Disclaimer: I do no own Mass Effect, I do not claim to own Mass Effect, I am only doing this for fun.
Author Notes: These would be the proverbial storm clouds gathering at the horizon. Enjoy.
Episode 29: The Silencer
The Normandy departed the Raheel-Leyya system shortly after Tali's homecoming party ended. Shepard had to make a brief call to Admiral Hackett to explain why the Normandy left the Citadel without orders, but it was not difficult to explain the importance of the little detour. Ultimately Hackett had nothing for them to do, so they were not interrupting anything, and so the admiral could not do much except agree. The very fact that they had nothing to do was beginning to worry Shepard big time. There should have been something for them to do by now, right?
It was hard to miss that even Nihlus' tasks seemed to have dried up. Either the Council was keen on carefully choosing where to involve him, because it would also involve her, or he was keeping his schedule clear on purpose, possibly because he was expecting Saren to get back to him about the Impera.
Whichever it was, she would not beg for something to do, so she had to get used to the lull. Not that the crew minded. A good number of them figured out that their trip to meet with the Migrant Fleet meant something for Tali. Matthews had been the one to ask whether something had happened, by which he meant if there was bad news. Thus Tali found herself a proverbial center of attention at dinner, and ended up having to explain the end of pilgrimage ceremony to those who had not been present.
Halfway through the explanation she apologized for not inviting more people, saying she ought to have considered the "Normandy's family" more, a term that earned her a number of smiles from everyone present, even the servicemen and women of security. The rest of her explanation was given with a newfound gusto and in full detail. After Rael'Zorah failed to show, the warmth Tali got from the crew seemed to have a good effect on her.
Shepard could not have been happier. She wanted Tali to know that the Normandy was home to more than just an Alliance crew. The presence of so many non-Alliance members had by necessity broken down some boundaries. There were some rules Shepard could not enforce with the human part, and let the non-humans get away with. So the only viable option was to relax them for all. Then she was never a stickler for the tedium of every iota in the first place. That sort of comfort tended to lead to people becoming familiar, and even more loyal to each-other for it. The Normandy became a comfortable posting, even if it was hardly a luxury ship like the bigger vessels could be.
Their arrival on the Citadel coincided with a confluence of night on the ship, night on the Citadel. Shepard only had to update the shift rosters before she could get her eight hours in the rack. Come morning those with the early personal time had the option to leave the ship or stay on board. Shepard was not surprised that a couple of the servicemen hastily departed to hit the breakfast menu of Zakera Ward's many eateries. Shepard was not in the mood to pay the cab fare, let alone the food prices, so she made do with ship fare. Matthews made heaping helpings of pancakes for everyone along with those bite-sized meat taters for the dextro members of the crew.
The only aberration was that Nihlus was nowhere to be seen. Still aberrations were not unusual in life, so Shepard did not think much of it, until Nihlus breezed out of his quarters halfway through breakfast and his gaze locked on her across the room. His posture was positively stiff, and his mandibles were drawn up against his jaw. "Shepard, Vakarian, we need to talk," he announced.
Shepard glanced at Garrus, only to find that Garrus had tensed up like a string as well, seemingly in echo of Nihlus' posture. A silence settled on the mess as the crowd watched. Shepard could guess what they must think right then; this was a rather unusual event. Normally Nihlus would find her in the OD, the crew never got to see his work face quite like this. The servicemen seated at the back table next to the wall that separated the mess from the elevator shaft were outright gawping. If Shepard was honest, even she rarely got to see Nihlus' work face like this, and that told her that something was seriously up. She got to her feet; the last pancake would have to wait. Garrus followed mutely. Nihlus motioned toward his quarters and they followed him inside.
This was the first time Shepard entered the XO's cabin since the Spectre had taken up residence. She would have expected some additional tech of some kind, maybe even weapon racks, but Nihlus changed very little about the room, he just made it feel lived-in. The office area desk was vaguely L-shaped, the half facing the door was strewn with almost too many data pads to count, and there was a long-forgotten cup on a coaster next to the terminal. The other half was spread with a weapon cleaning kit and various other tools. Nihlus had only added a small vid screen to the wall over his weapon maintenance area. Shepard could not help but find the sight amusing. There was a definite contrast between this space and the orderliness Garrus kept in Life Support.
"Nihlus, what's going on? Is something wrong?" Shepard wondered as she watched him circle the desk and move toward the vid screen.
"In a manner of speaking," Nihlus replied as he tapped at the screen's console and brought up a video.
Shepard instantly recognized the Citadel News Network studio and the sapphire blue asari with violet-tinged eyes and facial markings that hosted the morning show. Most news outlets on the extranet were a hybrid of television and newspaper all in one. Unlike television, they did not do live broadcasts. Video content was essentially something one subscribed to. Once one paid a news outlet a humble fee, one could download programs as data packages from the channel's site. The channels knew exactly how much comm buoy bandwidth to buy given the number of paying subscribers they had. For free users they provided the same content in newspaper form, text-only, with a few still pictures.
"See for yourselves," Nihlus said as he accessed this particular programs time stamp options, tapped one about five galactic standard minutes in, and hit play.
"… local news," as the anchor spoke into the camera, the time stamp cutting more than half of her segue sentence off. "Presidium Botanical Gardens groundskeepers were in for a grizzly discovery when they arrived at work this morning. Ternus Erasion is the latest victim of homicide, the twentieth on the Presidium this year. Our official sources at Citadel Security confirm that Homicide Division is investigating. The detectives in charge have identified a person of interest in connection with the murder, but the suspect's details have not been released to the public at this time. We will-"
Nihlus tapped the console to pause the video. Garrus hummed low.
Shepard looked to one, and then other, but neither offered an explanation. Still, it did not take much to figure out that the victim was important, but they were out of luck if they expected her to figure it out on her own. She could only, at best, guess the gender and species. "Alright for the oblivious one in the room, who is the victim?"
"Oh… right. I do not think I ever mentioned his name," Garrus said, suddenly sheepish.
"You did not." Nihlus replied. "Shepard, Ternus Erasion was the former secretary to Councilor Sparatus."
"Former-" Shepard did not finish that thought. Unless Sparatus changed secretaries every other month, this former secretary would have to be the one who unknowingly opened the Citadel's back door to the Heretic Geth.
"You do not think this is a random murder, do you?" Garrus said, looking toward Nihlus.
"I do not," Nihlus replied. "I want to look into the matter while we are on the Citadel."
"And interfering with C-sec is just an added bonus?" Garrus asked.
Nihlus said nothing, but he grinned, which was almost as good.
Garrus sighed and turned to Shepard. "I may be able to pull some favors with some of my former colleagues at Homicide Division. This happened on the Presidium, so I know which detectives are likely to be in charge."
"That means we know what we'll be doing," Shepard said, an understatement on her part, but she had nothing else to say at the moment. This opened a new chapter on what Shepard previously thought to be a closed book. The paranoid part of her mind was already cooking up amorphous possibilities, but she would not entertain any of them right now. The last thing she needed was to develop a case of confirmation bias even before she got a good look at the evidence C-sec had.
They only waited for breakfast to end before leaving on their dubiously-legal investigation. Shepard was happy that for once a jaunt across the Presidium would not involve getting into her officer's uniform. Her fatigues would not endear her to any of the C-sec detectives, but it was the least of their problems with her now. She was now a Spectre-in-Mentorship, coming with her mentor, and a detective who quit C-sec to run with them. She was convinced that with a father like Castis Vakarian, Garrus quitting would be big news in the bullpen. She would not be surprised if some of Garrus' favors and acquaintances failed to get them anywhere.
They took a Skycab onto the Presidium, though after some discussion they agreed on starting at the crime scene. Shepard wanted to start at the beginning and develop her own theory, one free of the ideas of someone else. The case was still in its first forty hours, the crucial period when the evidence was freshest and the chances of finding the criminal highest. That also meant the detectives would be busiest too, so getting one to go over the whole thing, down to the last iota, would be all the harder.
During their ride, Shepard looked up information on the location in question. The Presidium Botanical Gardens housed flora from all corners of the galaxy, and acted as one part conservatory and one part living museum. Being on the Presidium, it showed all due ostentatious wealth and extravagance, including the fact that it had no greenhouse walls or roofs. After all, what was metal and glass when one had power generation to spare? The same environmental barriers that retained atmosphere on otherwise open docking bays here contained the diverse biomes the plants required. Freedom from physical restrictions allowed the gardens to straddle the lake, with sections on both sides, islands in the center, all connected with quaint arched foot-bridges. The highly-ornate decorative wrought metal fences, archways, and gates were a gift from Earth, installed as one of the garden's works of art. They were a replica of something straight out of the nineteenth century, added for that romantic touch since the island dedicated to Earth was the latest addition and had not had the time to grow in fully.
Their Skycab landed on a kiosk pad right in front of one of the two lake-side entrances. This particular entrance faced the section dedicated to the flora of Sur'Kesh. When they stepped past the ornate gates and through the atmosphere retaining mass effect field, the air turned warm, humid, and cloying with the mixed scents of flowers. Sur'Kesh was a tropical planet, covered with lush jungles, and their surroundings reflected it. Gorgeous flowering plants in every color imaginable were everywhere, along with non-flowering ferns, and all of them dwarfed by trees that grew over twenty meters tall. These were draped with vines, mushrooms, and moss. Most of the moss was plain, clinging to the bark, but some species were faintly bio-luminescent, glowing in blues, greens, and purples. The walkways were flagstone-laid, meandering toward the lake in imitation of natural paths, shadowed by the dense canopy of arboreal green. It all created an image of tamed, controlled wilderness.
The place was beautiful; Shepard would have had to have no aesthetic sense what-so-ever to not see beauty in this garden. Still, she had to limit her admiration as she followed Nihlus along the central flagstone pathway. Once she could rein in her inner tourist, she turned back to the matter at hand. Despite gradual winding turns, there was really only one linear way toward the lake. So in her mind Shepard expected a crime scene to be impossible to miss, especially a recent one like this.
As the path turned one last time, it opened onto a section that was a clear line toward the bridge that led to the first island. A small holographic sign proclaimed the island to be a mirror of Kahje. The planet was ninety-percent ocean, but the other ten percent were endless archipelagos of dense rainforest. Nearly right at the foot of the bridge connecting the two biomes Shepard spotted the pylons and holographic tape that cordoned off a crime scene.
"I see why this location was chosen. This section of the Presidium is an upscale commercial zone. We have a mall and offices on one side, a hotel on the other. The mall closes for the night and the hotel bar lounge gets noisy… no one would hear or see anything that happens in the gardens themselves in the middle of the night cycle." Garrus said.
Shepard hummed; she would have waited for her target here too.
"Come to think of it, the moss would glow brighter once ambient light levels were lowered. Even if someone outside saw muzzle flashes, they would sooner think it was the moss." Garrus added.
Nihlus hummed in assent.
"If the killer worked on those assumptions, it would make this a premeditated murder, not a passion crime." Shepard said. "And it wouldn't be a civilian job either." If the killer chose the location like that, it said something about their intelligence, professionalism, and fore-thought. That level of planning was uncommon in civilians. Even the most careful civilian murderer would not pay attention to the benefits of glowing moss in their planning. That level of detail-orientation was more the methodology of professional killers. The best assassins had to master situational control, evasion, and escape. They had to utilize whatever advantage they could.
"Astute observations, though I should not be surprised," a flanging voice announced.
Shepard whirled to face the source of the voice only to see a familiar turian materialize from behind the trunk of one of the enormous trees.
"Chellik," Garrus said, mildly surprised.
The detective folded his arms over his chest, and his expression remained positively stony. "Commander Shepard, Spectre Kryik, Vakarian," he replied.
"Well this is a surprise," Nihlus mused.
"If only it was." Chellik replied blandly. "I knew this case would interest you. I checked the customs docking lists and saw that the Normandy just so happened to come in last night. Plus, Spectres are not known for patience, so I knew you would be here sooner rather than later. And here you are."
"You seem to have us figured out, detective." Shepard mused.
"Indeed. And before you ask, I am not in charge of this case, but I know who is." He looked toward Garrus with a sort of blank stare, but there was still something in it that would have tipped off even the most obtuse individual.
"My father." Garrus said.
"Yes." Chellik replied.
Shepard knew that spelled trouble.
"Consider this friendly advice, stay out of this. Let C-sec handle it."
"And you expect me to just obey?" Nihlus asked.
"I know you will not." Chellik replied blandly. "Just know that while you can request Vakarian to share the information, you will not be able to influence his investigation. As for this place… well, you missed the Forensics Unit, they have already collected everything."
"Why are you warning us, Chellik?" Garrus asked.
The detective spared Garrus a blank stare, "Vakarian, we have worked together for three years. I owe you for helping me on one or two cases. I am doing this for old time's sake. I am telling you, stay out of it."
"Thanks, but no thanks."
"Suit yourselves." With that said, the detective turned and walked down the path toward the garden's exit.
Shepard watched him until he vanished from view. The detective's warning hit her a little harder than he realized. She knew that after what happened with the Impera, Senior Detective Castis Vakarian would know she pulled a fast one over him. He would not buy a play at mere curiosity, or any act of naïveté from her. That bridge had been severely scorched. Factor in that the man did not like Spectres, and her recent promotion to one-in-training and you had a recipe for a complicated situation. Sure, Nihlus could probably pressure the man, but full cooperation and merely complying with regulations were two entirely different things.
Nihlus crossed through the barrier holo-tape without a care for it flashing a warning about unauthorized access. Shepard followed, with Garrus trailing behind her. It was difficult to miss the spot where the body had been. The crime was recent enough that the groundskeepers were not yet cleared to pressure-wash the blood off the flagstones. There was one rather big central stain and two smaller marks about a meter away, spaced about twenty centimeters apart. "This was not a clean kill," she said. What sort of assassin shed this much blood? Ideally one removed a target in such a manner that they did not bleed at all. Transferred evidence one could not acquire anywhere else but at the crime scene, like the victim's blood on clothing, was difficult to explain, and all the more damning for it.
Garrus crouched next to the stains and brought up his omni-tool to cast a faint light on them. "The big one is a pooling mark from where the victim's body lay, but I see some small spatter marks around it. That tells me the murder weapon was a firearm. The victim was shot standing on his feet. Now these smaller stains have no spatter at all, but the edges on the right are smeared. Something was dragged through them. This one-" he indicated one of the secondary stains. "The stone under it has a groove, and that is inconsistent with surrounding wearing."
Shepard crouched where she could see the alleged groove, "a bladed weapon?" she asked.
"Seems to be, yes." Garrus replied.
"Looks like a sawing mark to me. Would explain the smearing." Nihlus added.
Shepard raised an eyebrow as she looked first to Nihlus and then the Garrus. "There's only one groove. That says the victim was not struggling when-" Shepard paused there as the information filtered in her mind, it was like she could see what happened. "Okay… two marks, relatively small smudged blood stains, the groove cuts across one perpendicularly, and look here at the positions relative to what had to be blood pooling from a mortal wound."
"The killer removed the victim's hands," Garrus said, amazement in his voice.
Shepard hummed in assent, "And they did so perimortem."
"Spirits." Nihlus echoed.
Mutilation was atypical for a professional. Dead was dead, mutilation did not make anyone deader, and there were cleaner ways to prove the deed complete. Usually whoever contracted the killer knew the victim, so taking some personal effects would be enough. Body parts were messy and hard to explain if discovered. Some assassins saw such requests as an affront to their professional pride to begin with. Mutilation was typically used to send a message; even the most deranged individual saw meaning or purpose in the act. Perimortem mutilation sent a whole other message; it spoke of impatience or outright sadism.
Ultimately though, here the numbers did not align. The seeming attention to the benefits of the location conflicted with the execution of the kill. Shepard could not be certain whether they were dealing with a highly functional psychopathic civilian, or the rare professional whose unique calling card happened to be extreme violence.
Garrus rose to his feet and Shepard followed. As he turned to walk the scene with his scanner, Shepard turned to the task in the old fashioned way. Her eyes sought anything out of the ordinary, other marks on the flagstones, disturbed foliage, anything. However aside from the blood stains she could not see any signs that something had happened.
"There does not seem to have been a struggle. The killer was careful to deliver the mortal wound in one strike." She could not be sure without seeing the body, but it was an educated guess. Turians were all former soldiers; certain things would remain instinctual even decades after active service. If there had been a struggle against an enemy that wielded a bladed weapon, the victim might have suffered defensive wounds. If that was the case then there should have been other drops of blood here and there, but there were none. "Garrus, did you find anything?"
"No, it is as you say. There is nothing else here."
"I think we got everything we will get from the scene. We need to talk to the senior detective for the rest," Nihlus said.
"Alright," Garrus sighed as he turned off his scanner.
Shepard hummed. The resignation in Garrus' tone made it abundantly clear that he did not want to talk to his father about this. She felt bad for him, because she knew full well how this would go, and she was responsible for it.
They took another Skycab to the Presidium Central Station. It was a simple, austere three floor building made of the same bland-colored, but ludicrously strong material that most Presidium structures were made of, with all its windows set with blue-tinged panels. The building was roughly rectangular, but the main entrance was set into the center, where the building protruded with a rounded section. Were it not for the Skycab's navigational system, the building really did not stand out much. There was only a single free-standing sign outside the main doors to announce where they were.
Nihlus led the way through the oversized double-doors and into the station's atrium. It was a cylinder of open space spanning all three floors, with the elevators in the back. These led to corridors that circled and overlooked the atrium before branching out to the countless offices. True to the fact that C-sec was founded by Turians, the décor of the station was as austere inside as it was outside. If someone had anything to spiff up the place, it would probably be relegated to whatever office or cubicle they inhabited.
The Spectre did not pause to the take sights, as soon as one of the receptionist windows opened, he marched right over, much to the visible annoyance of the asari he cut off and the other five people waiting in line for service.
"Sir, you are cutting in line," the human woman staffing the reception desk said with a polite smile. Despite being at what amounted to glorified door duty, she still wore a C-sec uniform, and a steely disposition to match.
"I am Council Spectre Nihlus Kryik," he replied blandly.
The asari's anger deflated instantly as she realized why she was cut off. The officer behind the desk straightened and reached over to her keyboard, probably to run the name in her system. Shepard drew closer as the woman typed; she would not be surprised if C-sec got a whole bunch of stupid people claiming to be Spectres when they wanted something expedited.
A moment later the screen changed and a profile appeared, complete with picture. "Ah. My apologies ma'am. He does have priority." The receptionist said to the asari, who nodded and turned back to go back to the front of the line. The receptionist turned back to Nihlus, "What can I do for you, Spectre Kryik?" she asked.
"I need to talk to Senior Detective Castis Vakarian."
"Ah. Let me see now…" she paused to hit a few keys, to bring up the times log. "You are in luck. Detective Vakarian is in the station right now. His office is attached to Homicide Division, second floor." The receptionist reached under her desk and withdrew a visitor's ID card.
"Please issue two more, I'm here with my trainee Spectre, Commander Shepard, and former-detective Garrus Vakarian," Nihlus added.
The receptionist pulled out two more cards and handed them over. "Please keep these on you at all times. Have a good day."
Shepard plucked two of the cards from Nihlus' hand as soon as he was away from the desk and handed one to Garrus. The cards let them through the security gates at the back of the atrium without setting off the alarms. There were more uniformed C-sec officers acting as security behind the gates, but the IDs were also a flag that they could be left alone.
From there, the three of them took an elevator to the floor above. Immediately in front of the elevator doors was a pillar with metal label plates that indicated destinations. The Homicide Division bullpen was on their right and the station's administrative offices on their left.
Nihlus wordlessly turned to the right, leaving Shepard and Garrus to follow. They walked along the open corridor that ringed the atrium below. This floor of the right-hand wing was closed off as one large area. There was a long stretch of wall set with frosted-panel windows, and cut in half by a single set of frosted-glass, double-pane, soundproofed doors. Just before the doors, there was a narrow section of plain wall covered with plaques, the large sign over them proclaimed this to be a memorial for the station's officers who fell in the line of duty. A constant reminder of what the detectives were doing their jobs for.
The door's sensors registered their arrival and opened up on their own. Beyond was a large, bustling space lined with desks, terminals, and teeming with activity. The human detective seated at the desk closest to the door looked up when he heard the doors open, "What brings you three to our humble abode?" he asked.
"We would like to see Senior Detective Vakarian," Shepard replied.
"Ah. This is not a good time for cordial visitors. We got a nasty one overnight, and the detective is very busy." The man said.
"We heard." Nihlus cut in.
"Yea it was- Oh hey, there he is, coming out of the interview room."
Shepard looked over the busy space and spotted Vakarian senior coming out of a small room attached to the bullpen. It had a frosted window overlooking the main area, to keep the claustrophobia at bay, and from what she could see inside, it was decorated with plants, and the table was set with a pitcher of water and glasses. Walking by the senior detective's side was a turian female, evident by her elaborate facial plate edges and lack of fringe. She wore a dark blue tunic outfit with long tails, and her eyes never left the floor.
Shepard watched as the female said something to the detective, to which he nodded somberly, and then the two parted. Vakarian senior waved one of the other detectives over, another turian, to walk with the female on her way out. Shepard automatically stepped aside to let them pass as they drew near. When she turned back toward the rear of the bullpen she saw that Castis had watched the two from a distance, which meant he spotted the three of them. Shepard saw his eyes narrow and his expression harden at record pace.
"Uh oh." The detective seated on her right said and turned right back to his terminal.
"Spectre Kryik, Commander Shepard, Garrus." Castis greeted as he approached. His tone was polite, but Shepard would be surprised if it was anything more than professional decorum.
"Detective, we are here about Ternus Erasion." Nihlus opened, foregoing politeness outright.
"I thought so. We can talk in the interview room." Castis did not mince words.
They were shown to the same interview that the detective had just used to have his interview with the turian female. Nihlus breezed right in, and Shepard almost followed when she saw Garrus take up position at the frame outside the room, with his back to the wall.
"You're not going in?"
"No. I think it is best I stay out of that room."
"You sure?" she asked.
Garrus nodded. "I know you will tell me everything later. If I may be so bold, Commander, I would rather not be in the same room when my father and Kryik start arguing."
Shepard nodded and followed her mentor into the room.
Once she was inside, the detective shut the door and engaged both lock and soundproofing. "Shall we begin then?" He asked as he rounded the table and sat down in a comfortable-looking chair.
"This will be a quick then. As a Council Spectre, I formally request to see everything you have." Nihlus replied.
Shepard noted that he had no intention to sit, and decided to follow his example. Castis did not flinch or look away from Nihlus' 'I will take no nonsense' stare either. She did not want to say anything, but she knew that this was a charged situation. A Spectre and a senior C-sec detective in the same room, it was like the setup for a bad joke or a no-holds-barred fight. Neither would help them right now, but go tell Nihlus that. Add the fact that the detective's prodigal son was outside the door, clearly avoiding his father, and that she was responsible for it, and it turned the interview room into a metaphorical pressure vessel that contained simply too much ego to be wholly safe.
"Everything?" Castis asked, his tone growing chilled by the moment.
"Erasion was a former Council secretary, which is grounds enough for Spectre involvement. Then given what he was involved in…" Nihlus' voice dipped there, as if it was still a secret what the former secretary had accidentally done.
Castis flipped over one of the datapads on the corner of the table, causing it turn on. "Fine, you have made your point." He slid the pad toward Nihlus "We do not have much at the moment, other than the medical examiner's preliminary report. Also, a camera near the Botanical Gardens caught an image of someone we strongly suspect is the killer."
"You have a picture of the killer?" Nihlus asked, surprised.
"Someone we strongly suspect is the killer," Castis repeated. He tapped the pad, which brought up an image that even Shepard could see from where she stood. It was a glimpse of a human woman melting into the shadows between two trees near the gates of the botanical garden. While people lurking half-in-shadow was hardly criminal, this woman was definitely not a civilian. She wore matte black light armor; its protective plates almost indistinguishable from the undersuit weave. She was also armed with a black-painted Carnifex, holstered at her right hip, and the sheath of a blade at the small of her back. Her face was completely obscured by a plain black lower-face mask and a pair of opaque goggles. The gear went to lengths to cover up as much skin as possible, thought Shepard could see just a hint of a light-colored ear peeking out from amidst her black chin-length bobbed hair. Her straight fringe went as far as covering up her forehead.
Nihlus picked up the datapad, "And this was the only camera that caught her?" he asked.
"Yes. Cameras at the scene were looped to conceal the attack. Cyber division is looking into it, but I expect they will find all cameras in her path were looped. She likely carried a device that cold detect and tamper with them automatically," Castis replied.
Shepard hummed; again this hinted that the killer was a professional. Who else would have the knowledge to play with the Citadel's security systems? Professionals studied their hunting grounds and learned to operate in them without detection. It was part of the job. On the other hand something still did not add up. A sniffer of that type ought to loop all cameras in its range. Why did it miss one?
"You see something, Shepard?" Nihlus asked.
"Just the few little… inconsistencies, we talked about them in the garden. It's likely nothing Detective Vakarian hadn't thought of already." She smiled. "What about that medical examiner's report?" She was not certain of a couple things, and it was not her norm to discuss the vaguest maybes. The only certainty here was that the killer had considerable skill, and that would not come cheap. Which begged the question, who would hire someone like that? The why seemed a lot clearer; this could not be unconnected to the leak.
Then there was the very fact that the killer was a woman, and contract killing was still carried out predominantly by men. Most individuals who could be called assassins had special ops military training. This killer being human meant Alliance training. The only program that came even close was the ICT. Shepard doubted the she was active Alliance, so possibly a cat-six? ICT being a prestigious program meant there were a limited number of applicants accepted, with even fewer graduates. Being a woman narrowed it down further. It all created some hope for identifying the culprit, if the initial suppositions were correct at least.
Nihlus switched the pad over to display the medical examiner's report. Shepard angled closer to see, but was not surprised that the document would require a recognition and translation program for her to understand.
"The victim was shot at close range before his hands were removed." Nihlus read for her benefit. "I assume the body parts were not recovered at the scene?"
"They were recovered from the lake. She tossed them into the water," Castis replied.
Shepard hummed, that was definitely more professional than psychopathic civilian. "Where was he shot?" she asked, more to guide Nihlus back on track than pursue the details.
"The bullet pierced both sets of vocal cords, the trachea, and nicked the main artery of the neck. The actual cause of death seems to be exsanguination."
Shepard could see why that woman was on top of the suspect list, as aside from clothing, she carried the right weapons. Then, the victim was silenced twice over. Yes he would die, the ultimate silencing, but in shooting him through the voice box and removing his hands, the killer carried out a second, ritual silencing as well. Suddenly it made sense why there was a mix of professional tactical and planning skills with elements that did not bear the right clinical detachment.
Then it hit her. She personally fit the suspect's description. There was only one single obvious difference between her and the woman in the photo; the suspect did not have a pronounced streak of white hair. However, the image did not have the resolution to differentiate shades well enough to say whether there was dye involved. They were looking for someone who did not have a skunk stripe, but if the investigators developed even a little bit of a confirmation bias, the image could still cast suspicion on her.
After Elysium when Shepard realized that part of her fringe started growing in silver-white, she had tried to dye it in, only to discover that the color simply did not last. The dye, even rated for long-lasting grey coverage, faded rapidly with frequent washing, until eventually there was a noticeable shade difference. After going through the process three times, she chose to let the streak grow in to save time. However, a fresh dye job, using temporary colorant, would look real. Suspicion of such a job could affirm a confirmation bias if there was one.
Thus, the absence of a hair streak was not going to be a defense if anyone decided to come after her. Worst of all, the murder was committed when the Normandy had already docked on the Citadel. That meant she effectively had no solid alibi to bring up. The only person who could definitively say that she never left the Normandy would be EDI. With that, Shepard also realized that maybe it was a good idea to keep mum. The last thing she wanted to do was to come across as the criminal returning to the scene of the crime, or injecting herself into the investigation.
"And this is everything?" Nihlus asked as he set the pad back down on the table.
Shepard came out of her thoughts, glad that no one seemed to notice her little lapse.
"Right now, yes." Castis replied blandly. "You saw me finish an interview with the victim's spouse. She insisted that everyone was amicable to them. She showed me their financial records willingly, and those are clear of suspicious activity. As far as I can tell they are typical higher-mid-tier citizens. The worst Erasion ever did was fly a skycar too fast in the lanes closest to ward buildings, and even then he appealed the ticket by proving that his car's sensor was improperly calibrated during routine maintenance."
Well that was the second worst thing Shepard knew Ternus had done. The first being opening a contaminated email that allowed the Heretics to access his office terminal, through which a lot of rather sensitive information flowed. To be sure it was a lapse of judgment, hardly a crime, but it resulted in deaths. All in all, Erasion seemed to have gotten life's "kick me" sign, he definitely did not sound like a criminal mastermind.
"So there is no one else who might be interested in killing him?" Nihlus wondered.
"Unknown at this time. My team is out interviewing his current employer and coworkers." Castis replied blandly, as if he had expected the question to come up.
Nihlus hummed, and Shepard thought that he was probably thinking of another angle to dig from.
"I understand that Councilor Sparatus would appreciate knowing what happened to his former secretary, however as of right now, I have nothing to tell you. Investigations take time, Spectre Kryik. We do not just go somewhere, flash our title, and expect to be handed answers."
Shepard knew a backhanded dig when she heard one, and so did Nihlus if the look he spared the detective was any indication. She also knew that it was highly unlikely that the senior detective was pulling their legs. If he said that was all he had, that was all he had.
"Alright." Nihlus conceded after a long stare-down. "I suppose there is no helping it."
"Indeed, but I will keep you updated on the investigation." Castis said calmly, "In the interest of cooperation between our branches."
"Thank you," Nihlus replied just as calmly, but his mandibles gave away his annoyance with the faintest of little flicks.
Shepard thought Castis scored a point there; he made cooperation sound like he was doing the Spectre a favor. Maybe it was a good thing that Garrus opted to bow out of this as he had. Nihlus really did not need another reason to be cross with the younger Vakarian. If Garrus knew his father got the upper hand over Nihlus like that, the Spectre's pride would take a hit he would not stand for.
"Anything else you wish to discuss, Spectre?" Castis asked.
"No, that would be all." Nihlus replied as he passed his hand over the controls to unlock the door. "Shepard. Come."
Shepard felt the hair at the back of her neck bristle. In that instant Nihlus sounded positively too much like Saren. Still, what bothered her even more was that she did have such a strong reaction to someone saying the word 'come' in that tone. There was a whole other scary thought.
Once outside the interview room Shepard expected to find Garrus still by the door, but instead he was on the other side of the bullpen, talking to one of the detectives. The conversation seemed engrossing to the point that he did not see the two of them come out of the interview room, so Shepard made her way over there instead.
"… you are sure that this is the right ship?" Garrus asked the detective seated at the table.
Shepard stopped herself from calling out to draw the ordnance officer's attention. She would have to be blind to miss the fact that this was some sort of business conversation. Had Garrus come to this station with his own goal in mind? If she knew Garrus half as well as she thought she did, this would be quite important.
"I am sure, Vakarian. Buying a human-built ship and adopting a human-sounding name was all a clever misdirection. Find the Fedele, and you will find him." The detective replied.
"Alright, thank you." Garrus replied.
"Thank me by keeping your father from finding out I helped you with this."
Shepard raised an eyebrow. That sounded like there were regulations being bent, but it could not be anything too bad if Garrus was involved. The former detective had his heart in the right place, even if his temper sometimes got the better of him. Not that Shepard could fault him for that. She also knew he would eventually tell her the whole story on his own. Still, it would not do to come out as the eavesdropper.
"I like my job, and I need to keep it. Caelana and I cannot downsize apartments; we are expecting our third." The detective went on.
"Oh. Well, congratulations. Caelana still set on a big family?" Garrus wondered.
"Yes. When you have four siblings, anything short of three children is… and I quote, simply too few. I am hoping I can talk sense into her about stopping at three."
"Good luck with that, Caelana never came across as the yielding type."
"Oh she is not. And that is why I love her."
Shepard chose that moment to clear her throat and announce her presence.
"Ah, Commander!" Garrus straightened as if called to attention.
The detective looked up and spared her a mandible-flicking smile, "The Commander Shepard? The woman responsible for one of our best quitting on us?" He said in good humor. The relaxed attitude flattered this detective. He had smoke-grey plating and bright sapphire blue eyes. His Prussian-blue colonial markings were ornate, and amusingly enough resembled a mask that framed his eyes, forehead, and long fringe.
"Garrus makes his own decisions, detective." Shepard replied.
"That he does. Marcelus Bellacus, pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise, detective." Shepard replied with a smile.
"I assume the meeting with my father is finished?" Garrus asked.
"Yes," Shepard replied automatically.
"Alright. Well, Marcelus, that means I have to go. We will keep in touch."
"Yes, yes. Go. Unlike you, I have things to do if I want my pay." The detective grumbled.
Shepard had to willfully contain her urge to chuckle, to think that some considered Turians to be stiff. This one was far more relaxed than most, which explained why he and Garrus maintained a friendship deep enough to share family stories with the other. Garrus caught her gaze and she nodded. A moment later she turned around to look for Nihlus. She found him already by the double-doors leading out of the bullpen.
It was not long before they were back out in the artificial sunlight of the Presidium proper. Shepard had to squint until her pupils closed back down from indoor lighting levels. Nihlus and Garrus did not seem to notice her momentary discomfort as they walked ahead.
"So what now?" Garrus wondered.
"We got all we could from C-sec, and I rather not talk about it out in the open." Shepard replied. That and her paranoid side did not want to talk shop anywhere near a police station, who knew which trash receptacle contained a microphone.
Nihlus seemed to take the hint and steered them toward the lake. At this time of the day, this part of the Presidium was not as busy as it would get. This was not the coldly professional, official tower district, replete with high end, high-security hotels that catered to the whims of visiting dignitaries. Nor was this the high end shopping district, stuffed to the gills with expensive boutiques for snobbish people with too much money and too little sense.
"So…" the Spectre prompted as soon as they were near edge of the water.
Garrus leaned his forearms on the railing, the image of ease and relaxation, as if they were not going to be discussing a loaded topic again. Shepard was not completely oblivious to the coincidences either. Their little conspiracy club started by the lake, and would go on by the lake. "The murder has everything to do with the security compromise," Shepard began. "Garrus, we were right about the fact that Erasion was shot and his hands were removed. Without the body though, we had no real way of knowing where he was shot. The medical examiner's report said the bullet cut through both sets of vocal cords."
Garrus turned his head, "He was silenced."
"Precisely. And since Erasion had no other reasons for which he could've been silenced, that means this had everything to do with the data leak, and so, someone other than me knows about it."
"And they are out for blood," Garrus mused.
"What I thought was an odd dichotomy of professional planning and personal method ends up making sense when I look at it as a message sent by a professional. The park was the perfect location to execute such a murder. They would not want to risk being seen while doing something grizzly, but they also wanted the body to be found. Also, they have the technical know-how to largely avoid the surveillance systems; only one camera caught a glimpse at all."
"There is a photograph of the suspect?" Garrus asked. "Why were they not arrested yet?"
"That's where it gets… complicated. The suspect in question is a human female with black hair, around I would say one-seventy-eight centimeters tall. She was wearing enough gear to conceal as much skin as possible, all in black, with a mask and goggles. The only way to know she's of a fair complexion is a slight hint of ear. She was carrying a Carnifex and a short blade of some kind, the camera only caught the tip of the sheath at her lower back, not its grip or length." Shepard listed off.
"The weapons fit." Garrus hummed. "I would wager on the blade being longer than the combat knife Alliance soldiers carry."
Shepard nodded and turned to look around the promenade, to check if any civilians were standing close enough to eavesdrop, but it seemed like everyone around them was set on their own routines. "I have a theory about who we're looking for." She went on. "This was definitely someone with considerable skill. For a human that means specialized military training. She isn't just some jarhead fresh from boot camp. Now, she could be from one of the national militaries, plenty have special-operations units whose training would fit, but it is far more likely that she attended the Alliance's Interplanetary Combatives Training program."
"An active N-seven?" Nihlus asked, surprised.
"They better not be," Shepard replied sharply as she looked the Spectre in the eye. "Because that sort of nonsense makes all of us look bad. No. I think we are looking for a cat-six, a dishonorable discharge. Basically the Alliance's equivalent of a criminal in the ranks."
"Can you try to narrow down who it might be?" Garrus asked.
Shepard smiled, "The odds are in our favor. The ICT program is seven tiers, just to get admittance requires a recommendation. After that, the drop-out rates are... half of those admitted don't even make N-one. By the time you get up there… well about only ten percent of the admitted make N-six. That number halves for N-sevens. There are lists throughout, and of course the Alliance keeps a record of all dishonorable discharges…"
"And you still have a noted gender disparity." Nihlus said.
"That too." Shepard replied.
"I never understood that. After all, your species does not have biological reasons for it, unlike the Salarians." Garrus asked.
Shepard shook her head, "It's more of a social evolutionary throwback. We evolved from animals that lived in polygynous harem groups. That spawned rather persistent cultural norms, which predate writing, and then we developed the religions, which essentially reinforced the norms as something ordained by a higher power. Basically, for the longest time women just accepted and did not question the idea that some things are simply not something a woman can, or should do, for a myriad of reasons." Shepard explained in the most clinical terms she could muster. "Can we go back to the topic at hand?" She did not want to talk about those things. "Nihlus is right; the very fact that our suspect is a woman actually helps us. Unfortunately there is one other problem." She looked around again; to check whether there was anyone simply too close to where they stood. "If anyone was to look into that same list, I would be right up there on it. The suspect has black hair and uses a Carnifex. Everyone knows that's been my weapon of choice since ICT, and she's also my height and build."
"Human hair color is… normally dark, right?" Garrus asked.
"Increasingly, yes. The lighter colors are a recessive gene that's vanishing. That's the saving grace. My height and hair colors are average. Heck, we can't even be sure whether the woman in the picture actually has black hair. It could be dark brown. But I would still blip on the suspect list."
"We know you did not do it," Nihlus said.
"Yes, but you saying that is not a very good alibi. Now, if we had spent the whole night working on reports in the OD or something... but without that, the only one who can definitively say I never left the Normandy would be EDI. For obvious reasons, I'm hardly eager to use that alibi."
"That is an issue," Garrus murmured.
"Alright, let us think of it this way… would someone want to frame you?" Nihlus asked.
"I'd love to say no," but she would have to be naïve to believe that. There were people out there who would love to see her take a fall.
"But…" Nihlus prompted.
"But," Shepard repeated, "Let's not be too optimistic. People in our line of work do tend to make enemies." By her reckoning, her list of enemies grew in recent weeks. She knew too much, and there would be people who were less that alright with that. The worst was in not knowing where the inevitable was going to come from.
"Well, here is this… " Garrus straightened and turned to look them in the eye. "If this woman is indeed a professional killer, we need to know who hired her. There is no use pursuing the assassin if whoever contracted them walks free."
"That's the million credit question, of course." Shepard replied. "Still, she will not just cough up the little black book of previous contracts. These types are paid extra just to keep quiet."
"But we do know the contract came from someone who knows the truth about what happened on Eden Prime. Shepard did you mention anything on any report? You already suspect there might be a mole in Hackett's circle, this would affirm that." Nihlus stepped in.
"It would be a link, except I did not mention a darn thing on any report." Shepard replied. She kept to her conviction to keep that secret. There had not been a reason to blow the whistle back then, and even less of a reason now.
"That means someone else found out, somehow." Garrus said.
"And we are back at square one," Shepard added.
"So… what do we do?" Garrus wondered.
"There is nothing we can do. C-sec has the case, and Nihlus, I would be careful pushing to take over. We do not want to look like we're covering up something. Bad enough Detective Vakarian would love to find something on you." She would leave the reasons for that ambiguous, it could be because of Nihlus' connection to Saren, or simply because Nihlus was a Spectre full stop. Of course there was also the part where she pulled a fast one over Castis, while essentially protecting Saren. That would singularly put her on the detective's list of people to bring down, if said list actually existed, and if he suspected she was full out in conspiracy with Saren. If the tables were reversed Shepard would consider what she did to be being in full conspiracy with someone. She hated that she had to do it, especially for someone who hated her guts like Saren did, but sometimes one had to do things for the bigger picture. She chose to justify it like that, and leave it alone.
"Alright then." Nihlus sighed. "I will let Detective Vakarian take the lead here."
Shepard nodded and turned to look over the lake.
Meanwhile…
She chose a pre-furnished studio apartment on the cheap and somewhat seedy side of Zakera Ward as her lodgings. Such a location was a good place to hide in her line of work, as the denser one packed people into places; the less could or cared to notice what their neighbors were doing around them, unless it was really noisy. Her chosen flat was barely fifty meters square, divided into four areas, sleeping, kitchen, living space, and attached bathroom. The lattermost was not even large enough to contain a bathtub, only a shower cubicle. The single floor to ceiling window the landlord cited as the apartment's highlight was the only issue she had. Still, it was a minimal concern, basically nothing that could not be fixed with blinds and thick curtains. The building was a habitation space designed for tenancy by single individuals with very minimal needs, so it was not weird that a single female living there would want to prevent anyone seeing inside the apartment.
As far as hiding holes went, this was not a total dump, as even the slums on the Citadel kept some sense of decency. Still, it was hardly a five-star hotel, though the rent was acceptable, and the landlord was the sort of individual who did not ask questions as long as he was paid on time. He probably thought a single woman taking up residence was the best tenant he could get. All in all the place gave her the invisibility she needed to operate as she did.
Her handler's contacts had been thorough to the point of looking into the routines of her closest neighbors. The tenant immediately across the hall and the one on her right, closest to elevator, were both single men who worked tiring, underpaid night shifts on the ward's cargo docks. They came home very early in the morning by Citadel time, probably too tired to give a damn about anything other than sleep. This confluence of schedules worked for her, as it meant the likelihood of bumping into each other was low, and their odds of caring even lower. As long as she kept quiet during the day, she could go for weeks without anyone knowing what she looked like, which was exactly what she needed.
Inside the apartment she made an effort to present the right sort of atmosphere, just in case. The open shelves across from the tiny bathroom were laid out with token clothing and linens that would be typical of a single woman of a meager income, nothing that could not be abandoned if necessary. She even kept some staples in the fridge to keep up the illusion, but the majority of her dietary needs came from food packets, the typical fare for someone of a meager income. The landlord's monthly fire alarm inspections allowed him to request access, and she did not want to hint that she had more means than someone living here ought to have.
Currently she sat cross-legged on what the apartment tried to pass off as a bed. The thin mattress sagged in the center from long years of use without replacement, and the metal frame squeaked loudly at the lightest of contacts. But it was also high enough off the floor that she could stick a full-sized foot-locker under it, in which she kept her important gear.
She had her weapon cleaning kit spread over the ratty duvet as she inspected the parts of her black Carnifex. Each individual bit of the gun had to be checked, cleaned, and if necessary oiled. The folding mechanisms of the weapon made the thing both easy to conceal, and a problem to clean, to say nothing of the bother if the moving parts managed to jam. Then there was the reality that even without gunpowder to foul the barrel, a dulling or damaged slug cutting bit might leave pieces of metal in the firing chamber, which could cause a short circuit between the magnetic rails, throwing off the acceleration of the intended projectile.
There was elegance in having a custom-made high powered and concealable weapon like hers. This Carnifex bore no serial number, no manufacturing information, nothing to track it with. The gun made killing Ternus Erasion that much easier, not that the job had not been easy to begin with. It could also be re-used a number of times. As for Erasion, his fate was sealed long before she arrived on the Citadel. Her handler's other agents had mapped his routine with basic surveillance. With such a detailed itinerary of the man's life, she easily picked out a moment of vulnerability to strike.
Since being fired by Councilor Sparatus, Erasion found a job as the chief administrative assistant in a large legal firm that had their offices overlooking the botanical gardens. Once settled, like most of his species, Erasion established a pattern and stuck to it. On the last day of his workweek he always went to the same hotel bar lounge, with the same colleague, to kick off their weekend with a drink or two. The co-worker would leave an hour before Erasion, and the target would drink another cocktail on his own. After that, he always passed through the botanical gardens on his way back to where he parked his skycar, in the sub-surface garage attached to the office complex next to the mall across from the bar lounge.
The gardens presented a picture-perfect opportunity for an ambush for a target oblivious to the danger, whose senses were dulled by drink. He never noticed her lurking in the shadows until it was too late. After that it was a prepared, thought-out dance. Her weak stasis field was enough to lock him in place so she could strike. She first ensured that Erasion was largely immobile and unable to call for help, and then drew near enough to place the gun's muzzle to his neck. The biotic field, especially one as weak as hers, did not alter the path of such a powerful round point blank. It did not matter that the muzzle left a tiny print on his throat either. After the victim was drowning in his own blood, she pinned him to the ground, removed his hands, and disposed of them in the manner her employer requested.
Turian bones were as hollow as the birds they were compared to, but she did not even need to saw through them. Her monomolecular short sword made quick work of the tendons and joints to separate the hands at the wrist. A weak biotic bubble prevented any blood from splattering over her, which meant her scent was not contaminated. The last thing she needed was to pass some C-sec officer, while cloaked, and him to pick up the scent of blood. The bubble also prevented blood from dripping on her as she carried the severed hands over to the lake for disposal. Beginning to end, the target was dead and the ritual completed in less than five minutes. After that, it was a simple matter of melting back into the shadows, engaging her cloak, disengaging her camera sniffer, and walking out of there.
She had stashed civilian clothing in an alley some blocks away, and the camera sniffer ensured there was no security to see the assassin materialize, change into plain clothing, stow her gear in a suitcase pre-marked with transport tags, and walk out of the alley, the picture of someone who had just arrived on the Citadel on one of the night transports, in an area with more than a few hotels. After that it was easy enough to get a passage on a public transport shuttle down to the wards.
All in all, the subterfuge seems to have worked perfectly. C-sec saying they had a suspect was in the plan; she had intentionally let one of the cameras continue operating normally. Her handler wanted C-sec to have a glimmer of a lead, so that they hit the brick wall even harder. They would not get much from a picture of her in full gear. It was intentionally free of all identifying marks, badges, or tags. The combination of mask and goggles covered her face so thoroughly that the bird-brains could not even be sure of her skin color. It was giving the authorities the proverbial middle finger.
Suddenly there was beeping from the shelf above the bed. She set the weapon parts aside and rose to her knees to grab the source. The device was a clever bit of subterfuge on its own. To the untrained eye it looked like a harmless mini-safe with a biometric lock. The sort of little box that people stored valuable jewelry in. It further played the part in having a titanium body, making it strong, but relatively light. Inside however it was hardly hollow like a safe ought to be.
She set it down on the bed and placed her thumb over the biometric reader on the front, "System, run biometric verification. Authorization code epsilon kappa alpha tau eta."
"Biometrics confirmed, authorization accepted." The VI system replied. "Connecting."
By necessity of security and limitations of physical size this miniaturized QEC device only transmitted and received sound. Its speaker was at the bottom, with the whole box raised off it on four peg-legs. It had no keyboard, no screen, no real input except voice. It connected to her handler, wherever his base of operations happened to be.
A brief burst of static was transmitted as the hardware fully synchronized.
"I do believe congratulations are in order, Jezebel." A male voice said from the other side of the communicator. "I received a report from the Watchers. You carried out your task in a commendable manner."
"As ordered, Sir." She replied.
"Of course. I assume there were no unexpected problems?"
"None, sir. Everything happened exactly as planned. Citadel Security is looking for a suspect, but they will not find her."
"Good."
She did not say anything, as there was nothing to say. Ternus Erasion was nothing more than a trial run. In the grand scheme of things he would be the first and easiest in a series of targets. Her handler wanted to see whether she could do the job up to his exacting standards. After all, he paid her a tidy sum to do things his way. For the right amount she would paint the walls with blood. This was the right amount, and then some.
"What about your amp and cloaking device?"
"All gear provided by Project Hephaestus is operating within expected parameters. The cloak is flawless, and the amp did its job. I'm afraid any weakness of biotics is due to my own limitations."
"Were you able to maintain the required fields during the operation?" the voice asked.
"I was, sir."
"No overheating? Or feedback?"
"None."
"Then things are within anticipated norms. Good. I would not engage another biotic, but your abilities will come in useful on future operations. This is exactly what we wanted to see from an initial proof of concept. Yes, the technology clearly requires further refinement... but that is up to the research division of Project Hephaestus." His voice was devoid of emotion, plain and candid. This was merely him deigning to explain things. Her handler was hardly the most congenial man, but he had a reason to be so.
"If I may be so bold, sir, when will I receive my next orders?" She asked.
"Patience, Jezebel. We cannot afford to rush this. I have your next target already. The Watchers are conducting their surveillance. I will let you know when the information is released and which dead-drop it will be at. We need to wait for the right opportunity, lest the whole plan go belly up. Our final target is not naïve enough to miss a recurring pattern."
"Understood." She replied. Even on QEC he refused to mention names, sticking to code only. Even the name he used for her was nothing more than a code.
There were only two things she knew about her employer. The first being that he worked for an organization that called itself Cerberus, and they had some interesting ideas about what humanity deserved in terms of position in the galactic hierarchy. Ideology was of little importance or interest to her. She had only cared to vet her employer enough to know that she was not doing the dirty job of some shameless asshole who trafficked in human lives or something else so repugnant. Cerberus, if her research was correct, was founded two and a half decades ago, and aside from a few events anecdotally linked to their agents, they were still nothing more than a bogey man that no one took seriously. Thought perhaps that was exactly what they wanted.
As for her handler, she knew little about him other than the fact that he was as paranoid as paranoid got, though she supposed it made sense, one did not get where he was by being a fool. He preferred to call himself "Mister King", but she was the Pope if that was his real name. Why king? Was there something to that choice other than vanity? It made her curious, even if she was not dumb enough to pursue it. It was not her place to question her handler, not over such trifles, and not for the money he was willing to pay.
"Do you have any more questions?" He asked.
"No sir," she replied.
She had no questions she could ask, or ones that he would answer.
"Then that will be all. Wait for me to make contact again. In the meantime, your time is yours."
There was another hint of static and then the communicator turned off on its own, restoring the silence in the tiny apartment. She rose to her knees to put the communicator back on the shelf over her bed, but her mind was already processing new data.
Cerberus wanted her to do their dirty jobs. Maybe that was even how they managed to stay in the shadows for two and a half decades. Truthfully, she was beyond caring for such things. As far as employers went they we unusually generous, and that was what mattered. Not only were they paying her a small fortune, but they also gave her cutting edge equipment to use, all in exchange for also testing of a new amp model some affiliated company must have developed. Project Hephaestus had to be a code word for said company.
The cloak was the real treasure she wanted to keep. As far as tactical camouflage went, this one did not ripple when she made sudden movements, and it was markedly better at handling multiple light sources. The tech was bleeding edge, and for the time being would be much harder to notice. People were surprisingly simple like that. It would take a while to make the leap and assume that she had a refined cloaking matrix; they would sooner assume she had other means of getting around.
Still, for all the fancy toys, gear, and even the money she was getting paid, the questions lingered. There were more than a few of her own personal rules that she was bending for this contract. There were important things she was not told, and that was breaking rule number one. She did not know the length of her contract, how many targets she would have to kill, or who happened to be the final target that her handler talked about.
His royal highness was a strict need-to-know-basis guy, and it made her wonder if he worked for Alliance intelligence. Would not surprise her one little bit, especially given how comfortable he was with the Watchers. These seemed to be a bunch of deep-cover agents, sympathizers, or maybe even sleepers. It was the only conclusion to make given that Mister King always seemed to have someone in just the right place to be useful. Their existence also hinted that Cerberus was not only quite big an organization, but they seemed perfectly happy orchestrating events from the shadows. That would make her just another puppet.
Well she supposed she could work with that. Whatever their endgame, she knew there was an endgame. If it was to have her come out the loser, then they were underestimating her intelligence. She would handle their targets, stash the money somewhere, and vanish. That was the normal routine of these things. With the sums they were paying her, she could even retire, after a quick reinvention of self that is. Ultimately, she had plans that did not involve her ending up dead in a ditch. If Cerberus took her for a born-yesterday fool, they were going to be sorely disappointed.
She had stopped being the fool for people the day the Alliance had dishonorably discharged her for something she could not remember doing. By the faint flashes of memory, she knew it involved explosives, batarians, and some butt-crack-of-nowhere moon. They said she blew up a whole bunch of surrendering enemy combatants, just because she could, but in the grandest ironies, she was also caught in the explosion, and the severe concussion gave her Swiss cheese memories. Given that she could not remember the act, her sentence had been commuted, but she was still found guilty of violating some law of engagement, and discharged forthright. The Alliance wanted their soldiers to keep it clean, lest the average pea-brained civilian get all twitchy. She did not need another reason to hate them after that, nor put her skills to actual use. That is why this Cerberus job was at the very least interesting. That is why would play by their rules until it was no longer convenient for her.
Author Notes: Yep, first time ever that I did a point of view shift. I felt it was necessary, because there was absolutely no other way to show what I wanted to show.
General Notes:
Nothing this time…
Chapter Notes:
Nothing this time…