader request and because I adore her. You know who you are!
Chapter 13
The pisser stank. It mattered not how many times I cleaned the cursed place, it still reeked of piss and shit and various other bodily fluids blessed by the heterogeneous alien populations. It seemed that imbibing too much alcohol had a universal effect and I was left to manage the repercussions. Glaring at the floor in the men's restroom I willed myself to work, disgust boiling underneath my skin at the sight that lay before me. As a slave I had been forced to remove human waste, but dextro foulness was an entirely new level of abhorrence. I suppressed the need to vomit multiple times before the putrescence was washed away, and even then the echo of it lingered in the air.
I stood in the doorway upon fulfillment of my task, the heavy scent of sanitizer barely overwhelming the usual restroom odors. Satisfied with the completion of a job well done I turned to leave just as an inebriated turian stumbled in. I watched as he staggered back and forth and, leaning against the wall for support, made his way to a urinal. In horror, I observed him void all over my clean floor, the acrid scent of dextro piss filling the air once again. My temper flared and I conveniently forgot my place.
Aria didn't force me to clean the restrooms after that incident. Apparently, the entertainment that my antics provided her was payment enough for my misconduct. She dearly loved a humorous spectacle, and when that spectacle involved surgical removal of a mop handle from between turian chitin, all the better.
My co-workers were not thrilled by this outcome, as they now had to pick up the slack generated by my restricted duties. I cared not. I was of little importance to them as it was, the only human on staff at the lower bar. Their concerns mattered not at all to me, as I knew this position was a temporary one. Aria shifted me around so as not to garner too much attention and breed familiarity with the regular patrons. It would not do to be easily recognizable in my line of work.
I was glad of the change, the drab clientele wearing on my nerves. The lower bar catered to the rougher crowd, those who enjoyed the dancing, the drinking, and the drugging. Often fights would break out with very little effort to secure the combatants. Only if Aria's interests were threatened did the guards intervene. Otherwise, it was seen as sport, and my fellow bartenders and I would take bets on the winner. I had a decent winning streak now and again, but every so often a combatant would surprise me; served me right for betting on drunkards.
The merc gangs ran freely throughout the club, an uneasy alliance between them while on Aria's turf. Given the availability of quality sport to be had, the mercs were loath to earn her ire and ruin their chances with the dancers. Aria didn't necessarily run whores, but she was not adverse to them selling their wares in her club so long as she got a cut. On Omega, anything could be bought for the right price.
I didn't agree with the practice, even though it was the oldest profession in existence, but rarely did I shy from it. Not all the dancers could be bought, which oftentimes caused confusion with the drunken mercs. It was then that the guards would once more step in and secure the area, leaving the gangs to find alternative entertainment or sport. When no other option presented itself they tended to drift down the corridors to a local brothel, infamous for its distasteful conditions and even more distasteful selection. I had been unlucky enough only once to pass by the establishment on my way to work, and now I avoided it like the slum's plague. My memories of Arch contained all the torment I required. I had no desire to be reminded of the ills committed on Omega and the low standards to which one would fall.
It was yet another grim indicator of the depths of depravity one could sink when given no choice. However, for others to profit off that misery and even enjoy it was something I could never fathom. I had little respect for the mercs that frequented the brothel, eager to give away their earnings for the promise of flesh neither clean nor willing. I despised them and their desires, secretly hoping they would be a target in my near future. Alas, they were not, as none rated high enough on Aria's interests to gain her attentions.
It was when I experienced longings such as these that I turned once more to the written word, blanketing my lust for vengeance in the beautiful fiction of literature. The occasional break from reality was necessary, the grit and grime of Omega taking its toll; but always I knew that nothing could live up to the worlds I had painted in my mind. It was a sad, yet comforting thought. I had a place that was mine alone, even if it was only a pleasant fantasy.
I remember it was a particularly long day at the bar and my thoughts wandered aimlessly. Another fight had broken out between the gangs and merc blood still pooled on the floor, but I ignored it. Instead, I wiped down the counter, the wet rag growing dirtier with each stroke, contemplating the next book on my list of desired reads. I was in need of a respite from the chaos erupting around me, bored with the everyday drivel of the scum that frequented the lower bar. I had just decided to call it a day when a trio of newcomers arrived.
I watched them subtly, pretending to focus my attention on the task at hand. The lead individual approached while the other two took up flanking positions. Military, I presumed, although none wore any identifiable uniforms, but rather a curious symbol upon their garments. Feigning disinterest, I continued with my closing tasks, moving to stock the bar and also get a better look at them.
The trio lead gestured to me for a drink, wisely forgoing the usual shout to be heard above the din of the music. I nodded in recognition and poured a batarian ale. He downed it quickly, tossing back his head with the drink, and then slamming the glass back down. He gestured for another to which I complied. Again, the dark-eyed man downed the drink hurriedly and I recognized in him something familiar.
He stood in what could be considered a relaxed pose, but the air about him simmered, heated with anticipation. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the layout, the exits, the patrons on the dance floor. He was military trained alright, and carried with him the slight unease of an individual well acquainted with hostility. He met my eyes briefly and in them I saw death. This man was no stranger to ending lives, and in that moment, I believe he recognized the same in me.
We stared at each other for what seemed an eternity, but in actuality was only a moment. He stepped back from the bar, breaking eye contact, and gestured to his team. They left forthwith, barely pausing to pay the tab. I returned to my duties, pondering the importance of the man I had just seen. I suspected Aria knew of him, and toyed with the idea of another potential target.
My shift ended shortly thereafter and I made my way home, weaving through the lighted streets and alleyways, always acutely aware of my surroundings. I had grown accustomed to the local streets, become familiar with the vagrants and beggars that prowled the neighborhood. It was oddly comforting to know that the batarian hawker would be shouting obscenities as I left work, that the homeless human would be rifling through the dumpsters at the end of my alley. It was a form of routine, and I still retained my love of habit, although I did mix up my routes from time to time. It would not do to grow incautious.
My apartment was small, tidy, clean, and it was mine. Upon arriving home I engaged in my daily ritual, tracing a path through the rooms and searching for minute discrepancies. According to the security logs, no one had entered my apartment since I left, but logs could be bypassed as I well knew. I activated my omni-tool and did a scan of the area. The readouts were identical to those before I left. Nothing had been touched, none of my traps had been triggered; I was safe at home.
I pulled off my boots and set them in the closet, out of the way before grabbing my guns. I traced the odd pattern on the grips, never able to discover its meaning. As per my routine, I broke the pistols down into pieces, lovingly cleaning, polishing, and then reassembling them. They gleamed darkly against my skin before I once more placed the pistols into their respective holsters. My knives followed suit, sharpened, and then polished to a high sheen, replaced only after moving through my forms.
After exerting myself for an hour I flopped down on the couch, twirling Arch's blade aimlessly, and flipped through the vids. It was a surprisingly domestic activity, given my occupation, and I enjoyed the simplicity of it. Vids required no thought and I found it a relaxing pastime.
I had only been home a standard hour when I received a message on my omni-tool. Activating it, I recognized Aria's codes and began decrypting the files. It seemed I had another target, and I drank in the information she provided. Blessedly, I was to be moved from the lower bar and stationed in the VIP lounge, an area in which I had rarely worked previously. A shiver of excitement ran through me as I continued reading.
The target was to arrive tomorrow and Aria believed he would be motivated to visit the VIP lounge that very evening. I wondered little at her manipulations, as she was a master, but dared not try to untangle her webs of intrigue. I knew few of her informants and was privy to a small portion of her spy network, but I believed I would appear less threatening the less I truly knew. I had no desire to upset my position in Aria's employ, satisfied with my shadowed status at her side.
It was as she predicted. The target arrived that very evening.
I had familiarized myself with the bar's layout at the start of my shift. It was not so different from the lower club, but contained many more high-end liquors. The lounge was small and easily viewed from the bar. A lighted railing lined the dance floor, punctuated by vibrant iridescence. Shadows writhed on the wall, chased away by the artificial flames common throughout Afterlife. It reeked of privacy and sex, and I noticed a number of couples conspicuously huddled in the corners during the night.
I saw my target enter, finely dressed and glancing curiously around the lounge. The image Aria forwarded me did not do him justice as he looked to be quite handsome. I was able to observe him unobtrusively from behind the counter, his eyes drifting over the many patrons in the room, pausing on the bar. I ignored the heated excitement pooling in my gut and feigned disinterest as he drew near. As with any other customer I approached him with my usual query.
He shot me a surprised look as if my question was unexpected, but recovered just as quickly and ordered a scotch neat. I did as he requested and continued about my duties, my attention still fixed on him. He turned away from me, gazing out across the dance floor and into the shadows of the lounge. He leaned forward on the stool as if in anticipation, and by the look on his face, I believed he expected a guest.
I filled the orders of other patrons while my target remained unmoving, the expectant look slowly fading from his face. The night wore on and he ordered another drink. I took the time to study him, tried to discern the color of his eyes in the dim light to no avail. He seemed restless to me, distant, and I attempted to ply the age old trade of the bartender.
"Something on your mind?"
The words sounded inane to my ears and I prayed I didn't come across as such. I had no idea why human bartenders felt the need to engage others in conversation, as it seemed a species-specific stereotype. I had occasionally used the ruse to my advantage, plucking information from the unwary, but never had I been overly concerned with the state of my targets. As his eyes met mine, I wondered at his possible dilemma.
He looked at me then, truly acknowledging my presence for the first time that evening. His eyes remained hooded in shadow, flickering in the erratic light of the lounge. He slouched forward slightly, leaning his weight on the counter as he toyed with his glass. I topped it off as a courtesy. Perhaps more scotch would loosen his tongue.
"You look like you were expecting someone?" I prompted, hoping to encourage him.
"That was the plan," he stated, and sipped lightly from his glass.
I opened my mouth to speak again, but he turned away, eyes once more scanning the lounge. I shifted some bottles around, pretending to restock the wells, awaiting my target's attention. He turned back toward the bar, seemingly resigned, and contemplating his beverage. I attempted the stereotype once more.
"Perhaps they're running late."
He ignored me and took another sip of his drink. His eyes remained hooded and his posture tense. Aria's intelligence made no mention of a meeting and I wondered at his expected guest. Curiosity got the better of me and I pursued the one-sided conversation.
"Is it someone special you were meeting tonight?"
His eyes shot up from his glass, sharp and penetrating and I realized I had overstepped my bounds. He snorted derisively and suddenly stood, tossing a handful of credit chits on the counter before stalking away. I berated myself for my stupidity as I watched him disappear into the shadows, knowing full well I had likely botched my assignment.
I sighed irritably and focused on the menial duties of my job, starting first by disposing of my target's beverage. I suspected he would return as, per Aria's intelligence, his contacts frequented the VIP lounge. It was only a matter of time, but I would need to be all the more careful in my next engagement with him. I could not afford to drive him off yet again. I would need to be subtle.