Pt.6 Infiltration
0200 Hours, Saturday, April 26, 2183 / Outskirts of Jalnor, Lorek, Fathar System, Omega Nebula, Terminus Systems / 3 years, 27 days Pre Reaper invasion of Earth
I discovered my final lead in the quest for Shepard's body on Lorek amongst the gang-infested slums of the miserable, swamp planet's capital.
Oddly enough, I tended to complete numerous puzzles in ghettos: where the boss hid, where the next stop for the cartels were. But my favorite thus far in my life was definitely the answer to, 'where is Commander Shepard's body?'
Of course getting there was hardly pleasant. Doing the dirty work rarely ever is.
"What have you got, Ratok? Smells funny." A batarian grumble rolled across the putrid wafts of wind that howled through the slum's alleyways.
Two yards away. Maybe three.
Judging distance purely through sound whilst hanging upside down was actually rather simple. At least so long as my captors were oblivious to the fact that I was very much awake. My senses had flooded back to me merely seconds after the bomb went off.
The damn bomb that blew up company property!
Ah, well. At least the corvette had not been a ship of great importance. The Illusive Man would simply send me another to continue my scavenger hunt for Commander Shepard.
But first I needed the intel on the body these batarian thugs were in possession of.
"Humans always have that sickeningly sweet smell, don't they?"
I don't believe that was a compliment.
"It's disgusting," The guard at the door huffed and spit at Ratok's feet.
No, definitely not a compliment.
"Anyways, this is a special gift for the boss." My holder praised himself as he readjusted my limp body over his shoulder.
"Scrape up a two-eyed for any particular reason?" The first voice wondered.
"She was causing trouble."
And I was about to cause a whole lot more for these idiots.
…
So long as Jacob didn't run in and screw everything up.
Brief acts of heroism certainly fit his psych profile. Assuming I was taken against my will by these thugs would be the most likely conclusion he would draw. His protective instincts would kick in, and he would come charging after me because that's what soldiers like Jacob do. They defend people they consider friends, family, loved ones, and the innocent.
A nice quality when not used excessively. Or idealistically.
I believe at that point in time, Jacob had already heaved me into Category A- and was highly considering Category C. That was rather idealistic.
Alas, I deviate.
"Torthak!" My holder cried, losing his grip on me.
My body was dumped to the unforgiving ground like a bag of sand- haphazardly and with little concern for the pavement's wellbeing. Unceremoniously falling limp onto a new wound- especially one yet to be cleansed of shrapnel belonging to a spacecraft- was never a pleasing sensation. In spite of the delightful tingling in my shoulder, I kept my mouth shut and my eyes squeezed, feigning unconsciousness until I deemed it necessary to make my awareness known.
A veil of my black hair shadowed my immediate view. My peripherals were entirely covered, but from the sounds, smells, and the slivers of view between dark strands provided me with a sum of my surroundings. I was in a warehouse, approximately two klicks northeast of the landing pad Jacob and I had docked in- where my ship should have still been had I not been betrayed by my contact. Nearly six pairs of feet shuffled against the dirt-laden floor, with at least five more in adjoining rooms, and two guarding the front door. I counted a total of nine exits: the front door, the backdoor, double doors with an adjacent hallway, five windows, and a ventilation duct. Only three were proper escape routes.
"Ah, Ratok." A new voice chimed in sickening recognition. It was the type of condescending, false sincerity used to illicit a negative reaction. Positively superior.
I was certain I had heard it before.
Torthak's voice continued, "Good, you're here. Now someone can tell me what the hell is going on."
"I had to stop her," Ratok scrambled for words. "She was trying to escape."
What? No, I wasn't. How stupid do you have to be to think I wanted to run? Sure, I held a gun to your head and told you to remove the explosives, but escaping? Hah!
Allow me to explain.
Several hours prior, Jacob and I had been lured through a labyrinth of backstreets and alleyways in an attempt to meet our elusive contact. After a minor altercation, and a tad of aggressive negotiations later, I soon realized my contact valued money over loyalty. And with a hefty sum of credits on the line, the batarian gangster had informed us that Commander Shepard was basically a corpse kept on life support in a stasis pod. Of course, I immediately doubted the part about the body being kept locked up in a storage yard. So, we followed the lead for clarification, and wouldn't you know, landed ourselves right in the middle of an ambush.
By the skin of our teeth, we escaped after another round of aggressive negotiations. Just my luck. Swiping a few very articulate batarian cloaks for disguise- one I had been inclined to keep until it was set on fire. Such a lovely shade of ivy.- I decided to make sure my credits were put to good use, or back in my possession. At least, that's what I told Jacob. I may have desired the chance to actually regroup at our vessel to plan our infiltration into their records, but discovering mobsters placing explosives on the hull presented an opportunity.
I improvised.
"Ah, yes. Your boss was just explaining his dealings with this human," Torthak hissed.
And then, with a distinct thud, my contact's four dead eyes bored into my own.
Oh… Well, dammit.
Not entirely disconcerting, but a bit unexpected. A pool of crimson- so much brighter than a human's and pungent with alkaline- pooled around my fingertips.
Thank god I put on gloves today.
There was a knife in his back. Jagged, with a long handle. Unlike that of a human's, but I found myself recognizing the make. I had seen one very similar in the sheath of a friend on Anhur. I had borrowed it once or twice. Killed with it. Effective and merciless, it would certainly come in handy.
"I guess that puts you in charge of this district?" Ratok was hesitant again, skittish even, before giving my contact's lifeless body a lethargic, unenthusiastic kick. "I hope you won't be so eager to sell us out like this trash."
"No, sir," Torthak chimed, tapping the sole of my foot with the tip of his boot. "Now, what are we going to do with her?"
Guess it's time to wake up.
I ground my teeth before mumbling coolly, "Whatever it is, I suggest you do it quickly."
As I maneuvered my way onto an elbow, Torthak's thick hand clasped down onto my shoulder. Foul must stung my nostrils as he released a ragged breath from between those sharp, batarian teeth. Multiple canines- the trait of a species definitely more carnivorous than humanity.
"And why is that?" He hissed.
Practically inhumane speed was another gift from Father. Every little detail of my physical makeup was better, faster, stronger than the average member of my species. And, I used those tools every chance I could. Even when it came to something as simple as using the brunt of my forehead to break a nose with six nostrils.
Unfortunately, even I could make mistakes, and I still do all these years later. My timing was imperfect, and I reached for Torthak's gun in the exact instant his fingers clamped around my wrist, twisted my arm backwards, and roughly shoved my face into the dusty ground.
Blood seeped onto my shoulder as he whispered lowly into my ear. "I won't be dealt with so easily."
A horrendously marred jawline appeared in my peripheral vision. I knew that scar. Recognized it at least. I suppose I should have considered just versatile the name Torthak was amongst batarian society. I had only ever encountered one on Anhur. This man. I was certain.
We'll see.
Friday, July 10, 2167 / Cerberus SERE Facility, Nos Astra, Illium, Tasale System, Crescent Nebula, Terminus Systems / 18 years, 10 months, 13 days Pre Reaper Invasion of Earth
Chained to the wall of a cold cell by my ankles, my eyelids grew heavier by the minute. Sleep had not been counted amongst my blessings during my detainment. I had begun to lose track of the days. This long-standing torture technique had been described to me, by Petrovsky, as among the most effective in yielding confessions. Exhaustion and sleep deprivation, combined with blaring loudspeakers and guards rattling the cage every several minutes to check in or lead a prisoner to interrogation was certainly a way to create loose lips.
After what had to be at least three, forty hour intervals of brutal cross examinations, grotesque starvation, water boardings, and uprightly shackled, bare as the day I was harvested from Father's lab, and alone with my jumbled thoughts in the cooler; my sensory deprived consciousness was beginning to understand why so many captured operatives wished to simply give in. To just admit defeat and end the torment. For the pain and suffering to cease forevermore.
So many had already crumbled in resolve and gone home, but just maybe I could hold out as long as I needed to. I could do anything, right? There were four of us left. We could persevere. If only I could have kept my eyes closed for fifteen minutes. I was so close to actually retaking an ounce of rest.
Well, until a bucket of ice water dropped my external body temperature another five degrees.
Tremors wracked me to the core as the icy sensation cut through my skin, and sunk into the very marrow of my bones. The air in my lungs solidified, preventing any sharp intake of breath. The muscles of my jaw were nearly too exhausted to even consider allowing my teeth the chance to chatter wildly.
Oh, god! It won't stop! How long have I been here? Where is Petrovsky? When will this end?
The screech of rusted bolts bounced off the walls of my cell, and my heart rate spiked so quickly, I began to wonder if fragments of my sternum had stabbed my aorta. I had no time to react before a black bag was slung over my head and my vision was obscured so I could be dragged into interrogation. I wasn't much for prayers, but I sincerely hoped I was not being led to water boarding. Four consecutive sessions might weaken my resolve just enough to make my lucid mind slip.
26. 27. 28. 29. 30 steps.
Okay, no water boarding.
My heart nonetheless hammered shamelessly away, mincing my rib cage as a heavy metal door swung and I was tossed to the ground. Incidentally, my head already sang, my shoulders and ankles ached. But when my cuffs dug into the flesh of my wrists, when I was wrenched to my feet, slammed into a stool, and introduced to an agonizingly sharp fluorescent light; I felt excruciatingly incapacitated beyond the steely glare I barely managed to present.
"How are you feeling, Miranda?"
I knew I shouldn't have hated the man across from me, patiently nursing his cup of coffee. After all, Major Doakes was only doing his job, helping me master resistance. He'd certainly played his role well- torturing my mind with contradictions, my lungs with the mock sensation of drowning, my extremities with minor electro shocks. But after a cyclical list of contingencies under his reign of terror, I positively loathed him. Perhaps, it was simple impertinence on my end.
I can still recall the way my teeth ground when he drummed a rat-a-tat with his knuckles against the metal table. With the swanky airs he portrayed, lounging back in his chair, legs crossed lazily. In my anger, I could feel the beginning of a growl rumble deep in my throat. But mere torture would not throw away my remaining ounces of dignified humanity so easily.
"You know," Doakes murmured, leaning forward with a kind voice. "I'm trying to help you, Ms. Lawson."
Yes, I know that. You're a teacher, I had to remind myself.
"All you have to do is sign the papers," He reminded me, scraping a manila folder against the surface of the table.
It's label read, 'Classified' in bold letters. Inside was my one link to freedom. The Golden Spineless Ticket. Although, I supposed, signing didn't make the operative as weak as I had originally presumed. Being tortured into confessing war crimes was certainly a lot more draining and soul crushing than the instructors had initially led on.
That's not so helpful.
Doakes slipped a pen on top, and gestured to the grimly lit interview- interrogation- room. "All of this…would be over. You could go home. You've done an excellent job. Most people don't even make it through the fourth day. There would be no shame in quitting."
Just agreeing to failure. To cowardice. To selling out Cerberus.
"Arnolds did," He goaded. "Just a little while ago. His handler has already taken him back to the Farm. You could be in his position. Comfortable, resting. That's what you want. Right, Miranda?"
Yes.
My fear and exhaustion spoke first.
No.
Then my resolve.
I stared listlessly into my lap.
Arnolds was the weaker link. Bastard. We'll have to revise.
I should explain.
Even though exact measurements of time had become obscure and blurred, the four of us junior operatives remaining in PERE had begun to devise a means of escape. Communicating through Polybius, a rare asari tap language similar to the old Morse code, we had etched miserable marks into our cell walls and banged drowsily against the bars of our cages. All the while we recited floor plans and security rotations in our monochromatic rhythm, we attempted to throw our watchmen a curveball by verbally rattling off encouragements to one another, griping for meals, and trying to sing out pleasant old folk songs to lift our spirits. Albeit, that typically landed us an ever so enjoyable trip to the cooler.
Chen and Franklin were to be our offensive muscle- all brawn with enough brains to follow decent orders, pick up vital bits of Polybius in a matter of hours, and make educated decisions. I was our mastermind, strategist, and defensive arm as the only biotic. Arnolds had been our infiltrator and tech expert. He was supposed to have stolen back our dermal implants and unlock our cells.
He hadn't trusted us enough.
He had given in.
Now it was all up to me.
Figures.
Doakes' voice suddenly broke through the avid silence. Colder, harsher. "Miranda, are you listening?"
The lapels of my smock were snagged as Doakes' fists clenched around either side and reeled me to my feet. He shook me so violently that the axis of my vision jostled, and the four other people in the room danced like marionettes. It certainly got my attention. As did the resounding slap to my face. Fear shot through me like a nail through my foot.
His breath was sickeningly sweet as he screamed in my face, "Sign the goddamn papers, Lawson!"
Then I snapped- or maybe it was just the bone in my thumb- suppressing the terror of predicting how horrible of a conclusion my stunt could draw, and encompassed the vicinity in a blinding, blue-white flash.
I had never moved so quickly in all of my life. Fueled by a sheer rush of adrenaline and anxiety, my bare, calloused feet barely glanced the pavement as I careened through the hallways of the facility. Away from the now unconscious or stunned operators- I hadn't absorbed much time double checking- and towards my team. I had not meant to throw them so roughly, and I certainly hoped there would be no permanent damage, but with my heart shattering my rib cage, I didn't really have the liberty to care. I just needed to run.
My shoulders burned sapphire as my corona hissed and popped, distorting the immediate matter it was absorbing. A resounding pair of leather soles beat mercilessly against the concrete from an adjacent walkway, and I hardly considered how many newtons of pressure I exerted with the biotic throw I administered. Evasion was key.
"Petrovsky!" I demanded my mentor answer the comm he was supposed to have had on his person at all times since the beginning of my vacation in PERE.
His answer was immediate, startled, and I could detect the faintest quiver of concern. "Miranda?!"
"I'm moving. I've just got to get out." I muttered lowly, trying to evade any auditory surprise for remaining guards. Of course, my gliding feet and the mess I had left behind me was very implicating.
"Bloody hell, Miranda," There was so much vehement pride in his voice that he actually swore. Oleg Petrovsky never swore. Over the line, I could hear his breath rate increased ever so slightly. He was sprinting. "That's amazing. Practically unheard of. Where are you now? What are you doing?"
Fear froze the plasma drifting through my veins the instant I hit a fork in my path. According to the layout my companions and I had devised through our experiences in the facility, I had two options. To my right was the route leading to freedom. There was enough of a blind spot in the watch to be certain that a set of guards would not erupt from the aisle for another fifteen seconds. To my left was the route that would eat my fifteen seconds and more. To my left was the path to rescue Chen and Franklin.
The decision weighed heavily in my chest, and I realized I was wasting too much time deliberating. If I left them, there was no guarantee of freedom, but I would only have to look out for myself. That was easy. Of course there were also higher odds of being recaptured, doubled punishments, and earning the title of cowardly. But if I rescued them like I had promised, I would fulfill my personal code of honor and have a team to reinforce me.
"Intercepting Chen and Franklin," I told him, panting as I bolted. My smock typically left me frozen during the nights, but the blood rushing into my face kept me alive, and vigilante enough to break a sweat.
"Good." Petrovsky buzzed in my ear. "Don't leave your team behind. They're useful allies. Keep your eyes peeled."
I had to grope the bar of Franklin's cell to bring myself to a violent halt. Franklin's wide brown eyes grew shocked at the sight of me. His hair was mused and filthy, his face ruddy and marred with bruises.
We matched.
"Lawson, what the hell?" Franklin whispered, catching his dermal implant as I worked away at the locks on his cell.
Hacking a few here, and manually breaking a few there, his cage screeched open and I bit down on my tongue in anger. Someone definitely heard that.
"Chen?" I requested, tossing him a stunner gun I had knicked from Doakes. No real ammunition was allowed in the facility. All of that 'murdering a student prospect,' would have been very counterproductive.
"The cooler."
"Cover me," I demanded Franklin, and he bowed under my command as I cracked Chen's cage.
Fortunately for us, we didn't run into resistance until after we had unleashed our last member. On the downside, we ran into a lot of resistance after we released Chen.
"Petrovsky, are you go for evac?" I requested, readying my biotics.
"My hands are tied. I can't offer assistance until you've cleared a kilometer." He reminded me. There were many things that slipped my mind in my deprived state. "You have to get outside. Keep a closed board, Miranda. Block their mobility and evade them. You can do that."
"Not an open board?" I tried to keep my tone light when I spoke of one of our favorite pastimes. Forever had seemed to pass since I last sat cross-legged on an old Persian ottoman in Petrovsky's living room, leering at him over a cup of tea as we bested each other time and time again. Laughing, and talking, and competing our wits.
Those times almost made me feel normal.
"Not unless you want to lose your knights."
A complicated piece to play with, but so rewarding, a knight could maneuver a board and evade attackers at close range. Powerful and mobile. Strategy was key.
"I do tend to like hanging onto those."
"Play to your advantage."
His reassurance was so unbelievably gratifying. I had no idea how much I relied on Petrovsky's support until that day inside of a mock prisoner-of-war camp that was so terrifyingly realistic.
We rolled in and out of rooms, improvised cover with doors and overturned tables when we were spotted, knocked our tormentors unconscious, evaded capture and detections, applied our tech skills on cameras and alarms, and shimmied through vents as we made our way downstairs. Upstairs was far too compromising of a dead end. There were no buildings close enough to leap to and from. At least on the middle level of the building we could lose our pursuers in a crowd.
And we did.
Though, not by much ground. Several civilian pedestrians offered us horrified glances as we toppled and jostled our way through them. No doubt we looked like a group lunatics on the run from the authorities. But, adorning ourselves in shadows and street wear, we hid in plain sight. There was a point I had my eyes on Chen and Franklin's safety, but not my own, and one of them had to tackle our pursuer.
I was eternally grateful. To my team. To Petrovsky, for being the quiet voice of reason in my head.
I had never been so happy to see him as the evening I crossed the finish line into the final safe zone. I still recall the way he stood at attention with several other high-ranking Cerberus operatives. The stoic commander beamed so brightly with pride, his gleeful, concerned smile outshone the congratulatory applause of all the others. Chen and Franklin were given claps on the backs, handshakes, and immediately checked over by a medic. My priorities were elsewhere.
Battered, exhausted, and filthy, I fell into Petrovsky's open arms, buried my face into his chest, and breathed a ragged sigh of relief.
Petrovsky was there when I was hurt, when I didn't understand, when I was wrong, when I lied, when I needed a laugh. For whatever reason he was always there when I needed him the most, like my shadow.
After he was gone- after I turned my back on him all those years later- there was a distinct emptiness in my core.
But, then and there, young and afraid, I was safe and protected. Because he had taught me well.
As my silent, dusty tears stained the front of his extortionate lapel, my mentor stroked my long, oily hair. Against the dulling chatter of the crowd, Petrovsky told me something I never heard from Henry Lawson.
"I'm so proud of you, Miranda."
0300 Hours, Saturday, April 26, 2183 / Outskirts of Jalnor, Lorek, Fathar System, Omega Nebula, Terminus Systems / 3 years, 27 days Pre Reaper invasion of Earth
"Typically someone with four eyes would be able to distinguish between an imbecile and a-"
I was cut off by the blunt force of an alien fist colliding with the side of my face. The shock of being struck had worn off many years ago, and my manufactured genes provided an astronomically high pain tolerance. Nonetheless, I did not appreciate the interruption.
"Incredibly rude. I was going to say traitor. I believe your friend on the floor here was nothing more than a selfish idiot. How could he know-" I said, haughtily until my cranium went spinning for the third time within the past five minutes. "How could he possibly know where the body was anyways?"
"He didn't." Torthak growled.
Short-sighted, or oblivious, he had not recognized me from our brief encounter nearly ten years prior in the boggy forests of Menhit Valley. Of course, why should he have? Torthak had been an unimportant member of the totalitarian Na'hesit, and I had not been the one to skirmish with him during the Shuffle of Menhit River. But I had seen him earn that terrible scar. And I witnessed the slaughter of a young friend.
Thus far, there was no need to remind him.
"That's what I thought." I admitted. "By the way, I've gotten to know several of your people over the years. Isn't it batarian custom to allow your guest to finish sp-"
Whack!
I rolled my head back up and attempted to stifle the smile on my face- the condescending habit I had developed whenever faced with an individual I automatically considered beneath me. Figuratively speaking of course. My hands were bound behind my back as I rested on my knees, and I was forced to tilt my head just so in a maddening effort to glare up at my tormentor.
"Guess not." I spoke again and earned another punch. "Well, now you need to even out the other side. I can't waltz around town all asymmetrical."
Whack!
"Thank you."
"Shut up, human," Torthak demanded. "The body isn't here, and you'll never see it. Who the hell are you working for?"
"Thank you for clarifying. How much did the Blue Suns pay you for it? Or was it the Eclipse?" I wondered as the metallic taste of blood seeped onto my tongue, watching Torthak's expression intently from my place on the ground. When he merely growled and tightened his fist, I immediately jumped to conclusion. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I don't believe you'd work very well with the asari. They tend be an organized people, and while incredibly superior, are rather open to other races. I don't detect that quality from you."
Whack!
"Blue Suns then," I decided under my breath.
"Who do you work for?" Torthak hissed again, wrenching my jaw upwards.
I eyed him defiantly. "Not you."
Growling with impatience, Torthak clenched his fists, raised one to strike me, but paused. Instead, he aimed a swift kick at my ribs, sending the breath straight from my swollen lips. He hissed at one of his henchmen, "She isn't going to talk. This was a waste of my time. Make sure you leave her body someplace easy to find. I don't want her friend snooping around here for another corpse."
Fighting the lack of oxygen in my system, a crooked smile split across my face. A trickle of blood drooped from the edge of my brow and around my eye. I goaded with a series of pants, "Aw, don't be a coward. What's the matter? Haven't got the balls to kill me yourself? Human men do tend to be quite a bit more anatomically endowed, I suppose."
The batarian ring-leader spun on his heel away from me, and began to lurk away. "I've killed plenty of women in my time."
"So have I," I conceded as his thugs surrounded me.
"Then you know you're all the same: Trying to buy more time," He scoffed. "And your time is up."
That was when I heard the familiar tink of a hollow, tin metal canister. Only a yard from my face, I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my ears the very moment Jacob's flashbang eradicated the senses of everyone else in the shipping warehouse.
Poom!
Regardless of my efforts, I was deaf to the world. The ringing in my ear canals was practically as disorienting as the sudden madness ensuing amongst the gangsters. One dramatically hued figure fell. Then two. Then three. Each with a gaping, blood orange hole in their chest the approximate size of Scimitar slug.
In the three seconds it took to regain any feasible grasp of the visual world, I had hit the deck and slithered from immediate danger, flat on my belly. Beneath the gunfire, I kept a careful eye on hot zones, and lunged for the dagger. Premeditating the presence of a thug behind me, I rolled into my side, found myself correct, and knocked the batarian off his feet. Wrenching myself into the motion, I took acute aim, and landed on all fours overtop of him. The dagger settled nicely into his carotid artery- slightly more proximal to the throat than a human's. And as the blood splurged with his final ragged breath, I barely circumvented a painted face.
Disgusting.
Wind began to whistle through my ears like the faint tide of the ocean hitting the shores of Dee Why back in Sydney. Somewhere in the depths of my mind it suddenly occurred to me that I had not heard the rumbles and rolls of Earth's South Pacific in many years. But, the faded echo of a very human tenor I was beginning to pick up was far more pressing, and I strained my ears to listen.
"…Miranda..."
So hollow and distant, but distinct enough to decipher. Not a beckoning, but a…cry for attention?
My head swiveled upwards rapidly, searching for the threat. Not four meters to my right, Jacob was toe to toe with three very large, well-armed criminals. Their senses were clearly still intact as they dodged behind crates to evade the marine's rapid fire. They must have burst inside from a back office when they picked up on what was probably a tidal wave of commotion. Not one I could exactly hear.
When Jacob ducked behind a stack of bins, leaving only a fraction between himself and a bullet, I took advantage of the brief interlude I was allowed. Mustering the cooling aura of my biotics, I lashed out from my crouch and struck the foremost thug with a wicked toss of dark energy, splattering my warp field clear across his chest to eat away at his very molecular composition. Alerted to my presence, they turned on me. However, it wasn't before each of them lost all control of their body weight, flung backwards into crates.
The warehouse fell silent.
I was nearly inclined to order a clean sweep when a sizzling sensation fizzled mere inches from my ear. Frigid and scalding all at once, Jacob's biotics had gruffly dragged Torthak from his poised shelter and landed him squarely at my feet. Although, I did not believe that was where Mr. Taylor had intended for him to land, I felt a supreme rush of satisfaction with the circumstance.
My hands were around the snake's neck in an instant, his dagger's blade firmly pressed between the bony appendages of his thoracic cage. If I had an accidental slip of the hand, or he so much as quivered, I would rupture the larger of his two hearts.
And Torthak knew it.
"Ironic." Flashing a rather lopsided and sore smirk, I twiddled the tip of the blade, snagging the fibers of his red tunic. "You bought me more time. Thanks. Probably should have taken advantage of your opportunity to kill me like I said, but you know men. Once you've made a decision, you're all so hard headed."
With Jacob's gun trained on his temple, Torthak's four dark eyes flickered upwards and back. Pure loathing seethed through his expression. Trapped on his knees, the batarian growled. "Screw you, human!"
"But murdering children," I hissed with a ludicrous grin. An irrationally angry bubble formed in my chest. I hated bringing emotion into these sorts of engagements. Emotions made the simple very complicated. Messy. So I suppressed them with practiced ease. "Murdering children is simple right? They can't fight back as well? Is the rush empowering?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" A nervous sweat had begun to perspire along his upper forehead. Fear and bewilderment dilated his large pupils. He was trying to decide who I was. If he had seen me before.
"Miranda, what are you talking about?" Jacob echoed, baffled.
My jaw muscles tensed. I blew out a long sigh, reluctant to reopen an ancient can of worms. "It's no longer important. What is important is my current mission. Care to share?"
Saliva. Torthak shared a wad of saliva with my boots.
"I don't think he's going to talk, Jacob," I dismissed the vulgarity, and parroted the alien's earlier phrase. "Are you, batarian? Do you have anything else for me on Commander Shepard? It's rather important that I have the body. So, if you could give me any further sort of useful direction, I'd greatly appreciate it."
Torthak gave me no answer. Only a steely glare.
Releasing an irritated breath, my arm shot out and yanked him onto the blade before Jacob could react. The batarian's body convulsed with the abrupt hemorrhage, and the color immediately began to drain from his features. A splatter of the orangey-red sprayed outwards and began to stain his tunic. Once again, I was thankful of my proactive decision to adorn gloves, but I wasn't looking forward to washing them out.
"Don't worry," I whispered to the dying thug. "I'll leave your body someplace easy to find."
I tore the dagger out of his chest, and stood straight with my shoulders squared away. He slumped to the ground in a lifeless heap.
"Like right here. Your friends couldn't possibly miss you when they come looking."
Beside me, Jacob radiated confusion and disgust for the mobster. And more than likely, for me as well. Slightly shocked, the marine had yet to lower his weapon. His almond eyes were somewhere between weary and furious. I was nearly certain he was prepared to throw the opportunity of Cerberus right out the window until then he threw me for a curve and asked, "You okay?"
My smile became genuinely relieved, and I wiped my brow with my forearm, ignoring the soiled still in my grasp. "Still playing the knight in shining armor?"
Jacob let out a low chuckle. "I saved your sorry ass, didn't I?"
I clucked my tongue to the roof of my mouth, and gestured to the bodies on the floor. "I was doing a bit of reconnaissance."
"That's what they're calling it now?" He teased rather openly.
I rolled my eyes, and set off to search for any signs of a back office. Not that I was expecting logs stating, 'This month we stole three million credits.' But there had to be some trace evidence, a crumb trail even.
"There's more than one way to get information."
"Yeah, I guess." Jacob frowned crossly, his full lips splitting into a thin line. He tailed me, gun still at the ready as I rummaged through a stack of old datapads I found huddled atop a dusty desk.
Nothing. No. No. Ah, shipping manifests. This could be useful.
"It was an unnecessary risk, you know?" I told him, downloading copies and scrubbing the files clean with my omni-tool.
"Maybe," He admitted, finally lowering his shotgun. Jacob pursed his lips to scrutinize me with eyes the color of baked clay. "But you'll have to get used to it if you still want me to work with you. For Cerberus, I mean."
Quite the slip of the tongue. Or maybe it was intentional. Jacob wanted to join my cause. I was glad to hear it. Just to be sure, I asked, "Are you still on the fence, Jacob?"
He shrugged his shoulders and followed me as I swept past him and out of the building. Towards safety, freedom, and the next arc of my assignment.
"Not really."
"An emphatic noncommittal."
Lorek's blaring sun parted the blankets of the sky, and beat down upon our heads. Raising my hands to shield my eyes, I paused in my tracks to bring my omni-tool back up. I abruptly sent a message to Cerberus Command, relaying the need for extraction, tagging on coordinates, a confirmation of a crumb trail, and the contents of the information I had recovered. Thankfully, there were a few operatives working in the Fathar System, so we would only have a few hours wasted.
And then Jacob caressed my cheek with the guise of wiping filth away.
I believe the only thing that stopped me from outright renouncing the gesture was pure exhaustion.
"You've got something there," He whispered, before moving his hand away.
"Thanks," I muttered, shutting my eyes to process my next move.
Jacob took care of the next step. "Are you sure you're alright? You got the crap beaten out of you."
I did actually have a bit of a headache, but with my L2, that was nothing new. So I rolled my shoulders and stretched my neck from side to side. "I've had far worse. This was nothing new, but I'm glad you came when you did. I didn't really wake up yesterday with a desire for broken ribs, but life doesn't always give us what we want."
There was a heavy pause as Mr. Taylor considered my words. "So did you find anything on the commander?"
I huffed irritably as we slid back into the crowded slums of Jalnor. The weightless data in my dermal implant suddenly felt very heavy, and I glanced once at my wrist where my omni-tool would have glowed orange had it been on. We eased our way into the crowd to hide in plain sight for the next few hours. "Our contact was correct about the body not being here anymore. They sold it just a few hours before we got here. Commander Shepard is well on his way out of the Fathar System by now."
His features turned downtrodden. "That sucks. I'm sorry."
"Ah, we'll find the commander." My confidence was not lacking. Neither was my desire for something cool to drink. This miserable planet sapped any hydration it could from organics, only so it could create a sludgy atmosphere, and throw every drop of liquid back down with hurricane force.
Jacob's tone was surprised, "We?"
"I thought you weren't on the fence anymore?"
"Well, let's say I am interested- then what?"
"Then I'll take you to meet the Illusive Man."
"Elusive Man?"
"Illusive," I corrected. That grammatical error certainly wasn't the first I'd heard, and it wouldn't be the last. "But I'm not taking you unless you've made up your mind."
"What if I've still got a few questions?"
I sighed in relief at the sight of the only decent looking dive I'd see on the streets. Oasis shone brightly in blue neon in my native language. The inside was cool, fairly quiet, and nice enough to relax in for a few hours. Making myself comfortable, but not ignorant to the entrances and exits, I checked the message I had just received on an encrypted channel.
'Well done, Operative Lawson. Estimated time until extraction: 2 hours, 39 minutes. You're permitted to head to Omega. I'll be looking forward to further discussing your report this evening. We have some very important news to divulge.
'-Cerberus Command'
"Well, luckily for you- we're going to be stuck here until my boss sends us a new set of helpers. So, Mr. Taylor, I'm going to buy to buy a drink...and you may ask away."
2100 Hours, Saturday, April 26, 2183 / En Route to Omega, Interstellar Space, Omega Nebula, Cerberus Corvette QEC / 3 years, 27 days Pre Reaper invasion of Earth
"Are you certain, sir?" My heart beat in my chest so forcefully, I wasn't sure if the slightest ounce of apprehension had been kept off my face.
"I'm positive, Miranda," He muttered over a drag of his cigarette. The Illusive Man stood with his back to me, contemplatively swirling his glass of brandy on the rocks as he leered out at the vast dwarf star.
It was all very picturesque, and I couldn't help the flash of admiration for my boss. He was always so focused, resilient, and forward thinking. Quite possibly the most intelligent man I had ever met, I believe he admired the same qualities in me. He was a pedagogue for humanity and our future. Those qualities I desired to live up to.
"Why would Collectors be interested in Commander Shepard's body?" The very thought revolted me. Vile slavers squandering through the Attican Traverse and Terminus Systems for a few measly credits, or beings with trivial distinctions like volus middle siblings, or dyslexics. But, now they wanted Shepard. Whatever the reason be, it was very alarming to hear. "And to hire the Shadow Broker of all people. He's rolling with high stakes now, isn't he?"
Illusive Man nodded thoughtfully. "In a way, he's my very opposite in this field of information gathering. We both want Commander Shepard, after all."
"But for very different reasons," I interjected.
"Very," He conceded, turning to me.
"And apparently, he really likes to work down the chain," I added. "Blue Suns, local gangsters."
I would eventually find out just how vastly extensive the Shadow Broker's network actually was.
"His influence is immense. We need someone we can trust- someone on our side- to help bring the body in, and figure out why Collectors are so fascinated with humanity's hero."
I rose a single, imploring eyebrow. I could hunt the body on my own. The Illusive Man didn't need to expel me from my search. So why was I being sidelined? "Like…someone with a personal investment?"
"Precisely," He offered a smile.
"The Shadow Broker would know if one of Shepard's own was on their own search. That would be a dead giveaway. It's what he'll be expecting," I countered.
"And our own involvement will be obscured," Illusive Man added. "You'll be able to monitor the Shadow Broker's steps from the inside. He'll send someone to watch Shepard's friends."
I breathed an understanding sigh. I wasn't to be sidelined after all. Just elusive. "Who shall I look into recruiting? One of his old crew would seem feasible."
He flipped through a lit of characters on his holographic screens. "The turian, Garrus Vakarian, has been admitted into Spectre training. The quarian, Tali'Zorah, has returned to her fleet. The krogan, Urdnot Wrex's whereabouts are currently unknown. And the human-"
"Is a crew cut that'll run straight back into the Alliance's loving arms. They'll never trust us enough." I decided.
"But Liara T'Soni might."
"Matriarch Benezia's daughter? The archaeologist the news was raving about a few months ago? She's quite the heiress these days." I was slightly baffled as to why an asari- one of the most supercilious races in the galaxy- would be so very invested in assisting a human that reportedly killed her mother. Saving his life, or- in the very least- recovering his body, was quite an investment to undertake.
"She's already dug her way into a bit of research. Barla Von has given her quite a wealth of information. She's preparing a trip to Omega as we speak."
"A Shadow Broker agent provided her with whereabouts on the body," I echoed my thoughts aloud, trying to put my mission in perspective. "So I'll essentially be hiring a scout and a double agent?"
"I'm sure her tail will be. If nothing else."
I nodded in acceptance. "Well, I guess I'll see her soon then."
A/N: (Important!)Hey guys! First, I'd like to thank my new followers, reviewers, and favoriters! You guys are awesome! Please keep it up. Your support is so very helpful.
I again apologize for the wait here. My friend recently helped me work out a better schedule. So, I'm going to try and follow that to bust these chapters out sooner for you all.
Oh, I also want to apologize if any of you feel like I'm torturing you with an exorbitant amount of Jacob, or anything else like that. Let me know, and I'll see what I can do. I like him as a person, but he's just not as compelling in my honest opinion. But, he is a character involved in Miranda's background, and Shepard's story, so he's going to pop up here and there.
For any of you that read the Foundation 5&6 comics, I did scrap a few characters. But, I found them inconsequential, so I added something a bit more vital in similar context for Miranda's own background. I like my idea better. Ha! It'll be further explored later on.
Also, anyone like the way I listed every crew member except the Virmire Survivor? Anyone want to take a gander? ;D I've always found that choice extremely difficult, compelling, and character defining. It's a big one, sacrificing a friend.
For any of you readers that are interested, I put some fun facts on the Chronicles of a Hellhound Saga up on my profile. It has some spoilers there for you if you feel like cheating. (Because no one here knows the Mass Effect story, obviously ;D) Go ahead, take a peek.
And guess who will make an appearance in the next chapter! That's right, your mother. Sorry, no. She couldn't make it.
We're getting really close to ME2. Just a couple more chapters! Thanks so much for your patience, guys. I'm so excited to start posting on Shepard, and Miranda's development. Please leave a review, follow if you like what you see, or even favorite if you'd like. Thanks guys!