A/N: This is likely to be the last update for a while, as I'm going on holiday for a fortnight, coming back for a couple of days, and then going away again. It is, however, my intention to keep writing whilst I am away, so that when I get back, hopefully I will be able to post multiple chapters at once.
Rifles at Dawn
"Charon. I'd love to talk, but unfortunately, I'm on the clock at the moment. I might be able to chat later though, once I've eliminated my target. How does that sound?" Shepard said in a conversational tone that belied his focussed expression, eyes fixed on his omnitool as he ran a trace programme to locate his foe, before baring his teeth in silent frustration as his microcomputer drew a blank.
"I doubt I'll be available at that point, or that you'll be, for that matter. You see, I have it on very good authority that you'll be dead with your skull shattered and your liquefied brain leaking onto the floor, whilst I'll be off planet."
"I thought I'd already mentioned the imprudence, let alone the offensive nature of death threats. It's also considered rude in modern polite society to lie about one's identity to interested parties." Thaddaeus retorted, eyes shut and brow furrowed whilst he tried to visualise the events before he'd reached cover and deduce the terrorist's location.
"Oh, yes, of course, I'd forgotten that just because murder is socially acceptable these days, society's discerning standards haven't slipped at all."
"Well, these are rather extreme circumstances, after all, and, furthermore, ones that you brought about yourself." The assassin noted as he carefully ensured that he remained completely hidden whilst he silently pulled ELE from her collapsed position on his back, and deployed the sniper rifle, before shuffling to the very edge of his cover.
"Very true. But you can't deny, with your experiences, that this is exactly what lies beneath the surface of every so-called sentient being, that the civilisation that you believe is worth retaining is a mere facade that conceals the barbarism within."
"And I haven't tried to. Just because something is a mere illusion doesn't mean you can't enjoy it. For instance, just about every emotion is a function of chemical reactions occurring within your body, from satisfaction at the sight of the corpse of someone you loathed to the loathing itself. And the capacity for rational thought that seems to put us above just about every other being in the universe is nothing more than pre-determined electrical signals in our brains reacting to external stimuli; yet you seem to revel in your superiority complex, rather like me."
"So you intend simply to ride the endorphins until your body breaks down, content to leave nothing behind that matters?" Charon replied with contempt for the very concept of being enslaved to sensation in such a fashion, despite being aware of the hypocrisy. Everyone's a hypocrite, he thought darkly. At least I acknowledge the fact and intend to do something about it...
"Essentially. Nothing matters, as you said-and why does destruction have any more meaning than creation? Creation is merely delaying the inevitable, but everything will end just as surely with or without your interference, at which point when it ends ceases to matter, and you and your legacy are both just as irrelevant as everything else."
There was a door in front of the assassin, slightly to the left of his position at the back of the room, presumably leading into the owner's private area. His escape, displayed tantalisingly before him, yet it might as well have been a mile away with Charon waiting to place a round squarely between his shoulder blades.
The worst thing about the encounter was facing the unknown. Shepard knew nothing about Charon's practises, strategies or habits, and knowing that they had a similar way of thinking didn't help, as evidence for any theory always came down to two equally possible scenarios; either what he saw was a ploy designed to slow him down, or it was a genuine move on the chessboard that he had to react to.
The terrorist hadn't been using a sniper rifle in their previous encounter, which could mean that he didn't tend to use them, which could mean he wasn't particularly skilled, in which case Shepard's odds of survival were rather better, or it could simply mean that a sniper rifle had previously been unnecessary, and now was, and Charon was a perfectly competent sniper that would pick him off without so much as a blink.
Nothing more to go on; nothing to help him make a decision. It was fifty-fifty, and Shepard preferred never to gamble unless there was an element of skill involved, or he could put the rules in his favour by resorting to unorthodox practises. So that was what he did. After all, it worked for Hannibal Barca... and Scipio Africanus...
"By the way, you still haven't told me your name-" Shepard said, fighting to keep his voice level and casual, but deliberately letting a little strain in at the end of the sentence, just as he-
Flung his sidearm out from cover, to see it smash against the wall before falling to the floor. The sudden movement, combined with the ploy to increase the terrorist's adrenaline levels and make him more tense, compelled the sniper to open fire on reflex at the sudden movement, at which point Shepard surged out of cover and swept through the door at the back of the room, safely out of his foe's reach.
"You cheated."
Shepard snorted. "And now, you'll need to try and replicate the feat, or you aren't worthy of the role of Scipio to my Hannibal."
"And how do you know that I didn't precede you?" Charon's retort was automatic, and mildly spoken, yet there was just the faintest undercurrent of indignation that would be impossible to forge.
"I wouldn't be too proud of that, considering the comparatively amateurish mistake you just made. Now, as enjoyable as this conversation is, I have business to attend to." He located the stairs in the back of the building and cautiously ascended to the level above, avoiding framing himself against any windows.
Which made the inward explosion of the glass window to Shepard's immediate right all the more unnerving. Shepard instinctively flinched away from the flying shards of glass debris, shielding his eyes, although he took a couple of nicks to the exposed skin on his face, which were nowhere near severe enough to be worth applying medigel to; Thaddaeus simply allowed his blood to clot and seal the wound by itself. His mood, however, had soured significantly, simply because the event had startled him, although it couldn't possibly be anything more than a fortunate shot in the dark, and one that Shepard was determined his adversary would be unable to exploit.
"Oh, I heard that." Came the sly voice over the connection. Shepard's eyes went flat with the urge to kill. "Are you all right?"
The assassin didn't bother responding, and instead opted to disconnect, partially because he didn't want to lower himself to hurling abuse at his opponent, which was very tempting, but also self-defeating. However, it was mostly because Charon could use it as a way to discover his location, and there was no way anyone comparable to him would be fooled by something as crude as removing the speaker and hurling it away from his position. Besides which, he'd need the capacity to communicate with command again once he'd killed the arrogant bastard.
Is this the reaction I bring out in others? Shepard wondered idly, and couldn't suppress a little chuckle at the realisation that it probably was. He'd observed it, and understood it intellectually, but of course, it just wasn't the same as actually experiencing it. Now, he'd be able to enjoy it to an exponentially greater degree.
He moved on, crouching to stay below Charon's line of sight, looking for a reasonable spot from which to shoot that wouldn't be too obvious to an opponent.
In the end, he chose what was very close to an ideal spot, that Charon probably wouldn't even consider, as he was only too aware that the man he was fencing with was about as far from an amateur as one can get. After all, professionals that are interested in prolonging their existences are only too willing to handicap themselves in exchange for a bit more obscurity, as if you can see your target, your target is capable of seeing you. The option Shepard had chosen was one of the most obvious options to a professional pair of eyes, and would probably be disregarded by his foe as a result. Probably.
Charon didn't bother firing again; such a move could give away his position without any likely benefit, and, of course, firing too frequently would cause his weapon to overheat, leaving him entirely vulnerable and Shepard free to move in the open for a brief window of time. Either of these could, and therefore, according to Murphy's Law, would be fatal.
And so, tense, his body coursing with adrenaline and entirely ready to bolt from the very real possibility of leaning into a high-velocity sniper round, Shepard cautiously edged out of cover, his muscles aching and shrieking at the agonisingly slow movement intended to avoid drawing the terrorist's gaze.
It would almost have been a relief to return to the simplicity of flight, instead of this shadow war in which any moment could be your last, and you knew it, and the only way to remain intact was to play this mental game of chess, full of bluff and double bluff and sod all in the way of evidence for your hypotheses.
And nothing happened. Shepard stood half crouched, cradling ELE, his leg muscles beginning to tremble with the strain of holding such an inconvenient pose. The rifle inched its way up to his face, and he peered through the scope, slowly, carefully scanning the area for that flash of movement, that brief glint of reflected light, that ominous silhouette or, perhaps, a ripple in the air as a bullet passed him by or worse still, a sudden jolt and then the Void.
Shepard wasn't afraid, but he was certainly tense. And he wasn't the only one.
Human eyes are designed to see patterns. It's helpful in evolutionary terms; you see what you think is a big, frightening predator in the woods, and you run away. Sometimes it's nothing, sometimes you escape being eaten. Only very rarely do you disturb the creature that's looking for you and cause your own demise. Unfortunately, that was exactly what both men risked if they fired. Caution is, for this reason, all but mandatory in a sniper.
Shepard couldn't find him, knew he couldn't take too long or he might get spotted himself and be killed before he could act. He also knew that moving position could give him away. It was practically Catch 22. He lowered ELE slightly to examine the area via his visor, allowing peripheral vision, and trading detail for a wider area of vision.
Then-
He caught a sudden flash of reflected light in the visor's magnified HUD, and interpreted it correctly as an omen mere moments in advance of the calamity. He raised his rifle again, discarding stealth and caution in favour of haste, and, as he tensed himself to fall away from his exposed position, pulled the trigger-
Even as Charon did the same.
Both men, in their haste, failed to achieve headshots; each sniper round slammed into the other man's torso. Shepard was hit in the gut, the hyper-accelerated fragment of metal breaking through his shields and piercing his armour, before rending his flesh and finally taking its leave via the armour on Shepard's back. The force of the shot had been reduced to levels that wouldn't kill him instantly by his shields and armour, but he was still knocked to the ground, and struggling against the encroaching shock to retain consciousness. Fumbling briefly with his omnitool, he managed to apply medigel to the wound, and relaxed slightly as the anaesthesia took effect, before crawling further into cover.
Charon's armour and shielding were significantly more effective than Shepard's; however, by the same token, the assassin's rifle was a far more lethal instrument. If the round from ELE had more difficulty in piercing the terrorist's shields and armour, there was still more than adequate force to do significant damage to his innards, namely his left lung, which Shepard had managed to collapse, being a more experienced and talented shot.
The downside to the better armour and shielding for Charon was that the round had also ground to a halt lodged in the back of his ribcage, grating painfully against the bone if he didn't take care over his movements. The force of the shot sent him staggering back, wheezing and clutching at the wound with his free hand, before his legs gave way and he sat, slumped against the wall behind him.
The terrorist didn't apply medigel to the wound immediately, instead sat with his brow furrowed in thought, ignoring the pain, his restricted breathing, and the light headedness that it caused. A simple application of medigel might seal the wound and deal with his pain, but it wouldn't deal with a collapsed lung; in fact, it would interfere with the process, by sealing together parts of his anatomy that were intended to remain apart. He needed professional tools to fix the damage; if he didn't, he'd remain at a huge disadvantage.
Charon hastily injected himself with adrenaline and morphine, to allow continued function, before calling up the city maps on his omnitool and locating the nearest doctor's surgery. He hauled himself up off of the wall to a more stable position, and was about to scramble on his way, when a voice sounded in his ear, making his muscles spasm in shock.
"Close, but no cigar, mein freunde. You know, you really ought to have improved your firewalls..."