.

This world doesn't need no opera, we need it for the operation
We don't need a bigga knife
'Cause we got guns, we got guns, we got guns
We got guns, you betta run

We're killin' strangers, we're killin' strangers
We're killin' strangers, so we don't kill the ones that we love

Marilyn Manson – Killing Strangers

Chapter 14 ~ The tale of a sword

Do you believe in fate, Garrus Vakarian?

Fate.

Thanks to my rebellious nature the word always rolled off my tongue with a bitter aftertaste. Our free will. The price of our decisions. Didn't it all become pointless if life merely struggled along a path that had already been chosen for us?

And yet, as I stood at the same spot in the destroyed room that once had been Archangel's lair, I could no more stop the asari priestess' question from echoing in my mind than I could shake off the uneasy impression that no matter how far I ran away, some things would always find their way back to me.

For better or worse.

I peeked at my companion from the corner of my vision. In patience she sat on a piece of collapsed ceiling near the entrance, the lapels of her dark leather coat pushed back to reveal the butt end of the Carnifex sticking out from the insewn holster. Unfamiliar deep red hair framed her face, the green of her eyes even more vivid by the contrast. Her calm gaze rested on me. There was no need for any other words. No matter our attitude regarding that cursed night, when we had entered the district, she had simply fallen in beside me. Followed my lead with the same taciturn ease I had followed her into the storm ever since. It filled me with a deep sense of contentment. No. This time I did not regret asking the Commander along.

My focus returned to the room. The detonation had inflicted severe damage on the building and everything inside, so much no one had claimed residence so far. Not enough to keep out the scavengers though, and the few valuables that did survive the blast had long been stripped away.

I stared at the ominous dark smears on the ground, marking the silent graves of Archangel's crew. The bodies were gone. The blood stains not. Someone must have called in Aria's Cleaners and claimed the token bounty. Whatever unflattering things one could say about her rule, at least the asari made some efforts to have Omega's three basic needs covered: water, air and corpse control.

I heaved a sigh. I didn't know what else I expected. I had been sickened by the image of my friends rotting in this apartment and still… the certain knowledge that they had been discarded and processed with the station's waste suddenly seemed even worse.

Maybe it would have been better had I never come back at all.

But of course this was merely a vain and impossible wish. The moment I learned that Shepard and the Justicar were planning a detour to Omega in secret, I knew it was time for me as well.

For one this was my chance to finally make good on my promise to Solana; so I first shipped off a parcel with Collector tissue prepared by Mordin's courtesy and addressed with his regards to the Talat Medical Institute on Sur'Kesh.

As for the other… I had already seen too many men strangled because they failed to tie up loose ends.

And I knew better how things worked on this blasted rock than anyone else Shepard had at her disposal. Despite hitching a ride with one of the many shuttles commuting between Omega and Imorkan's transit stations, they would have had a much harder time getting here unnoticed. It was reasonable to take me with them. That said, it hadn't surprised me much when the Commander objected – quite insistent, I daresay – and under normal circumstances she might even have had a point. As it was though, her concerns were moot. Few people had ever actually seen Archangel. Even fewer were still alive and none would be able to recognize me now. And to most aliens one turian looked like the other, anyway.

No, if I was honest, I just worried about two persons.

The first was Aria. The asari probably knew very well who of interest was boarding her station, regardless of Omega's lax border controls or the Normandy staying safely out of sight. She might have allowed Archangel to leave and even considered him dead, but it still felt a damn lot as if my life hung on something as fickle as the mood of an overly-violent pirate queen.

And the second? The second was me.

I squatted down and touched the spot of dried blood where Mierin had died in my arms. A heavy lump formed in my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, but of course the same old grief was already waiting inside. It surged up, a dark grimful tide, confronting me with the painful realization that this wound might not have healed as cleanly as I had wanted to believe.

Mierin. Forgive me.

But in the depths of my heart I knew I had failed her. Had selfishly rejected her; her love, because I was mired too deeply in this futile crusade of mine. Because I only saw the liability in such a relationship.

Because I was scared.

Soft footsteps approached. A light hand fell on my shoulder. After a heartbeat's hesitation I reached up and put my hand on hers. There was none of the awkward distance that had infested our actions the past days. Just the Spectre's silent presence.

I kept staring at the old blood. Lost. So much was lost. So much that would never be. One last look back. One last goodbye…

Damn, hadn't Mierin deserved better than this? What if I…? I dropped my head. I already knew the answer.

Death.

Plain and simple. Had I allowed myself to fall in love with Mierin I would have never left Omega alive. No one would have been there to keep Kervol from taking even more lives. No knife would have stopped that Collector from shooting Jack's brains out. No bullet to save Tali. No one to intercede with the salarians on my mother's behalf. And Shepard… how many times would she have fallen if not for me?

Do you believe in fate?

I turned my head up and found her face. Reflected in her alien eyes I could see my own misery in all its inglorious facets. The sleepless nights. The doubts. The certainty that if I had been just a little smarter, stronger, better, I would have been able to save my team.

The blind hope that vengeance would eventually make the guilt go away. The biggest lie of it all. Because nothing could and would ever free me from this guilt. Except myself.

I looked back at the floor, troubled.

Alchera. Zue's Hope. Akuze. And how many other times had she seen matters tumble from bad to fucked beyond recovery? Confronted with the same harsh lessons, over and over again. And wasn't this exactly what made her an even better commander? The Commander I had tried so hard to follow and yet never reached?

It was really ironic. So many years I had shunned the leadership that was expected of me. I never wanted to command, never wanted the pressure and the complexities that came with standing at the top. Just another soldier, sheltered within the system. The discussions about responsibility and 'me willfully ignoring my duty' were endless. Always the same old arguments that lead nowhere but into a spiral of blame and disappointment. My father had never understood.

Tragically, I hadn't either. Not until I met Shepard.

The nature of our mission back then had made me look for the first time beyond the black-and-white I'd used to define my world. But it were her words that finally forced me to face the truth I had so vehemently refused in all those years working for C-Sec: I had stopped wanting to be an ordinary soldier a long time ago.

Because there was only so much a mere soldier could change in this galaxy; only so much injustice he could fight and I, I needed to do more.

Maybe this was the real moment Archangel was born, and the Normandy's destruction was just the rude wake-up call that made him step out from the shadows. Whatever the case, with Shepard's death something irrevocably changed within – and Omega welcomed us arms wide open. Leadership was thrust at me and I not only accepted, but embraced the role with all my heart. I wanted to prove my worth, to measure myself against my ideals and, yeah, become a bit like the Commander I respected so much. It was my chance to honor her memory and the lessons I'd learned from her. Maybe even make some of her spirit live on through me and my team.

And for the blink of an eye, I actually seemed to have found my place; down there in this hellhole, leading a group of mercs and self-appointed vigilantes. Until the shit hit the fan, of course.

And again I couldn't help wondering. Was it really my mistake? Or had we already been doomed from the very day I set foot on Omega? Because somewhere something wanted me to end up here; in this room, in this very moment…

Fate? Coincidence?

It shouldn't have mattered. She was back, such miracle, and hadn't I longed so bloody much for the times I was with the Normandy following her lead? Instead I felt deeply conflicted. Torn, as so often of late, between my newfound taste for emancipation and the simple pleasure to slink back into her shadow and guard her sixes.

Existing potential for leadership stunted under Shepard's command. Unlikely to develop in full.

Cerberus certainly had a distinct opinion of me. Their assessment was dishearteningly accurate. So much that I had to admit that this new Garrus would have had serious troubles following the old, unapproachable and stoic Shepard.

I gave the Spectre's hand on my shoulder a quick squeeze and stood up.

There was an aspect, not even the Illusive Man's profilers had taken into their clinical equation. One aspect, driven home by a haunted look, a gesture and a hundred tiny changes; minuscule on the surface, profound within.

This new Shepard… she needed me.

And somehow it made all the difference.

~V~

How the fucking fuck do I get myself into those things?

I snuffed the impulse to punch the baldheaded bouncer in the teeth. Instead I shoved my way past the short bulky man and into the expensive-looking club, limiting myself to a hard stare over my shoulder.

Security protocol? My ass.

Literally.

I stomped towards the bar located against the wall straight across the entry. Or tried. Those stupid heels made my feet hurt just from looking at them and with each breath I was in grave danger of falling out the tiny black leather dress. Worse, the whole outfit gave everyone all kind of wrong ideas – including the bouncer and his nimble hands.

Unfortunately, the Justicar had deducted that our best chance of success lay in luring the unsuspecting target into a trap. And so me and my ridiculous disguise ended in a night club trying to attract the attention of a highly dangerous asari serial killer and make her leave with me. As if. Couldn't Samara see that I wasn't the type for dresses? I wasn't Miranda. I only managed to send out these freakish vibes. Then again… who knew what deviant stuff got Morinth's little blue engine going.

Ardat-Yakshi. Demon of the Night Winds.

What a lyrical name for something as mundane as a genetic defect. Even if it was a rare defect that compelled the afflicted pure-blooded asari to dominate the minds of whoever they mated with. And once triggered into their first Melding they mated a lot. I didn't understand all of the specific biological mechanics the Justicar had heaped on me, but as a result the Ardat-Yakshi's mental abilities enhanced with each victim they devoured, driving them ever deeper into an overpowering addiction to kill.

And this one was especially clever, or she wouldn't have evaded Samara's bullet for over four centuries. Morinth would never stay for long in one place, not even in human terms. And especially not on Omega, where Aria would call out a bloody witch-hunt out of sheer self-preservation the moment she caught a whiff of the Ardat-Yakshi. What chance that the Justicar was able to track her just now? It literally reeked of Cerberus' intel to sweeten the deal. Or maybe this was just some intuition thing, considering that Morinth was Samara's daughter.

A few meters to my right a platinum-blond man stopped in his tracks to stare at me. Uhg. I picked up the pace. The bar was just ahead and Morinth certainly could wait a few minutes, so I made a beeline for a free spot between an asari in an even shorter dress than mine on the left and a krogan so massive, I could almost hear his seat cry out for mercy, on the right.

Holding on to the bar's counter, I wiggled a bill of cash out from the top of my knee-high leather boots. On a second thought I probably should have brought a purse. I pushed the bill towards the turian bartender. Behind him neat rows of bottles filled the shelf attached to a wall made of mirror tiles. Hello, my sweeties.

"Your best whiskey. Levo-compatible, if you please." One wouldn't believe how many idiots thought it funny if you writhed on the floor and barfed out your innards.

The turian threw the towel over his shoulder and gave first the money then me a suspicious look. With a sigh I plastered a silly smile on my face. What a world we lived in.

He looked me over once more then flashed me a mouthful of sharp teeth kinda… knowingly. Great. In his mind I was now some back alley hooker. Oh my. I really shouldn't have bugged Samara this morning into sifting through my damaged mind, again. This cursed outfit felt too damn much like payback.

Still, whatever we had stumbled upon during our training, it was gone now. The observation refused to ease my worries. Sure, in hindsight it had felt close to what I've experienced with that prothean beacon on Eden Prime, so maybe we merely stirred up a lingering echo of those ancient warnings, while brute-forcing the way into my subconsciousness.

And what if this is exactly how the Sovereign started to indoctrinate Saren and Liara's mother?

With a shiver I forced the notion away. Not now.

Thankfully, the turian barkeeper had finally decided to grab the money and replaced it with a heavy tumbler.

"Keep the change."

The barkeeper stopped midmotion, then doubled the already generous shot from the black labeled bottle covered in the intricate swirls of asari script. Good man.

I raised the glass and toasted first to the barkeeper and then to the strange girl looking at me from the mirror wall. Her skin appeared even paler than usual thanks to the thick black eye shadow and the crimson hair that hung down her back in wavy ringlets. A good thing it was just a wig. Having hair the same shade as freshly spilled blood seemed unbecoming for the likes of me.

I turned and leaned against the counter with my back. The quicker I spotted the demon, the sooner I could be done with this slut show. I observed the perimeter over the rim of my glass. The whiskey was surprisingly good and there was even further proof that this was a rather decent club – by Omega's standards at least. The booths and tables built along the walls looked clean, the four asari pole dancers that twisted their bodies on a raised dais in the middle of the dance floor weren't entirely naked and I had already discovered three bouncers watching out for trouble. The music was just as bad as everywhere else, though. The patrons were a mix of several species, yet mainly humans. Somehow I had expected Morinth to be more focused on her own kind. Payback is bitch and all.

I ended my first perimeter check on the right. The asari in the hyper-short white dress winked at me from her seat on the barstool and bestowed me with that cute little gesture (her tongue, two of her fingers; you get the idea). Then she crossed her legs and flashed me her… beaver? Naked mole rat? Showed off her azure luv-lips?

Awesome.

I had retreated a full step closer towards the obese krogan before I caught myself. Oh boy. This place was worse than a box full of hamsters.

The blue-skinned alien snickered and slid off her seat to vanish in the dancing crowd, working her hips so hard even a blind would know she was open for business. Ew.

I took a gulp of my drink, but nope, the blue image of the better unseen was still there. Great. Fantastic. Nevertheless, I savored the rich flavor of the whiskey for another moment. I'd never get into those fancy designer drinks that exclusively came with an unwholesome color scheme.

Ah, speaking of which.

Since the asari had left her seat, I could peek into the booth closest to the bar. There, with his profile to me, sat my backup. He on the other hand had no qualms at all to sip on a drink of such dramatic lime-green it could just as well have been radioactive waste. And to top it off, it came with a tiny umbrella – an umbrella! The whole freaking ensemble clashed with rest of his appearance like Hello Kitty on a gatling gun.

Yep, my turian friend had an even harder time at looking inconspicuous than I did, so apparently he had given up on it all together. One arm prodded on the table, the other resting on the booth's back rest, he bestowed the world around him with an icy glare that had a fat "just make my day" attached. At least I had gotten this shiny new body; with the maw's souvenir and the graze on my arm the only visible damage. The hem of the dress thankfully covered the wound from Haestrom – even if barely.

Garrus no longer had such cover-ups.

Life had finally punched all niceties out of him, and the exposed tattered scar that sprawled across half of his face and down below the collar of his clothes, was just driving the point home. Instead of his usual blue heavy combat gear he wore something more casual – but somehow the sturdy dark blue pants and grey jacket still ended up looking like armor.

I could easily remember the time when his friendly and open nature had made it easy for regular people to confide in the former C-Sec officer. Now they took one glance at his face and decided to seek trouble elsewhere. Tali had let slip that he thought himself disfigured for the scars. Totally uncalled-for. At least scars let you know you're still alive. Besides, it was definitely not the scars, but the menacing scowl that caused people to shy away.

Omega might not have broken the turian, but it had definitely raked its claws across his soul, leaving the kind of wounds that never really healed. Those only hardened. Funny how the Garrus that hunted Saren with me seemed almost soft by comparison. But considering the shit Archangel had been through… Damn, it pained me to see how life had treated him after my death. What it forced him to turn him into.

And then, out of the blue, he had asked me to come along today. I had followed him through dirt and debris and there we stood, without a word, in midst the place where his team had died, connected in a way we've never been before.

I rubbed my temples.

Really, how fucked up was this?

I looked up again and caught Garrus lift his glass and take a sip; his eyes never leaving the crowd. It was a calm and controlled motion, one that whispered of discipline and coiled strength, yet silently promised a shocking readiness for violence.

Nature had built his kind with the ultimate hunter in mind. He was a blend of supple quickness, ungodly reflexes and lean, hard muscles. Which I could easily imagined all tense and ready, just waiting for him to explode into action. I couldn't see his eyes, but they probably brimmed with anticipation. He was expecting a fight before the evening was over and a part of him was going to enjoy it – and wouldn't it be nice if he'd put all of this deliberate intensity into making me writhe in pleasure?

Wait, what?

Feeling a hot tug in my groin, I shifted my stance; then used the movement to turn towards the bar and order another drink before my imagination could infest me with any more nonsense.

How much further, Shepard? How much further do you intend to stumble down that specific rabbit hole?

I took a deep breath, gathering myself. God, I was an idiot. The extra advice-resistant version.

Next to me the obese toad snorted and shook his big head. Probably sniffing out my underfuckedness. This was getting better and better.

"You're peculiar, human," the krogan observed.

No shit.

I shrugged, holding on to my glass as frantically as if it was my dignity. "Nah, the word you're looking for is insane."

He chuckled, a sound like a rumbling landslide. "You hurt Melhana's feelings, you know? Can't remember the last time she got turned down twice in a row. Heh, shoulda seen her furious face after she tried that turi-" Suddenly he stopped then inhaled deeply. Something close to awe flittered across the reptilian face. "She is here…"

I twisted around. A shift went through many of the patrons and all my snark dissolved before a frightening display of expressions turning from intrigued to overzealous. Like fish eagerly swimming into the open jaws of a hungry shark. Even the music changed from some random electronic beat into a dark and sinister song. Lemme guess? The score to Vaenia.

Fuck me, the demon certainly knew how to make an entrance.

Now, if I only knew how to make an exit…

~V~

I really can't stress enough how much I disliked this "plan".

If you took down someone as dangerous as the Ardat-Yakshi, you'd prepare and search the perimeter for the perfect spot – and snipe off the head with as much distance between the two of you as possible. Then you'd plunk another bullet through the heart, just to be sure. You would not seek her attention and you definitely wouldn't hook up with her. On the other hand, we had also crawled head first into a rachni hive and raced with the Mako through an uncharted Mass Relay. Maybe the plan wasn't too bad after all.

My attention skipped back to the red-haired human woman by the bar, chatting idly with that fat krogan who hadn't moved from his seat the whole evening. It was still hard not to stare in disbelief. Of course I knew like everybody else that humans were notorious for their versatility. I just would have never expected her to be able to look so different, and I wasn't merely talking about the clothes or the unfamiliar hair color. The very air around her had rather adapted something new, something undeniably mystique and, well, sensual. Just take the slim raised heels only human woman and asari would bother with. When she moved –

Suddenly, Shepard drew away from the counter and started to march towards the dance floor. I froze. She wouldn't try to… would she?

I pushed out of my booth and followed the red-haired Spectre, those heeled boots giving her hips such an intriguing sway, it left a disturbing number of dirty looks in her wake. Unwanted my gaze slid lower. The dress exposed maybe three hand breadths of her bare thighs and I simply couldn't help but wonder how much better they would look wrapped tightly around my waist…

Wrong direction, Vakarian.

I tore my eyes away. A human male grinned and nudged his companion. I found it irrationally difficult not to stroll over and wipe the leer off their faces with my fist.

Two more steps and I caught up with the Commander instead. I grabbed her left wrist with my right hand and spun her around. Dragged her a little closer. Her eyes went wide in surprise – then narrowed dangerously.

"Wha… What the hell, you think you're doing?" She hissed, barely audible over the music. "You're backup. Unseen. And not supposed to… to…"

"To keep you from scaring away the target?" I asked under my breath and moved us a few steps to the side to a free space.

"For god's sake, Vakarian. I wanted to dance, not kill someone."

"Precisely."

"Har har. Think you're funny, or what?"

I shrugged and shifted the grip I had on her wrist. Curious how smoothly her alien five-digit hand slid into mine. The beat of the music was just perfect.

"As I recall, you're supposed to spark her interest. But if you rather have her drop dead laughing…"

With that I put my other palm on her exposed shoulder blade and just yanked her along the first dance steps. Well. I'd have never expected that the countless occasions Selene had so enjoyed to make me suffer through, would pay off in any way.

And what can I say? The mix of indignation, confusion and bloody murder that flushed the hard-assed, death-defying Spectre's face was priceless.

I released her shoulder and whirled her around until her back was aligned to my front. Before I could grow too comfortable at the new proximity, her elbow jabbed me hard in the stomach.

"I swear, you're going to pay for this. Plenty," she growled in menace, and spirits help me, it was a sexy sound to the core.

"Seriously. What is it with you women always turning violent to prove a point?" I said next to her ear, then reluctantly spun her back to face me.

I started another series of steps that would move us around in a semi-circle; her initial anger slowly blending into concentration. She glanced up and her lips curled into this tiny, wicked smile.

"We know that's how you like it."

I chuckled and added a few more complex moves to our pattern, just to keep her off-guard. This was actually more fun than I had expected. People shifted aside to give us more room. We certainly had started to draw attention. For a moment I feared this would be just as disastrous as what Shepard would have wreaked unchecked, yet the Commander was surprisingly pliable. Her movements were actually graceful. How could someone who usually flapped about like a drowning Harvester suddenly possess a sense for rhythm? Maybe it was those insane boots.

"I think Morinth's watching," Shepard murmured.

"Good." I winked at the human and picked up the pace.

A tiny bead of sweat was forming on her forehead. I moved her backwards and she stumbled one step before catching her balance.

"Woah, careful, Officer V. Or do you rather want to be the one taking her home?"

"The way she's looking at you? Hardly. I doubt she's even aware of my existence."

The music swallowed her curse and I pivoted her once more against my chest, my arm coiled around her. Damn me, but she felt good. I had been taught that human bodies were soft, but it was not quite true. Hers was like steel, steel covered with a layer of smoothest silk…

"Alright, Garrus. Serial killer's attention, check. What now?"

What?

I blinked. Realizing I was staring down her cleavage, watching her bosom rise and fall in line with her breathing. Worse, the song was at an end and had shifted into a slow rhythm that was good for only one kind of dance.

Plan. Now.

"Lay me."

Idiot.

"What?"

I cleared my throat. "We fight, you knock me down. Let her see a human capable enough to best a turian."

She nodded slowly. And suspiciously amused. "Might work. But there's no reason for me to hit you."

"I, hmm, could feel you up? Strictly professional, of course."

"Uh-huh, professional. As in one soldier feeling up a fellow soldier? Why do I think you enjoy this a little bit too much for your own good?" She asked wryly and shifted in my arm to arch her eyebrow at me.

I loosened my hold, grinning back.

"Later. You can thank me later."

Actually – a lot less later than I would have liked I looked up from the deck, just in time to watch Shepard sashay off, a snickering Ardat-Yakshi at her side.

That said, there were way too many amused faces around me. With a groan, I got up and rubbed my chin. The little Spectre was packing quite a punch for someone her size.

I messaged Samara that they were heading for the side exit and approached the bar.

"Horosk."

Spirits. This was going to be a damn long evening.

~V~

"My apartment is not far," the black-clad, darkly attractive asari purred into my ear as we stepped out of the club into the stale "outside" air. They certainly built those space stations to mess up all of your senses. She laced her arm around mine. "Why don't you join me for a drink so we can… chat?"

Uh-huh. Chat. Sure.

"With pleasure," I replied and forced a smile on my face, while her fingers idly trailed across my arm and made my skin crawl.

I would have rather had a chat with a rabid varren, but yeah, that's my life; so full of illustrious people with irresistible offers.

So far the killer strolled idly at my side, content to watch me with eyes so deep and hungry they made every fiber in my body itch to run away screaming. The Justicar owed me. Big time.

Five very short minutes later, I stood in the middle of Morinth's apartment and it was just like I expected it. Vast, modern and stuffed with proof of her own awesomeness.

The Ardat-Yakshi lingered on her couch and keenly hawked me while I was probably supposed to admire her furnishings and good taste. Oh my. But, I was a good victim and so I gawked at a piece of unique "art" that looked suspiciously like an oversized tin can that had been raped by a maniac with a hammer.

And there, at the wall across from her, it hung.

A beautiful, slender katana.

Human design, perfected by the touch of asari mastery. Almost in trance I walked over, my fingers hovering just above the blade. Then I ran them along the lacquered sheath hanging below. The deep black masterpiece was adored with a red and silver floral pattern typical for Thessia's most famous smithy. I closed my eyes and in my mind I could hear the screams. Even after more than a decade I couldn't quite elude their spell.

… Blood. Pooling on the warehouse's floor like a big red blanket. Almost effortless the blade slides through filthy clothes and into flesh. The filth howls in agony. I taste his hot blood on my lips. Hear my own laughter as hatred burns in me like hellfire. I am vengeance…

Killing with the blade was different from killing with a gun. Somehow the sword gave you such intimate connection with your opponent, a gun never could; almost as if their life seeped through the blade into you.

It filled me with something primal.

Which was exactly why I had never touched a sword again.

… Bloodied hands, digging into the soft soil. The scent of fresh earth and new spring growth slowly banishing the smell of death. One last time. My trembling fingers brush over the tactical sword that once belonged to my mother for one last time before thrusting the blade into the ground. Burying with it the last physical connection to my childhood…

With my mother gone and without an ID I'd simply been falling through the grid until I landed in hell. Or better: the streets of New York. When some 80 years back the New Yorkers finally lost their fight against the rising water levels and the financial district along with the better part of lower Manhattan drowned, the money vanished and decent people followed suit. Things only went downhill from there. The city that had been in its heyday one of earth's thriving hubs became part ruthless ghetto, part flooded no man's land.

But I survived. Kaidan had always joked that there must be some part of cockroach in my genome. The longer I thought about it the more I believed he was right.

The Reds had been my life for ten years. Ten years of painfully honing the instincts my mother had tried to ingrain into me from the day I was old enough to hold a knife. Ten years of struggling for survival in a merciless world that tried so bloody hard to turn kids like us into victims. And the irony? It didn't even matter how desperate you fought; how hard you prayed or begged.

In the end the world succeeded. Always.

I stood frozen. Just looking at the sword washed it all up. All the memories, not even the redemption found at the bottom of countless bottles could dim. All the reasons why I had to suppress this part of me so rigorously. All the chaos. All the pain.

All the hate.

I had not been able to stop.

In midst the quiet realm of the Central Park's old trees I finally feel how the seething rage recedes once more to some remote corner of myself. Yet when I close my eyes I am still back in the half-collapsed warehouse overlooking the East River.

Back, where this dark and fucking scary thing had once again awakened inside me and taken over…

The two missing Reds revealed by the moon's pale light. My girls. My friends. Their cloths tattered. Their young bodies beaten and raped. Their lifeless eyes staring at me in silent accusation. Too late.

And then my eyes fasten on the six wannabe slaver-assholes that killed my friends in their greed. A veil of red falling into my vision, hatred boiling inside my veins. I snap and an inhuman howl rips from my chest. I step out from the shadows and so the killing begins.

But it does not end. Not this time.

With each stroke, each drop of spilled blood, the hatred just burns hotter. I take the second life and the rage consumes me.

Again the sword finds flesh, slicing through muscles and tendons so eagerly. Too soon the last of the surprised slavers falls prey to my blade but I can't stop. The dead eyes haunt me; drive me on, their gaze constricting my chest like a painful weight that would crush me the moment I come to halt. Movement to my right. My body simply reacting. They plead, but I can't hear them through the blood roaring in my ears. Can't see them through the tears blurring my view.

I can. not. stop.

I open my eyes and I am again in the park.

"This is not who I taught you to be," the voice of my mother whispers from the back of my head and I shiver.

I thought to have nurtured the hate inside because it made me harder, but instead I had allowed a terrible monster to crawl out from the abyss of my heart and infest my mind. A monster reveling in nothing but death.

A monster no longer able to recognize friend from foe.

I look down once more; at the patch of freshly upturned earth. This… thing… It has to be contained at all costs.

And in this moment I know: to survive I have to get the fuck outta here. And there is only one, chancy way…

I scramble to my feet. Follow the overgrown path northwards. Leave the sword and my blood-soaked jacket behind. Clean my face and hands as best as I could at one of the many artificial lakes, the fresh spring air cooling my damp skin and wet hair. There isn't much more I can do about the blood staining my appearance.

There is nothing I can do about the blood staining my soul.

In New Harlem I walk directly into the Alliance recruiting office.

There are just two men at the office this early in the morning. A young redheaded soldier who sits behind a console and a dark-skinned middle aged man standing next to him. The responsible officer, maybe? Manning this recruiting post is a shitty and ungrateful task. People here hate the Systems Alliance who would rather fly around the galaxy licking the booties of some dumbfuck aliens light years away instead of keeping things civil in this shithole.

"Ad says you're looking for recruits. Found one."

They look up, the redhead's face curdling in disgust at my gruesome sight. "Girl, the railway mission is one block south."

I flip out my switchblade and throw it at the poster next to the door. With a dull clunk it hits the portrayed soldier between his eyes. Gotcha!

"You're looking for new recruits or not?"

"Who do you think you-" The red-head is ready to jump over the desk at me, but the older officer's hand on his shoulder cuts him off.

"Why do you think the Alliance has need of you?" The dark-skin man asks in a calm voice.

My laugh is bitter. "Look around. This city's a rotten piece of shit. You live south of Midtown and every day's a fucking fight for survival. I'm good at fighting and I'm good at surviving. Figure that's some pretty useful skills for a soldier. Just as well I could use them for something actually worth fighting for."

I glare over the young man's head at the older officer, holding his scrutinizing gaze. After an awfully long moment, he nods and I follow him into a small office on the back.

"I'm Lieutenant David Anderson."

He gestures towards another desk and I drop on the offered chair.

"Ivy."

He takes a seat behind the desk and brings up a console.

"Just Ivy?"

"Yeah. No family name. And no, no ID either."

"I see." He starts typing. Then pauses to look at the wall to the left and at an old battered metal plate sporting a faded round blue logo, its letters barely recognizable. NISA? "How about Shepard?"

I shrug. "As good a name as any, I suppose."

"So, how old are you?"

"Old enough, Mister."

"It's 'Sir'."

"Old enough, Sir."

Another set of entries. "I congratulate you, Ivy. Not many recruits enlist early morning on their 18th birthday." He smiles and gives me a small salute. "Private Shepard, welcome to the Alliance."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

I frown, suddenly uneasy. "Why?"

He leans back in his chair, thumbs and fingers forming a triangle. "Let's call it a hunch."

.~'*'~.

Hands slipping around my waist ripped me from my memories.

Oh shit, shitshitshit!

How long had I stood there and stared at the katana like an idiot?

"A beautiful weapon isn't it?" Morinth crooned in a low throaty voice, her mouth just millimeters away from my ear.

"Yeah…" I said slowly before I could stop myself.

"You know, Allison, we two, we are very much alike. You have killed many. And so have I." She rubbed her cheek against mine and inhaled. "Death… follows you. I can feel its touch on you. My people say you'll never forget your first lover – but I always knew this goes just as much for your first kill. You remember, don't you?"

I blinked and there it was, another cursed memory, alcohol never quite managed to erase.

Red.

Funny that in my case he had actually been both.

"I've no idea what you're talking about." I said much more calm than I felt inside.

She chuckled, turning me around to peek at my face. "Then tell me, my fierce Allison, how long can you endure without fighting? Without killing? How long until your hand starts to itch for a weapon because your life is turning stale, food is becoming tasteless and sex is losing its passion? Weeks? A few months?" She pushed a loose blood red strand back and her fingers ran down my neck. An icy shiver crawled down my spine. "The likes of us are not meant for a peaceful life. It's our – what's term you humans use? Ah, yes, kryptonite."

"You know nothing of me…" I whispered mechanically.

"Do I have to? Your eyes already betrayed you. They are old. The innocent light gone. The eyes of a killer. You can fool the others, but you can't hide what you are from me."

Her hands cradled my face and she pulled it in to kiss me. I couldn't help it, I somehow expected… fishy. Instead I merely tasted fruit-scented lipstick. Her tongue trailed over my lips and I really really had to restrain myself from headbutting her and running for my life. Where the bloody hell was Samara?

She pulled back and opened her eyes. They were black. So utterly black, like dark portals to some other place, where terror reigned and screams went to die. The very essence of life seemed to flee me, sucked into those huge polished obsidians, to feed the ever-hungry goddess waiting inside; so remote, so atrocious in her infinite beauty and majesty...

And then her mind tried to invade mine. It found my mental shields and hurled itself at them with a force that almost shattered me. Oh gods... she was so strong. Her presence slithered along my awareness; not in the gentle touch Samara had used, but rather like a constrictor pressing on and on until she would have squashed my resolve. And then… Boy, what she would find in there would not amuse her. Frantically I shifted my racing thoughts away from the obvious and latched on this ancient song, Joker had almost driven me up the walls with; repeating it in my head over and over again. Although I was still unable to tear my gaze away from the succubian abyss in front of me, my lips curled up. If the sunshine, the lollipops or the rainbows wouldn't do her than the bunch of krogans I imagined jumping around a pole, flower garlands in hands.

For a moment her death gaze was disturbed by blinking lids. She cocked her head to give me a puzzled look. Probably thought she had already fried my mind. Then she smiled and every fiber in my body begged me to flee but I could. Not. Move.

And then she laughed and it was diabolic.

"Vorcha. Turians. Even krogans. All martial down to their worthless core. And yet even they will eventually give up if they realize that there is no hope. Humans though... Such curious creatures you are. Take away your hope and you will just struggle all the harder against the inevitable and you –" Again she inhaled deeply, as if claiming even my very scent. "You promise to struggle especially hard, won't you? Shall we begin? Embrace –"

"No."

I forced the word out with a hiss. Her hands still cupped my chin, but mine were free. My fingers slipped under the hem of my dress, brushing metal.

"No?" She seemed amused and definitely turned on by my desperate try to stand my ground. "Ah, taking your life will be such a pleasure."

I hadn't the energy for smart-assed backtalk. Instead I forced my fingers to close around the small throwing knife strapped to my thigh. I couldn't wait for the Justicar any longer.

Wordless I shoved blade into her chest.

The Ardat-Yakshi yelled.

The next second I got slammed against the wall. Stars danced across my vision. On instinct I dove to the right and towards the door before the biotic blast that followed suit could hit me. She screeched again and I looked up just to watch her pull the knife out from her chest. I had missed. I freaking missed her rotten heart. Goddamn asari bitch! She licked the blade and tossed it aside, face twisted in rage.

"You will die in pain!"

Her words sounded strangely distorted in my ears, as if she was speaking with several voices at once. I shook my head to clear my disoriented mind. She took another step towards me, her arms covered in blue lightning. I prepared to throw a sphere of my own or die – and the doors of the apartment burst open. Samara entered, a swirl of biotic energy engulfing her.

"YOU!" Morinth screeched but instead of putting up a fight she turned around and ran for the window.

Oh no, you won't…

I released another knife. It bit into her neck and the Ardat-Yakshi stumbled. Samara rushed forward. She caught her and lowered Morinth down, bringing the Ardat-Yakshi's head to rest on her thighs. The Justicar pulled the blade free from Morinth's neck. Purple blood gushed forward and almost gently, Samara pressed her hand on the wound. Morinth tried to speak but all she could do was coughing up more blood.

The older Asari did not mind. Specks of purple dotted her face, yet she still leaned in a little closer, her hand completely covered in blood.

And then the Justicar, defender of the Code, punisher of the guilty, softly begun to sing, and heaven help me it sounded like a freaking lullaby.

Tears slid down Morinth's face. Her lips moved without a sound. Her chest barely heaved. Samara leaned in. She kissed her forehead, my throwing knife trembling in her other hand. And then she slit her daughter's throat.

Damn. I swallowed hard and picked up the other knife. Samara was still singing when I backed out of the apartment in silence.

Outside I released a long breath. I had known that this episode wouldn't come with a happily ever after attached, but this was insane. And it made me feel sick, dirtied and heartsore in one.

Yup, this definitely called for another drink.

I spotted a tiny bar across the complex where Morinth had her apartment. It didn't look too inviting but somewhere between being harassed all evening and watching Samara sing to her dead girl I had run out of fucks to give.

I sent Garrus a navpoint and went in.

On the inside the bar was actually a little less trashy than the neon sign with the dancing martini glass suggested. Aside from the batarian barkeeper and one lone turian customer huddled into the corner near the door, the bar was empty.

I climbed one of the bar stools, ordered a drink, then stared at the ugly collection of taxidermised heads of varren and at least two or three things I couldn't even put a name on. With a leer, the batarian put down the bottle in front of me.

I heaved a sigh and downed half of my ordered beer. At least he hadn't frowned at my money. Nipping on my bottle I browsed through the messages on my omnitool waiting for Garrus. Joker had reported earlier and… a bitter taste coated my mouth. O-oh.

I jumped from my seat, but my mind couldn't comprehend what to do next. I stared at the barkeeper; at his smug face. Suddenly my legs gave way as every muscle in my body slackened. I tried to grab the counter but missed, and dropped to the floor like a wet rag.

I heard the door open.

Garrus!

I struggled to beat down the wave of darkness that was crushing in on me. I turned my head and saw my backup coming in. He spotted me, his hand went for his Carnifex and behind him the turian patron rose, an ugly knife in his hand.

In my head I screamed and the world went dark.