Act III: Hunted
Prologue: Pain

Alingon

All he felt was pain.

Every nerve ending seemed on fire – his limbs screamed out in agony, and his knees felt like they'd been crushed underneath the weight of a starship. The ringing in his ears hadn't subsided since he regained consciousness, and he felt lightheaded and on the verge of lapsing back into a coma. It was his shoulders that hurt most of all – they felt as if they'd been tugged back forcefully and kept in one position for several hours. All he felt was pain.

Pain is good, the voice in Jondum Bau's head told him. Pain means you're still alive.

The fall from the Shadow Broker's base had ended abruptly, yet the agony that covered his body never subsided – death never took him. He'd drifted in and out of consciousness for close to an hour, and was only vaguely aware of the booted footsteps beside him as he finally passed out.

His eyes slowly opened as he tried to acclimatize himself to consciousness again. They immediately recoiled at the glaring spotlight that burned in front of him. As his vision cleared, he could make out the faintest patterns of the room he was in. He was seated on a chair, his ankles cuffed to the legs behind them. He could feel now that his wrists were bound as well, and from the brief shaking motion he attempted, the locks were solid.

This is not ideal.

The room was completely dark, save for two spotlights perched a metre to his left and right, each concentrated on his frame and the chair it was tied to. There were none of the usual trappings of an interrogation chamber – no steel table, no two-way mirror. From what he could tell, this wasn't detention – it was prison.

This is really not ideal.

He'd seen Liara make it off the planet with Tazzik's shuttle, which added a positive note to his current situation. I knew the risks going in, he reminded himself. I always have. It was a minor miracle that none of his previous operations in the Terminus Systems had ended with him in solitary confinement or dead – the scales were bound to tip eventually. He'd seen them drag the Drell away deeper into the Alingon facility. Was he there too? Or had he been taken somewhere else? How extensive were the Broker's operations on this planet?

"I always figured that we'd cross paths again," a voice said from the darkness. The sudden realization that there was another figure in the room caused Jondum to curse his own absent-mindedness; he should have picked up on it – the sound of the floor settling, or breathing, or something. His head snapped up to face directly in front of him. He knew that voice and its rich baritone. He heard a match being struck; saw the first tongues of fire flicker across the blackness in front of him. The soft light of the flame was briefly muted, then joined by a circle of glowing embers beside it. "You have a remarkable talent for meddling."

Breathing deeply from the ornate cigar in his left hand, Tazzik regarded him coolly from the layer of darkness that enveloped the room. The massive Salarian was seated in front of Jondum, just out of the glare of the spotlights, and the faintest outline of his head visible in the dim embers and wisps of smoke. Even in the poor light, Jondum could make out the anger in his eyes

"I don't consider it meddling," he replied. "I consider it my job."

"You may call it what you want," Tazzik shot back. "You have still proven adept at interfering. First on Illium and Omega, and now here." He paused to inhale deeply from the cigar, and puffed smoke into Jondum's face as he regarded him coldly. "And all in the name of a Council that won't even acknowledge that the thing you claim you're trying to stop is even real."

"I protect the Council; I do not serve it."

"You are just as given to semantics now as when we worked in Salarian intelligence" he said, unimpressed. "You meddled then, as you meddle now." He paused for a moment, the air hanging heavy between them. "The Asari escaped," he said with a hint of resignation, "and took Shepard's body along with her."

She'd made it! Jondum quietly thanked the gods for Liara's luck. At the very least, whatever came next for him would not be in vain.

"We will find her, of course," he continued simply. "The Broker always finds them in the end."

"But you won't find Shepard's body. She'll either have destroyed it or given him to Cerberus."

"Nothing more than a temporary setback. In time, they will find that their network is not as secure as they think it is." In the ember-lit darkness, Jondum saw the barest hints of a wicked smile play across Tazzik's face. "If only Cerberus was more willing to hire Salarians to run their counterintelligence."

He was dour – far dourer than Jondum remembered him. Tazzik had never been the talkative one – he preferred to let his volcanic eyes and brutal capacity for violence fill in the spaces that the silence left – but even his infamously dark sense of humour had vanished, ground out of him by the demands of his ruthless employer.

"And what do you have planned for me?"

Those obsidian lenses danced in the embers. "That is not for me to decide. For now, you will remain here." He drew another breath in from the cigar, allowing the ash to linger in his lungs as he stared intensely at Jondum. "I've been reassigned. The Broker does not tolerate failure – even from me." He crouched down until his face was level with Jondum's. "But we will find her."

"Why, Tazzik?" Jondum managed as the cuffs dug into his flesh.

"Why what?"

"Why try to enable this?"

"Because it's my job, Bau. I don't recall you being so livid the last time we spoke."

"That was before the Broker decided to collaborate with the Collectors. Before you decided that that wasn't a bridge too far!"

Tazzik's brow furrowed, the heat in his eyes intensifying. "What is the difference, Bau?" He leaned in close until his face was practically level with Jondum's. "You committed your share of wretched acts in STG – we all did. You've committed your share as a Spectre – the Broker knows about them all, and so do I. I know about Invictus and the tens of thousands who have died from the foreseeable, inevitable consequences of events you set in motion. I know about the project with Dr. Solus. I know all about the sabotage of the Hegemony. We are both agents of death – adept at inflicting pain and using it to bend others to our will. It is not in our blood to create or grow; we move quickly and we break things."

"I break things so that others might build and preserve. You break them for pay."

"Is that the lie you tell yourself to help you sleep at night?" He spun on his heels, kicking out at one of the lights that were shining into Jondum's eyes. "You know as well as I do that that feckless group of diplomats on the Citadel has no moral standing or authority. Why else would you work with a terrorist organization of Human supremacists?"

Jondum regarded the larger Salarian coolly. "We have often used the same methods, Tazzik. But it's been many years since we shared the same goals."

Tazzik's eyes seemed to burn with anger, the volcanoes threatening to erupt into the flow of rage that had defined him even when he'd worked in Salarian intelligence. But he also saw the rage dissipate – its edge controlled by the impulse of professionalism that had likewise constrained him, harnessing that volcanic anger into a blunt instrument of precise violence. Without saying a word, he exited the room, his boots ringing loudly against the metallic floor as he left.

He exhaled loudly as the door slammed and locked. He could feel a suffocating fog lift from the room as Tazzik departed – his presence was overbearing on everything. He took a moment to clear his head, waiting until the numbness in his wrists and the pain in his head subsided before examining the room around him.

As far as he could tell, the room was sealed tight; there was no way out save for the now-locked door that Tazzik had left through. Now that the Shadow Broker's enforcer was gone, he could discern the outline of a second steel chair in the room, the now-shattered light leaning against it in the shadows cast by the other bulb. An altogether boring room. He next turned his attention to the bindings around him. They were firm, and bolted to the back of the chair in a way that made wriggling out of them impossible. They cut into his skin – though not hard enough to draw blood. He could feel the imprints they left on his wrists and ankles, and the limited maneuverability they afforded him.

He was thoroughly stuck.

They hadn't bothered to strip him of his armour, which afforded him some comforts. The room was freezing, and the insulation of all but his extremeties proved a welcome respite from it. Yet beyond that, his detail was threadbare. His weapons were no-doubt securely locked in another part of the facility – maybe even lost forever. A shame, he mused, I liked that Locust. Yet the more immediate questions of how to get out of these shackles, and this room, vexed him. His head was still ringing, even if some of the pain had subsided since regaining consciousness; he couldn't think straight enough to begin analyzing the complex rhythms and patterns that would define a place like this – the coming and going of footsteps in the hallways beyond, the changes in air pressure that signalled points of entry from the outside world. The question of Medigel was also moot– even if he still had it, he couldn't reach it.

Hours passed in silence, even as the pain finally subsided, and he began to discern the subtleties of the room and its surroundings. There was little movement beyond the door; when there was, it was inconsistent and not prone to any overriding pattern – certainly not one that could be exploited. Even with the ringing gone, there still seemed no way to get out of this room.

Still, it could have been worse. He could have been Feron.

The Broker was not known to tolerate treachery in those who worked for him. For all his cruelty, Tazzik viewed him as an old adversary – an inevitable opponent. But Feron was something far worse – they'd clearly worked together before. And even if Tazzik was an arch-professional, the Broker's vengeance would be swift. For Feron's sake, he hoped the Drell was dead – he didn't want to think about the worse option.

More hours passed, and the isolation closed in around him. The room felt like solitary confinement; the glaring light pierced his eyes and made deep concentration or sleeping impossible. There was barely any sound from the outside world – no visitors, no indication of the possibility of visitors. Jondum was used to solitude, even comfortable in it, but the crushing silence of this place would surely drive him mad. He distracted himself by meticulously noting the passage of time – first five hours, then ten, then fifteen, then twenty. Still no one entered the door, and exhaustion began to claim him. It was rare for a Salarian to need sleep, but he'd been running at full capacity for close to a week, and he could feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness. His concentration similarly began to fray – he missed one five-minute count, then another. Slowly, but surely, he drifted to sleep.

His mind drifted in his dreams, burrowing into Tazzik's words as they lingered in his mind. You committed your share of wretched acts. He wasn't wrong. Espionage necessitated getting one's hands dirty. Once, three months into his first rotation through STG, he'd led a strike-team to Tuchunka to neutralize a nascent Krogan political coalition. The Salarian Union had feared the potential consequences of unification, and had demanded a swift response. Two Clan chiefs had died as a result, and the coalition had dissolved into internecine warfare. It was an ominous forebear of Jondum's operations on Invictus, as were its consequences – another continent of an already-violent planet was consumed. In each case, there was something to question – the death of a chance at stability on Tuchunka, the hundreds of thousands caught in the crossfire on Invictus. He did not. The Union had survived for this long by minimizing risk: the Salarians cultivated strong relationships with the Hierarchy; what others saw as a trigger-happy approach to countering potential threats, Salarians saw as a way to ensure that the threats never materialized. In the STG, that had meant taking no chances. As an Arbiter, it meant prioritizing the billions of souls in Council space over those outside of it. The people of the Terminus Systems would have to find other champions and defenders – his mission was not for them. All this I have done so that there isn't another Mindoir. Or a Skyllian Blitz. Or an X-57.

He heard the sound of the door unlocking and his eyes shot open. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but he felt rejuvenated and alert. He saw the door panels slide open and his gaze hardened on the person that walked through. The figure was that of a human male, no more than six feet tall and silhouetted by the light from the hallway. His shoulders were broad and massive, flanked by arms that rippled with muscles. He wore bulky armour from the waist down, but was clad only in a thin, short-sleeved shirt on his chest and torso. Jondum could make out a shotgun collapsed and clipped to his harness on his right hip, its intricate design and numerous modifications glowing in the darkness.

"So you're the one." The figure's voice was deep, an almost growling edge to it. "You're the Spectre who has torn so many holes in our plans." He moved into the light, its glare flashing shadows across his face but allowing Jondum to get a look at him. His left cheek was criss-crossed by scars, the pink lines etched deep into his face. His features must once have been chiseled and handsome, but had long since been worn down by warfare and time. Now they only appeared furious and cruel – a testament to some unnamed horror the figure in front of him had endured. His hair was a pale blonde – nearly white – with the sides buzzed short.

"I am," Jondum responded.

"Such a formidable adversary," the figure mused, "and yet here you are – bound and gagged in the bowels of a planet entirely hostile to you and your purpose. A planet that your Council would never have even known existed – certainly not one they'd have ordered you to. Yet here you are – on a mission of little bearing to them and no relevance to your modus operandi. Curious, indeed."

"You seem to know a great deal about me, whoever you are."

The stranger grinned, moving until he was standing next to the chair that Tazzik had sat in. "Not nearly as much as your Salarian friend. That one knows more than he lets on – about you, about your Asari companion, about this whole operation." He leaned forward until his eyes were level with Jondum's, their hazel irises firm and focused. "But I know enough, Jondum Bau. I don't need to know more."

Jondum said nothing. The stranger stood, spinning the chair until its back was nearer to Jondum, and sat down again. "Several weeks ago, on Illium, you asked someone who they'd send on a manhunt in the Terminus Systems, did you not?"

That caught him off guard. How does he know about this?! The stranger smiled – a sickly, malevolent smile with narrow eyes and raised cheekbones. "Everyone says that the Broker's network has eyes and ears everywhere, yet no one ever believes us."

"Are you here to critique the rankings of a complete stranger?"

"Everyone overrates Tazzik's skills in a manhunt. It's his size and delight for violence – they create such high expectations." The figure sighed, his eyes going to Jondum's bindings. "But his specialty isn't search-and-destroy. He's a coordinator and enforcer; he's good at making sure all the pieces are in the right place, and then good at using cajoling, coercion, or violence to make sure they stay in the right places. And he's good at finding needles – if you need a piece of information either found or beaten out of someone, then he's the one to do it." His eyes gleamed for the first time, in a manner that filled Jondum with unease. "It's your Salarian minds – good at problem-solving and task management, at keeping all the grenades juggled in the air. But when the Broker wants someone killed, he calls me."

"And who are you?"

"You can call me Carlos. If Tazzik is the Shadow Broker's enforcer, then I'm his bloodhound."

The name didn't immediately ring a bell in Jondum's memory, yet it was obvious from the man's demeanour, and how he talked about himself, that the Broker had hired him as an assassin.

"And how do I fit into all this, Carlos? You know full well that I have nothing to give you."

"True," Carlos observed. "You have no unique purpose for me – or indeed for anyone in the Shadow Broker's network. You simply told Doctor T'Soni to run, and hoped that she would destroy Commander Shepard's body. In that regard, I know far more than you do." He inched the chair still closer to Jondum, until his face was little more than a foot away. "I know that she returned to Omega. I know that our men found her, but that they did not succeed in apprehending her." He smiled knowingly, letting the pause hang in the air. "I also know that she gave Shepard's body to Cerberus."

Dammit. He'd feared that she would – knew it, in fact. He'd seen it in her eyes the moment he'd suggested destroying the body. He didn't understand her reasons – to him, the risks of handing his body to a Human Supremacist terrorist organization were obvious – but she'd done it. Though it surely meant that Shepard was now beyond the Shadow Broker's reach, he wondered what cost it had come at.

"We had hoped to take her alive – body in-tow. But that seems far less necessary now." Carlos chuckled to himself, "no, I'm just here to get a look at you. I've heard so much about you – and from so many people! – but I've never gotten a look myself. I just wanted to see the famous Arbiter before he's locked up on Alingon and the key is thrown away. Your breed is rare, Bau – one has to take opportunities for a viewing when they come up."

"Well, here I am – for your viewing pleasure."

"I watched the feeds, you know. The Drell handled himself poorly in the firefight. You, on the other hand…" there was something almost suggestive in his tone. "It's been a long time since I watched a true artist in the heat of their craft, Bau."

"That I am chained to this chair suggests I fell short of your standard."

"Evidently so," Carlos regarded him ravishingly, his eyes flickering in the darkness. "I'd love to stay and admire your predicament for longer, but a man in my station has business to attend to. Surely you understand." He stood to go, pushing the chair back and next to the lamp. "I wish you well in this dark confinement."

"You don't know where she is, do you?"

"Not yet. But we will, Mr. Bau. We will."

Carlos departed, leaving Jondum alone in the dark as the door sealed behind him. He heard brief chatter on the other side of the lock, but it dissipated as the figures left him alone again in solitude. His mind went to Liara. There was no knowing where she was – he doubted she'd stayed on the unfamiliar ground of Omega, but the possibilities within her dossier were too numerous – and diverse – to pin down. She could have gone to Thessia, to the Citadel, to any number of locations that had meaning or importance. Even if he'd known, he was still confronted with the puzzle of his bindings and this room. The question of how to get out was still beyond him, unless…

The idea came to him in a flash. The omni-knife. His weapons had been taken from him, but would they have thought to look for the tiny carbide pommel nestled into his boot? He glanced down, and there it was, midway back in his right boot's exterior casing. He said a silent prayer of thanks, and then added this discovery to his mental math. It changed the picture considerably. He had a potential weapon. But could he reach it. He shifted his boots backward as far as the steel wire would allow. To his dismay, he found that the hilt was still a half-foot out of reach. He shifted his shoulders to allow his grip to drop closer, but couldn't quite get there. So close, and yet so far. Might be able to reach in a single kicking motion; would have to time it perfectly.

Then there were considerations of his surroundings. He doubted the room could be unlocked from the inside, and no-doubt there was some sort of safety that allowed for the room to be purged or permanently sealed if an escape was detected. It wasn't enough to get out of the bindings; he'd have to get out of the room as well. Yet that in itself was a gamble: he'd have to wait until someone else entered the room. There was no telling how long that would take – apart from Tazzik and Carlos, no one in this facility seemed to have any interest in him, and that seemed unlikely to change. He'd then have to hope that whoever came into the room was someone he could easily overpower. A handful of the Shadow Broker's mercs? That he could probably do. But anything more than that – or someone more adept at combat – would prove difficult. He'd then have to hope that he could find a way out of the facility and transport off the planet.

His odds, in short, still weren't good.

He began to stretch his shoulders and lower neck, working to get the muscles as loose as possible. He'd get a single try at grabbing the knife if he was lucky – he'd have to make good use of it. he cleared his mind of the turmoil of earlier and let time pass him by. He had his plan – everything else would fall into place when it needed to. The only worry was whether he would get out in time to go after the Shadow Broker's hunters. Liara had to know that she would be pursued from Omega, but she was one Asari against the most formidable information network in the galaxy. Any extra guns – especially his – would be welcomed in the fight for her survival.

He meditated until he lost track of the passage of time, lost only in his focus on a single point in the crushing darkness that surrounded him. All the while he continued to stretch, readying himself for the burst. It would be difficult – his body would ache for hours afterwards, and if he misjudged it he was probably dead. Still, the focus calmed him, lending a precision to his sense of himself and his movement.

And now to wait.


The door opened. He heard it before he saw it, the hiss of the mechanism's pistons jolting him awake. His head shot upwards to stare straight at the door, waiting for whoever or whatever was coming through. He was greeted by two figures –one a Krogan and the other Human. Well fuck me, the Krogan complicates things. He busied himself with studying the weapons, his eyes darting between both of them. The Krogan had a Sokolov shotgun, while the Human carried a pistol. His sense of the room didn't immediately suggest biotics, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Biotics in this room would quickly become a bloodbath. The Krogan moved to stand in the corner of the room, his gaze menacingly fixed on Jondum, while the Human sat in the chair in front of him.

"Lights," the Krogan said simply, and Jondum was momentarily blinded as the panels in the ceiling flared to life. "So you'll be awake for this", the Human walked swiftly forward and swung at Jondum's head, catching him squarely on the temple.

"Fuck!" his vision swam as his head snapped downward at the force of the blow. His ears ringing and his senses reeling, he slowly brought himself up to look at the Human in front of him. "How long have you bastards had me in here?"

"Six days," he responded. "Two since anyone last entered this room."

Six days. He'd been out longer than he thought. "And why now? Which of your Broker's agents has come to mock me?"

"Not to mock, just to inform, as was requested of us," the Human replied. "We've found her."

Jondum's heart sank. Even for a notoriously thorough operation, they'd picked up her trail remarkably fast. Had she made a mistake? Had she gone somewhere linked to her past? Had she really been that careless?

The Krogan chuckled. "You don't need to analyze every possibility, Salarian. She's on Intai'sei."

Intai'sei? Shepard had won a prefab apartment there – part of some insane bet with the commander of Pinnacle Station. How very sentimental of her; and how foolish.

"And I suppose your glorious commander has arrived to claim his prize?"

"Not yet, but he will soon. And when he does, the Broker will have his revenge."

"So why tell me?"

"He wanted you to know," the Human leaned in closely. "He felt like the two of you…shared a moment in here. From one survivor to another."

His moment had arrived.

Jondum kicked backwards with all the force he could muster, snapping his shoulders the same way and arching his back to maximize his reach. He felt his fingers connect with the knife's hilt, and drew it from his boot, spinning it in his fingers to sever the wires that bound him to the chair. His arms and shoulders practically screamed in relief as the restraints loosened their grip. He thrust the knife up into the lower jaw of the man in front of him, enjoying the lingering look of shock on his face as consciousness left him.

He turned his attention to the Krogan, ducking to avoid the oncoming fist that barely grazed the side of his head. While he had full use of his arms again, his ankles were still pinned to the chair, limiting his movement as the Krogan swung again. The blow caught him in the midsection and sent him and the chair sprawling sideways. His ankles still shackled to it, he kicked backwards at the Krogan's lower legs, catching him with the frame of the chair and sending him sprawling. Granted a momentary reprieve, Jondum reached down and cut through the bindings around his ankles. The rush of blood back into his feet sent a spear of pain through his lower body, but he bounded to his feet to face his remaining enemy. The Krogan had recovered from the blow, and charged towards him as Jondum readied his knife. He dodged the Krogan's first two swings, parrying a third before landing a blow on his opponent's wrist. Screaming in pain, the Krogan swung wildly at him, his heavy gauntlet connecting with Jondum's shoulder. Staggering against the force of the blow, he barely sidestepped another as he backpedalled towards the centre of the cell. Desperate to keep the Krogan occupied, he hurled the chair at his opponent, buying himself time to search the Human's corpse for a sidearm. The Krogan dodged easily, turning to face Jondum as he found and activated the pistol.

The first four shots bounced harmlessly off the Krogan's shields, more an annoyance than a hindrance, and Jondum was forced to roll aside as a shotgun blast narrowly missed his arm. Planting his knee, he pivoted to face the Krogan again, emptying the pistol's thermal clip until he heard the telltale fizzling of his enemy's shields. Tossing the pistol aside, he reactivated his knife and threw himself at the Krogan. Caught off guard, his opponent staggered backwards as Jondum landed blow after blow against the armour, cutting through the circuitry until he struck the Krogan's hard outer skin. Unrelenting, Jondum continued to stab at every opening he could find, feeling warm blood wash over his fingers as the wounds deepened. The Krogan roared in pain, striking Jondum repeatedly across the shoulder. Fighting through the pain, he plunged the knife deep into the Krogan's chest, kicking forcefully against their knee and bringing his enemy down to the ground. Possessed of the advantage of height and mobility, he exploited it, twisting the blade further into the Krogan's chest until the roars of pain reached an ear-splitting cacophony. He saw the shock begin to enter the Krogan's eyes, felt blood wash over his hands as his enemy stilled, life leaving him at last. Exhaling, Jondum rolled off the Krogan, letting the pain soak through his joints like liquid fire.

His shoulder flaring up in pain, Jondum activated his omnitool and scanned the Human corpse in front of him, searching for anything that would open the door out of this damned chamber. After a few moments, the software triggered the code and the door slid open. Satisfied, he paused on his way out to take a final glance at this solitary chamber where he'd wasted away for nearly a week. Good riddance. He found himself in a small, dimly-lit antechamber adjacent to the room. Four other cells lined the walls to his left and right, their doors no-doubt sealed with a separate set of codes. A lone table stood in the centre of the room, covered in all manner of equipment, armour, and weapons. His eyes scanned its length for something useful, going quickly to the Raykon IX pistol sitting at its corner. He didn't see his own weapons in the pile, and pulled schematics of the facility from the omnitools in the next room.

His holding cell was located on the other side of the facility from where he, Liara, and Feron had entered – probably sixty metres from the room he'd fallen from. This antechamber emptied into a corridor that ran the length of the far end of the base, with a storage unit located twenty metres to his right. From there, the quickest way out of the facility was to double back past the antechamber, and then follow the corridor back to the base's main hub. He'd have to hope his weapons were in the storage unit and that the facility was sparse on guards since both Tazzik and Carlos had left. Grabbing the pistol on the table, he sealed the room behind him and took his chances.

The corridor was empty, though the acoustics made it difficult to discern how many were in adjacent rooms or hallways. His sidearm focused in front of him, he quickly covered the distance to the storage unit, letting his omnitool decrypt the lock as he scanned for enemies. He feared that his escape would be discovered before he could properly arm himself, or – worse – pinned down in the far corners of the facility with no plausible means of escape. He'd have to be quick, but he'd have to be thorough. His gaze went to his sidearm as the lock clicked open. There's probably two dozen guards in this facility. No way I can hold them all off with this thing. The thought died as he opened the door and beheld its contents: both walls of the narrow chamber were lined with weapons racks, from common Haliat Elkoss-made weapons to Batarian firearms he'd seen only sparingly beyond the Traverse. The possibilities were endless, but his eyes were immediately drawn to his own weapons. His Locust SMG rested on the rack nearest him, while the Herstal Carbine that had been so heavily modified by SR Branch stood against the back corner of the room. Regrettably, his Paladin was nowhere to be seen – no-doubt discarded when its encoded grip failed to work for anyone else. These would have to do. He holstered the Raykon and opted for the Locust, quickly checking his corners as he stepped back into the corridor.

His progress was slow. He frequently doubled back to safer vantage points to check whether there were mercs in the next hallway, only to find his fears groundless. The base seemed deserted, its personnel either cleared out or reassigned in the aftermath of the firefight for Shepard's body. Still, he was nearly spotted by one guard in the last corridor before the facility's main room. Ducking into an adjacent room, he waited for the guard – a Turian – to pass before continuing onwards.

He found the main hub in much the state that he had left it: the bodies had since been cleaned up and the blood cleared, but blast marks from weapons' fire and explosives still scarred the floors and walls. Half of the windows overlooking the cliff had been replaced, and the remainder cordoned off for further repairs. A quick glance towards the empty landing pad ruled out that as an escape route – he'd have to find another way. Wait for a shuttle to arrive and stow away? No, time is of the essence. Hope that there's another la-, his mind went to the Plain Dealer, and he hoped it was still parked at the auxiliary pad where Feron had landed it. It would mean venturing out of the base – probably killing several guards and alerting this whole facility to his presence. Still, it was worth a shot.

His movement to the door was interrupted by its opening, as a single guard entered the foyer. He was visibly surprised by Jondum's presence outside of his cell, and that gave the Salarian all the time he needed to draw his SMG and snap out a burst of fire, passing straight through the merc's shields and catching him in the chest. The shots rang out louder than Jondum would have liked, and he sprinted forward to catch the merc's lifeless body and lower it to the ground gently. His gaze was drawn to the look of shock in the body's eyes – he hadn't seen Jondum coming. But the element of surprise had carried a cost; he could hear the facility humming to life, a flurry of activity as the sound of the gunshots rang out through the corridors. He wasn't sure how long he had, but he doubted the base would remain so deserted for long.

There was nowhere to go but out.

He moved as fast as his still-aching legs would carry him, sprinting through the corridors and disregarding stealth or subtlety. He heard a few doors open behind him, but rounded the corners of hallways quickly and hoped he could avoid being seen. No guards got in his way, though he could hear doors opening and weapons loading behind him, increasing his own sense of urgency. Have to get out. I'm not going back to that fucking room. He ran with all the strength he could muster, pushing every muscle in his body to its limit as he bolted for the exit. At last, he rounded the corner and saw the airlock ahead – his gateway out of this damn facility.

As he made for the door, he heard the first sounds of gunfire ring out behind him, glancing back momentarily as the shots grazed against the wall next to him. The shots provoked a commotion ahead of him, and he saw the airlock open to reveal the two Turian guards standing in his path. Both were armed, and seemingly firm in their resolve to stop him. He crouched to dodge a hail of rounds from the first, then slid forward to take the legs out from under the second. He took advantage of the confusion to kill the first Turian as he was reloading, before turning to untangle his limbs from the second. The guard fought back, his booted foot catching Jondum in the shoulder as they struggled on the floor. He couldn't manage a clean shot, but reached for his omnitool as the Turian struggled against him. He managed to reach the key that activated his shield discharge. The resulting arc shot through the guard, shocking him and leaving him writing in pain on the floor. Seizing the moment, Jondum untangled himself from him and sprinted through the door. Your time will come, Turian, he thought simply.

Shots rang out behind him as he sprinted for Feron's ship, a lucky few grazing off the rocks beside him. It was risky to discharge his shields, but he judged it a risk worth taking as he rounded the corner and spotted the Plain Dealer nestled between the cliffs. He thanks the gods for his good fortune, and set his omnitool to hack the ship's interface as he sprinted to its landing ramp. He could still hear gunfire behind him, and turned to aim back down the canyon as his omnitool completed the hack. No one came, but he got the sense that dozens of enemies weren't far behind him.

He smiled as the hack finished and the door behind him opened. He took one final glance down the canyon and then ducked inside, quickly reacquainting himself with the surroundings. The ship was in the same state that they'd left it – everything appeared to be in order as Jondum headed for the cockpit. He remotely activated the drive core, breathing a sigh of relief as the shields hummed to life. The controls were still somewhat foreign to him, but he reached for what he instinctively judged to be the engines, and proved right when they roared to life behind him. He saw several mercenaries round into view in the canyon, felt the force of their gunfire ricochet off the shields, and set the ship's autopilot to get him off this damned planet.

The Plain Dealer roared to life, its landing gear retracting as it lifted off from the surface and slowly navigated its way out of the canyon. The figures of the Shadow Broker's mercenaries slowly shrank from view, then disappeared as the ship entered the cloud cover that permeated Alingon's surface. Triumphant, exhausted, sweating profusely, he sank back in the cockpit's chair and stared out into the fog as the Plain Dealer ascended. He'd done it. He'd escaped.

Everything hurt. His shoulders hurt from having been forced backwards in the chair. His arms hurt – no doubt he'd hyperextended them while cutting himself loose. His legs hurt, the buildup of lactic acid and pain rushing back to him as he sat still. As the cloud cover gave way to the starscape of space, he laboured to plot a course for Intai'sei, hoping that he'd manage to beat the Broker's men there. The ship's navigation systems put the journey at twelve hours – a long voyage from the Terminus Systems to the heart of Alliance and Hierarchy space – but it gave him time to recuperate. And to think.

The figure who was pursuing Liara was completely foreign to him. In his three years in the Terminus Systems, it wasn't a name or a reputation that he'd ever come across. Even if the exact contours of the Broker's network remained opaque and impenetrable, a few prominent names tended to leak out; it was common knowledge that a prominent Volus banker on the Citadel was part of the network. But who was Carlos? The most formidable of the Broker's agents tended to develop their own reputations – much as Tazzik had. Salarians lived and died by the adage that knowledge of an enemy was the ultimate weapon, and currently he had nothing to go on.

The comms readings on the ship's interface flared to life as it left Alingon's powerful magnetosphere behind, and Jondum wasted no time tethering the Plain Dealer to the system's comm buoy as he raced towards the Mass Relay. This question was beyond his capacity to answer; he'd need help. Reluctantly, he patched his omnitool into the STG's secure network, hailing the first contact that came to mind.

"Padok Wiks, STGHQ." The voice of his old colleague was patchy over the feed, but clear enough that he could understand him. "This is not a commonly-used channel. Who am I speaking to?"

"It's S04."

"Bau? Gods, how long has it been? Three years?"

"Longer." Their work together in STG had been marred by infighting between their higher-ups –Wiks worked in the STG's military science bureau, and had contributed on many of the most significant breakthroughs in Jondum's time in counterintelligence. Their application had proven more controversial – a source of tension between their branches of work. "I have a favour to ask."

"You wouldn't be using this channel if you didn't." There was a hint of satisfaction in Wiks' voice. "Have a problem that's beyond the Spectres to solve?"

"It's an informational problem."

"Well then you made the right call. What do you need?"

"I'm looking for information about someone who works for the Shadow Broker. Human, profile is likely that of an assassin, rather than an enforcer or information specialist. Heavy facial scarring, large, probably not a biotic. Goes by Carlos, but also refers to himself as the Broker's bloodhound."

There was a long pause on the other end. "Nothing immediately springs to mind, but I haven't done Terminus Systems work outside the scope of the DMZ since just after you were promoted to Spectre." He could hear Wiks furiously typing away at his console, no doubt pulling up as many information feeds as he could fit onto a single screen. "Any connections besides the Broker?"

"Potentially one to Tazzik?"

"I would presume so, given that our former colleague shares an employer with him."

"But beyond that, he mentioned specifically that he cleans up the operations that Tazzik can't – particularly when the mission parameters change from coordination to search-and-destroy."

"I see." Wiks sounded unmoved on the other end, though Jondum knew from experience that the information would get added to whatever casting of the intelligence net he eventually settled on. "Nothing is coming up on the DMZ feeds that I'm currently accessing, but I'll dig around and see what I can find. When do you need this?"

"I'm in relay and FTL transit for the next twelve hours, but ideally as soon as possible. Anything you can send me helps."

"I should have something to you by the time you tether to a comm buoy. If not, it won't be long coming."

"Much appreciated."

He disconnected the channel as he approached the edge of the system and unlinked the shuttle from the communications network. He had plenty of time to recuperate and puzzle through the situation he found himself in. If he made it to Liara before the Broker's men did, they would need a plan for where to go next. Carlos didn't strike him as an agent easily torn from a pursuit, nor one who could be convinced to overextend himself in a futile firefight to the death. Whatever intel Paddok Wiks managed to send him would surely prove helpful, but he busied himself with what research he could from the shuttle, gathering fragments of information about Liara, Shepard, the Shadow Broker, and Intai'sei's place in the universe.

It would be a long journey to Intai'sei. And it was one he hoped would not end with tragedy.