Mass Effect: Interceptor 2

by Mothbanquet

Six months after the Battle of the Citadel, Arlen Kryik is a prolific but burnt-out C-Sec agent on the trail of a sadistic criminal gang leader. As his path again crosses that of C-Sec's Joint Security Task Force, who are dealing with a major terrorist threat to the Citadel, Arlen faces a race against time not only to save lives but to avoid falling prey to his own personal demons.

18. Episode 18

MASS EFFECT: INTERCEPTOR 2

*Episode Eighteen*

An ear-splitting bang like the report of a mass accelerator sent a surging shock through Arlen's body. He'd slunk to the side only nanoseconds before Inamorda smashed into the wall and could only stare in terror at the plated fist now buried inches deep in the metal sheeting.

It was time wasted, but not much of it. Inamorda pulled his hand free and swung again. Arlen ducked, then swerved another blow. Spirits, this krogan was fast for his size.

Seeing an opening as the side of Inamorda's head presented itself, Arlen threw a punch of his own but it was like hitting a bulkhead. His bare knuckles impacted on sand-coloured scales as hard as iron, less than worthless. His stomach fell as Inamorda's eyes swivelled to him and the massive creature bared its yellow teeth in a dangerous grin.

'You got a quad, turian,' the krogan remarked as Arlen withdrew, sluggish with disbelief.

He nearly missed Inamorda's other hand, obscured by the heaving mass of armour, as it reached for a foot-long combat knife that lay strapped to his hip. It came out in a single, expertly-practised movement, a silver blur that Arlen barely managed to sidestep.

The ground trembled as Inamorda slowly circled around, putting himself between Arlen and the open doorway. 'Been a while since I used this thing. Been even longer since anyone managed to dodge it.'

Arlen allowed himself to glance, very briefly, at the shotgun he'd seen slung to Inamorda's back. 'Why use it at all? Why don't you just shoot me?'

The krogan hefted his huge shoulders. 'Easier to rinse the blood off my knife than strip apart a gun. You try and get away, though, and there won't be any question. I hate running after my targets. Make me run, make me use my gun, and you'll be screaming your throat bloody before you die.'

'Running isn't my style either,' Arlen growled. He too was moving, very subtly, towards the kitchen area.

He didn't know if Inamorda realised it as the krogan smiled again. The guttural rumble of his voice reverberated in Arlen's chest. 'Here I was thinkin' you'd be just another stick I could snap in two, like that human friend of yours.'

Madsen, Arlen quickly deduced. He wasn't going to shed tears for any of Zwei's gang but it was only a couple of hours ago he'd last seen the man. The surprise must have shown on his face, because Inamorda took it as hesitation.

He moved again, covering several metres in just a couple of short bounds. Arlen was prepared this time, however, and as Inamorda's knife swept in it met steel. A metal tray was brought up just in time, swept from one of the kitchen counters but Arlen grunted as the sheer force sent a bolt of pain through his wrist. The tray, buckled in two, fell useless to the floor and Arlen moved back further. His fingers searched for something, anything, as Inamorda trudged on.

The knife came in again and Arlen allowed it through, shifting his weight to set Inamorda off-balance. The krogan crashed against the counter, sending utensils clanging in all directions. He didn't slow. The knife kept coming in wide sweeps, one after another, momentum alone ensuring that it would shear off a limb if it made contact.

Arlen could only keep moving, keep thinking, keep waiting for a chance to counterattack. He avoided a heavy lunge and tried to trap Inamorda's arm with one hand. With the other he swung a weapon of his own snatched from the counter, a hefty batarian meat cleaver. Primal joy filled him as the cleaver found its mark, burying itself in his enemy's blood-red crest.

The satisfaction was short-lived. Inamorda glared at him as if the attack was merely an insult. Arlen's face slackened as he realised the wound was utterly superficial and worse, the cleaver was stuck fast in the bony protrusion atop the krogan's skull. He wasn't quick enough to let go before Inamorda's fingers clamped around his wrist and began to squeeze.

Arlen screamed as the bones compressed and ground together. He couldn't help but let go of Inamorda as he sank to his knees, his legs buckling under the agony as he grasped feebly at the terrible pressure crushing his arm.

Inamorda stabbed his dagger upright into the counter and made a point of reaching up to work the cleaver free.

He snarled, 'Clever little pyjack, ain't ya? Let's see how smart you are when I've pulled each and every one of those plates off your head.'

The thought of such an ordeal made Arlen thrash wildly. An animal desperation came over him as Inamorda dropped the cleaver and jerked the dagger out of the counter. Arlen twisted and writhed, his eyes wide as they watched the tip of Inamorda's blade move closer with sadistic intent.

Suddenly, darkness fell. All the lights in the apartment, all electronics, everything shut off. Then they came back on, and went off again after just a few seconds. Everything blinked and chimed in a frenzy, music blaring from the terminal by the bed, only to fall silent again instantly. The emergency sprinklers started up, showering them both with stagnant water from some long-disused storage tank while electrical ports fizzed and spat out sparks from the surrounding walls.

'What the hell?' Arlen saw Inamorda mouth, his voice drowned out by a shrieking fire alarm.

Petra. She was in the building's internal systems.

The confusion was all Arlen needed. Inamorda's grasp weakened enough for Arlen to slip his hand out of it. He dropped and rolled aside as a gigantic foot stomped a dent into the floor.

He came out of the roll and took up something in his good hand. He didn't know what it was - some kind of appliance - but it was hard and heavy and that was all that mattered. He threw it at Inamorda, forcing the krogan to raise his arms in defence.

Arlen tried to grab a knife of his own from a nearby rack but to his horror, his right hand wouldn't work properly. Adrenaline had forced out the pain but it couldn't mask broken bones. He knew it as the handle skipped out of his limp grip. He reached out with his other hand, barely able to bring up a broad butcher's knife in time to deflect another deadly swipe. Again, the impact jarred him, and it took an exhausting effort to stay on his feet.

He stabbed out in lightning flurries but Inamorda's armour was too thick. There were no weak points he could see and he couldn't penetrate the sturdy skin of Inamorda's head and face even if he could reach them. It was at that moment Arlen truly knew he had no chance of winning.

Desperate, he moved back a few more steps and threw the knife at his foe, again forcing Inamorda to bring up his armoured forearms. Arlen made for the bed across the room - and the pistol he kept under his pillow.

It was too much to hope for.

Arlen cried out as a hand dug into the back of his collar, pulling him back. He swung out in futile, pathetic movements that would have shamed him if he had his wits. Instead, he only saw a pair of murderous eyes, bright against the pulsing lights and sparks of the apartment, leering down at him as he was forced to bend all the way back until he was facing the ceiling.

The krogan's breath was hot in Arlen's face as he said, 'Looks like I need to teach you the meaning of "hold still".'

With a single hand, possessed of impossible strength, Inamorda threw Arlen back. The young turian crashed into a nearby table, smashing it to pieces. He coughed and choked as he tried to get up but a colossal boot met his abdomen, lifting him several feet into the air. His vision filled with spots and he couldn't breathe, but he wasn't given the time to recover.

He yelled as Inamorda took another hold on his suit and hauled him onto the kitchen counter with enough force to crack his carapace. Debris rattled and clinked around him, some pieces cutting into his suit and scoring his skin with a dozen needling cuts. He slid off the surface and spat blue as he felt a bitter rush of blood down his throat.

'Arlen!' he heard Petra cry from the terminal. He propped himself on his hands and knees and started to crawl.

Inamorda's gaze fixed on the terminal, and he frowned as he approached it. Arlen sputtered something that couldn't have been called speech, almost collapsing as he reached out pleadingly.

Inamorda snorted and brought a giant fist down on the terminal, sending pieces of it flying in a torrent of sparks and metal.

'No!' Arlen creaked.

He tried to move faster but his body was failing, fast. He wasn't even aware of Inamorda striding back over to his broken form, and only knew he was being picked up when the world span around him. Inamorda had sheathed the dagger and now took hold of his prey with both hands. He tossed Arlen once more, sending him into the frame of the bed back-first.

Arlen's spine exploded in pain and he convulsed, moaning, against the broken furniture. A dim part of his mind knew something was there, something he could use. It was a dull image in an all-consuming fog of suffering. He couldn't think, could barely move. His hand quested beneath him, stretching out until he felt something cold and hard beneath the sheets.

There.

The pistol whipped out. It was the same one he'd carried on Bekenstein; weak and unmodified, incapable of doing any real damage to such an enemy in close quarters but Inamorda didn't know that. The krogan impulsively sought cover, moving for the shattered door as Arlen opened fire.

All of Arlen's concentration went into simply keeping hold of the pistol as it bucked in his grip. He fired again and again, barely conscious of the rising sting in his fingers as the heat sinks filled. He knew, however, that soon they would chime their capacity alert and he'd be vulnerable once more. He had only moments.

The grey camouflage pattern of Inamorda's armour was beginning to show around the edge of the doorway again as Arlen made the only choice he had left.

Arlen turned to the window and pumped several rounds into the glass. It shattered and, with the last reserves of his strength, he hauled himself up and rolled through the yawning gap.

Inamorda roared in anger. He drew his shotgun and began pulling the trigger before the weapon had fully deployed, ignorant of the first few empty clicks in his rage. The scattered shots barely missed Arlen, clipping the edge of the window frame as the turian disappeared over the edge.

The fall wasn't a huge distance but it might as well have been miles as Arlen slammed into a pile of garbage and detritus in the alley below. He cringed, his voice escaping as a strained whimper as he forced just a little bit more from his shattered body. He stumbled and crashed out of the festering mound, limping and clutching his broken wrist.

He knew where to go. The question was whether his strength would hold out or if Inamorda would catch up to him. His destination was achingly close, but even that was far from his mind.

His only thoughts were of Petra. His omni-tool was powered down and he didn't know if she was able to get out of the terminal, or if she'd transferred bodily into the apartment building. All he knew was that she wasn't like other AIs. She wasn't omnipotent and could not exist in more than two places at once. Was she able to get out of the terminal before Inamorda destroyed it? If so, where was she now?

The more Arlen turned the questions over in his mind, the faster he was coming to the torturous conclusion that he may have lost Petra for good

~~~ME-I2~~~

Lina paced the dais with frenetic energy. Haptic interfaces blinked all around the railing and she punched commands into each one as she passed, knowing exactly what was needed for each. The main screen was awash with new and mostly useless information regarding the investigation, but that wasn't her focus. Her voice was hoarse from non-stop shouting but she continued regardless, her orders carrying all the way across the command centre.

'Keep trying! He can't have just disappeared into thin bloody air!'

A turian agent spoke up from the sea of desks. 'It's no good, Ma'am. We're getting nothing but static. It's been too long to just be a signal break.'

Kimberley trotted down from her section. Lorica had left to attend to the other sensitive task Lina assigned her but the quarian was confident enough in Kim's abilities to trust her with the responsibility until Lorica returned.

'Tell me you have something,' Lina said.

Kim shook her head sadly. 'I'm sorry. Arlen's subdermals are gone, we don't know how. The only way they'd stop functioning is if he took a hard blow to the head, but the force required would be- I mean, it'd be enough to crack his skull.'

The words sent a flutter of dread through Lina and she became very still. She'd sent an update request privately through to Petra and that the AI hadn't responded yet was more than a cause for concern. Petra was always there, always ready, except when Arlen was in the field and carrying her on his omni-tool. Otherwise, her replies were as instantaneous as could be expected from a synthetic intelligence. That silence, coupled with the loss of Arlen's subdermal implants could only mean he'd been compromised.

She lifted a hand to her faceplate, placing it on her forehead. 'He's the only operative we have out there. We can't give up on him.'

'We've got three field agents standing by to move in on the apartment on your word,' Kim offered. 'Lorica had them transferred to Omega when it was clear we weren't moving in on Jaeger after Bekenstein.'

'Standing by? Are they watching the place?' Lina asked, her tone severe. 'It's obvious something's wrong, why aren't they already there?'

To her credit, Kimberley was not visibly fazed by the harshness of her questioning. 'They haven't been there long enough to set up, they barely stepped off the transport a couple of hours ago.'

Lina turned away from her. The answer was obvious, and knowing that only added to the sudden and intractable anger she'd let slip into her voice. She didn't want a junior analyst like Kimberley to see any more of it.

'Okay,' she said slowly, trying to master herself as she stared blankly at the main screen. She organised her thoughts, resisting the panic that threatened to intrude. 'Okay…it's out of our hands. All we can do is wait. Have you turned up anything on those Destiny Ascension schematics?'

'No. The file's clean, no internal records, it's been completely scrubbed. All I can say is the schematics are current with the ship's last retrofit. If we could crosscheck with asari intelligence, maybe we could find where it was last drydocked. It's a good bet these records came from there.'

'There can't be many shipyards equipped for that big a job,' Lina muttered thoughtfully. 'I might be the only quarian in the galaxy who didn't learn how to patch in a fuel line, but even I know that to carry out work on a ship like the Destiny Ascension, you'll need the biggest drydock facilities in the galaxy. That narrows it down a little, enough to check it out, at least. I assume Ket's been notified?'

'Yeah,' Kim huffed. 'Though to hear it, you'd think I kept that detail to myself on purpose, just to sabotage him.'

'Do you want me to speak to him?'

Under normal circumstances, the last thing Lina wanted was to have to reprimand a subordinate during a time of crisis. However, a small part of her was ashamed to admit that during this particular crisis, she was aching to take out her frustration on someone - and Ket was more deserving of a dressing down than most.

To her private disappointment, Kim gestured dismissively. 'Nah, that's okay, Commander. I can handle him.'

'Very well. Carry on.'

Kim strode away and Lina resumed her tense vigil. In spite of the troublesome news to come out about the Destiny Ascension, not to mention the fact they couldn't so much as warn the asari for fear of tipping off anyone who may be a Crimson Fist mole, the ominous radio silence from Omega was what worried her the most. Arlen was in trouble, she was certain of it and unlike his previous sojourn to Bekenstein, this time they had no idea if he was even alive.

As the reflections of text, images and vids from the main screen danced across the curves of her helmet, Lina let out a long, ragged breath.

Keelah, she prayed to anything, anyone who would listen, please let him be all right.

~~~ME-I2~~~

The room set aside for the admirals' meeting was one of the more spacious and well-appointed in Citadel Tower. It was meant to accommodate dozens of the most important officials, diplomats and politicians in the galaxy, a wide open space with a long table of pure, polished ceramic surrounded with pink-speckled trees. Just like in the Council chambers high above, lamps set into the floor cast a warm, comforting glow on the pale walls at regular intervals and turned the trees a rich gold where the light met the blossoms.

It was too big an area for a meeting of just four people but its importance demanded an appropriate level of grandeur. Three of them had been there for some time already, though they all knew the fourth had a briefing with the Council beforehand, and so were prepared for a delay of suitable length.

Admiral Kaion was less than enthused to see Matriarch Lidanya again. The asari had greeted him neutrally on entering but said nothing since, content to wait by her seat for the others. The salarian Admiral Pyat was already there when Kaion arrived and had attempted conversation on three occasions, only giving up when it was clear Kaion was in no mood for idle chatter. He could see Pyat's fingers were fidgeting slightly. It was not an easy thing for a salarian to sit still.

'I hear C-Sec has this bomb scare under control,' Pyat commented casually to Lidanya.

'It would certainly seem that way,' the matriarch murmured. 'I'm glad to see it all come to an end so swiftly. I was not looking forward to attempting an evacuation.'

Kaion grunted. 'Yes, it would've been such a strain on the Destiny Ascension, having to whisk away four Council members instead of just three.'

Lidanya ignored him, but he saw the new tension that had come into her bearing. He began his customary pacing around the table, eager to pry some enjoyment out of this tedium he was forced to endure.

'The biggest ship in the fleet, set aside for four individuals, all while countless civilians in the Wards look up, wondering when their salvation will come?' Still the others said nothing and Kaion smiled sardonically. 'Of course, after my proposals for changes to Council evacuation procedures were so roundly rejected, who am I to judge? After all, the geth only nearly destroyed the Destiny Ascension; with the Council aboard, no less. If the humans hadn't arrived in time to intervene, then perhaps my suggestions wouldn't be quite so…unpalatable.'

Pyat's attention switched between the two other admirals, his lips lifting in a curious hint of a smile as he waited for Lidanya's answer. Kaion knew Pyat had backed up his proposals to develop a small, more mobile craft for future Council evacuations, utilising recent advances in stealth ship technology. It was just another responsibility the asari couldn't let go, however. The Destiny Ascension's role as protector of the Council was now merely symbolic after its vulnerability during the geth attack was exposed, but the symbol was a powerful and prestigious one all the same.

Kaion blinked in irritation as the door opened behind him, granting Lidanya a reprieve. He turned to see a senior Alliance officer in full dress uniform, a deep, dark blue suit lined with gold. Thick golden bars striped his shoulders, and Kaion knew this was the man on whom they waited.

The human's face was a leathery wall dusted with grey hair on his chin and lips, and above narrow eyes that shone a piercing blue. Most notable was the scar that puckered the skin of his right cheek as it ran down into his lip, twisting it slightly.

Lidanya was the first to speak. 'Admiral Steven Hackett, it is good to see you again. Allow me to be the first to welcome you and humanity to the Citadel Fleet.'

Hackett's voice was a warm, gravelly drawl that surprised Kaion with its strength, 'It's a real honour to be here. I'm sorry to keep you all waiting.'

'It was expected,' said Pyat. 'Besides, it is always a pleasure to engage in casual conversation with my colleagues here. Most entertaining.'

They took a seat around the table at the same time. Kaion would have preferred to stand, as usual, but he decided against it on this occasion. He liked the look of this newcomer; battle not only displayed its marks on Hackett's face but also, more subtly, in the years added to his voice. It was a good voice, fit to command.

'Entertaining though our exchanges may be,' Kaion began as he settled, 'it will be good to add another opinion to these discussions. After all humanity has been through these past six or so months - Eden Prime, Feros, and of course the loss of your first and only Spectre to the geth - it's important that we hear ideas from those on the very forefront of the fighting. Too many years of peace can…dull the blade, so to speak.'

Lidanya rushed to say, 'But you know, of course, that while such a perspective is valuable, balance must be maintained by those without the bias of being so closely involved in such affairs. Even the asari, despite our long lives and experience, can't help being drawn into a more arbitrary mindset when we stand opposed to someone for any length of time. Such is the way of conflict, as you yourself know. After all, I doubt that if your First Contact War hadn't ended when it did, you would be so quick to share a table with our turian comrade.'

Hacket nodded slowly, making no sign that he'd noticed the way Lidanya's gaze kept passing over Kaion as she spoke.

'That's true,' he agreed. 'We've known from long experience the dangers of keeping people too close to combat for too long. It's inevitable that prejudice will begin to form as those particular feelings and instincts become more ingrained, more natural. It is important that, especially in a position of command, a clear head be maintained. I hope to be an asset, in that regard. I've always prided myself on the ability to see the bigger picture while doing my duty as commander of the Fifth Fleet, and I aim to bring those qualities to the table here.'

Kaion shifted in his chair, leaning to the side and bringing a hand to his chin. A finger curled up to his bottom lip as he stared at Hackett thoughtfully.

'If you can do that while showing the same resolve as you did while leading the action that broke the geth,' he said, 'then I think you will do just fine here. In fact, I believe that you'll find more doors open to you, should humanity need assistance out in the Traverse. It was shameful enough that the Council allowed slavers and pirates to loot and pillage your colonies, but to sit back and let the geth maintain a presence on the fringes of your space is inexcusable.'

Hackett raised his eyebrows a fraction. 'I…yes, those thoughts had crossed my mind. The geth in particular still remain a threat, one the Council must know they can't ignore.'

Kaion bared his teeth in a grin. 'Well, that's a cause I think we can all get behind. I'm sure my fellow admirals will agree.'

He could feel the heat of Lidanya's annoyed glare, but cared nothing for it. He wanted to take the initiative in the discussion and knew the others could not object too strongly lest they look reluctant to help their new ally.

'Of course the geth are a top priority,' Lidanya conceded tentatively, 'but the loss of Commander Shepard, as Admiral Kaion pointed out, is a sobering lesson on the importance of caution. We can't underestimate the enemy again. For all we know, they could have more of those enormous dreadnoughts we saw in the assault on the Citadel, the one Saren was using as his flagship.'

'Not to mention whatever destroyed the SSV Normandy,' Pyat pointed out. 'While I concur with Admiral Kaion that we must work together to eliminate a common threat, and shore up the security of our new Council ally in the Traverse, there is too much we don't know about the geth to rush in blindly.'

Kaion bristled at Pyat's unwillingness to take sides. It effectively gave Admiral Hackett the deciding vote in the matter, a fact that no doubt was not lost on the human.

Hackett's eyes lowered to the table momentarily. 'These are all good points. While I appreciate the Turian Empire's newfound enthusiasm for cooperation, the Alliance knows the true power of the Citadel Council lies in the various insights of its member races. We each have our strengths and weaknesses, and it's comforting to see so much of the former on display here today.'

Kaion wondered if the grand - and tactfully empty - statement was a complete lie or if Hackett actually believed it. He didn't think the man was really that naive.

Perhaps the same thought occurred to Lidanya. She hesitated a moment, then opened her mouth to speak very carefully. The words were aimed at Hackett but her gaze was unmistakably fixed on Kaion.

'We must also consider the existing strains placed on our own forces. The turians alone lost many ships in the geth attack, and to add to that their most recent…troubles with internal security, we must give them time to recover.'

Kaion felt his temper flare but checked it instantly, wary of Lidanya's quiet confidence. The remark was too direct to be an aimless barb, and she wasn't the sort to throw them out in the first place. His hand moved from his chin to meet the other on the table, and he leaned forward.

'The Kanderax is standing by,' he said in a low, intense tone, 'and her crew is ready to take vengeance on the synthetics. We turians do not lose a battle very often; this is a slight that must be answered in all our eyes.'

This time, the hint of insolence in Lidanya's voice was unmistakable. 'With respect, this is not the battle you should be concerned about losing.'

Kaion became very still. He didn't notice - nor did he care about - the way Hackett and Pyat's eyes passed between the two, wondering what exactly was transpiring.

The sharp lines of Kaion's face somehow became even more pronounced as he dipped his head, silently surrendering the point. He didn't need to see the light of satisfaction in Lidanya's eyes to realise she knew about the Titus-Seven theft.

Someone must have talked. Was it Councillor Sparatus? For all the man's bluster, Kaion knew Sparatus wouldn't have leaked that information just to spite him.

He raised his head, feigning a blank look as he allowed the others to continue the conversation and the meeting quickly took on a more formal and dull air. Plans were laid out, pleasantries and platitudes exchanged, and so long as Kaion allowed her to take the lead, Lidanya made no further references to the T-Seven.

Unseen by the others, Kaion's hands curled into fists on the table. He squeezed so hard his knuckles ached. Someone had talked, but this was not the end of it. Matriarch Lidanya had gained herself some time and a modicum of civility, but if she thought she'd bought anything more than a few hours of his silence, she was sorely mistaken.

~~~ME-I2~~~

Prax was not in the mood to travel. He'd been perched on the edge of the bed for some time, instinctively maintaining a constant state of awareness since escaping the JSTF complex, always expecting the arrival of armed C-Sec officers to bring him in for questioning. It was unlikely, but only a fool would be left unprepared for the eventuality. His safehouse was rigged with booby traps - non lethal, of course - and a false panel lay over the wall next to his bed, one that covered a narrow gap leading into one of the main air shafts running through the apartment block. His escape was certain should the worst come, but neither that nor the improbability of C-Sec uncovering his identity was enough to put him in the frame of mind to board his scheduled flight to Illium.

From there it was an immediate connecting flight to Omega. It would take a day, at least, and he loathed the Terminus Systems for a start. Nowhere in that rogue region of space was truly safe; every world was dirty and even the transient among the Council species who'd found homes there were the worst for it. There was no civilisation to be found among the stars beyond the frontier.

Frowning, he tried to push the upcoming trip from his mind, turning it instead to the soft hiss of static coming from his terminal. It was a sole blot of orange light in the darkness of the Wards apartment, flickering lightly as an audio feed drew jagged lines across the display.

'He's the only operative we have out there, we can't give up on him,' he heard, guessing it was the voice of JSTF's quarian commander.

Quarian commander, he repeated to himself with a gentle snort. Now I've seen everything.

The quarian continued to give orders to her subordinates, but Prax couldn't hear all of them. The classified frequency Kaion had supplied him was the one used by the Kryik boy, given to him by his former captain, Avrix Ferrata. It was no small irony that Prax was able to intercept the incoming communication from JSTF on that frequency after killing the very man who'd provided it to begin with.

Any amusement he might have gained from JSTF talking amongst themselves on that open channel as they repeatedly tried to contact Kryik was buried under the concern that the agent wasn't responding. Coupled with the news that his subdermal implants had gone offline, Prax was hit with the potent fear that the T-Seven was suddenly out of his reach.

Another female, this one human or asari, spoke in a rush, 'We've got three field agents standing by to move in on the apartment…'

Prax brought up another window on the terminal and sifted through the intel Kaion had forwarded. There were many agents to choose from a sizeable list of known identities and he plucked out several, narrowing the possibilities to five from areas of operation alone. He knew he wouldn't be lucky enough for these Task Force analysts to give him their agents' names on top of everything else, but he had enough to make a start. They would be easier to track than Kryik himself, especially now he had full visibility over their comms.

The JSTF staff continued to talk about their leads on the Destiny Ascension but that held no interest for him. He didn't care what Crimson Fist wanted to blow up. It didn't matter. Desires were immaterial to the dead, and their lives were short enough already.

Prax was about to get up when he was stopped by a new message notification. It was the same as any other but for some reason, he felt the steadily blinking icon was urging him with a different kind of intensity. Curious, he opened the message.

It was from Admiral Kaion. His old friend was clearly in a rush, or unable to wait until he was in a secure location to contact him - the old turian always preferred to give his sensitive orders in person. This was short, sharp and to the point.

The asari are becoming a problem. We have another leak. See attached and do what you can once the other matter is resolved.

The attached file Kaion spoke of wasn't large but as he downloaded it, Prax saw it was a multitude of smaller ones, all tagged with asari government registry idents. His eyes widened a fraction as he opened some of them to find asari force deployment numbers, minutes of diplomatic meetings and transcripts of recordings from high level asari political briefings.

He spotted one particular file, labelled: PRIORITY TARGETS

Inside were the profiles, pictures and short vid loops of several asari who'd evidently marked themselves out as threats to turian security. There were dissidents, extremists, individuals the asari themselves tried to pretend did not exist. He recognised the famously unstable Jona Sideris, founder and leader of the Eclipse mercenary group, though she was only a fringe concern.

One name in particular caught Prax's eye; Siya Novari, ranking ambassador and veteran stateswoman of the Asari Republics.

She was imposing for her kind, tall and severe of aspect, with a sharp and well-defined face sitting above a figure Prax knew would appeal to a great many of his contemporaries. He sniffed contemptuously, knowing full well how dangerous such striking beauty could make an opponent.

He went on to read how many state secrets Novari was suspected to have stolen down the years, how many of the Hierarchy's plans she'd sabotaged both in and out of the conference room. From scattered intercepted comm calls between various other asari emissaries that had been pinned to the file, he could see she wasn't especially popular amongst her own species, though success had made her indispensable enough to the matriarchs to avoid being removed.

It was a wealth of information and Prax was loath to eliminate this "leak" in the face of such dedicated and thorough service to the Empire. However, just like with Ferrata, this was another individual Kaion evidently couldn't trust to keep his mouth shut. The name was there at the end of the document, though it wasn't one Prax had heard of.

Principal Asset: Antus Kuril.

Prax worked his jaw, silently spelling out the name on his lips before shaking his head dismissively. Whoever this Antus was, he'd done a fine job pilfering enough military and political secrets from the asari to give them an edge for years to come. Prax would be sorely tempted to buy the man a drink before killing him.

Even the thought itself was like a stiff shot of liquor to Prax as he finally prised himself up and went about departing for his journey to Omega, his every movement stiff with reluctance. He couldn't wait to get his business over with and return to more sophisticated surroundings, even if that involved having to take another turian life for the Hierarchy.

~~~ME-I2~~~

Running a clinic in the depths of Omega's grimy underbelly was no simple task. As if obtaining supplies wasn't hard enough, there was a near-constant stream of patients to treat and always the threat of violence from criminal and mercenary gangs. It was a near-impossible job, even for a capable salarian.

Mordin Solus, however, had always prided himself on being just a little more capable than most.

He worked quickly, hunched over a desk while sorting out various chemicals and pharmaceuticals, the clicks of his artificial fingers matching those of tiny servos as small compartments in the desk opened and closed. There was always a lull between when the least aggressive of Omega's citizens retired to bed and the more raucous stumbled in, their skin embedded with the remnants of whatever implement they'd been hit with during one bar fight or another. If Mordin was lucky, he might even snatch a half hour's restless sleep.

For now, he was happy to use the downtime to organise his stock, recharge equipment and set any personal experiments to "cook" overnight. He afforded a momentary glance at another table across the small room that had been set up for precisely that purpose, filled as it was with microscopes, petri dishes, test tubes and a host of other archaic instrumentation.

The pale, fleshy skin around his nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath through his nose.

Patience, he reminded himself, Will have access to better equipment some day.

The shadows swam over the curves of his head, further darkening the reddish patches around his truncated horns as he began to nod up and down in a steady beat. In such quiet moments, when all he had to fill them was menial work, he couldn't help but run through a song or two to help pass the time. It was a mechanical thing more often than not, though he would've been the first to admit he always enjoyed revisiting his theatrical days.

'Hm-hm-hm…' he intoned, trying to catch the melody as his hands continued to work independently, '...very model of a scientist salarian…'

The tune was one he sang often as memories of a shared love of song and stage returned fondly, remnants of a simpler time. He continued for a while, quietly sliding up and down the scales, testing out variations of different keys much as he would experiment with variables in his scientific studies. When required, he brought up the vaguely skeletal artificial fingers of one hand to tap lightly on the chest of his white armour, keeping the rhythm flawless.

No sooner had he reached the final crescendo when a loud crash brought his head up instantly.

Mordin's hand moved swiftly to his hip, drawing a sleek salarian pistol from its armour catch. Omega was full of thieves, but more so full of robbers who wouldn't think of murdering him to get their hands on the treasure trove of medical supplies in the clinic. He kept a volunteer staff of two but they were humans who needed sleep in the off-hours, and even if they returned they wouldn't be making such a racket. It wasn't the first time he'd needed to dispatch a problem individual or two since coming to the station.

Mordin curled a finger around the trigger as heavy, scraping footfalls came from the corridor just outside the room.

Front-bearing pressure on foremost limb; quarian? he assessed quickly, No, too heavy. Krogan? Not heavy enough. Turian, most likely but balance uneven, pacing unsteady. Favouring one foot more than other, injuries severe. Other limb dragging - imminent loss of consciousness?

Such was the speed and detail with which Mordin had analysed the newcomer that he was thoroughly prepared to see a wounded turian limp into view. What he hadn't anticipated was the sheer state of his new patient.

He could only guess at the turian's real skin colour. Almost every inch of his face was covered in slick blue blood, lightening only where it mixed in with white face paint, which itself had been scratched off in wide patches. Green eyes fastened on Mordin immediately, and the turian grunted as he shambled the last few feet.

Salarians weren't known for their physical prowess and Mordin was no exception. He stumbled slightly under the sagging weight but managed to direct the turian over to a nearby operating table, struggling to holster his pistol at the same time.

'Mord-' the turian rasped through broken lips, 'Mordin Solus?'

Mordin was hesitant to answer. Already blood was smeared over his hands and the curved plating of his forearms, and he didn't need to deduce the finer details to know that whoever - or whatever - had done this, could have followed the turian to the clinic. He closed his eyes briefly, coming to a decision.

Help all patients; reason for coming to Omega, he reminded himself.

'Yes,' he replied before gently helping the newcomer onto the table and deftly thumbing on the overhead surgical light. 'Now lie still. Blood loss severe. Multiple fractures, contusions, need urgent first aid.'

The turian groaned softly. 'Don't worry. I've had worse.'

Typical turian bravado, Mordin judged without malice. If anything, the familiar cultural trait was comforting to see on Omega. Most turians he'd encountered were Aria's enforcers, a far cry from those encountered in Council space.

With his right hand, he brought up a file on his bedside medical terminal, navigating the interface without needing so much as a glance. 'Name?'

A gurgling noise sounded from the depths of the turian's throat.

'Kryik. Arlen Kryik.'

Mordin froze. To anyone else, the way his eyes moved up to take in Arlen's battered features would have been called rapid, but to Mordin it was achingly slow. He couldn't help it. The name echoed in his thoughts, triggering recollections and still images that had seemed less than insignificant at the time, but now took on new meaning.

'C-Sec, yes?'

Clarity returned, fleetingly, to Arlen's gaze as he returned Mordin's stare. The salarian's hand continued to manipulate the terminal with a will of its own as the two men waited to see who would be the first to continue.