Shimmying through the ductwork, the assassin calmed his breathing and prepared for what lay ahead. He had already prayed to his gods for forgiveness and luck, so this centering breath only took a moment before he continued forward. Another three turns and he was above Nassana's office. He paused for a moment, listening, and heard voices below. It was the marines! He was surprised, they had made quick work of the mercenaries on the bridge, and had managed to reach Nassana just as he had. They were good. He listened, curious as to what they were saying. It seemed that Nassana was acquainted with the leader of the operatives. Then the marine said something that confirmed what the assassin had been wondering about,
"I'm not an assassin Nassana, but I am looking for one." So they were looking for him, as he'd begun to suspect. To kill him? So be it, he thought. That had been the original purpose of this mission anyway. What did it matter who did the killing? Then Nassana said a name that he recognized; Shepard. The Shepard? The woman who had saved the citadel not three years previously? He had been right, this would be very interesting. He shifted his weight, readying himself to drop down into the office below.
The guards were jumpy, twitching at every little noise, and Nassana was just as anxious. She sent two of the mercenaries to check the other entrances, leaving herself with only three mercenaries for protection. This was the perfect time for him to strike. He dropped down noiselessly behind the first mercenary, bringing his hands up to grasp the man on either side of his head. A strong, sharp twist, and the man went down. The next guard attempted to grab him, but he already had his fist in the man's sternum, dropping him to the floor. The final mercenary, a young Asari woman, was shot in the chest, point blank. Nassana had barely had time to react, turning around to demand answers that he had no intention of giving. His gun was already at her stomach, his finger already pulling the trigger. He fired, and she fell forward, towards him. He gently laid her back against the desk, folding her hands over her chest, and bowed his head. His job was done. He had taken another life, and now he would see what it was that the commandos wanted from him. He folded his hands, silently asking that her soul be taken to the sea, that she could find peace in death that she had not found in life, and then he began his usual prayer. The woman, Shepard, stepped forward.
"I was hoping to talk to you," she said. He remained silent for another moment, then spoke,
"I apologize, but prayers for the wicked must never be forsaken." He looked up, and at the woman who had provided him with such a convenient distraction. The first thing that came to mind when he looked at her was fire. Her hair was the color of flame, cut just below her jaw and tucked behind her ears. He had always been interested by hair. His species did not grow it, nor did any of the other races in Citadel space. Hair was unique to humans, and it was interesting to see the differences in how they wore it. He was surprised at how young she was. Considering how she had saved an entire space station and the seat of galactic political power with a team of only six other people, he had pictured someone older, more experienced. She was a young woman still. Her eyes were fierce, determined. She looked like an avenging angel, come to rain down judgment upon the wicked. He was tempted to smile, but fought the impulse. He still didn't know why she had come to find him.
"She certainly was wicked," Shepard said. He shook his head slightly,
"Not for her. For me," he explained. He was a killer, and was wicked, regardless of whose hand bade him to do the killing. "The measure of an individual can be difficult to discern by actions alone.," He continued, "Take you for instance. All this destruction, chaos. I was curious to see how far you'd go to find me," He paused, presenting himself to her, "Well, here I am." His voice was low, quiet. Hers was far more commanding,
"How'd you know I was coming at all?" She asked. She looked perplexed, and slightly concerned, as though she was nervous that he might have some skill in mind reading or precognition. He explained himself,
"I didn't, not until you marched in the front door and started shooting. Nassana had become paranoid. You saw the strength of her guard force. She believed one of her sisters would kill her. You were a valuable distraction." He felt no shame in admitting this; it was the truth. She seemed unperturbed, and simply continued with what she had to say.
"Let's cut to the chase. I need you for a mission." That he had started to suspect, so he was not surprised. He was, however, intrigued, and so prompted her to continue,
"Indeed." He could not tell if she was frustrated by his taciturn response, but if she was, she hid it well, and merely asked,
"You're familiar with the collectors?" That was interesting. He was, though not by personal contact. They were a heartless, mysterious race, appearing in Citadel space rarely, and then only to acquire unique "specimens" of sentient species. He did not like the sound of them.
"By reputation," he said, still reserved. He still hadn't received any real explanation.
"They're abducting entire human colonies," Shepard explained, "Freedom's progress was their handiwork." Now that was troubling. He had heard about Freedom's Progress. An entire human colony, emptied of all inhabitants without so much as a struggle. They had all simply vanished. If this was the work of the Collectors, then he feared for the fate of the missing humans. He did not voice this, though, wanting to find out what Shepard had to do with any of this. Instead, he simply said,
"I see." The Turian behind Shepard looked frustrated, impatient. Turians were not usually ones for talking, preferring action. The assassin, however, was infinitely patient. It was an essential skill. He listened instead of talking, waiting to hear what she would say. She did not disappoint.
"We're going after them." Now he was truly interested, beyond mere personal curiosity. No one had ever been to the collector homeworld, or at least, none who had survived. How would this be any different? He voiced his thoughts,
"Attacking the collectors would require passing through the omega 4 relay. No ship has ever returned from doing so." The mass relays were what allowed travel throughout the galaxy, mass effect generators that created corridors of mass-free space. Some were inactive out of fear of encountering a hostile species. The Omega 4 relay, however, was active, but only the Collectors could safely pass through it. Shepard appeared to have a plan, but he was unsure as to whether or not she was bluffing. She was very confident when she stated,
"My ship will be the first." The assassin did not need to think long about his decision, but clarified, making sure that this young woman knew what she was asking of him.
"You'd like me to protect humans I've never met from aliens no one knows anything about by going to a place no one's ever returned from." It was not a question. She responded,
"That's the gist of it." He appreciated her frankness. Seeing how he had not met his end on this mission, he would he happy to help protect innocents from the horrible machinations of the Collectors. The fact that he would most likely not survive was simply that, a fact, neither negative nor positive. He owed Shepard some sort of explanation, though, if he was to be working for her.
"This was to be my last job. I'm dying…" he paused, mulling over his own fate for a moment before continuing, "Low survival odds don't concern me. The abduction of your colonists does." Shepard did not seem to know what to say. At first he thought that it was a reaction to his confession of impending death, but when she spoke he realised that it stemmed instead from dealing with the very speciesist attitudes of so many members of most races,
"Not to look a gift assassin in the mouth, but why are human colonists a concern to you?" The idiom threw him for a moment, and he made a mental note to look it up on the extranet later, and he thought for a moment of how best to explain himself, to explain why he was willing to risk his life for people whom he had never met.
"They are innocent yes?" he asked, rhetorically, "Like all victims of the collectors. The universe is a dark place. I'm trying to make it brighter before I die. Many innocents died today. I wasn't fast enough and they suffered. I must atone for that." The innocent Salarian workers who he had been unable to help weighed on his mind, "I will work for you Shepard, no charge." She stepped forward, hand extended in a human gesture of greeting, friendship and contract. He extended his own, slightly different hand, his middle and ring fingers fused together like all other members of his species, and took hers in his own as she said,
"I look forward to working with you, Thane."