MASS EFFECT: INTERCEPTOR 2

*Episode Nineteen*

It was Arlen who finally broke the silence. His mind was mired in pain, with just about every part of him feeling broken and beaten. It was all too easy to simply give up, to pass out on that operating table and ease away from the many new, unwelcome questions clamouring to be answered. The multitude of wounds he'd suffered at Inamorda's hands were just background noise.

His eyes slid from Mordin back up to the surgical lamp, lost in the white circle overhead as his voice cracked involuntarily from his bleeding lips.

'How…do you know my name?'

That he'd given his real name instead of Riko Pavek's could have been a fatal slip. He didn't know this salarian, didn't know if Mordin kept an ear to the ground in service to the local gangs like so many on Omega. He expected a slug to the head just as surely as a verbal reply.

It didn't come. Mordin simply snapped out of his own reverie, though his body had continued to work regardless, one hand tapping at his terminal while the other passed over Arlen's body in a preliminary check. He responded as he broke off to activate his omni tool, passing a yellow-edged scanning beam over the table.

'Recognise from security brief sent my way a year ago. Several, in fact. No longer associated with any organisations concerned, just like to keep up with current affairs. Still have contacts who forward anything that might be useful, just in case. Always good to have ear to ground. Galaxy small place, even smaller with friends in dark corners.'

'I take it in this case, you're the friend in the dark corner?'

Mordin glanced down at him with a slight grin. 'Omega corners darker than most. And dirtier, too…good challenge. Riches to rags brings own opportunities. But…different story.'

Arlen didn't really know what he meant and didn't feel the need to ask. He only continued talking to avoid slipping into unconsciousness. 'So you saw my file, huh? I'm surprised the Special Tasks Group lets classified material out of its sight.'

It wasn't an attempt to trip up Mordin, nor a clever way to needle out some kind of confession. It was all he could recall of what Petra had told him of the doctor. Arlen was barely aware he'd even made the comment as his head lolled slightly, and Mordin was forced to gently press it upright to take a reading of his facial wounds.

'Shouldn't be surprised to hear you know of past affiliations. Well-informed. Must have made many contacts in that area, given your enemy. League of One always just rumour, but one STG takes very seriously, even after many centuries.'

'I don't know if they're the same League of One that STG chased down all those years ago but Yanus was definitely a salarian. I can't imagine many of your people go rogue like that.'

'Salarian? Maybe. Once. But not entirely salarian anymore. Not for long time.'

Arlen recalled one of the very last sights he'd witnessed of the League of One operative, the agent provocateur who almost assassinated the Council and plunged the galaxy into war. He remembered the surreal fusion of flesh and metal that made up the majority of Yanus' body, and knew exactly what Mordin meant.

'What the hell was he?' he asked.

Mordin's expression grew regretful, perhaps more than he'd intended. 'Don't know. Never saw him, only reports. Synthesis of organic and machine, never seen before, never encountered. But was salarian, so can be assumed was not new species. Form of augmentation, most likely. From where? Who? Cannot say.' A breath hissed through his nostrils. 'Would've loved to study him.'

Arlen grunted in disgust, the memories of his past struggle bringing a spear of anger through the burgeoning fingers of exhaustion gripping him. 'Yanus was a monster. He didn't need to be studied, he needed to be stopped.'

'Hm. So, why didn't you?'

Arlen looked at him, blinking. 'Why didn't I what?'

'Stop him.'

'I did.'

'Not permanently. True, can't cause much trouble in STG custody; remains in vegetative state from what I hear. Still, why not kill him?'

It was an honest query. In fact, it mildly disturbed Arlen how honest it was, delivered in a tone that lacked all emotion. Mordin might as well have asked why Arlen didn't put on a different kind of suit that morning, so mundane was his manner.

'I'm a C-Sec agent,' Arlen replied, annoyed. 'It was my job to arrest him. If I'd killed Yanus then I would've been no better than he was.'

'Not true,' Mordin countered quickly. 'Yanus; mass murderer. Mass manipulator. Intent was to cause death and chaos. You? Opposite. He killed for himself. You would've killed to bring order. Not the same.'

'And then what? I kill my next target? Then the next? All to bring order to the galaxy? It's not my place to make that call.'

'Leaping to extremes,' Mordin corrected. 'Yanus an exception, not all the same. Can only judge each case on individual circumstances.'

Arlen's voice grew in strength. 'And how can I claim to represent the law if I can't follow the law myself?'

Mordin thought for a moment, then nodded once. 'Fair point. Suppose working STG engenders certain outlook. Few rules out there, in galaxy's shadows. Easy to forget laws exist, sometimes, or some professions have limits. Special Tasks Group…not so bound by rules when in field. Can get…complicated.'

Dizziness spread through Arlen like an icy chill as the effort of speaking overcame him. Only the smell of disinfectant, mixed with Omega's pervasive grimy stench, kept him awake. His head slumped to the side and he stared listlessly at the barebones clinic. Mordin couldn't have been on Omega long, not with so many supplies and equipment still packed in their original shipping crates, scattered and stacked up to the ceiling in places. Arlen waited a few minutes, gathering the energy to talk once more as unseen instruments chirped and whirred, a dozen machines doing a dozen things he didn't understand.

'Can you tell me anything else about the League of One?' he asked as the doctor finished his checks and began to apply medigel.

'Oh yes,' Mordin said quickly. He worked as he spoke, seemingly not needing to consider a single movement. 'Plenty of information. Useful to you? Not much. You uncovered first League of One operative since STG hunted them down millennia ago. Safe to assume our intel out of date. Hence why STG so interested in you.'

'They can get in line,' Arlen spat. The anaesthetic in the medigel was already beginning to dull his senses even further.

Mordin smiled. Perhaps he understood that Arlen was losing his inhibitions, or he was genuinely amused at the comment. He clasped his chin between white-plated fingertips.

'Won't ask how long that line is. When working in shadows, make many enemies. Understand only too well.'

Arlen groaned softly as more medical salve was piped into a deep cut across his cheek. He covered the sound with a cough. His eyes widened a touch as something Mordin said sprang to mind.

'Wait, you said Yanus is in STG custody? Not the Council's?'

'League of One old salarian problem. Unfinished business. Don't know specifics but safe to assume Council only too happy to hand Yanus to salarian government. League's continued existence an embarrassment, Union likely gone to great lengths erasing evidence of Yanus, keeping anything useful to themselves.'

Mordin finished with the medigel and again, raised his omni-tool, this time running a wave of thick purple light over Arlen's body. With his other hand he tested and probed Arlen's limbs and torso, stopping occasionally to type a note into the bedside terminal.

'If wish to know more about League of One,' he went on, 'intel extracted from Yanus only real option. Answers lie in secret prison cells and labs under lakes of Sur'Kesh. Impossible to locate without authorisation from salarian government.' He sucked in another breath through his nose. 'Even harder to access.'

Arlen snorted. 'Figures. I've spent the last year trying to track down any lead I can on these bastards. I've exhausted just about every resource I can get hold of as a C-Sec officer. Should've known the salarians would cover up the whole thing. Certainly explains why I haven't been able to turn up anything solid on Yanus.'

'Could always ask,' Mordin added with a sly grin, 'though suspect if salarian government thought you useful, would already have been approached. Nothing if not proactive.'

'Just ask, huh?' Arlen replied. His eyes were glassy and filled with strange, swirling colours as he stared into the light overhead. 'Maybe I will. If I even live that long.'

Mordin's voice took on a disapproving tone. 'Won't if continue like this. Recommend at least two weeks' bedrest.'

'Not an option, Doc, even if I had a bed to go back to.'

The salarian's brow creased and his voice quietened as he muttered to himself. 'Not a resident of Omega, then. Still, strong sense of duty. Typical turian behaviour but injuries? More than usual scuffle in Afterlife. Concerted effort to murder. No random act of violence.'

Arlen frowned at Mordin as the doctor rambled on, words tumbling from his wrinkled lips in a torrent.

'Survived, though. Lucky escape? No, body tougher than most; conditioned to be durable. Also past exploits to consider. Took down Yanus, uncovered League of One. Still in active service, most likely judging by young age. But Omega outside C-Sec jurisdiction. Undercover? Yes, facial markings clearly different from STG intel files. Physical deformity of right mandible recent, within last week. Self-inflicted? Psychological profile inclined towards obsessive pursuit of objectives. Working undercover, but against whom? Aria T'Loak stabilising influence on Omega, on Terminus Systems, beneficial to Council. Batarians? Systems Alliance problem. Gangs? Too small. Ah, but not all small. Professional crew, dangerous, operates in Council space.'

Once more, his nostrils flared and air hissed through them. He finished his deductions with a certainty - and accuracy - that Arlen found unnerving.

'Jaeger.'

'You know Zwei Jaeger?' Arlen asked, only able to partially hide his disbelief.

Mordin shook his head. 'No personal interaction, thankfully, but reputation well-known. Savage, ruthless, no concept of remorse or compassion. Calls himself professional but too unstable for criminals to work with. Only matter of time before goes too far and Aria eliminates him.'

Still reeling from Mordin's rapid assessment of his purpose on Omega, Arlen couldn't help but smile, even as it stung his mouth mercilessly. He didn't even bother denying it. 'You may be right, but I hope she holds off long enough to let me complete my mission.'

Cold fingers slid under Arlen's tattered clothing, applying medigel to his bodily injuries with flawless efficiency. 'Won't ask.'

'I don't think you need to. Judging by how quickly you figured out why I'm here, I doubt you'll have any trouble, especially if you keep tabs on news out of the Citadel.'

'Hmm,' Mordin grumbled, a concerned grimace twisting his features. 'Lot of rumours, few facts. Batarian terrorist, bomb threat. Heard the worst is over but know better than to trust news vids. If Jaeger involved, need all the help you can get.'

Arlen fell quiet for a time, allowing Mordin to work. To his surprise, he found himself liking this salarian, having long ago discarded the possibility of finding anyone to like on Omega. Even were Mordin's skin not laced with the heavy scars that only war could carve, there was a certainty to his speech - strange and clipped though it was - that Arlen envied. This man seemed so sure of himself, the precise opposite of what Arlen had been feeling for a long time.

He didn't know how long he laid there before Mordin finally dusted off his hands.

'There. Best can do for now, should stop you falling to pieces. Physically, at least.'

Whatever drugs Mordin had pumped into Arlen's system was a finely-tuned cocktail. Arlen felt no sluggishness as he swung his legs over the table and propped himself upright, fastening up what was left of his suit. Painkillers and stimulants worked in perfect tandem, taking away the worst of it while keeping his thoughts lucid. He couldn't help but inspect his right hand, now bound in a splint that prevented any movement in his wrist. He could grip a weapon, but that was about it. He shook his head, depressed at the new limitation as much as he was amazed he was still alive at all, let alone able to walk around.

'How much do I owe you?' he asked.

Behind him, Mordin replied as he tapped on a datapad. 'Payment not necessary. Happy to help C-Sec, would be improper to charge.'

'Worried they'll see the bill and start asking questions?'

'Not at all. Well, minor concern. But know how governments work. They ask questions, do nothing with answers.'

Arlen might have chuckled if the memory of Petra wasn't hanging over him like a dark cloud. He couldn't go back to the apartment. There was only one destination for him now, and it was the last place he wanted to be.

He spoke again as he slid off the table and took a moment to find his balance. 'Before I go, can I ask you one more thing?'

Mordin looked up from the datapad expectantly.

'Would you really have killed Yanus if you had him? Just like that?'

There was no hesitation, only a glimmer of sadness in Mordin's large eyes. 'Of course. Wouldn't have been hardest life I had to take.'

Arlen was reminded of another salarian, one he'd fought alongside on that very station. The very same who'd played him for a fool and taken away everything he treasured. But always, the words Olansi - Yanus - had used came back to him.

'The mission is always on a knife's edge,' he murmured softly, 'ready for an act of weakness to send it crashing down.'

Mordin nodded solemnly. 'When in Special Tasks Group, always had to remember; was not there to make right decision. Only correct one.'

He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes.

'Never got easier.'

Arlen felt nothing further could be added. As it was, he mumbled another few words of thanks and departed, Mordin's final admission imprinted in his mind as he considered once more how to deal with Zwei once and for all. This nightmare had to end, one way or another.

~~~ME-I2~~~

Inamorda seethed as he waited patiently in the darkened doorway, the shadows barely able to conceal his enormous form. He made no sound and held himself as still as a statue, but each breath came heavily and rattled his great lungs.

The image of the young turian slipping out of that shattered window, leaving ragged bits of bloody fabric behind on the edges to ripple in the breeze, was burned into Inamorda's mind. The anger was as much with himself as his lucky target. He'd gotten sloppy, allowed himself to enjoy the moment a little too much. After the little punk thought he'd have a chance of fighting back, Inamorda had wanted to teach him a lesson when all he should've done was plunge his blade deep into the turian's throat.

Now he thirsted for blood. Any blood. The ignorant masses of Omega strolling through the marketplace only feet away, they knew of the krogan blood rage only in urban myths or the exaggerated stories of mercenaries propping up local bars. Inamorda knew it as a weapon, one of the most potent in his arsenal, to be wielded only against the most dangerous of prey; and this prey was most certainly dangerous. He nurtured that rising fire in his senses, filling his thoughts with the indignation of the one who had escaped - for the time being, at least - and allowed the anger to edge him closer to that euphoric state of blind gorelust.

The chattering of civilians, their clumsy feet hitting metal in their hundreds, the snarling batarian voice that piped in commercials and propaganda over all their heads, it was little more than a gentle buzz at the back of Inamorda's skull. He waited motionless until the thing he sought showed itself.

There.

A blink of white in the crowd. His target always wore white. A frivolous, stupid thing. The vain ones were always the easiest to take down.

Inamorda waited until just the right moment before stepping out from the shadows. He took care not to shoulder aside anyone to avoid causing a commotion before the intended time, but it wasn't difficult. The crowd instinctively swerved around him.

The target was clear now. A human, wiry, almost skeletal in definition. White suit and hair that made his pale skin even more colourless. An easy thing to fixate on as the passersby flowed and ebbed around them.

Inamorda narrowed his eyes and allowed the last remaining thread of self-control to leave him. His blood grew hot and his thoughts fleeting as the rage took hold, and with nothing but the man - the prey - to kill, he launched into a run.

Zwei saw him, almost too late. The crowd screamed in one voice as Inamorda's knife met a skein of undulating blue covering Zwei's skin. The human's expression was one that not many saw; wide eyes of surprise and panic, their grey depths filled with the face of his krogan assailant.

Mindless with fury, Inamorda swept out his other arm, propelling Zwei across the street and into a kiosk of datapads and other equipment with a crunching clatter. The batarian owner knew better than to protest and he fled as Inamorda strode over to grab Zwei by the scruff of his collar.

The human lashed out. Fiery bolts of biotic force whipped forth, pummelling against Inamorda's body. He brought up the knife, preparing to stab down but he grunted as Zwei smashed into him, a desperate charge fueled by vast reserves of biotic energy. They both soared across the market and into another line of kiosks, leaving a trail of whirling garbage and detritus in their wake.

More cries followed as civilians clambered over one another to escape the violence. Inamorda didn't hear them. His head was filled only with the rushing of his own lifeforce, driving him on in his rage. He growled in fits and bursts, slashing and lunging against anything within reach. Pieces of junk and debris flew in all directions, smashed to splinters - and soon enough, glistening strings of blood followed.

Inamorda smelled it. His instincts rejoiced in it. He hacked at the meat under him until hot, dark fluid coated his face and dripped from his crest. With that satisfaction, the rage began to release its grip.

He panted, baring his teeth as he dragged air into his chest. He blinked as he realised the blood that covered him was not the red he'd expected, but a rich, deep purple. He held up his knife to see his reflection shining violet in the wet blade. He didn't need to look down to know an asari had blundered into the fight, or rather, Zwei had sent them both crashing into her.

The krogan's gaze snapped around. The crowd was still fleeing en masse, with only a few onlookers resisting the urge out of sheer morbid curiosity. Of Zwei, there was no sign.

Climbing swiftly to his feet, Inamorda cast one final, searching glance for his target. He resisted the urge to roar his exasperation as he saw nothing. Instead, he stalked away from the scene, still dripping with the cruor of his unintended victim. He felt no remorse, and perhaps it was that even more than his appearance that ensured no one stood in his way.

~~~ME-I2~~~

Lorica arrived back in the command centre in a fresh dress, a long, tightly fitting garment with black and blue panels and dark grey piping. She had managed to find the time to freshen up in her short absence, though it hardly made a dent in the fatigue that was fast becoming a leaden weight on her body. The relentless cycle of work and sleep, with a far greater emphasis on the former, always became crushing during times of crisis. Lorica thought she'd been prepared for it back when Crimson Fist had bombed their first round of targets, but she could never have anticipated all that had followed.

She wanted to head back to her section and see Kimberley but there was no time. She made for the command dais, where Lina may well have been a statue for the little she'd moved since Lorica left. The quarian was a silhouette against the screen on the far wall, hands still planted behind her back. It was obvious something was amiss by the way the dais terminals blinked insistently with new updates, unheeded by the JSTF commander.

There was only one question Lorica could ask as she neared. 'What's wrong?'

'Arlen's gone dark,' Lina responded, her voice quiet with worry. 'We lost his subdermal signals about two hours ago. Those agents you transferred to Omega, they're at his apartment now. They say it's a mess, the whole place is little more than rubble. Signs of a heavy struggle, weapons fire, but no bodies.'

'Oh Goddess,' Lorica muttered. 'Is it Jaeger? Did he-'

'No signs of eezo in the air, but that doesn't say much. Zwei might simply not have used his biotics, or it could've been another member of his gang. They're saying that scans are only picking up turian blood…'

Lorica's heart dropped as Lina hung her head and brought a hand up to her faceplate. The asari instinctively placed a hand on her friend's arm.

'Keelah, why?' Lina said, on the verge of breaking into tears. 'Why didn't he let us move in after Bekenstein? Why did I let him carry on this insanity? Because of me, he's…'

Grief stole her last words and Lorica stepped in close to put an arm over her shoulder, speaking in soothing tones.

'Don't. Don't you dare blame yourself. You deserve better than that, for all you've done for him. I know you don't want to hear this but it's the truth; wherever Arlen is, he put himself there. You're not responsible for his actions.'

A sniff came through Lina's helmet amp and she shuddered weakly. After a few steadying moments, she finally moved, looking back at Lorica.

'Thank you.'

Lorica removed her arm and smiled as reassuringly as she could. 'We've got our people on the scene now. If there's any sign of Arlen, they'll find it.'

Lina nodded. 'We know Zwei's planning to head back to Bekenstein later today to go after Donovan Hock. Kim's already started scrambling assets in-system to set up remote surveillance on Hock's mansion.'

'Are we alerting port authorities planetside?'

'Only to observe, not detain. Remember, once that T-Seven case is opened, it's too late. If Zwei decides to activate it - and there's every reason to believe he'll need as little cause as possible to do so - there's no way the blast radius will be cleared in time. We've asked Bekenstein law enforcement to notify us when they've identified him but to keep their distance thereafter.'

There was little more they could do, Lorica knew. She still vehemently disagreed with Arlen's decision to keep Jaeger on the loose but that didn't matter now. While Zwei had the bomb, he would be the one to dictate the pace of events to come. It was now a game of anticipation and opportunity - neither of which would come until they managed to regain tracking of their suspects' movements.

'In the meantime,' she said, eager to change the subject, 'we're ready to pay a little visit to the asari embassy.'

Lina glanced at her curiously. 'We?'

Lorica grinned. 'I've hit up our esteemed Officer Lang for another favour. He's capable, he's eager and most importantly, he's registered to Enforcement in case the embassy staff decide to run a background check. If there's a Crimon Fist mole with eyes on the place, they won't see a JSTF agent poking around.'

'All right,' Lina acknowledged, turning to her and folding her arms. 'Let's hear it.'

'It's simple. I accompany Eddie to the Presidium, where we link our omni-tools. His will be clean but mine will contain one of Zantaeus' salarian worms. It'll be slow to spread at first, but that's the price we have to pay for being undetectable. The hard part will be uploading it. It would usually require a good minute of unbroken connection to the embassy servers, something that can only be done wirelessly inside the embassy itself. They're self-contained networks, not impossible to break into from the outside but far too risky.'

Lina motioned as if to rub her chin in thought. 'So you use Lang's omni-tool as a relay, uploading the worm while he maintains a connection on the inside. Won't that take longer?'

'Ten minutes instead of one,' Lorica confirmed.

'Those embassies aren't exactly sprawling,' Lina pointed out. 'Ten minutes is a long time for someone to stand around with their omni-tool open for no reason whatsoever. He's bound to be noticed.'

Lorica raised a hand. 'He won't be there for no reason. Eddie is a patrol officer, after all. Just so happens he has orders to hold routine questioning of embassy personnel in relation to the recent bomb threat.'

Lina grunted softly. 'Clever. So he goes in, pretends to record an interview with the asari ambassador, all while you do the work. Can he keep her talking for ten minutes?'

'Have you met the kid?' Lorica asked, cocking her brow.

'Point taken. Besides, it's our best shot if we want access to the asari military archives. I certainly can't think of a better plan. Something tells me you've done this sort of thing before.'

Moving past her to rest on the dais railing, Lorica's expression grew reflective. 'Well, you know I was with Internal Affairs before coming here. You don't make it as a professional snitch without knowing a few tricks.'

Lina slowly turned and joined her, indulging in the shared memory. 'At least this time you're not investigating an enemy mole who happens to be your boyfriend.'

'True, though the mole potentially being the ambassador of my own people comes a close second.'

'You think Ambassador Novari is who we're after?'

Lorica's gaze hardened. 'Somebody is, someone with high level access to schematics of the Destiny Ascension. Ambassador, matriarch, it could be anybody. We have to suspect everyone.'

'Yes. Yes, we do. I'd bring her in for questioning if…'

Lina didn't need to finish. After what had happened to Captain Ferrata, no one wanted to take the risk. It couldn't be discounted that whoever killed him was still at large, or possibly watching their every move. It was a grim reminder that although their powers to act were great, the danger was even greater. With the thought heavy on her mind, Lorica sighed and straightened, rolling her shoulders and neck to create a series of wince-inducing clicks.

'I'm going to meet up with Eddie now. Can you do me a favour and make sure Kim gets some sleep when Mike gets back? A couple of naps in the break room isn't enough, no matter what she says.'

'Of course,' Lina agreed. 'You've got some good people there, you know? Even Ket. If they'd been around a year ago, then…'

'Then they'd be just as messed up as we are.'

Snorting something close to a laugh, Lina began to attend to her waiting dais terminals, something Lorica was glad to see.

'Good luck out there,' the commander said.

'Same,' Lorica replied. Her mouth opened, intending to give some kind of platitude regarding Arlen but it did not come. She turned and left, still burning with anger over what the young turian was putting Lina through.

~~~ME-I2~~~

A Spectre could count on little in their line of work, least of all the permanence of a plan. A situation could change at a moment's notice and the mission often hinged on reacting instantly to an unexpected shift in circumstance. It was such decisiveness and judgement that Special Forces units of all species trained to enhance in their operatives, and why such individuals were so often chosen to become Spectres.

One such shift had caused Prax to cancel his trip to Illium while on the very threshold of his safehouse door. A covert earpiece fed JSTF's intercepted audio feeds to him directly and he was always listening. He was about to head to the spaceport before news of Kryik's disappearance began to circulate. The Task Force was worried and seemed to be preparing to pick up the T-Seven's trail on Bekenstein instead.

It had taken only a few moments for Prax to react accordingly, and he grunted in satisfaction as confirmation of his short-notice flight to Milgrom came through to his omni-tool. He was pleased to be staying in civilised space, if nothing else.

With only minutes to spare, he set about performing final checks on the weapons and equipment laid neatly on his bed. He'd always had an instinct for knowing when they would be needed, and that sixth sense screamed to him that his chase would end on Bekenstein. A heavy pistol, shotgun, modified Vindicator assault rifle and his trusty grenade launcher, all waited for him, clean and in perfect working order. He was ready to destroy a city if that was what it would take to claim back the T-Seven.

It was the unwelcome chiming of his bedside terminal that made him frown, cursing the interruption to his routine. Prax's expression slackened as he saw the origin of the call and he wasted no time in answering.

'Admiral? What is it, I'm about to-'

'We have a situation,' Kaion stated without preamble. 'The asari know about the Titus-Seven.'

Prax's lips flexed subtly, his fingers still hovering over the keypad as he considered the news. 'You're certain, Sir?'

'Of course I'm certain,' the admiral snapped. 'Lidanya was practically rubbing it in my face. She knows the bomb is ours and that it was stolen.'

Prax lowered himself slowly onto the edge of the bed. 'If the galaxy learns of this, our people will suffer.'

Kaion's snort fizzed over the terminal speakers. 'The asari airing our dirty laundry would be the best case scenario. At worst, they'll use the information as leverage to extract all kinds of concessions. I know of at least one diplomatic stalemate - the Silean mineral rights deadlock - that could be broken, and not in our favour.'

There was something in the admiral's voice that gave Prax pause. This wasn't the confident, talon-sharp officer he'd known his entire military career. There was an edge of desperation in Kaion's words that Prax had never heard before. It made him uncomfortable.

'Sir,' he began cautiously, 'I recommend we proceed with care. I've managed to plug one leak but he was a turian, one of our lives to take, as is this Antus Kuril mentioned in the dossier you forwarded earlier. You know I would do anything to ensure the security of the Empire but the more we kill, the greater the risk of discovery.'

Kaion gave no sign he was listening. 'We're past the point of risking discovery. The secret we were trying to protect is out there. It's now a matter of damage control. Be prepared, Prax. Proceed with your recovery of the T-Seven. Once it is back in our hands, there will be a great deal of cleanup for you.'

Prax blinked in alarm. He straightened and stared ahead, into the dark recesses of the tiny apartment. Was the admiral suggesting what he thought he was suggesting? It had never been Prax's place to question his orders but the man giving them barely seemed like the same one he'd met with on the Kanderax just days before.

'Sir, if we have the T-Seven in our possession then everything becomes deniable. The asari, or whoever you're afraid of, they-'

Prax winced at the tinny roar that interrupted him.

'Afraid? You think I'm scared of the asari? The salarians? Do you honestly think I give a spirits-given damn about what these slackers, these leeches on the ass of our civilisation think of us? Of me?'

Prax's expression became indignant as turian discipline gave way to the Spectre in him. 'I think you should listen to yourself for a second, Aetius. I think you're letting this Lidanya woman spook you into giving an order you'll regret.'

Hearing his first name seemed to break through Kaion's fury. Prax could hear him shuffle and shift on the other end of the line, and when he spoke again there was composure in his voice once again.

'You may be right. But understand, Prax, that we are beyond deniability. Even with the T-Seven back in our control, we've already lost too much. There must be repercussions against those who tried to take advantage of us in our weakened state.'

'Are you asking me to terminate the matriarch?' Prax asked bluntly.

A distressingly long time passed before Kaion responded. 'You'll receive new orders once your current mission is complete. Don't let me down.'

Prax's mouth was left open as the line disconnected. He slumped forward to rest his elbows on his knees, stunned at what had just transpired.

Something was deeply, deeply wrong with his old friend, that much was certain. Prax knew of Kaion's reputation, that he'd gained his rank and position in spite of polarised opinion amongst the Primarchs. It had even been whispered that someone, somewhere, was signing off on Kaion's promotions without consulting the other senior officers of the turian fleet. Malicious rumours, to be sure, but Prax wondered if he'd just witnessed what others saw in the admiral. For the first time, he wondered just how far Kaion was going to go to safeguard the Hierarchy's honour.

Shaking his head free of uncertainty, Prax got up and started to pick up his weapons and gear, sliding them neatly into his armour holsters.

One thing he knew was that the Titus-Seven would soon be on Bekenstein. Once the bomb was in his grasp, then those shifting circumstances for which a Spectre always needed to be prepared would settle into a pace far more to his liking. He would make sure of that.

~~~ME-I2~~~

Arlen limped through the musty, cluttered main floor of Zwei's warehouse, unsure of what to expect now he'd arrived. He had been ambushed and beaten almost to death, and even Mordin's expertise was only enough to get him on his feet, little more. Underneath the sense-numbing drugs swimming through his veins, there was a sense of displacement, as if his bones were not in their right places. He mouthed a plea to the spirits for whatever strength they could lend him and dragged himself on.

The common room overlooking the warehouse was already lit from within, a gentle yellow glow coming from the filthy windows above. Arlen stifled a groan as he climbed the narrow stairwell, though when the door slid open he temporarily forgot his discomfort.

The rest of the gang was there already, gathered in a loose ring around a seated Zwei. The human sat hunched over his knees, glowering at Arlen beneath a brow that seeped blood. It had run down his face, tracing its sharp lines and soaking the collar of his suit a deep, dark red. His left arm was outstretched, Naraya about to wrap a bandage over a horrific gash that ran the length of his forearm. Even beneath the grey coating of medigel, Arlen could see it was sheer luck that an artery hadn't been cut.

Zwei's voice was dry and husky, lacking its usual snap as he glared at Arlen. 'Let me guess. Big-arse krogan?'

'Yeah,' Arlen replied. Shock still gripped him tightly and he had to blink it away to continue. 'He broke into my apartment, tore the place up. I only just managed to escape. Madsen wasn't so lucky.'

'He's definitely dead, then?'

Arlen nodded slowly. 'The krogan said as much and I don't see why he'd lie about it.'

The news made Zwei looked briefly up to the ceiling with a look that Arlen could have sworn was sorrowful. It looked wrong on that face, usually so full of demented glee. The gang remained silent for some time as the news sank in.

Naraya was the first to speak. 'Who the hell is it? Someone we pissed off? Blood Pack, maybe?'

Arlen inched closer to the group. 'He called himself "Inamorda". That name mean anything to you?'

Zwei's eyes snapped to him. 'No kidding. Ina-goddamn-morda.' His twisted smile returned, in spite of it all. 'He only went and did it. He only went and hired the most dangerous bounty hunter in the galaxy, all to get at little ol' me.'

He laughed, that awful hacking noise that made Arlen want to wince.

Tuvio shrugged, confused. 'Who did, Boss?'

'Who else?' Zwei sneered. 'Our dear friend on Bekenstein. Just like Donnie to chuck money at a problem until it turns out in his favour. I'd be flattered if my arm wasn't damn near hanging on by a tendon.'

Tuvio's sister stepped forward. Her blue-lined features were animated with fear. 'Look, Boss, I know you don't wanna hear this but we're in over our heads here. Inamorda isn't someone you can cross the street to avoid. He'll keep coming for us until we're all dead. We need to split up and hide.'

Arlen tensed as Zwei appeared to give the idea serious thought. His hands clenched at his side, sending bolts of white hot pain through his fractured wrist, pain he would barely have felt even were it not for the painkillers.

He couldn't allow the T-Seven to slip away into darkness. He could not let Zwei go to ground, or his accomplices. He'd come too far, lost too much, for that to happen.

In just a few short moments he'd made a mental note of his surroundings. The whole gang was focused on Zwei, who was himself incapacitated. Arlen still had his pistol. He went through several opening manoeuvres in his mind, who he could shoot, who he could knock to the ground. His earlier qualms about killing dissolved without a single thought, blown away by the passing moments of growing desperation and the need to make an instant decision.

His mouth parted slightly in surprise as Zwei hauled himself to his feet. Naraya had finished her work and now looked up at her lover expectantly, as did they all.

'Sod that,' he snarled. His pale eyes were large and shone with malice. 'You think I was pissed off before? That ain't nothing compared to how I'm feeling now. Donnie crossed a line when he tried to kill us on his own turf, but here, on Omega? He's dropped his pants and straight-up pissed all over the goddamn line.'

Naraya's blue skin creased with concern. 'You still wanna go to Bekenstein after everything that's happened? Even without Madsen?'

Zwei answered without looking at her. His gaze was fierce and distant, clearly filled with images of fire and murder. 'Too right I do. We might not be able to touch him in his own home, but there's more than one way to skin a pyjack.'

There was cunning knowledge in his voice, enough for Arlen to cautiously ask, 'What do you have in mind?'

'Tomorrow we kill Hock, but today… The shark's smile turned to Arlen. 'Today, we ruin him. Tuvia, you still got that virus we used to trash Khan's accounts in the casino?'

Tuvia's mandibles twitched as she grinned, picking up on his train of thought. 'Yeah, Boss. I sure have.'

The air started to shimmer around Zwei as he stared at his bandaged arm, a mass effect field of subtle intensity forming as he tested his powers.

'We're moving. Now. Gear up, all of you. Let's see how much protection Donnie still has when he can't pay his mercs.'