Chapter One
"Damn, I hate this place," said a sullen human as he pushed passed a group of armored batarians with his hands jammed into the pockets of his faded Systems Alliance casual military jacket. "Of all the places to go, he had to go to Omega." He looked over the heads of those ahead of him and saw his distant destination—the most popular club in all of the Terminus Systems, Afterlife.
Down the crowded street of the ancient space station, an absolutely massive holographic screen pulsed brightly over the entrance to the club with the visually stimulating dance routine of Afterlife's featured entertainer. Tonight it was the ever-sultry asari named Namila Molorah, an obvious choice given her popularity amongst the swath of customers that frequented the place. A good deal of the eyes of the soon-to-be patrons, who had been standing in line to gain entrance to the club for anywhere from a few minutes to a couple hours, were fixed on the display, and some were likely hoping against hope they'd get the chance to have her dance for them.
Best of luck with that, Kevin Folner thought to himself as he approached the huge cylindrical building perched in the open between two other main structures. Hazel eyes skimmed over the incredibly diverse press of those amongst the street rather than watch the screen. He was always wary of threats. Some might have called him 'borderline paranoid', but he liked to call it 'survival'. True enough, most folks out here in the Terminus Systems were as likely to shoot you as they were to shake your hand. Just keep your head forward and your guise consistent. You've got business to handle today.
The closer he got to the club, the more alive the awful recycled smog of an atmosphere became. The music within was so loud that the muffled bass constantly pervaded the surrounding streets and made the very air vibrate. Despite the sweeping, open view of Omega's many spires beyond the club, an atmospheric maintainer field kept the air—and the noise—within a stone's throw of the far side of Afterlife. More often than not, this field acted like a flat wall, acoustically, and murmurs, din, and music alike reverberated back to the streets many times over to fill the ears of those passing by.
Kevin ran a hand through his inch-long brown hair and habitually rubbed his fingers together to determine the state of it. He grimaced. "God, this place just coats you in a film of nasty. How do people live here?" He had an apartment in the residential blocks, but he tended not to use it unless he had to. It was his only safe haven here, and he didn't mean to give that away to any watching eyes, and eyes were always watching on Omega.
When he reached the massive line that eventually headed into Afterlife, he scrunched up his nose. "Hmm. Two hours, maybe… two and a half. Poor suckers."
A pair of turians at the end of the line turned their hooded heads around to eye him maliciously. Hah, they heard me. Kevin simply tilted his head and raised a brow when he stared back, feigning confusion. They muttered something to each other and returned their attention to the screen.
With a grin, Kevin side-stepped around the end of the line and walked alongside it right up to where the checkpoint was to go in He could feel the laser eyes shooting him in the back as he practically skipped with amusement by the poor suckers all at once. An armored turian wielding an M-8 Avenger stationed at the base of the stairs that led up to the double-wide entrance door spotted him as he strode on by the line. He made no attempt to stop Kevin, but instead simply offered a nod that he reciprocated. At the top of the stairs on the same side loomed a krogan whose eyes snapped to Kevin's approaching person. For this guard, he stopped a moment.
"Hey Targold. How's things?"
The krogan's disposition shifted from menacing and pissed to only slightly less pissed and marginally amiable. "Folner. Back for more of this stinkhole?"
Stinkhole. Yeah, that sounds pretty apt. Indeed, the smells directly around the club had shifted from general filth via refuse and homeless people of all races to a thick, swirling concoction of questionable hygienics, omnipresent intoxication, sweat, and a vast array of recreational drugs. Kevin's nose twitched reflexively at the raunchiness of it, but he'd more or less gotten used to it by now.
"Yes and no. I'm on a job," Kevin stated as he fell into the pulsing shadow of his first real conversation partner of the night. Standing at a massive eight feet and somewhere around six inches, Targold outsized him by a good two and a half feet.
"Another job, huh? At least you're keeping in the workforce. Not like the rest of the crap I have to scrape off of my boots," he said as he gestured towards the long line. "Hey, since you're here, maybe we should hit the third level bar later. Your treat."
"A tempting offer," he refused with a slight laugh as he shook his head, "but I'm not sure how this job will play out. Might need to get out of dodge if things go south."
"I've got a solution for that," the krogan suggested as he tinkered with a setting on his M-27 Scimitar shotgun. "Don't screw up."
Kevin laughed. "You, sir, are a veritable well of indispensable knowledge. You know me, I'll improvise. Doesn't mean I won't get half the mercs in the station after me, though. Already walking the edge of an omni-blade with the gangs all about."
Targold shrugged. "Too much work if a good punch to the throat doesn't solve the problem. Maybe that's why you're the hitman and I'm just a doorstop." He looks over the crowd again, frowning the deepest frown Kevin had ever seen on a krogan. "Oh well. Guess it's another boring night for me, then. You know how it is, being a doorstop. Who knows? Maybe I'll get lucky tonight and someone will do something stupid."
As if summoned by those very words, a batarian stepped out of the waiting line and started shouting at Kevin and Targold, consequently interrupting their all too friendly conversation and garnering plenty of attention from the rest of the line. His words were indecipherable at first, the meaning lost in the din and throbbing bass, but inevitably, he got loud as upset batarians were known to do.
"This is an outrage! That human killed half my family! Why should that murderer get direct access?" The question ended with an accusatory point at Kevin while he and Targold paused to simultaneously look in the four-eyed accuser's direction.
"Hold that thought," Targold muttered with a crack of a smile. "Looks like tonight may not be so boring after all." He turned towards the batarian, who by now was trying to incite a bit of anger amongst the crowd. A few others seemed to take up his call and stepped behind him.
Targold squinted down at the noise. "I know you. Your brothers pissed Aria off by trying to redirect some of her dancers to a slave ship," the krogan pointed out, his rumbling voice carrying across the entire street and echoing back. "The meatbags deserved it, and it's their own fault they got their asses handed to them." He smiled and patted his shotgun. "You want to be the next one to go? I've got no reservations or restrictions about putting down a fire starter like you."
While his 'friends' had gone silent at being addressed by the doorstop, the batarian, apparently, hadn't had enough yet.
"So what is it we're to do then? We just wallow in our impatience while this blatant slaughterer walks by us all and is granted immediate access? That's absurd! Insulting!"
Targold stepped down the stairs just then, leaving a visibly amused Kevin behind. The krogan, fully armored and resting his shotgun against his shoulder, stepped right up face-to-face with the whiner. "You want to walk right in?" The fierce velocity of his thundering voice had decidedly failed to reduce despite the change in distance. "Then you have two options. Try to walk in and I get to shoot you, or do good work for Aria and get the perks. I'm perfectly fine with the first option, but it would be just as entertaining to watch the boss's people wipe their asses with your ugly face."
The batarian blinked his upper set of eyes by themselves—a telling sign of stress to those who know batarians—and his strong demeanor shattered so visibly at falling under a krogan's shadow that Kevin almost lost it and cracked up then and there. Those who once stood behind him were long gone, not even bothering to get back in line. Even still, the typically stubborn batarian rushed onward, heedless.
"Th-then I'll just go work for Aria! Wh-what would you s-say to that?"
Targold laughed only once right in his face. "Hah! You want to go work for Aria? Be my guest. Along with the ass-wiping, there's more you get to look forward to. I'll give you an example." He reached forward and grasped the top of the batarian's head to turn it to make him look at Kevin at the top of the stairs. "That human up there has made some big enemies working for her, and not just upstart little pricks like you." The batarian was jabbed with the muzzle of the shotgun when he said 'you'. "Most of the top gangs want him rotting in the streets. He has to dodge them on a daily basis while doing those jobs." He then slowed his words for increased emphasis. "You think you can handle that, tough guy?"
Kevin's head rolled back and he stared at the ceiling. Oh damnit Targold… You had to announce me to the masses. I wonder how many gang members are out there right now.
Targold's face was so close to the batarian's that the fearful alien blinked every time air wafted from those krogan nostrils. He finally admitted defeat. He must have, if the liquid darkening a line down the inside of the leg of his pants was any indication. He didn't even bother to slink back into line, but instead opted to leave entirely, and quickly. The doorstop watched him leave only for a few seconds before he returned to his post on the stairs.
Before Kevin could even say anything, Targold drew in a deep, satisfied breath. "I love a good intimidation. Kind of wish he had just tried to shoot me, though."
Kevin laughed and brought a hand to his face with fingers resting on his brow. "You make it sound like I'm Aria's star employee of the month."
"You should be thankful," Targold said with a curved smirk. "I just added some flavor to your reputation."
"Targold, I don't think my reputation needs any more spice, thank you very much. I'm already feeling the heat regularly." Omega's top gangs were already on his heels more often than not for his contracted hits against them. Apparently 'don't shoot the messenger, shoot the sender' didn't fit into the Eclipse, Blood Pack, and Blue Suns' creed.
Targold grinned menacingly. "That's good. It'll keep you sharp, and there's no better way to beat an attacking force than to send their attackers' heads back to them. How about that? Two favors."
Kevin should have known better than to argue the concept of how intentionally facing odds that grew steadily against him was bad for business, but occasionally the sense fled him and he just got himself into an ironic losing argument. He decided that he needed to move on, however, as his meeting wasn't going to wait forever, and he shrugged. "Krogan." He turned towards the doors and threw his massive friend a wave. "I'll talk to you later, Targold. Duty calls."
"Have fun," he returned dully. "And try not to get shot up too bad. We still need to have that drink later."
The guards and doorkeepers at Afterlife knew Kevin well enough to let him through without much opposition. He'd done a small number of jobs for Aria T'Loak, and gained a finite, but measurable amount of favor with her. It was just enough recognition to get through the doors without waiting in lines for hours on end, but not enough for him to be considered one of her cronies; a difficult position to maintain, given how most quickly find themselves fully employed by the station's queen sooner or later.
This juxtaposition to Aria was a blessing and a curse, of course. While it allowed him easy and frequent access to the most important establishment in Omega, it also meant that he had to keep eyes on every dark corner he passed by. Aria's quiet opposition always sought to undermine her whenever she wasn't looking, and to them Kevin was just another easily removed assets she wouldn't lose sleep over if he suddenly and violently disappeared.
As he walked the flaming hall that led to the main inner doors he tried to think about the positives Omega had to offer him. He realized that for all the things he disliked about Omega, there was at least one thing about it he did thoroughly enjoy: Afterlife. He was no stranger to that type of scene—at twenty-six years of age, he'd been to a number of clubs across the galaxy and he was at just the right age to fit right in with younger, yet experienced end of the patrons.
Omega, though… Afterlife's scene was more raw, and entirely unrestricted unless you caused a scene. Purgatory was in the Presidium, so it was always subject to judging eyes of the many and all kinds of limitations that tended to promote silly inhibitions. That was one of Omega's best features: things here felt more genuine and free. He always got a small boost of adrenaline whenever he stepped inside and saw the flashing colors, shifting lights, and wild crowds. The feel of the constant throbbing beat from the deafeningly loud music jostling his innards was entrancing to him. He loved dancing in the middle of the crowd, and though he was no professional dancer by any means, he knew how to dance well enough so that he disappeared in the myriad of veteran club-goers.
Unfortunately for Kevin, he was not here to party this time. He was quickly reminded of this when the clerk behind the desk just inside to doors asked him for his weapons—an old M-3 Predator and an ornate black-metal monomolecular blade. He had a job to do, and he had to be sure that he kept his focus on it. He prided himself in his ability to stay focused, but some things were so distracting that it was hard to pass them by. For most people, it was the sultry asari dancers on the platform hanging above the rest of the room acting as ever-desirable eye candy. In Kevin's case, though, it was his regular partner on the dance floor. She just happened to be asari. And she just happened to find him barely a few minutes into the club.
She sauntered over towards him as he made his way by the edges of the dance floor. "Heya Kev, wanna dance?" she beckoned, almost yelling so she could be heard over the music. "I'm really feeling it today~."
They had known each other since his first visit to Afterlife. Dancing with her was what got Kevin addicted to the club scene in the first place. The intoxicating sense of ecstasy she radiated whenever their bodies pressed together had a way of coating his senses as they moved to the beat of the music. Though their meager relationship bloomed on Afterlife's dance floor, it was also where it ended. They never once left the club together.
"Oh. Hey Maera," Kevin responded with a half-wave and a smile. "Don't you ever leave?"
She smirked. "Only when I tire myself out! So… are you going to dance or what?" She asked while batting her eyes at him and nibbling on her bottom lip.
Maera was attractive. Not just in the body, but her face was beautifully shaped and the light-ish tint of her blue skin was impeccable as well. He couldn't ask for a more eye-catching dance partner. Beyond that she had a wonderfully excitable and bubbly personality. He'd have swept her off her feet to dance the night away if he could, but not tonight. He had a job to handle, and though her distraction was a welcome one, he knew he'd have to disappoint her for now.
Reluctantly, he refused. "Sorry, I can't. I'm on a job tonight."
"Aww, but this is my favorite song! Come on, dance with me!" She stepped closer and leaned forward to find Kevin's left hand with both of her own to tug at him. She gave him that look she always gives him in the midst of the heat of their dance sessions. Kevin didn't know a bigger flirt than Maera.
"Every song's your favorite song, Maera," he calmly stated with a chuckle, placing a hand on hers and then removing both from her grasp. "I promise I'll come back later and we'll tear this place up, alright?"
"Ugh," she grunted as she backed up, irritation plain on her face. "Fine, but you owe me one hell of a dance," she demanded. As she turned to walk back into the crowd, she murmured something she probably didn't expect Kevin to hear. "Goddess, you're always busy these days…"
Kevin sighed deep, feeling accomplished that he'd handled it so well. Now where was I, he thought. Ah yes, back to business. There was a gentleman he needed to meet, and he figured this man wouldn't be hard to find. Kevin had a hunch that he stuck out like a nigh-comical sore thumb in this dump. The information provided to him on his mark was very clear: "Wealthy. Likes to flaunt as much. Always has three guards at his side. Beware of extremely stiff and expensive suits."
High-nose business types were uncommon on Omega, but not unheard of. More often than not, they made their way to Afterlife to discuss unsavory deals or broker agreements that the eyes of Citadel Space don't approve of. In most cases, though, they were intelligent enough to downplay their existence as to not draw the eyes of the thugs and gangs. Big name company CEOs make great hostages when ransoming credits is concerned.
This man of his, however lacked all of that sense altogether. That, or his absurd ego and overt confidence blinded him. It only took Kevin a whole minute and a half after escaping Maera to locate him, and he was already drawing the eyes of many of the less savory patrons. If he knew about their intentions, he was doing a good job of showing his concern.
Linus Werner was a tall man, almost to the point of being lanky. He had a very clean look to him that truly did make him stand out. Between his clean shave and close-cut, side-swept chestnut hair and his expensive-looking and stiff business suit, it was plain to see that this man was not a normal figure around here. Idiot. He must be begging for trouble. I need a new plan, or someone else will score a hit on his wallet before I score a hit on him. He needed to get involved immediately rather than wait for his opportunity to strike. This will take some time. Those bodyguards will suspect me as trouble from the get-go. Three will be trouble. I need to separate them.
He played out a few possible scenarios in his head before he selected one that allowed him the most improvisational freedom. There's an open seat at their table, he noticed. A bold plan, but it'll fit best with the surroundings. With that in mind, he moved away from the always-gyrating and sweat-laden dance floor to make his way towards his target who was sitting at a table to the right of the long bar with his three stooges—two turians and a human. He stopped at the bar along the way to get a drink to help his guise seem more convincing. "Something light," he told the bartender with a shallow wave. "Need to stay focused tonight."
When he finally got to the table, Kevin sat down in the open chair without so much as even acknowledging the guards' presence. He knew the sort that took guards with them everywhere felt more comfortable when their protection was quiet and out of the way, but still well and truly there. He sat back comfortably in his seat and sipped at his drink, which was little more than piss-flavored water. He hated it, but it was necessary.
The three stooges took immediate notice and the two turians reflexively felt their hips where their sidearms would have been. They looked alarmed, but they more seemed offended that one of the vermin from Omega's folds had the audacity to sit at the same table as His Excellency. The human grimaced and was about to get up to remove Kevin.
The suited man casually raised a single hand for a moment to deter his guards. "Easy there," he ordered with a calm smile. "It's just a local. If he'd wanted to rob me, he'd have tried already."
Kevin nodded in thanks. "You must be new around here, suit-man. A crisp set of threads and an entourage like this are going to get a lot of unwelcome attention. People know you've got creds to spare just by looking at you." Casual enough, given the suit's obvious visual displacement.
The clean-cut man smiled, though it seemed forced to Kevin's eye. "Duly noted, but I hope you don't mind if I keep them around anyways. I much prefer negotiation to hostile financial transfers, and these guys help keep my odds of getting the former favorable."
Kevin chuckled. Arrogant. And blind. He leaned forward onto the table with one elbow and dropped his tone. "Understandable, but a few guards don't deter much more than the rats in the streets and amateur thieves. Fat stacks of cash like yours make some raving mad and prone to strike despite stupid odds."
Suit-man nodded to Kevin's point and smiled again. "True enough, however, those 'fat stacks of cash' can also turn an entire room to my cause if need be. Throw enough credits in someone's face and you're bound to get them to see that free money and no trouble are better for business—and survival—than risking life for whatever's lining my pockets."
Kevin leaned back to sit comfortably in the chair again. Arrogant and he knows it. What's worse, he actually knows how money works. "Spoken like a true rich man. I like your style. Still doesn't stop the crazies, though."
"Perhaps you don't understand. Allow me to demonstrate." The high-class man stood up, raised his glass of alcohol towards the bar, donned his best businessman's smile, and began to shout above the din to the many other patrons. "Drinks for all! On my tab! That's right; drinks are all on me tonight!"
A good deal of the patrons was turning to see who was shouting free drinks at them, smiles on all their faces. The eyes that had been watching him before suddenly seemed less irritated by his presence and more pleased by his offer. In a single move, he disarmed every immediate threat. With fat stacks of cash. For some reason, that irritated Kevin. Maybe it was that clever marks were much more difficult to surprise. It did give Kevin some more breathing room, however, as now he wasn't in direct competition with time for this man's head.
Sir Moneybags sat back down as if nothing had even happened. "And this is where my worries end. If anyone wants to get to me now, they have to get through the entire club first. You see, they now understand I'm open-handed, and they'd much rather tail me in hopes of free things and collecting the credits that spill from my coat pockets than try to open my throat."
"Clever," Kevin said with a slight nod. "Alright, so you can handle yourself. What's your name, suit-man?" He sipped at his flavored piss and shifted to an even more casual position in his seat. If he says anything other than Linus Werner, I'll know he's not as much of an idiot as I had initially judged.
"My name is Simon Kellius, my good man." His stiff body leaned forward to offer a polite and business-like handshake. Kevin could almost hear the crinkles in his no doubt over-ironed shirt and blazer.
He stared at the hand for a moment before he received. Nice to meet you, Linus. "Jack Thort." A blatant lie for a blatant lie. Jack Thort was his current running moniker that added a thin layer between him and the gangs who wanted his head. It worked well enough for now. "So what brings you wealthy types out of your palace and into a miserable and filthy hovel like this?"
Simon Deep-Pockets nodded absentmindedly as if he silently agreed with the 'miserable and filthy hovel' part of the question. "Depends on who you talk to. To some I'm on vacation. To others, I'm pursuing important business ventures here on the station. To people like you, I'm here to throw creds around and announce my presence like a glorified asshole." He snickers. "For them, I've got my three friends here."
He gestured to his stooges each in turn. The first was a turian with white, curved lines like dancing fire on his face. The second, the other turian, was slightly meaner in his glares and he sported sharp blue shapes on his mandibles and forehead. The last was the human. He was olive-skinned and well-built.
"Tarjack, Neejack, and Bojack."
Kevin laughed heartily at the pet names. "My God, are you serious? I mean, those can't be your real names, but still…"
Tarjack rolled his eyes and apparently felt the need to defend the tasteless naming scheme. "We get paid enough to not care what our callsigns are."
"Callsigns, huh? Is that what they're calling that these days?" He stifled another laugh with his drink. To his relief, Linus seemed quite amused. "Alright then, assuming you're not here to be a glorified asshole, let's go with the vacation story. Needed to get away from it all, huh? Omega's certainly the place to do that, though probably not the one with the most excursions and amenities unless you like refuse-diving and backstreet whores with a pinch of gang thugs."
Simon Fatwallet laughed and gave Kevin a measuring glance. He pursed his lips together in thought, then nodded as if to say 'I approve'. "Truth is," Simon continued, "I'm on vacation from my workplace and decided that I needed to find a location that promoted loosening up without the condescending atmosphere. Work has me on high strings every day and I was beginning to lose my mind. Omega isn't the most savory of places, true, but it's certainly one of the few where I can indulge in a few vices without worrying about my image. That said, I wanted to 'check the scene' and see if I could 'shake it down' or somesuch."
Kevin placed a pressed thumb and index finger on the bridge of his nose. "Oh God, stop. Just stop. Intentional or not, that literally hurt me." He had to take a moment to shake off the absurdity, which Linus also found amusing. He decided to switch gears to prevent that from happening again. "Why not try some of the clubs on the Citadel? Purgatory is bigger and just as easy to disappear in. Omega seems like a strange place for such a simple endeavor."
Captain Stash McCash flicked a hand in dismissal. "The Citadel has too many of my business contacts and customers. I can't even walk around the Presidium without running into them. Illium has a similar problem in that regard. I needed an uncouthly energetic place with no potential for business run-ins. Everyone in the business knows about Omega, but it was recommended to me through a friend and decided to give it a try on his word."
"Seems believable enough," Kevin shrugged, accepting the story as a markedly good lie. "Look, the only way to really loosen up here is to have a few too many drinks, dance until you pass out, and wake up in your apartment wondering what happened. Maybe next to an asari or two, if you get my meaning."
Simon fell silent for a little while as he pondered the consequences of such a ride. He looked over the crowds all over this level of the club, most drunk or high as a kite. Some were dancing, some were flirting, some were watching the scantily clad dancers up high, and some were outright sucking face with another where they stood. Whatever activity they chose to partake in, they all seemed to be having a great time. It seemed to Kevin, however, that Simon was not.
Then a breakthrough came.
"Why the hell not? You've piqued my interest, Mr. Thort, but I'll charge you with leading the rest of the night's activities."
Kevin titled his head. "Me? Surely I'm not the most trustworthy-looking guy in this hellhole. What makes you want me as your guide to a good night out on the town?"
The man nodded slowly. "Nobody in this station can be trusted, no. However, there are a number of things about you that make you more qualified than most. Your hands haven't been near my pockets, for one. Two, you can hold a decent conversation for more than five minutes without derailing into barbaric topics. Three, you wear a Systems Alliance jacket that is so old it could only have actually been military issue to still be in one piece. Lastly, you're knowledgeable enough about how to survive and navigate one of the galaxy's most devilish of space stations which makes you an asset to have around—especially when inebriation is inevitable."
Kevin nodded in thanks. "Well well, compliments all around. Keep that up and I might even be buying you dinner later. Alright then, I'll lead the party for you. You did manage to pay for my drinks tonight, it's the least I can do. I have but one condition: you follow the few simple rules I've personally learned for having a great time on Omega."
Mr. Kellius was instantly suspicious, and he squinted at Kevin. "Rules such as…?"
Kevin stood from his chair and lifted his glass. "Rule number one: If you're not drunk enough to dance, you're not drunk enough. Rule two: If you don't have an asari walking you home, you're not drunk enough."
Major Moneybags relaxed his stance, seemingly relieved at the harmless nature of Kevin's rules. He even managed to crack a smile and laugh. "Fair enough, my good man. And don't worry about trouble. My entourage here will not be having any drinks tonight, so we can count on them to be our logic and reason after ours have fled. To the bar, then?"
Kevin smiled wide. "To the bar!"
That endeavor proved to be an easy opportunity to numb Simon's cognition. For a man with wealthy tastes, he certainly didn't seem have a lot of experience or knowledge with exotic spirits and wines. Kevin wasn't a drinker, but he knew what drinks were strong, what drinks crept up on you, what drinks tasted like piss, and what drinks straight up knocked you on your ass—all from listening or watching patrons indulge.
He chose a set of asari and batarian drinks that were known to seem completely inert until the specialized mix started to come apart and filter into the blood stream. Once that happened, the drinker could be completely unaware of how drunk he'd just become until he tried to do anything requiring fine motor skills and failed miserably. Just the drink I need to put this wary man out of his wits. For himself, he chose a drink that was on the sweet side to offset the terrible aftertaste left from his earlier drink, this one also with a decidedly very minor alcoholic presence.
Kevin ordered a pair of moderately sized glasses for each of them and he began what he considered the most irritating but most crucial phase of his process. He began to talk with Linus about anything and nothing all at once. Starting with things to do around Omega that might suit the tastes of someone like Mr. Werner, he began to draw out a long conversation. Those that came to the bar during this time made sure to stop by and crack jokes with Linus and thank him for the drinks. These moments gave Kevin critical looks into whether or not Linus was holding his liquor, as his ability to smoothly alter his personality to address cold-approaching strangers became clumsier with each patron.
Eventually Stiffsuit was asked for a source of money to pay for the heavy tab he'd started and he dug into a specialized hidden pocket sown into the interior of his expensive jacket. He pulled out a bank-issued credit chit, marked with the name "Linus J. Werner". Fortunately for Kevin, Linus had all but forgotten that he was running a cover name or elsewise forgot to slide the chit to the bartender face-down. Kevin wasn't thrilled about things taking this long to get confirmation, but he'd been following this guy for a while now. He knew he was on the right track.
After the glasses were gone, they grabbed one more a piece and headed back to the table where Linus's entourage was waiting, looking more frustrated than bored. Kevin could have almost counted down to the minute when he expected the massive kick from Linus's drinks would drop in, and because the man was already sitting, he didn't seem to notice it very much. After that, the conversations became far more amusing, and Kevin altered his behaviors for a drunken disguise.
"So I walked into this room, right?" explained the drunk, hands flailing slightly. "T-two krogan, big ass krogan, both telling me to take a hike because they knew I was… I was there to free the asari maidenhands… handmaidens. I saw a bunch them all chain-chained up to a pole and I grabbed this long-ass piece of pipe and beat the living-ever heeeellllll out of those three kr-krogan."
Three now? thought Kevin who stole a glance at the bodyguards to gauge their current dispositions. They were looking to each other, all rolling eyes and shaking heads. If he had to guess, they couldn't wait for this night's shenanigans to be done with. This was good. Impatient guards were easier to manipulate. "Hah!" Kevin said brashly, throwing a fist into the air. "Fatasses deserved it!"
"Then I freed the asari and took them all ri-right there, and they loved it. After that I… what the hell did I do… oh, I paid off another fatass krogan mer-merc to be bait so I could slip away undectedetecteded. I hacked a cr-crappy stolen shuttle and flew off to my station in—"
Linus was interrupted by 'Bojack', the human bodyguard, who'd not-so-subtly given his boss a firm jab in the arm. When Linus looked over to him in irritation, Bojack simply pointed to a small galactic clock built into the armor over his wrist to indicate just how many hours had passed. Linus scoffed, but after one last toss-back of his glass, he acquiesced. "Well Jackie m-my boy, it seems it's… it's… it's time for me. To turn in f-for the night. You know, I acq-acquired a wonderful, glor-glor-glorious apartment here in 'mega. You're welcome to have a t-tour of the place before I cr-crash for th'night."
Kevin continued on with his drunken performance. "I can't s-say no to that, now can I?" He stood, wobbled a bit, then waited for Sir Sloshed to be helped up from his seat by two of his personal guard. He was finding this more amusing than he'd originally expected. No apartment on Omega anywhere could be called glorious.
"I'll t-tell you all about the… the plans I've made to soup the pl-place up," Linus began with ever-increasing drunken accents. "Even the g-great Aria LaToak will be j-jealous of it when I'm done. Tur-turret emplacesments, dancer poles, women everywhere… Oh, and one of those funny fountain things th-that shower alcohol or s-s-somethin'."
Kevin pretended to be astonished at his bold plans and followed him and his bodyguards out of the club and into the streets. They'd only stopped periodically on the way out to gather all of their weapons, Kevin being the last to do so to mask his stop by flirting with the asari at the desk. She shrugged him off rather fluidly after handing him his weapons. The patrons and soon-to-be equivalents gave the pair of drunkards no more mind than they would an insect on the floor, and he liked it that way. As they headed for Linus's supposedly glorious apartment several crowded and less savory streets away near the entrance to the apartment blocks, the rich man felt the need to reiterate all his grand stories about his fierceness in a fight, his popularity with the ladies, and his masterful cunning; none of which seemed very accurate, suave, or clever by any measure, especially with how hard it was to understand his sentences.
Kevin was near at his wits' end when they finally stopped in front of an apartment door right on the street. It didn't look any different from the several other doors they'd just passed or the several more heading down the street.
"Jackie my boy… H-here we are. This—this—this is my apar-apart… home." Bojack, clearly Werner's favorite of the three, helped the nigh-incoherent man activate the door and carefully walked him inside. He had to holster his weapon to make sure his boss didn't hit anything on the way in.
Kevin gave the two turians a look as they took up positions at either side of the door. That's right, you two. I was invited. Let me in so I can put that man out of his intoxicated misery. They exchanged a look and Tarjack flicked his head for Kevin to go in. It seems all of his enduring hard work paid off—getting the guards to allow him between Linus and them was the main obstacle. Kevin stepped inside the door, grinning, and the way shut behind them.
Ahead, Linus was babbling on about where he was going to put all of his fancy expensive equipment as he was being laid onto his bed with help of his trusty bodyguard. Kevin wasn't really paying much attention to what Linus was trying to say anymore—he had something else in mind to spice up the evening.
"You… You were right, Jackie. Th-that was the best-best… I enjoyed today… Probababably too drunk to order up a pair of ashari, tho-though, eh?" He began to chuckle endlessly and Bojack stepped back from his boss, shrugging at Kevin.
"We should let the boss be," Bojack suggested in a moderate accent resembling the old British dialects. "He's pretty much done."
Kevin nodded wearily as if tired from his excessive drinking and turned around, slowly, to let Bojack pass him. That would be his chance. This Bojack, with his being by himself and exposed throat, would be an easy enough target, especially with how unaware he is. Quietly, Kevin started after the body guard as the mindless banter continued to fill the room behind them. Perhaps too quiet. Bojack stopped in his tracks and reached for his rifle, but too late. Kevin made good use of his time and had unsheathed his monomolecular blade. It was a beautiful piece of black alloy, shaped in a thin triangle with no cumbersome crossguards, a straight, textured grip without a bulky pommel, and sharpened right down to the very molecule. He used his left hand to cup the human's mouth while he was still pulling the gun from its holster, tugged back to better expose the throat, and drew the fine edge effortlessly across the front.
A red smile, it was still called even in these days, and small wonder. The blood immediately started to flow from the clean slice, and the shame vaguely resembled a second mouth with a most terrible smile. The man attempted to scream, to warn his boss or his fellow bodyguards that they had been fooled, but the only noises he managed to make were sickening gurgles. Kevin slowly let the man fall as to not make a sound, and wiped both sides of the flat of his blade across the man's cheek.
He then turned towards Linus, still happily drunk and explaining in broken words how he was going to use all of his money to do the most selfish things here. It made Kevin sick. Strangely though, as he slowly approached the lying man, he pitied him. He didn't believe in karma, but Linus just seemed to have it coming. When the cosmos and your own very existence is eager to deny you life, how can you escape such a damning fate? His hit contract almost seemed like a trifling formality against such workings of the universe.
Kevin stood next to the bed, watching the man who by rights should have passed out by now.
Linus glanced at Kevin, smiling and blissfully unaware of the death not fifteen feet from his own bed. "J-ackie… Where… You are a g-good man. I… I… We're friends, y-you and I. Tomorrow… We'll f-find ourselvsh a couple of girlsh… And…" The poor fool couldn't even finish out his sentences.
Kevin laid a hand down across Linus's mouth and pushed his head back into the sem-soft pillow. "Hush now, Linus. Time to sleep. You've had a long, long day." Only then did Linus suspect something was wrong, but it was far too late.
Kevin tilted his head and quickly cut a deep gash across Linus's throat. The man's eyes went wide and his body twitched violently unlike the guard, and he began to claw at the air, then his throat is if he could somehow stop his life's blood from running freely. Finally he gripped the sheets in his helplessness, looking to Kevin in his betrayal while pools of red gathered under him to stain the blankets. Kevin finally lifted his hand off of the man's face and he contemptuously wiped his blade off on the expensive suit jacket at hand.
Blade clean and 'Simon' dead in a pool of his own blood, Kevin began to loot the stiff. He was short on cash, and Omega had a way of reminding you that noble behavior often led to an early grave or unending destitution. He found a pre-loaded credit chit, a card with some scribbled information on it, and an ID for one 'Simon Kellius'. Of course his fake ID would be the one he physically keeps with him.
After realizing he had absolutely nothing else on him, Kevin frowned and sheathed his blade. Upon taking a closer look at the scribbled-on card, however, he found something he did not expect. The scrawled information wasn't just meaningless notes, they were a registration account and vocal confirmation passcode for a ship. A ship! What in the galaxy would possess someone to keep a physical copy of this data? Someone that was afraid of it getting hacked out, he thought. You can't hack physical data.
But you can steal it, and that's exactly what Kevin meant to do. He scanned the chit to discover that it held a massive twenty thousand credits and he pocketed the thing grinning stupidly. I just hit the jackpot today. Where's the catch? Where's the inevitable balance to make me regret all of this?
Just then he noticed that the guards outside hadn't so much as peeked their heads in to check up on their next paycheck. Either they were busy, incredibly stupid, or they actually, honestly didn't see him as a threat. He didn't know which was worse.
He pulled out a holo camera and took a good image of the dead body, then smeared the base in his blood to ensure he could call the contract fulfilled. He dropped the holo camera into a box to keep the nasty red off of him and put that away as well, working quickly in case his luck with the other bodyguards wasn't going to last. As he made for the door, he began to well up dark energy. He wanted this exit to be nice and quiet.
As he exited, he flicked a thumb back into the room. "Damn, I've never seen anyone crash so hard." He was still using his slurred words to keep the illusion consistent—it seemed to be working. "Might not want to di-disturb him for the night… He's so gone right now."
Unfortunately, Neejack got curious and poked his head into the room to ensure things were alright. Kevin half-expected this, though in truth he expected it a lot sooner. The turian turned around to look at Kevin, face ghastly from the sight in the room, and meant to yell at Kevin to alert everyone nearby and mark him for a killer. He almost got the words out. Almost.
Kevin turned around with expectation and threw out both hands, open palms out. The dark energy he'd gathered coalesced into a long stasis field that enveloped the two guards and froze them in place. He fed a continued stream of dark energy into the field to ensure it remained in place. He wanted his exit to be nice and quiet.
"Thank you so much for the night, gentlemen," he said with a mocking bow. "I've got some other pressing matters to get to, however, and so I must leave you to your duties." He couldn't help but mix his last few words with growing laughter. He turned on a heel and started away with a bit of a bounce in his steps.
The guards watched him turn away, festering with cold, silent rage.