A seven-act bridge between Mass Effect and Mass Effect 2. The start roughly follows the Bioware version of events between ME1 and ME2, but will diverge wildly in an original direction from Act 2 onwards.

Mass Effect: Resurrection

Act 1: Downfall

Prologue: Knowledge

Torus Towers - Financial District, Citadel, Widow Nebula

27 Standard Days since Battle of the Citadel

Barla Von glanced with annoyance at the client in front of him, focusing intently out of the corner of his eye on the few pieces of debris that lay in the background. It had been nearly a month since Saren's attack on the Citadel, yet cleanup crews were still working overtime to remove the wreckage that had accumulated in the Presidium. His own office and tower had escaped unscathed – the odd piece of flaming metal, plus a few short-circuited offices on the lower levels, but Barla Von's perfect view of the Presidium had been relatively uninterrupted.

Business had been excellent sincel – on both fronts. In his public life, Barla Von was a financial wizard, the ascendant paragon of a long line of Volus accountants and investors. He could move money from practically anywhere to anywhere, and leave no trace of it for Citadel tax authorities to handle. This was accurate, though he would have been insulted if anyone had suggested that what he did was illegal. Illegal transactions were for those who lacked creativity and intelligence, or who preferred blunt force over subtlety and finesse. When you knew the loopholes in Citadel financial regs as well as he did, there was no need for criminality. The past month had seen a flurry of activity as large investors sought to move their money away from the risky colonization projects they had once funded in the Terminus Systems and towards safer assets – be they the inevitable construction projects that the Citadel's reconstruction would fuel a boom in, or private security that tended towards the grey areas of the law. In the past week alone, he had moved close to forty million credits towards the Blue Suns, Eclipse, Talons, and a host of other mercenary organizations in the Terminus. Indeed, the human client sitting in front of him babbling away was here with just such a purpose.

Yet Barla Von's true passion lay in a commodity of a much more slippery variety: information. When he had started in the financial industry on the Citadel well over a decade ago, he had quickly risen to prominence with his ability to synthesize massive amounts of information, and had attracted the gaze of a much more powerful and potentially nefarious ruler than the giants of Citadel commodity trading: the Shadow Broker. A master of information, the Shadow Broker accumulated and traded it, wielding it as a shield and a weapon, a tool and a commodity. Aggressively neutral, the Shadow Broker would buy from anyone, sell to anyone, and work with anyone to assist in either side of those transactions. All that mattered was your ability to pay.

Not that Barla Von had ever actually met the Shadow Broker. Even when he was recruited as an information broker for his vast network, he'd only ever been directly contacted by middlemen. He filed information reports on a weekly basis – following financial markets and major transactions – but even these probably didn't go directly to the Broker himself. He also communicated with a number of other information brokers, yet even these had limited contact with the Shadow Broker and were largely in the dark about who exactly their employer was. Barla Von had long theorized that the Shadow Broker was actually a cabal of people; his omniscience and mastery of information-handling were too complete to be the work of one person.

Barla was jarred away from his thoughts by the voice of the client in front of him. The human had come to him several days ago seeking advice about offloading certain sums of money – quite substantial ones, in fact – to investments in the Terminus Systems that he was certain would pay off in the long run. He was dressed in one of the grey suits that were so fashionable in the financial district, though Barla Von didn't recognize him; he must have only recently arrived from Bekenstein or Earth, "…my investment. It's not as if it's immoral to withdraw my money from the Verdix IV colonization project and reinvest it in the Blue Suns. People want security in the aftermath of Saren's attack on the Citadel; the value of investment in private security is certain to rise."

"Certainly," Barla Von said blandly. He silently praised the exo-suit he was forced to wear on the Citadel, as it allowed him to privately seethe with rage at the client's stupidity. As if private security firms that operated exclusively within Terminus Space would go up! It wouldn't until something notable happened in the Terminus Systems – that was where the importance of such mercenary groups mattered, not in Citadel Space – but he would humour him. If a client insisted that they knew better, Barla Von was more than willing to let them take the fall for it – so long as those whose money really mattered knew it. "Of course, the option remains open for me to allocate your money to a combined fund of mercenary groups, both broadening your risk pool and the potential for rewards in the quite likely event that your investment does pay off." He paused for a moment, allowing the breathing apparatus of his suit to reinforce the authority of his words. "Given that you wish to move well over three million credits out of Citadel-approved investments, this would have the added effect of making it substantially easier to avoid the transaction tax provisions. While any individual transaction exceeding two million credits would be taxed at a rate of eleven percent, a split pot between the Blue Suns, Eclipse, Talons, and a half-dozen smaller private security firms based on Invictus, Deinech, Illium, and Omega would allow you to avoid those additional fees. Would you like me to pursue that?" The human in front of him nodded, "this shall be satisfactory then. I will subtract the usual fee for my services, and forward all necessary information once the transaction has been complete. As usual, I will leave no paper trail. Should your employers or planetary government come questioning the transaction, it will be as if those three million credits never existed." The human nodded politely, and made to leave.

He paused for a moment as he reached the door. "One more thing," he turned back towards Barla Von, who would have been visibly annoyed had humans been any good at reading emotion through the Volus exosuit, "Surely you understand that my government would frown upon someone of my status investing my money in Terminus Systems mercenary groups."

"Of course. That's why you came to me. There will be no trace that the money ever existed. Now good day."

His human client was slow to leave, but he eventually did so with an air of satisfaction about him. His business concluded, Barla Von reached underneath his desk and flicked a switch that double-locked the door to his office. The windows behind him shifted their pattern to block out all prying eyes from the outside, and a pair of holo-terminals rose from the sides of his desk. These were where he kept his other life. On the right screen, he was able to freely enter any notable information that he would send off to the Shadow Broker or other information brokers. On the left, he was able to monitor general traffic of other known contacts and the wider galactic feeds, which he could transfer to the private screen at a moment's notice.

His first task was to complete the weekly update that was demanded of every broker in the network. For him, these updates were usually simple; his basic task was to simply monitor financial occurrences on the Citadel and report back on them. Functionally, it was no different from the reports he had once filed week-in and week-out at the Volus investment firm he used to work for, with the sole exception that these reports often contained a great deal of insider trading and information – things that the Broker could then turn around and sell to prospective bidders. In his world, information was power, and Barla Von was paid a substantial premium for its procurement.

Logged: InOp Cit-BV, Report #27483-4X, 24 June 2183 by Human reckoning; the Shadow Broker had become quite fond of the quaint human calendar system. Since Report #27482-4Q, financial traffic has proceeded as predicted. Of particular note:

Alliance Deputy Ambassador K. Richards has transferred CR4,470,000 from the Verdix IV Colonization Program to the Terminus Security Investment Portfolio. Would be unpleasant consequences if revealed.

Two senior board members of Cipritine Defense Systems have resigned their positions in the past week, with rumours of another three contemplating doing so. Ostensibly due to family obligations, suspicion (confirmed in one case, uncertain in the other) is that Cipritine will lose contracts with the Hierarchy in the aftermath of the Battle of the Citadel, and they will seek to avoid losses.

Initial testing of Project V207 weapon (currently unnamed) suggests serious design flaws. Nevertheless, Kassa Fabrication has pushed ahead with its production. Initial test results will be made public in 107 days. Stocks can be expected to rise accordingly, and then fall rapidly as those flaws become common knowledge. Could have potential for serious insider trading; will keep notified of developments. Shared accounts will be shorted accordingly.

Initial cost estimates by the Hierarchy and the Asari Republics as to the damage caused by Saren's fleet were off by nearly 40%. Futures exchanges likely to suffer as a result.

Barla Von's typing was interrupted by an alert on the screen to his left. The general chatter was almost always incomprehensible – the domain of low-level hackers and information sleuths, it was filled to the brim with hacker jargon and tech talk that was far too dense for his head to wrap itself around. Yet this was different; it bore none of the jargon or code that he was so used to seeing by this point. It was but a handful of words, sent out only over a semi-secure channel.

ALL InOp. General Distress ALERT CODE 643

Barla Von had to squint through his exosuit to make certain that he'd read that correctly. 643…that meant that an individual contact or information broker had been compromised. Whoever this was, they were being pursued by someone. Or something.

Ordinarily, he wouldn't have bothered with a distress call, but something about his mod prompted him to click on the channel and bring it over to his private screen. InOp Alert 643 received. To whom am I communicating?

There was a pause on the other end of the line, then a brief flash that indicated that the agent was typing into the channel. InCon Ili-QD.

The Volus's eyes widened slightly. He knew the name, though not the face. Ili-QD was one of the newer recruits into the Shadow Broker's vast network of contacts; he was so fresh that he hadn't even been assigned a formal broker yet through which to communicate. InCon Ili-QD, this is InOp Cit-BV. What is the nature of your situation?

InCon Ili-QD to InOp Cit-BV: I acquired at behest of SB high-level intel from Citadel Command. Council Agent has tracked me and is in pursuit. Have eluded capture for twelve days, but am likely running out of time.

Council Agent. That could mean any number of things, from a hired gun to STG to one of the ultra-elite Spectres who operated within the Terminus Systems. If he was going to help, he was going to need more information. Please advise. Who or what is pursuing you?

There was a long pause before Ili-QD entered his response. It was only a single name, but it sent a shiver of fear for this agent through Barla Von's spine.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "that certainly complicates things."

Sky of Fire Nightclub and Casino, Nos Astra – Illium – Crescent Nebula

The Salarian sat in silence in front of the holo-chess board, his eyes darting back and forth across the room as he surveyed the scene in front of him. The air was pleasantly still, punctuated only by the sound of cards being dealt, the cheers of winners or the sighs of losers at the tables around him, the occasional chipping of ice against glass and drink, and by the low hum of the ambient music that flowed through the room. It was a light and constant pulsing beat – present enough that you noticed it, but not so much that it would intrude on your concentration if you were at one of the many gambling tables.

His eyes darted back to the lone Turian sitting at a Skyllian Five table some fifteen metres from him, his back to him and slouched over the table as he concentrated on the game in front of him. He again glanced at the board he had sat at for the past three hours, biding his time as he waited for his target to arrive. He had beaten five players in that time as he slowly sipped through glass after glass of water. The game of chess was relatively new to the galaxy, having been introduced by Humanity shortly after the First Contact War, but it had become popular since then. The Salarians in particular, with their eidetic memories and love of complex spatial scenarios, had taken to the game with great enthusiasm. Even now, he could remember near-endless rounds of the game during his time in the Special Tasks Groups – the complexity of the patterns attempted, the deception, the gamesmanship, and the thrill of being challenged.

Those days – ones he once thought of as the most glorious of his life – had abruptly ended three years ago. After a half-decade of working deep in Salarian intelligence, he had attracted the notice of the Citadel Council, and within months he had been inducted into the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch. He now formed part of the most elite subgroup of the Spectres, and had access to weapons, intel, logistical support, and equipment that ordinary soldiers could only dream of. His list of accomplishments was long and heavily classified, from stirring up fratricidal wars between cartels that had been planning to jointly invade Citadel space to manhunts that had eluded and stymied the top members of the STG or Hierarchy Blackwatch. He served at the pleasure of the Citadel Council, and was a force to be feared by any in the Terminus Systems who dared oppose the interests or security of Citadel Space:

Jondum Bau.

While the total number of Council Spectres approached seventy, there were nine within their ranks who were elevated to a position of pre-eminence – termed Arbiters by official Council designation. While most Spectres were expected to operate primarily within Council space – venturing beyond the Traverse sparingly – Arbiters were explicitly tasked with operating in the volatile and dangerous environs of the Terminus Systems, carrying out the will of the Council in systems over which they exerted no control. Spectres were expected to be self-sufficient, supplying their own weapons, equipment, and often transport. Arbiters were given near-limitless logistical support by the Council and the Spectre Requisitions (SR) Branch of C-SEC – SR Branch provided Jondum with weapons, equipment, reams of intelligence, and the occasional support of Union or Hierarchy deep-cover operatives in the Terminus Systems. The ranks of the Arbiters included some of the most storied Spectres in the history of the organization. Until three months ago, Saren Arterius had been on his way to becoming the most vaunted of them all – an Arbiter of unparalleled skill, fame, and ruthless ability. Yet strangely, and for reasons Jondum still didn't entirely understand, Saren's career, loyalty and life had collapsed in spectacular fashion: murder of a fellow Spectre, attacks on Human colonies, even an audacious attack on the Citadel itself. The revelation of Saren's crimes had struck a deep psychological blow to Jondum and his fellow Arbiters; Saren had seemed the last person likely to betray the Council. Though there was no evidence to prove it, he suspected something more sinister at work – why else would a fiercely loyal Spectre turn traitor in such a fashion?

His gaze was again drawn to the Turian across the room. Once a contact in the Council's vast information network in the Terminus Systems, twelve days ago he had been linked with a security breach that had obtained Top Secret data from the inner sanctum of the Citadel. Beyond that, the encryption used on the hack was so good that they had no way of knowing what data he had taken, though the possibilities were as endless as they were potentially catastrophic. Jondum's task was simple: capture, interrogate, and find out what data was stolen – and why. He was almost certain that the stolen information had been sold – why else go to such a risk? Even if the Turian had turned traitor to one of the major mercenary organizations, it would help to know which one.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heeled footsteps approaching him from behind, and the tingling of the nerves on the back of his neck that suggested the presence of a biotic in the vicinity. His whole body tensed and his hand reached reassuringly for the M-77X Paladin IV handgun holstered at his waist. His augmented sense of hearing told him that the approach was hesitant, cautious, almost expecting him to fight back. From the pattern of the footsteps, he was almost certain that he was being approached by a Human female.

"Don't bother," he noted softly over the ambience of the music. "If you're trying to ambush me, you should know that the last eleven mercenaries that have tried have received a rather nice welcome gift: a shot to the head."

She froze less than a foot from him, her breathing accelerated momentarily at the shock of having her approach detected. "If I wanted to shoot you, I would have done so from across the bar." Her accent was thick, yet Jondum could understand her words perfectly without the aid of a secondary translator.

Jondum swivelled in his chair as she slowly walked around to face him; the woman in front of him was a curious specimen. She was dressed in a form-fitting white jumpsuit without insignia, and her shoulders were draped by a black jacket that only went about halfway down her back. It framed her face well, as did the flowing dark-brown hair that came to rest at her shoulders with small streaks of white and gold in it. Her facial features appeared perfectly-shaped, and combined with her alluring figure, full breasts, and the general aura of austere confidence that surrounded her, Jondum figured that other species – and humans in particular – would likely find her quite attractive. His eyes, however, were immediately drawn to the two weapons holstered at her side: an M-4 Shuriken Machine Pistol, and a gun he had never seen before that looked to be built around a modified M-3 Predator handgun frame. From the way the fingers in her left hand twitched back and forth constantly, and from the tingling sensation the back of his neck was getting, he was almost certain she was a biotic.

He glanced up and down the full height of her frame, eyeing her suspiciously. "That would be unwise in this place. Look to your left, my four o'clock," he glanced in the direction with his eyes, and hers followed, "two Eclipse mercs – both carrying pistols on them. Look behind me ten metres, and you'll see a pair of Terminus Fists carrying heavier submachine guns than the one you have. I can see at least another dozen who are also carrying weapons. If anyone fired an audible shot in here, every single one of those weapons would be drawn and firing in all directions. Each of them would blame the other, and practically everyone on Illium is armed to the teeth anyway. I don't know if you ever took a course on firefight dynamics, but I doubt either of us would get out alive."

"You seem like you know this place well."

Jondum sipped another drink from his glass and nodded. "I've been on Illium for nearly two days waiting in here for someone that I knew would show up. I've had ample time to observe and gather." His eyes again darted across the room with a flash of excitement, and he spoke crisply and quickly to her, "I can tell you where every one of the exits is located, and how many guards are stationed at each. I can tell you which of the bartenders are stealing from the till and which one is sleeping with the Asari dancer twenty metres to your right. I know that the two Asari at the table over there," he motioned to his left, "are twins, and have been actively counting cards for nearly six hours. It's so obvious that the dealer has to be in on it as well. Though he's better at hiding it than the one who worked the same table for the previous two days, who incidentally hasn't turned up for work today, which means he's probably at the bottom of the sewers with a hole in his head." The woman appeared noticeably impressed by the level of detail. "Always mind your surroundings, always know your target, and always read your briefing book." He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, "but how much do you know? You're clearly here for a reason and it clearly involves me. What did your…" he picked his words carefully, "…illusive…employer deem fit for you to know?"

She seemed stunned for a moment, but quickly regained her composure. "How do you-,"

He cut her off, "I know exactly who you are and who you work for – it's apparent in the way you're armed, the way you dress, even the way you look at the non-humans in the room. The question is," his eyes burned into her, "do you know who I am?"

She nodded, "Jondum Bau – Special Tactics and Reconnaissance." He motioned for her to continue, "you're one of the Arbiters – the Spectres assigned to the Terminus Systems," he nodded again, "and you're currently carrying an fourth-run Kassa M-12d Locust submachine gun and a custom-tooled M-77 Paladin Heavy Pistol."

"Not bad," Jondum noted, "certainly more than the average person gets, and correct on all counts. But certainly not comprehensive; do you really know what I do, beyond simply 'protecting the Citadel'?" She appeared befuddled, so he motioned for her to sit down opposite him, to which she obliged. "Chess?" She nodded, and he quickly keyed in the beginning of a game, with her drawn as black and he as white. "Let me pose to you a hypothetical scenario," he offered his first set of pawns forward in a King's Gambit, which she accepted, "you need someone found in the Terminus Systems – someone dangerous who doesn't want be found. You don't mind considerable amounts of gunfire and death in the process, so long as the target is taken alive. Who do you go to?"

She responded to his aggressive opening with a series of gambits and counter-gambits, the end result of which was fairly inconclusive. She paused for a moment to consider her answer. "Urdnot Wrex," she said finally.

Jondum nodded, "good choice. A Krogan bounty-hunter who's been a mercenary for nearly five centuries. He's relentless, as skilled with biotics as with weapons, and has a vast enough network of contacts and allies that your target would be captured inside of a month, albeit with a considerable path of destruction left in their wake." He exchanged a series of moves on the board, each of them trading a pawn for positional advantage. "However, Wrex would no longer be a viable option. From what I hear, he's been in the exclusive company of one John Shepard for the past few months, and recently returned to Tuchanka for the first time in three hundred years. Apparently he intends to unite the Krogan clans for the first time since the Genophage. An audacious goal, and one that will require his full attention," he moved in haste, offering up the sacrifice of his Knight, "so no, I doubt that Urdnot Wrex would be your best bet."

"Alright then," she responded by taking his Knight, and then paused again, deep in thought. "Tazzik."

"Also a smart choice. I worked with him in the STG several years ago. He's extremely intelligent, good with virtually any weapon you give him. He was well-liked in STG, which gives him access to a whole range of contacts and logistical support your standard hitmen don't have. Just as relentless as Urdnot Wrex, with the advantage that practically everyone underrates Salarians in their capacity for violence. Fourteen months ago, even I would have recommended Tazzik as your top choice," he drained the last of his water, "but, as I'm sure you're well aware, he's found a more permanent line of work. He's an elite operative for the Shadow Broker now – and the way I hear it, that's not a parttime job. Pays extremely well, but also demands unconditional and total loyalty – not unlike your line of work. I approached him once about collaborating on a job and was firmly rebuffed, so Tazzik is no longer an option either."

"Fine," she was visibly annoyed at this game they were playing, in both senses of the phrase, "then who do I go to?"

He regarded her coldly, staring intently into her eyes and causing her to be visibly uncomfortable. "If money is no object, you go to Zaeed Massani. If it is – and given how high his 'bring them in alive' rates are, it probably is – you go to me," he answered quickly, with a sureness and supreme confidence in his tone, "because I'm the best at what I do. Because I have access to unbelievable resources, near-bottomless Intel, and because the Council itself trusts me enough that I'm their first call when they need someone found in this chaotic part of the galaxy."

"Then who are you hunting?"

His gaze went to the Turian again; his target was still there, though judging by his posture he appeared to be tiring of the atmosphere in the club quickly. "Someone who had access to top-secret Citadel intel – someone who stole that information. Someone who was good at covering what they stole, but quite poor at covering their tracks as to who they were. I need to find out what they took, and who they sold it to."

"And when you capture him?"

Jondum ground his teeth together as he lost another of his Rooks. "I'll deliver a report to the Council and await their orders. Otherwise I'll serve their interests as I see necessary in the Terminus Systems."

She regarded him curiously. "But why do it? It could take months in this environment. You could have the wrong man and not know it for weeks. Some of us are assigned these places – very few seem to openly flock to the Terminus Systems in our line of work. But you do, Jondum Bau. And I can't help but wonder why?"

He looked down at the board in front of him. By all indications, he had not played well. He had lost a Knight, two Rooks, and was about to lose his Queen. Nevertheless, the game excited and intrigued him. "I enjoy chess – it's one of humanity's better contributions to the galaxy. I especially like it in the Terminus Systems, where they introduced betting after every set of turns into the equation." He moved his queen into the only position it could possibly go, knowing that it would end with his opponent taking it, "it changed how the game was played. As I understand it, the late period of Humanity's isolation saw it focus on memorizing openings and forcing your opponent to surrender. But that's so…boring – I prefer subterfuge and intrigue, and betting brought those back. The incentives changed – you want your opponent to think they're winning, so that they'll keep betting. It became less about knowing the openings and more about drawing them in, keeping up the ruse of their supremacy long enough to deliver the killing blow. Until the moment before they lose, you want them to believe that they can win."

"To me, that sums up the promise and peril of the Terminus Systems. Everyone comes here thinking they're going to win – that they're going to have it made, or find promise, or wealth, or escape. It draws them in, promising them glory and fame and fortune and a thousand other things in between. But it possesses a consciousness and cannibalistic zeal of its own – it draws you in, but then chews you out, grinds you up, and spits you back out the other side. Yet rather like this particular game, they keep going for it. They keep thinking they can win, and millions upon millions of the galaxy's most ambitious and hardened fugitives and criminals meet the exact same fate. They treat chaos as a ladder and realize – too late – that it's a pit of fire. It's a strange psychology – especially compared to the predictability of the Citadel, and I don't know about you," he regarded his companion coolly, "but I find that much more interesting."

"Easy enough to say, given where you stand," she quipped back as she took his Queen, "you've lost nearly every piece of value, and I'm three moves from victory."

"That you are," he replied, "but…" he moved his last remaining Knight to the spot where his Queen had been, boxing in her King with his remaining Bishops, "checkmate."

She stared ahead blankly, dumbfounded by what had just transpired in front of her. Jondum simply smiled to himself – it was a feint he had pulled off three times in a row now. As he took a moment to enjoy her shock at the sudden loss, he noticed the Turian make for the far exit out of the corner of his eye. He swept into action almost immediately. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a target to apprehend." He deactivated the holo-board and tucked his chair back in against the table. As he turned to go, he gave a final backwards glance at the woman who had joined him. "Give my regards to Cerberus, Miss Lawson."

Jondum moved quickly through the crowd between him and the far door, passing almost unnoticed by the bartender and freeing himself from the grip of the masses around him. The Turian glanced backward at where he was standing, and he ducked down into the crowd to avoid being noticed. So he knows that he's being followed, Jondum thought to himself. That could complicate things, but it's nothing that I haven't dealt with before. If it's gotten to the point where they're sending me after them, they typically know they're being followed by someone. When he raised his head into the thick of the crowd again, he quickly spotted the Turian slipping through the door.

He followed his target, quietly exiting through the door and into a narrow hallway that led to the open air of Illium. Free from the crowded nightclub, Jondum drew his M-77 Paladin pistol from his holster. A Spectre-issued variant of the popular Carnifex, the Paladin combined the versatility and compactness of a standard sidearm with the kick and firepower of a top-tier assault rifle, resulting in a pistol that inflicted far more damage than its small size would suggest. SR Branch had modified Jondum's Paladin with a special grip-reader, which made it so that the gun would only fire in his hands; in those of anyone else, it would jam and eventually overheat.

He reached the exit and calmly activated a hack program on his omnitool that had the door open within seconds. He was greeted by a majestic and awe-inspiring view of Nos Astra, its soaring spires lighting up the night now that the last rays of Tasale had disappeared beyond the horizon. Illium was active during the day – a hub of commerce and trade that linked the Asari Republics with the markets of the Terminus Systems, but it truly came alive at night. Line upon line of traffic hummed between the towers of Nos Astra, and the noise from the hundreds of bars, nightclubs, and seedier establishments below wafted upwards into the warm night air. If you looked hard enough, you could buy practically anything in Illium – provided you were willing to pay.

This far below the sparkling lights of Nos Astra's wealthiest districts, the streets were practically empty – this late in the evening, the residents of Illium were liable to either be asleep in their high towers or enjoying the nightlife. Even in the dark, it wasn't difficult to spot his target some thirty metres in front of him, the Turian walking at a brisk pace out into the night. Jondum followed close behind, careful to keep to the shadows such that the Turian didn't know that he was being followed. His target cut to the left into another alley, and he quickly tagged the Turian with his omnitool so he could track his movement when he disappeared from visibility. He followed him into the darker alleyway and kept his gun drawn. The target was already gone from view when he turned the corner, but his tracker stalked him around another pair of corners. Either he knows he's being followed, or he's been instructed to assume he is. Smart on his part – in the Terminus systems, even the paranoid are right eventually.

The second narrow corridor parted into a vast twenty-foot wide avenue that cut through the underbelly of Nos Astra. Had it not been for the software his omnitool was running, Jondum would have lost track of his target in the massive crowd of people milling about through the road. Individuals of countless species – Human, Turian, Batarian, Salarian, Asari, even Krogan and Volus – moved in a myriad of directions around him. Jondum quietly holstered his sidearm as he milled through the crowd, careful not to lose sight of his target as he continued moving forward. Ten metres into the street, he realized that moving against such a crowd would prove futile, and shifted himself to the less densely-populated sides of the street, where he would have a clear view of the entire crowd. The Turian continued to move through the crowd at a slow yet constant pace. Without warning, the Turian shifted his movement in the opposite direction from Jondum, moving for one of the alleyways farthest from him. Jondum cursed his luck as he furiously pushed and shoved his way back through the crowd, straining against the height of the Batarians and Turians around him to maintain a line of sight with his target. He passed directly between a pair of Asari in Eclipse armour, and then ducked beneath a lumbering Elcor that was attempting to move by him as he continued to move inexorably towards the alley where the Turian was headed. He eventually succeeded in reaching the edge of the crowd and stole quickly for the alley. He found he had closed the distance on the Turian – now only twenty metres in front of him – and he shuffled stealthily through the alley to avoid detection.

At the end of the alley was a single door with a pair of armed men – one Batarian and a Human – standing watch on either side of the airlock. Judging by their weapons – one carrying a Lancer assault rifle, the other a Scorpion shotgun – he guessed they were either from the Talons, Blue Suns, or Terminus Fists. Regardless, the Turian passed through unmolested, and the door sealed behind him – its characteristic datapad shifting to a locked orange. Two mercenaries on the outside, probably a half-dozen on the inside – certainly no more than ten, based on the size of the building. Shouldn't be too difficult; just check your damn corners.

Jondum walked in open view towards the two guards, bringing his omnitool into full view to feign absent-mindedness. He tried his best to appear lost, as if he was furiously reading a nav-point or map. The Batarian took notice of him when he got within twenty feet of the door, his Scorpion raised close to his chest in a protective gesture. "You there," he called out, "who the hell do you think you are?"

Jondum looked up, a mask of bewilderment on his face. "I-, I'm so sorry but-…I was told by a close associate of mine – a Turian, perhaps you know him? – to meet him at this location – it was loaded into my nav-point."

"And what might the name of this friend be?" The Human mercenary joined him, pointing his assault rifle from the hip squarely at Jondum.

He decided to gamble on the correct name. "Dias".

The Batarian regarded him coolly for a moment, and then shook his head. "Even if I knew who that was, there's no way I'd let you in here – this is a private facility. Now get the fuck outta here, unless you want this to get ugly."

This is the place, Jondum thought to himself, the tone of the 'even if' gave it away. Now to deal with the reception party. "Please, gentlemen, I guarantee you that this is the place. Look, I can even show you on my omnitool."

The human raised the Lancer to his shoulder, its sights aimed firmly at Jondum's chest. "That wasn't a request. Get the fuck out of here."

Jondum shook his head, "This could have been a lot easier. Very well." and activated a micro-EMP on his omnitool, plunging their immediate vicinity into near-total darkness. Jondum took advantage of the confusion to draw his Paladin, and both mercenaries were dead in seconds. He keyed his omnitool to begin the hack on the door as he searched the bodies. Besides the weapons, he found very little on them, though he was able to get a closer look at the insignia on the armour. Blue Suns. They don't tend to operate on Illium – Eclipse and their subordinates have their claws around this planet like a vice. Speaks to the importance of whatever it is Dias stole.

The door clicked open and Jondum walked through. In front of him was a long, dimly-lit corridor. Only a handful of lights punctuated the darkness, and it was barely wide enough to walk with arms outstretched. The corridor ran twenty feet, and then cut left in a single path that left Jondum with no option but to continue forward. His armoured footsteps rang out as he moved slowly down the hall, his Paladin tense and ready in his right hand. He turned the corner to find it empty – odd for a facility that he imagined would be bristling with guards and mercenaries – and saw only a single unlocked door at the other end. Almost certain of who was beyond the door, he strode forward confidently, and was satisfied as the door clicked open in front of him.

The Turian was waiting for him on the other side, his back to the entrance and focused on a starmap displayed on the far wall. The room extended fifteen metres outwards, with low ceilings providing little vertical cover. Two other entrances to the room were spaced across either side of the room. Two Blue Suns mercenaries stood at attention on either side of Jondum's target, with an additional pair of mercenaries standing to his right near one of the doors to other parts of the facility. As he entered the room, his target turned to face him, revealing himself fully to Jondum for the first time. His face bore the tattoos of Digeris – a colony in the Castellus System that was one of the first major Turian colonies following the acquisition of FTL Spaceflight. He wore only light Predator armour, and Jondum couldn't tell if he was carrying any weapons on him. The two mercenaries flanking him did not immediately raise their weapons, though they certainly tensed up at the presence of a Council Spectre ten feet away.

The Turian regarded him coolly, tilting his head slightly as he approached. "Jondum Bau. I figured it was only a matter of time before the Council sent someone after me, though I must confess I wasn't expecting an Arbiter."

"Quintus Dias." The Turian nodded to him as Jondum holstered his pistol, "They don't mind if you earn a little money on the side – you are a freelance contact, after all. They'd just prefer if it wasn't selling our secrets."

Quintus Dias shook his head slowly, "if you knew the kind of sums I'd been offered, you'd have taken it as well. Besides," his mandibles flicked back and forth quickly, "my hack was so good that you still don't have any idea what I stole."

Jondum took another step forward, noting as the door to his left opened and a pair of rifle-carrying mercenaries filed through. "I know that it was important enough to warrant them calling me. I know that you deliberately avoided Illium for several days, even though Council records state that as your base of operations. I also found out your exact location from someone who you never thought would be found."

Dias's eyes snapped upwards, a look of half-surprise filtering through his otherwise stoic expression. "The contact on Deinech?" Jondum nodded. "You killed him?" He nodded again. "How did he die?"

Memories flooded back through Jondum's mind. He had cornered them in Valac, in one of the multitude of destitute lower-level slums that spanned the Lines where the various networks from the Families and cartels interacted. It had taken nearly four days to get him isolated, but he'd eventually done so in the bathroom of one of Valac's seediest nightclubs, having waited until the early hours of the morning to catch the Batarian alone. The fight had been quick, efficient, and brutal; the Batarian died with his throat cut by a shard of steel torn from the sink. "Not well."

Dias swivelled his head to his left as another mercenary moved through the door, making for five altogether in the room. "What a shame," he sniffed the air, "he knew what he was doing." He paced across the room like a caged animal as Jondum advanced towards him, his two guards continuing to flank him. "You are certainly persistent."

"It doesn't matter where you run in space – Terminus, Traverse, or Citadel," Jondum paused for added effect, "I'll always find you eventually."

"Indeed," Dias noted. Jondum heard the door behind him hiss open and the sound of booted feet, of weapons being raised and armed, "but I'm afraid that this is as far as you get. You're outnumbered seven to one, outgunned by more than that, and my backer has strict orders that any pursuer is to be killed." The Turian raised his pistol, "I hope you'll understand."

Jondum closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled. Based on the sounds and smells of the mercenaries around him, he was surrounded by two humans, three Turians, and a pair of Batarians. The weapons ranged from pistols to assault rifles, and their range from him anywhere from two to six metres. He bowed his head momentarily, bringing himself to inner peace and stability.

"So be it."

He moved like lightning, drawing his Paladin and pivoting on his heel to face the two mercenaries behind him. He caught both of them in the chest, and then spun again to catch the Human from behind as both mercenaries crumpled to the floor. Positioning his left hand in the crook of the dying mercenary's arm and holding his body in front of him like a shield, he swivelled to face the Batarian and Turian to his left – both of whom had their weapons drawn and aimed at him. Their aim was erratic, and several shots struck the Human in the chest and torso or whizzed over Jondum's shoulder. He thrust his Paladin in front of the body that shielded his frame and fired at both the mercenaries, downing them with clean shots to the head. He dropped the Human body as he felt it go limp, and dove forward to dodge the incoming fire of the remaining Turian mercenaries. He turned the dive into an instinctive role forward, which brought him within striking distance of the two mercenaries. His first thrown punch connected with the Turian's jaw from the right, knocking his concentration and allowing Jondum to get his ankle in behind the mercenary's knee. He kicked upwards violently and brought the Turian to the ground, sending his assault rifle sprawling across the room. He spun again to avoid the spray of fire from the other Turian's Lancer assault rifle, and then fired his last two remaining shots directly at the Turian's chest.

He reached into the side-pouch of his left boot and drew his omni-knife from its sheath. Still in the testing phase, the omni-knife relied on the instant fabrication of a silicon-carbide blade from a simple hilt. HMOT and Armali Council both hoped to eventually apply the design to the omni-tool, and Jondum had been equipped with one of the early models by SR Branch to test the viability of the blade. As he sank it directly through the prone Turian's armour and into flesh and bone, he had no doubt that the design would be successful.

He turned to face his last opponent, the human looking slightly hesitant and nervous as Jondum approached. He clearly hadn't anticipated who he was up against, thinking that six fellow mercenaries would be sufficient to take on a lone Salarian. Jondum closed the distance between them rapidly, and ducked as the human threw the first wild swing of his fist in at him. He bent backwards as the human again tried to land a single knockout blow, and Jondum responded with a quick set of punches against the mercenary's chest and neck. The mercenary lunged forward in desperation, and Jondum quickly caught him in the shoulder with his elbow, throwing him backwards and exposing his chest. The omni-knife flashed across the light armour and cut through it instantly; the merc fell backwards, dead from shock before his body even hit the ground.

Jondum turned back to Dias, who was staring at the floor dumbfounded. Blood pooled at his feet from the half-dozen mercenaries who lay dead around him, and his eyes began to dart from exit to exit, looking for a way to get past Jondum. Jondum bluffed forward, raising his empty pistol directly at the Turian. If he paused to reload, it would buy Dias enough time to make a break for one of the doors, but he couldn't just keep pointing an empty pistol at the Turian and hoping he wouldn't call his bluff.

For the longest time neither of them moved, each playing their game of chicken with the other. At last, Jondum faked a lunge for the one exit, and then moved in the opposite direction. He guessed right as Dias sprinted for the exit. The Turian beat him to it, and Jondum swore as the door momentarily shut behind him. When it opened, Quintus Dias was easily ten feet ahead of him, with a burst of speed carrying him down the hallway and away from Bau. He rounded the corner barely five feet behind his target, but unable to pause to discharge the spent thermal clip in his pistol lest he risk letting Dias get out into the open street. He closed the distance enough that the door to the streets of Illium was still open when he sprinted out into the open air. The heat hit his lungs hard, and he pushed through the strain to keep close to Dias. The Turian rounded a corner into the closest alleyway, then twisted again into another narrow corridor. By the time Jondum had him back in view, Dias was a full thirty feet in front of him, making good on his escape.

Jondum cursed his luck at having lost his target. Even with his substantial network of intelligence gathering, it would take months to locate the Turian again – the Terminus Systems contained dozens of worlds on which one could virtually disappear, and he shuddered to think of how many credits it would take to-,

WHACK!

The sound of the kick caught him off guard, and when he looked up he saw Dias tumbling backward across the ground, his momentum forward cut off by the heeled boot that had spun upward to catch him square in the jaw. Before Dias could react again, he was quickly caught in a powerful biotic stasis field that held him in place as Jondum approached.

From a small alcove in the middle of the alleyway emerged the woman responsible for the impressive neutralizing of his target. He was surprised to see staring back at him the same eyes that had regarded him so curiously at the nightclub, the same eyes that had recoiled in shock at his masterstroke of creative board-play. Now it was his turn to be surprised, as Miranda Lawson effectively handed him his target on a silver plate.

She walked towards the body and stood over it as Jondum approached. "I tried to tail you after you left the club," she explained as Jondum knelt beside Quintus Dias, "but I lost track in the crowd. I know of three open-area safehouses in the area, and I guessed which one it was – turns out I was right."

Jondum nodded in appreciation as he turned over Dias's motionless body. The Turian was still breathing, but he didn't respond to the usual pressure points or signals. "He's definitely out cold," he glanced at Miranda quickly, "good hit."

"I was in the area, and my employer figured you could use the help."

Jondum looked at her incredulously as his omnitool began to hack into Dias's omnitool. "Any particular reason why your boss wants to make sure I'm successful? I seem to recall him not being particularly fond of my species."

Miranda chuckled softly to herself. "My employer has a guess about what's inside that omnitool – his decryption software isn't perfect, but it's certainly better than the standard C-SEC stuff." Jondum rolled his eyes as he again concentrated on the work in front of him, "if we're correct, then we certainly don't want to be the only ones with that knowledge."

"It's funny how your prejudices get spaced the moment Intel is involved," Jondum muttered as he continued to work away at the software encryptions around Dias's omnitool. "Now if only you could apply that standard to your everyday line of work – you might actually be considered legitimate by the Citadel and not terrorists with a price on your heads."

"You never know," Miranda crouched beside Jondum, examining the prone body at their feet, "the Alliance has enough red tape to sink a cruiser, or so one of my associates put it. You can spend a lifetime trying to advance the interests of your species, as any reasonable individual in any species might do, and get nowhere. We're so desperate for the approval of other species that we've lost what made us human: our drive, our ambition, our willingness to do things that are irrational and dangerous for the sake of adrenaline. Our work encapsulates that: nothing is off-limits, nothing is beyond the bounds of morality. If it'll get the job done, we'll do it." She leaned in extremely close, so that her teeth were almost at his ear, and the sound of her whisper sent a light breeze past his head, "and I don't know about you, but I find that much more interesting." In a flurry she was on her feet, slinking backwards into the darkness until the sound of her clicking heels had nearly faded away. "Good day, Mr. Bau."

Say what you want about humans, Jondum thought to himself, they certainly have a flair for the dramatic. A grin crept across his face as his omnitool indicated that the hack was complete, and in seconds code began to streak across the holo-screen on his own omnitool. The code began to parse itself into sub-categories and sub-files, his processor quickly eliminating any data that didn't have the top-level Citadel Security Clearance attached to it. It had been impossible to tell what Dias had taken from the Citadel, but the origins of stolen code were remarkably easy to find. Thank the Goddess they haven't figured out how to get rid of that particular tag yet. My job would be damn near impossible if they did.

The data fragment in question revealed itself soon enough, and Jondum pulled it up in more detail on his screen. What would be important enough to throw away your entire career, run as a fugitive through the Terminus systems for a month, and risk getting tracked down by one of the Arbiters for? The answer was apparent soon enough, as the code was quickly translated into language that he understood. It was a transponder code, used by the Citadel Overwatch to maintain a constant overview of the locations of Citadel vessels involved in Council operations. This particular code had been assigned less than a Galactic Standard Month earlier, and was assigned to a Frigate in the Alliance Fifth Fleet.

SSV Normandy, the vessel of Commander John C. Shepard, Special Tactics and Reconnaissance.

Jondum triggered a shock to Dias's system with his omnitool, and the Turian quickly regained consciousness, albeit in a dazed state. He took advantage of the Turian's lack of coordination to drag him bodily against the wall. He pinned him with his stronger hand to the wall, using his omnitool to send periodic shocks through the Turian's system to keep him off-balance as he shouted vocally at him. "Why did you take this? Who wants this data fragment?" He sent another, stronger shock through the system, "was it the Shadow Broker?" Dias tried to resist, but Jondum responded by punching him – hard – squarely in the jaw.

The Turian spat a couple of dislodged teeth in Jondum's direction, and he noticed that they were tinged heavily with blood. "Yes and no," he spat out more blood, "the Broker's information is very rarely for their own use – it's always to sell to someone at a cost. This seemed different, more urgent."

"But who wanted the information? With the code recaptured, may I remind you that you are of no further use to me," Jondum drew his omni-knife and activated it, "I want answers." He brought the blade close to Dias's face, "now."

The Turian's mask changed suddenly; he showed no fear, only defiance. "I'll die before you know." He raised his hands to the sky, "I have nothing more for you. Do to me what you will, you bastard."

With a single thrust of the silicon-carbide blade, Jondum obliged.

The life left Dias's eyes almost immediately. The Turian's body slumped to the ground, his ragged breaths ceasing rapidly. Blood began to pool at Jondum's feet, and he yanked the hilt back from his grizzly work. That wasn't ideal. They tend to prefer if I take them alive, though I imagine they'll make an exception, given the location.

He suddenly sensed movement on the rooftops above him, and he looked about frantically to see who had disturbed him. Was it Miranda, or another of her organization's agents? Was it more mercenaries, come to try and finish the job that Dias has so abjectly failed at?

When he finally got a good look at the rooftops above him, he saw a lone figure staring down at him. His first guess was Batarian, but as his eyes focused in he realized that couldn't be the case – the head was too elongated to the sides, too rigid and pointed at the crest. The figure didn't appear to be wearing any armour, and was practically unidentifiable save for the eyes. Four of them glittered down at him, two pairs lined up horizontally across the face. They were not passive either, but glowed with a fierce yellow light that burned with the force of a thousand souls.

Is that…Jondum frantically searched his memory for any recollection of who – or what – this could be. Understanding hit him like a tonne of durasteel.

His thoughts turned to the crew of the lone human vessel, and of the horrors that they might soon encounter. Gods help them all.

Next: Thanatos