13: The Interrogation

They had stripped her and tied her down to the gurney. It was not so much the indignity of it all that bothered her, it was the fact that she had allowed herself to get into this position in the first place. And the batarian interrogator, an older male with weathered features who wore a plain grey tunic, handled her like one might handle a piece of meat. The bright, operating theatre-style light was tilted such that it shone in her face, forcing her to squint under its brilliant glare. All the while the interrogator, a "doctor" by the name of Grath, stuck a patch on her arm that connected to a nearby medical computer. Her vital signs appeared, heartrate and blood pressure and the like, and as expected her heartrate was elevated some ways above normal. Grath took note of this with a sidelong glance. The one guard on duty in the glorified shed stood by the door into the interrogation room, making no effort to keep his four eyes from staring at her naked body.

She was cold and she could hardly move, not with her arms and legs strapped down. She shut her eyes, trying to keep out the bright light. A cold draught billowed in from somewhere behind her, and the sound of rain pattering upon the roof only grew in volume as the downpour continued. It was dusk now, and through the one window she could see, a slim one up by the ceiling ahead of her, the sky had turned the deep purple of that hour wherein day morphed into night.

'The boss wants you in good condition,' Grath stated, his tone sounding strangely bored. 'Damaged slaves don't make much on the open market.'

Lyssa said nothing. She might have been embarrassed by her current state, if she was not so angry about it. And that pervert across the room continued to stare at her. At least Grath seemed disinterested, for to him she was just another job, a victim to learn all he could from before discarding, passing her on to someone else.

'So, no lasting damage.' He sat down on a swivel chair by the gurney, and he spun it such as to reach over to the trolley at his left. From there, he picked up a small metal circlet of sorts, one fitted with a set of crisscrossing thin wires. Lyssa got the strong impression it was nothing good for her, and as Grath leaned over her with it she tried to pull her head away. She had nowhere to pull it to, and the doctor fitted the ring over her head, ignoring her feeble attempts to put distance between her and the object.

'You're strong, that's obvious,' Grath stated. 'You are in peak physical condition, for a human anyway. Cerberus knows how to train its people.' He turned to a small monitor that was set upon the trolley next to him. Through a simple wireless connection, that monitor controlled the device now resting over Lyssa's head. She clenched her jaw, trying to mentally prepare herself for the pain she knew was coming. Cerberus had indeed trained her in a number of ways, one of which was resisting torture. Of course, no amount of training could truly prepare someone for this kind of thing.

'This device can stimulate pain receptors across the body,' Grath explained. The way he spoke was casual, disinterested. It was almost unnerving. 'I can increase the intensity of the pain it creates from this terminal.' He motioned to the small display on the trolley. 'I suggest you cooperate, if you don't want the pain level to be pushed to its maximum. There is a very real risk your nervous system may burn out, and I would rather not displease the boss through doing so.'

Lyssa closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. She needed to steel herself, to put herself in that state of mind where nothing might hurt her. Of course, this idea of "ignoring" the pain was one she had always had trouble with during her training. Anything to do with looking inward, meditating and the like had never taken well with her. She had neither the patience nor the inclination to look deeply into that kind of thing.

Now, she figured she could have done with some of that guru stuff. She knew that no matter what she said, there would be no end to the torment. This doctor would simply palm her off onto somebody else, another batarian except this one would send her on her way to some slave market off-world somewhere. And then the torment would never end, for she knew how these batarians treated their slaves, especially if they were human. Death seemed preferable, but Lyssa had no intention of dying today.

'You won't get shit out of me, your four-eyed fuck,' she spat. Grath tilted his head slightly, his features betraying no immediate emotion. With a casual flair, he tapped something on the display before him. Suddenly, it was as if Lyssa's entire body had been set aflame, and arcs of energy darted across her form, muscles spasming, eyes watering, and mouth open in a scream she had not even realised she was making.

This agony seemed to go on for hours, but in reality it was barely half a minute. Almost as quickly as it had hit her, it was gone, and she found herself panting heavily with sweat beading across her forehead. Her chest heaved with every breath, and Grath looked upon her with something she took to be curiosity.

'Speak only when I ask you a question,' Grath stated. 'And that is only to provide me with an answer. Is that clear?'

Lyssa said nothing. She turned her head ever so slightly, barely able to move it much more from the way the strap was tied down over her forehead. As expected, the pain hit her again, longer this time, and the heartrate monitor at the nearby terminal began to beep rapidly. She could feel it in her chest, pounding faster than it ever had before, her every muscle blazing with agony that seemed to originate from somewhere deep inside her. Another scream left her mouth, features reddening, sweat trickling down her face.

With a press of a button, the pain ended. Lyssa felt drained now, and that was only after the second time. She swallowed, her mouth feeling dry. Chest heaving, muscles still aching from the agony that had just torn through them, she looked up to find the batarian doctor leaning over her.

'That is what will happen if you don't answer my questions,' he told her. He glanced over at the display set upon his trolley, and for a moment there Lyssa thought he may have been reading something. 'You are Lyssa Raine, former Alliance Marine, now operative for Cerberus? Is that correct?'

Establishing the facts before the real questions came on. Standard procedure, yet Lyssa only felt a rush of anger then, unwilling to give this creepy batarian doctor even the courtesy of a "Yes" in response.

'No, no, that's wrong.' They seemed to know more about her than she would have liked. Then again, these batarian insurgents had always been well organized.

Upon hearing her response, the doctor's four-eyed gaze narrowed into a frown.

'Is that so?' He almost sounded amused. If he was, he was doing a good job of hiding it. 'Who are you, then?'

'I'm actually a krogan mercenary working deep cover,' Lyssa blurted, and a smile crept upon her lips. 'This is simply an exceptionally good disguise. If you look close enough, you might see my quad.'

The doctor sighed, before he hit the button on his terminal again. He must have adjusted the setting a little, as the pain this time around was intense enough to leave Lyssa in a daze as soon as it was over. She was on the verge of passing out when the doctor threw a cup of water over her face, the chill of it enough to bring her back into the world of the awake.

'No sleeping,' the doctor stated, his voice adopting a noticeably sterner edge. 'No, that comes after you have provided us with what we need to know. Now, again, are you not Lyssa Raine, Cerberus operative?'

Lyssa figured she could answer his questions, hell, she could sing like a bird for all the difference it would make. She certainly was not with Cerberus anymore. And yet, they would just send her on her way to become a slave, so why should she do what they wanted her to? The thought, on top of everything else, be it the pain or the batarians or the fact that she was strapped to a table stark naked, brought on a fit of laughter that she herself had not been expecting. She let it loose, a rollicking laugh that saw tears stream from her eyes. The doctor watched her with a straight face, yet the guard standing by the door appeared visibly perplexed.

'You idiots,' Lyssa spat, eyes going to the doctor as she tried to calm herself. 'It doesn't matter what I say here. You're going to make me a slave anyway. Why not just put a bullet in my head and get it over with?'

The doctor did not reply. Lyssa was about to say something more, deliver another insult, when the pain hit her again, and all that came out of her mouth was a scream.

Sevarn was awake, the world around him wobbling noticeably, and a nausea building deep in his gut that he was finding increasingly difficult to quell. Whatever they had injected him with, it was not working so well. Maybe it was something to do with him being dextro-based, as it would not surprise him if these idiot batarians had not considered that as a turian, his physiology was markedly different to their own. Not that they likely much cared; even if they did know, him having an allergic reaction to their cocktail of drugs was hardly their concern.

He coughed and then retched, hands still bound behind his back. He rose to his knees in his cell, all whilst he attempted to force himself to full lucidity. He was not quite there yet, judging from the way the rough concrete texture on the walls around him seemed to warp and wobble as he watched. The rain continued to pour, pattering loudly upon the building's tin roof. The noise was subtle, a gentle background for the otherwise quiet interior of the outbuilding, yet to Sevarn's ears it sounded like the roar of a warship's engines in atmosphere. It was as if he had stuck his head by the engines during the flyover, the noise enough to almost blow out his eardrums.

He was moaning before he even realised he was making a sound. He retched again, leaning forwards and feeling the nausea finally get the better of him. Before he knew it, he was throwing up on the floor in front of him, whatever remained of the rations he had chowed down earlier splattering before him, mixed up in a general light brown, almost beige muck. As the last of it evacuated his stomach, he shook his head slowly, the wobbling and warping of the walls about him seeming to recede ever so slightly. He realised with some small measure of relief that he was no longer feeling quite so nauseous, now that his stomach was empty.

'Would you look at that?' It was the guard on duty outside the cells, the same one who had stuck him with the needle full of whatever it was that had brought on this unfortunate episode. He stood at the cell door, scowling at Sevarn through the visor on his helmet, his dark eyes filled with contempt. 'The proud turian making a mess of himself. Imagine if the Primarch could see you now.'

'Water…' Sevarn coughed, his mouth feeling alarmingly dry. The batarian snorted upon hearing the request.

'Yeah, sure. You want me to fetch you anything else? Maybe a three-course meal?'

Sevarn's head had cleared enough for him to decide that here and now was his chance. It was a slim one at that, and his plan did not much extend beyond getting out of this cell. However, as Salak Vok had made it clear he wanted the turian alive, then there was something in that to be taken advantage of. This guard would hesitate to shoot him outright, out of fear of angering his boss. And the fact that the turian was wanted alive made it all the more likely that Sevarn's next move would bring on the desired result.

'What did you inject me with?' Sevarn asked him, his voice raspy, partly from his parched throat but also from a little play-acting on his part. 'Was it safe for dextro…' He trailed off then, closing his eyes and slumping to the floor. He began to convulse, or rather began to pretend to convulse as best he could. This involved a lot of rapid shaking and writhing about on the cold concrete floor, and the movements only served to exacerbate the pain from his other injuries.

'Hey, get up!' The batarian sounded more annoyed than worried, at least for a moment. When it became apparent after a few seconds that the turian was in no state to do as he was told, the annoyance shifted to something far more grave. Sevarn thrashed about on the floor, feeling like an idiot doing so, but no doubt doing a convincing enough job of it that the batarian unlocked the cell door and hurried inside. The soldier slung his rifle about one shoulder, and he squatted down by Sevarn's side, hands going for the turian in an attempt to keep him still.

'Damn it,' the batarian growled. As he leaned in closer, trying to get a better look at the turian's face, Sevarn ceased the thrashing and lunged forwards. The surprise from the batarian offered a precious few seconds for the turian to get the better of his captor, and this was all he needed. He leaned into the batarian's neck, and he clamped about the exposed flesh there, biting down as hard as he could and sinking his sharp teeth into the soft, warm muscle. The batarian let out a surprise yelp that quickly turned into an agonized howl as the turian's sharp teeth sank into his neck, drawing blood. Sevarn acted on a primal instinct now, using all at his disposal to do away with his captor, no matter how savage it may have been. Turians had been apex predators on their home world, still were in a lot of ways. However, resorting to such a crude way to enact harm upon an enemy would likely be deemed as "uncivilised" by people back home. Here and now, Sevarn hardly cared as to what was civilised and what was not. This was about survival, and the only way he was going to truly survive here was by putting as much distance between himself and this damned camp.

The batarian shoved against him, crying out in panic and in pain. The turian refused to let him go, and instead bit deeper, harder, forcing his teeth even further into the batarian's neck. Blood gushed into his mouth, the taste bitter and coppery, yet Sevarn remained latched on. The batarian's hands pushed against him, and one feeble punch to the stomach followed. Sevarn simply grunted, barely flinching from the blow. He could feel the batarian's strength fading, his struggles becoming weaker and weaker.

And then, with a snarl, Sevarn pulled his head away and took with it a chunk of the batarian's neck. Blood spurted from the ruptured artery, dark in colour, splashing across Sevarn's face and chest. The batarian clutched at his throat, blood spilling down his side, coating his hands as he tried to stem the flow. And as his heartbeat slowed, so did the gushing of his blood. A horrible gargling noise escaped his throat before the batarian simply fell backwards, still writhing about, yet his movements were lethargic. The sign of one well on their way out of the land of the living.

Sevarn spat out the ragged clump of batarian neck flesh still clenched in his jaws. He also spat a great deal of batarian blood with it, doing his best to keep any of it from going down his throat. He looked to his dead captor with an unfeeling gaze, rather there was something contented to his face that had not been there before. He had done what he had needed to, and in trying circumstances such as these a good soldier utilised everything and anything they could to best their opponents. Honor had its place in turian society, but in a matter of life and death it was easily done away with altogether.

Sevarn did not waste any further time. His hands were still bound behind him, cuffed together, and he figured the key was somewhere on this batarian. Awkwardly, he turned his back to the dead batarian soldier and felt for the pouches and compartments on his set of armour. No such luck, and instead Sevarn's eyes went out of the cell. The keys had to be around here somewhere, or anything that might get him out of these damned handcuffs.

He rose to his feet, wobbling a little at the sudden rise. The room about him wobbled and another wave of nausea hit him, causing him to stop for a moment in order to better orient himself. And then, with somewhat less confident steps, he emerged from the cell and into the drab grey corridor beyond. The place was quiet, the only guard inside now lying dead within Sevarn's cell. His desk was down by the entrance to this particular outbuilding, and it was there Sevarn found the keys, or rather a whole set of them. They were little more than metal cylinders thinner than his smallest finger, each one about two inches in length and keyed with a unique code that, with the push of a button, could unlock their designated door in close proximity. He tried a few of them in turn, until he finally found the one that released his handcuffs.

They fell open and he threw them aside, bringing his hands back about in front of him for the first time in what felt like hours. He massaged his aching wrists, flexing his shoulders, his neck, his arms. Everything was sore, and this was all compounded by yet another pounding headache. From outside, he could hear the steady patter of the rain, as well as the distant footsteps of a guard on patrol. And then, as he searched the office where the dead guard had been posted, his ears detected something else: screams. A woman's pained screams, and this particular one lasted for several seconds before it came to an abrupt halt.

Lyssa. The woman was being tortured. He should have figured as much, but he could not concern himself with her, not now. He had his own escape to attend to. He was still in the office when the door ahead slid open. As soon as the noise of it hit him, Sevarn darted to the corner closest to it and lay in wait. The guard who strode on in was outfitted in a somewhat more rugged set of armour, indicating that he was either a mercenary or some kind of militia man. The guard strolled on in, his dark eyes searching the small office before him.

'Hey, Vessik, you in here?' He did not see the turian crouched in the corner to his right until it was too late. Sevarn grabbed him from behind, plunging him into a headlock, mustering all his remaining strength to keep the batarian from breaking free. The batarian grunted, yet he could hardly cry out for the presence of the powerful arm now pressing hard about his neck, clamping around it harder and harder. The circulation to his brain began to reduce in turn, and his awareness of the world seemed to fade further with each passing second.

'Don't fight it,' Sevarn said to him, and he maintained the headlock until he felt the batarian fall unconscious in his grasp. As soon as he was down, he dragged the batarian into the corner and promptly searched him. This one had been carrying a Vindicator-model rifle, so Sevarn was quick to snatch that up, along with the military-issue blade kept in a sheath at the militia member's thigh.

Sevarn, rifle in hand, moved to the door. It slid open, but he stepped off to the side of the opening, and instead peered out into the growing darkness and the pouring rain. The bad weather had provided an opportunity for him here, as it ensured that most of the insurgents here would be inside. There were still guards on patrol, but he was sure he could handle any who got in his way. He hardly fancied his chances taking on the entire compound. No, he was alone here, and the one ally he may have had was currently being tortured somewhere in this dump.

Sevarn waited for the guard closest to the building to stroll on by. Off of the footpaths, the ground had become sodden with mud, and the cold hit Sevarn all the more so when he stepped outside. He needed armour, or something with kinetic barriers at least. His best chance was in the armoury building he had seen earlier, and so he crept about the outbuilding wherein the cells were located and made his way to the narrow lane behind it. The perimeter fence was a short distance away, capped with barbed wire with a clearing running around the compound beyond it. A guard tower was several metres ahead, but the guard above had his attention directed outwards rather than into the camp. Sevarn was able to sneak right on by the base of the tower, passing a small shed and then what he took to be a garage before he came upon the somewhat larger shed wherein the weapons stores were located.

There was a guard standing by the front door, under what little shelter was offered by the small metal roof that extended a short distance over the door itself. The light fitting above him wobbled in the wind, its yellow-tinted glow providing a comfortable circle of illumination through the rain pouring down all around.

Sevarn slung the rifle about his shoulder and paused by the corner. The shed was not hard to the ground, rather there was a crawlspace underneath where the concrete stumps serving as the building's foundations were located. Much of it was closed off with simple timber cladding, but a few spots had rotted enough or simply been broken that he was able to squeeze in through one such opening. And there, he knocked, one hand rapping quickly against the boards at his left.

The guard at the front heard the noise, his thoughts and boredom suddenly interrupted. Sevarn waited in the darkness under the shed, the air here reeking of dampness and mud. The guard came about the corner, looking down the lane between the shed and the neighbouring garage. Sevarn pulled the batarian-made knife he had taken from the guard in the holding area, a six-inch straight blade with a serrated edge, and he darted out of the opening from under the building. He pounced upon the guard, tackling him into the mud, before he thrust the blade down and into the batarian's neck, between the armour plating and the start of his helmet. The rubbery under suit did little to stop the blade, and kinetic barriers were not likely to help when faced with a relatively slow-moving stab.

The knife sunk into soft flesh, blood gushing from around it. Sevarn, who had seldom needed to kill up close, paused for a moment as he saw the look of panic in the batarian's eyes. He also watched, with a mix of fascination and some small measure of guilt, as the life in those eyes began to fade. It was like a light going out in each of the alien's four eyes. Sevarn turned away, knowing better than to invite such doubts now. He needed to get out of here, and he could hardly start feeling remorse for his actions. And over batarians, of all species.

He pulled the knife free, sheathing it before he grabbed the soldier by the legs and pulled him under the building. Sooner or later the others here would realise that at least three of their people were out of action. Sevarn had to be gone before that happened. Shrouded by the pouring rain, feeling a chill as he moved, he darted through the opening ahead and made his way around to the front of the armoury shed. He looked across the camp, towards the main house and the tents further away, and to the barracks at the other end from within rowdy guttural voices could be heard. These batarians suspected nothing, and that worked for Sevarn.

One of the keys he had found in the holding area opened the armoury door. He moved in slowly, rifle raised, but the inside of the place was unguarded. It was little more than a glorified shed, packed to the brim with metal containers of differing sorts. This arsenal included things made by just about every major Citadel species, from goods supplied by the Batarian Hegemony through to Hierarchy-made weapons and explosives. Some human equipment was in the mix as well, incorporating a varied and impressive array of weapons.

He saw then that there were several sets of turian armour dumped on one shelf. Some were noticeably marked with bullet holes and scorch marks, and under the wavering light of a single globe, he caught sight of a familiar emblem on a pauldron. It was that of the Blackwatch, and he realised then that he was looking at things scavenged from his own team, the same one these batarians had ambushed the other night. He was in the headquarters of that very same bunch of batarians. The thought filled him with anger, yet he was in no position to wage a one-man war against a small army of insurgents. No, he had to play this smart. Get out of here and meet Colonel Venarus. That way they could bring in a strike team to obliterate this compound altogether.

He found the least damaged armour from the several collected sets and fitted it to his under suit. Some parts were a little tight, but a bit of tightness he could tolerate. No kinetic barriers came on, but he could sort that out once he had an omni-tool at his disposal. For now, he could rest a little easy in the fact that he was no longer quite so exposed. He still had that small, disguised transmitter on him, tucked inside one boot. The batarians had not found that, and for all he knew it was still broadcasting his location to his people, what few of them were left on Anhur anyway.

He heard it again, the scream. Lyssa's scream, and even through the pattering of the heavy rain he could make it out. He paused by the door of the armoury, listening to it, feeling something in the pit of his stomach that he could not quite place. The woman was no friend of his, she was Cerberus and by rights she was the enemy. Yet, he knew he could not leave her to the mercy of the batarians. They would torment her for days before finally sending her off-world to become lost in the batarian slave trade. Besides, having spoken to the woman it seemed she was not quite the "terrorist" he had been told to expect from Cerberus.

'Shit,' he muttered. He was going after her, and he knew it was only going to complicate things for him. Yet, his conscience was not going to let him attend to his own escape and leave her behind. He sighed, before he went back to the crates of weapons and began to help himself. A one-man rescue mission needed to be heavily armed, after all.

Agent Booker and half the strike team had taken position on a woodland ridge some distance from the compound's southern approach. From here, they could observe the main gate and a solid half of the compound from their elevated position, although the pouring rain had rendered visibility questionable. The group was well-covered amongst the brush, with the cleared area surrounding the compound a short distance ahead. The rain may in fact work in the team's favour, for it would offer a better chance of approaching the compound unseen.

Booker peered through a set of binoculars, taking note of the guard towers and the soldiers on patrol. Most, it seemed, had gone inside when faced with this rainstorm. His own hair was soaked through now, and he was lying on a mossy bed of sodden earth, mud streaking his armour.

Not that it mattered much now, they were here and they were committed. The other half of the team, B-squad, was positioned on the north-eastern flank and hidden. Once Booker gave the word, the gunship would swoop in and start shooting. In that confusion, his team would advance and they would do so quickly. If there was any chance Salak Vok was inside that place, they would need to move in quick to snatch him.

'Sir, the gunship's in a standby position a few klicks south.' One of the strike team members, the Lieutenant in charge of A-squad, moved in at Booker's left. 'They're waiting for your word.'

'We'll give it a little longer,' Booker stated, and he lowered the binoculars from his face. 'I want to be sure of what we're getting ourselves into.'

The shed in which Lyssa had been taken appeared ramshackle and foreboding in the rain-drenched evening gloom. A single light fitting wobbled over its front door. There was no guard on watch here, but there were others patrolling this section of the camp. Sevarn stayed to the shadows, trying to ignore the chill he felt, his armour and much of the under suit he wore streaked with water. He had a Vindicator rifle in hand, a shotgun slung about one shoulder and two pistols holstered at his waist. One of them was the Paladin model that Lyssa had recovered from Major Gavian's body at the ambush site, having been confiscated when the pair had been brought into the camp. Sevarn had even located his biotic amp, thrown aside with the other plunder, likely to be sold for a healthy price on the black market. He had slotted that back into place, as well as having helped himself to the dextro-based rations that had been in the storeroom. These batarians had grabbed just about everything that was not nailed down, and in this instance it had been a significant help. Now he felt somewhat confident as to his chances, and as long as he maintained the element of stealth than he could very well survive this place and make his getaway. His conscience drove him here, to the ramshackle building in which Lyssa was being tortured. For all his distrust of the woman, he could not leave her to the mercy of these batarians.

He tried the door. Locked. This was an old-fashioned lock, all metal and mechanics, and as such it could not be hacked. He could break it, give it a few hits with the butt-end of his weapon, maybe even shoot it. Either option would cause noise and he had no desire to draw unwanted attention, not now. If his biotics were in working order, then he might have been able to force it. Keeping low, he put out a hand, focussing in that manner so familiar to him after years spent training and honing his skills. A blue glow shimmered about him then, and he focussed that biotic potential upon the lock, pulling on it, harder and harder. He could feel it give, feel the internal mechanics shift. With a potent yank, he pulled the lock open, screws popping and gears grinding.

Releasing his concentration, he looked to his handiwork. The lock below the handle seemed slightly askew now, and so he grabbed the handle and turned. It opened freely, and he pushed it slowly as to reduce the odds of it creaking upon its rusted hinges. There was a small room beyond, something like an office or guard post, yet it was unmanned. A careful peer through the slightly ajar door confirmed this. Pushing the door open further, he crept inside, closing it after him slowly and gently as to avoid making any noise.

He overheard the conversation then, from the next room, catching it mid-sentence:

'…no good to the boss dead, you know.' This batarian sounded annoyed. Sevarn moved to the doorway ahead, catching sight of the back of a batarian soldier whose attention was set further across the next room, to another one in a plain grey outfit who was seated by the immobile form of Lyssa Raine. Sevarn paused, considering his options here, all while he continued to eavesdrop:

'I mean, that's the second time she's lost consciousness. You keep it up and her heart's going to give out.' The soldier let out an annoyed huff. 'It would be a waste, killing a great piece of ass like that. Tell me she's not a beautiful specimen, doc?'

'Not all of us are so deviant as you are, Corporal.' The other batarian, seated by Lyssa's unconscious form, gave the soldier a frown. 'She is stubborn, I'll give her that. But they all break eventually, especially when you threaten to cripple them and disfigure them. I may have to resort to more direct methods of inflicting discomfort.'

'Ruin that body?' The batarian Corporal sounded incredulous. 'You're crazy, doc.'

Sevarn had since slung his rifle about his shoulder, freeing both hands. With one, he reached down and plucked his knife from where it was sheathed. As the batarian doctor and apparent torture technician turned his back, Sevarn approached the Corporal from behind, slowly and deliberately. As soon as he was within reach he acted quickly, rising to his feet and wrapping the startled Corporal into a firm headlock. He plunged the knife into the side of the batarian's throat, blade cutting through his windpipe and vocal chords, silencing the shout that had been about to spill out of him. Instead, he made a strangled gargling noise, and Sevarn pulled him back out of the doorway and rested his body upon the floor just out of sight of the doctor. That doctor remained oblivious to the loss of his subordinate and had instead pulled a syringe from the trolley at his side. He was filling it from a vial of a yellow-tinted liquid, something he was confident would get the human woman wide awake and lucid again.

Sevarn pulled the blade from the batarian soldier's neck, not even bothering to wipe it clean and instead strode his way to the doorway. Turning the knife about in one gloved hand, such that he held it be the blade itself, he sighted the batarian doctor and narrowed his eyes.

'Hey, doc,' he said, loud and clear. The doctor turned around, surprise evident in the wide-eyed look he gave. As soon as he had turned about, Sevarn threw the blade with a deft flick of the hand. It shot through the air as a blur, before it landed blade first in the batarian's upper right eye. It sunk in a few inches, piercing the torturer's brain and stifling any such noise he had been about to make. Instead, he stumbled against the trolley by his side as if in a stupor, blood spilling down his face, hands scrambling for purchase on anything within reach. The trolley tipped over, sending various implements crashing across the floor. And then the batarian doctor fell over with it, landing on his side with his remaining eyes wide open and vacant. The hilt of the blade jutted from his eye in a manner that was almost obscene, dark blood pooling quickly about his head.

Sevarn could only hope no one had heard the racket of that trolley falling over. Regardless, he had to work quickly, yet it was now he finally allowed himself a proper look at Lyssa. He swallowed, laying eyes upon her naked form for the first time. The batarian Corporal had been correct in his assessment, that this was a "beautiful specimen". Athletic in frame, she was slim and curvaceous, her pale skin marked with light freckling or the odd scar from previous fights. Sevarn had done enough reading to know something of human anatomy, so he knew what her breasts were for and that they were considered a more erotic part of the human female form. And indeed, he could see the appeal in them, the way they curved, the fleshy bulge they offered, each peaked with a rosy, red nipple. And then there was her hair, untied at her head, yet there was a curious thatch of it at her crotch…

Now he was letting himself become distracted. He had come to rescue her, not ogle her. She was unconscious, her breathing evident from the gentle rise-and-fall motions of her chest. Sevarn darted alongside the gurney she was strapped upon, and he quickly undid the offending straps whilst giving her a once-over. No visible injuries were apparent, nothing new anyway. The batarians had affixed some sort of circular rig over her head, one that Sevarn pulled away, figuring it to be some kind of neural torture device. Such things were not uncommon in the shadier parts of the known galaxy.

Sevarn put a hand to her shoulder, shaking her in a manner he hoped was not too rough. She let out a sharp cry, as if waking from a nightmare, and Sevarn clamped one gloved hand firmly over her mouth.

'Lyssa, it's me.' Her eyes shot open and glared at him, wide and full of pain and panic. 'I'm getting you out.'

Lyssa seemed to calm then, seeing the turian and knowing that she was no longer at the mercy of the batarian doctor. Sevarn took his hand away from her mouth before he took a step back, giving her some space. The woman sat up on the gurney, flexing her aching muscles, still sore after the many shocks that had been sent through her. Slowly, she threw her legs over the side and allowed her bare feet to touch the cold, wooden floorboards. Sevarn held out a hand to assist her, for he figured that it was the least he could do, but she shook her head and instead pushed herself upright.

'Are you going to be all right?' He asked her, trying not to stare at her still very naked body for too long. 'Can you walk?'

'I'll be fine.' Her voice sounded hollow, barely more than a whisper. She had noticed this herself and cleared her throat, straightening up her posture. 'I mean, I'll be fine, Lieutenant.' She looked down then, remembering one very critical thing, before her gaze flitted back his way. 'Usually, people take me out to dinner before they try and get me naked. Guess you're luckier than most, Lieutenant.'

'You know where your clothes are?' Sevarn fixed his attention on her face, surprised to see a smirk there. Lyssa was strong, there was no doubt about that. Even so, he could tell that this latest experience had affected her on more than a simple physical level. No doubt she had refused to give in to the batarians, but she had suffered for it, even if the marks did not show on her physical form.

'In a bin in the corner.' She leaned back against the gurney, her eyes searching the room. She sighted the doctor, lying dead by his implements with a knife sticking out of his eye. Upon seeing this, her features lit up, impressed.

'Did you do that?' She asked him. Sevarn strode over to a simple metal bin in the corner, in which the woman's outfit had been dumped. Her boots had been carelessly tossed into the space behind them, and he grabbed those as well as fished out her dirtied, rank smelling Cerberus uniform. He could feel the armour padding stitched within the black and orange outfit, flexible yet sturdy enough to absorb some degree of trauma.

'I was hoping to gut the bastard myself,' Lyssa added. She sounded almost disappointed. Sevarn turned to her, throwing her the several articles of clothing he had recovered. He turned away from her then, allowing her to dress herself without having to worry about further prying eyes. She took one whiff of the uniform, scrunching up her nose.

'I really need to find something new,' she told him. 'Or a washing machine.' She dressed quickly, the uniform a snug fit that clung to her curves and, now that Sevarn was well aware of what was underneath, only made her overall appearance more alluring.

'We have a chance to get out of here in this storm,' he told her. 'But we'll need transport. We're too far from any settlement.' He moved to the one window in this room, shutters closed over it. He pulled one of them open a little, peering through it to the gloom outside. 'There's a garage at the other end of the compound. We may be able to find something there.'

'Sounds like a plan.' Lyssa fitted on her boots, wavering somewhat as she did so. Sevarn noticed this but decided against mentioning it. As long as she could walk in a straight line, she had a chance. Besides, the woman was far too stubborn to accept that maybe she was not in the best of shape.

'You came back for me, Lieutenant,' she added, and her eyes went to his own. There was something new in that gaze, something grateful, yet he knew she was not the kind of person to outright state as much. 'You didn't have to. You could have snuck out of here.'

'I could have.' Sevarn mulled over these words for an extended moment, all while Lyssa watched him carefully. 'But I couldn't leave you to the mercy of the batarians. I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone, Cerberus or not. I know you would have done the same if our positions had been reversed.'

Lyssa appeared to think on this carefully. After several seconds, she gave him a single nod. Yes, she knew full well what the batarians were capable of; she had seen it firsthand more than once in the past.

'Thank you,' she said, and for the first time since meeting her Sevarn felt something other than wariness or distrust towards her. The sincerity in her tone was clear, if a bit muted, the mark of someone who tried to keep their feelings bottled up inside. Given her line of work, she had to put up a strong exterior. Sevarn had often felt the need to do something similar himself as a soldier, or rather as an officer and leader of troops. A leader needed to display strength and decisiveness, no matter what hardships they faced.

'No omni-tool,' Lyssa said, and she looked about the room. 'No kinetic barriers. We could be in trouble, Lieutenant.' She said this last part as if it was just occurring to her now the level of trouble they were in. Sevarn could tell she was making a small joke, which he thought was admirable given what she had just been through.

'Come on, garage is this way.' He moved for the door, pausing by it before he grabbed the handle and turned, slowly. It was still raining outside, just not as heavily as it had before. Pushing the door open slightly, he peered through it into the darkness outside, illuminated by the odd portable light. He saw no enemy movement right outside, and so he motioned for Lyssa to follow. As she started after him, he pulled the M-77 Paladin pistol from where it had been clipped to his thigh and passed it to her.

'Found this,' he told her. He unslung the Vindicator rifle, holding it at the ready as he stepped outside. Lyssa gave the pistol a once over, before she followed after him. The air had taken on a deep chill, and Sevarn shivered as he started in the general direction of the garage. Things were relatively quiet out here, save for the steady patter of rain on metal roofs. The ground off of the footpath was a sloshing mud, and each footstep sounded with an audible squelching noise as the mud threatened to suck his booted feet right in. It was no wonder most of the batarians around here had elected to stay indoors, safe for those few guards on patrol about the camp.

The pair paused by the corner of another of the outbuildings, keeping to the shadows. Sevarn watched as Lyssa's gaze flitted towards the large house, the one wherein Salak Vok had apparently made his lodgings. The look on her face suggested she was contemplating going that way, no doubt to enact some payback against the batarian warlord. Sevarn put a firm hand upon her shoulder, causing her to snap her head about to face him. A scowl creased her otherwise pleasant features.

'We're leaving,' he told her, keeping his voice low. 'If you want to go after Salak Vok, you're going on your own.'

Lyssa considered his words, and the turian could practically see the conflict raging across her face, most of all in her eyes. They darted from the house and back to him more than once, before she finally relented.

'I want to get him, Lieutenant,' she told him. 'That son of a bitch has a lot to answer for. More than you know.'

'Maybe.' It would be a risk, going into that house. The place would be crawling with soldiers. 'We know where he is. When I see the Colonel, maybe we can get some help.'

Lyssa did not appear convinced but otherwise nodded her head.

'Let's just get out of here,' she told him. She did not sound especially thrilled. Sevarn figured that her desire to get Salak Vok would prove a problem sooner or later. This was something he would have to be on the lookout for, but for now his focus was on escape. They were outnumbered and outgunned, so shooting their way out was probably the most ill-advised course of action.

The pair crept their way by the edges of the camp, avoiding the few guards on outdoor patrol. The garage itself was a larger and mostly brick building compared to the others within the compound (other than the main house), with two roller doors at its front face and a smaller, normal door at either end. Sevarn stopped by one of these side entrances, readying his rifle as he put a palm to the door handle. From within, voices could be heard, the deep guttural tones of multiple batarians. Slowly, Sevarn turned the handle and pushed it open by only a few inches, as to peer on through into the musty workshop within. He motioned to Lyssa then, holding up two of the three digits on his right hand: Two hostiles. He then gestured to the right-hand side of the doorway. On the right.

Rain continued to fall in a steady stream. Lyssa's hair, tied back once again, was already soaked through. She wiped the trickling water off of her brow with one sleeve, before she moved alongside the doorway opposite to where Sevarn stood. If they wanted transport, they may have to make some noise. As soon as the first shot was fired, the whole camp would be on them. That meant they would have to be damn quick and damn lucky, and from the grimace he saw on Lyssa's face it appeared she knew this as well.

'On three,' Sevarn said, his voice low, just loud enough so Lyssa could hear him over the sound of the pounding rain. 'One, two—'

He was cut off by the sudden and startlingly loud thump of something exploding nearby, some ways across the camp. Both he and Lyssa turned their attention in the direction of the sound, watching as one of the guard towers went up in a column of fire and smoke. The guard inside had been thrown clear, his flaming corpse falling to the muddy ground below. And through that smoke, scooting in low over the camp, came the unmistakable sight of an armoured gunship, its side pods brimming with weaponry. Its engine made a high-pitched whine as it shot on overhead, its fuselage painted a matte black that displayed no identifying emblems of any kind. Another of its missile pods fired, and a guard tower at the opposite end of the camp exploded in turn, flaming pieces of its upper structure raining down all around.

'Now's our chance,' Lyssa declared, and she did not wait for Sevarn to regather his bearings. Instead, she threw open the door and charged into the garage, the heavy pistol in her grasp thundering. One of the batarians inside went down with a chunk blown out of his chest, and the others, a mechanic in a blue tunic and basic armoured vest, barely had a chance to react to the sudden intrusion before Lyssa shot him in the head. Part of the batarian's face disappeared into an eruption of ragged flesh and dark blood, his suddenly lifeless body falling against a workbench at the wall behind him. As he fell, he sent numerous tools and spare parts falling with him, the noise a cacophony of clatters and clunks upon the concrete floor.

Sevarn followed her inside the double garage. There was a four-wheeled buggy in here, with a somewhat larger armoured truck in the next section of the building. However, a quick glance at the truck showed that its hood was open and its engine had seen a number of connections removed, presumably for repairs. That left them with the buggy, which appeared in good shape.

Outside, gunfire sounded from all over the camp. More explosions thumped throughout, the gunship laying waste to the more dangerous defences. Sevarn could only wonder as to who was in that gunship, whereas Lyssa hardly seemed concerned and was all too eager to jump in the buggy and clear out.

'Come on, I've got the keys.' Lyssa had plucked the keyset from the dead batarian mechanic, and she jangled it in one hand for emphasis. Sevarn turned to her, impressed by how well she seemed to be coping following her torture. She was a strong woman, there was no denying that. And given the chaos happening outside, now seemed as good a time as any to leave.

'I'll get the door.' Sevarn darted over to the roller door, and there he palmed the button by its opening, causing the whole thing to start its painfully slow slide upwards. As it rose, Lyssa climbed into the buggy and tried the keys, having to work her way through three of them before she finally found the correct set for this vehicle. The engine whirred to life, whilst before her the door lifted from her path and revealed the rain-drenched and smoke-filled camp beyond. Batarian soldiers, both of the professional variety and of the more irregular militia sort, were running about the campgrounds in a frantic manner. Some stopped to take shots at the gunship above, whereas others rushed off to meet some as yet unseen ground-based threat. It was a full-scale assault; as by who, Sevarn had no idea.

He did not think too much on it, he simply ran for the buggy and jumped into the empty seat by Lyssa's side. As soon as he was in, she hit the accelerator hard, kicking the vehicle into gear and sending it barrelling out of the garage. Weapons fire sounded from all around, and some of it seemed to be directed their way. However, what was shot their way missed the quickly moving vehicle. Lyssa worked the wheel hurriedly, swerving past groups of batarian insurgents, directing the car past the main house and on the one gravel road that cut its way through the camp end-to-end. Sevarn raised his rifle and leaned somewhat out of the buggy, taking a few shots at a group of batarians further ahead who had sighted the oncoming buggy. One of them went down, before the others scattered, jumping clear of the speeding vehicle as Lyssa sent it tearing for the far gate.

The gunship soared overhead, its auto-cannons firing. High calibre rounds pounded into the ground in front of the buggy, causing Lyssa to swerve as the gunship began to adjust its aim. Sevarn looked up, half thinking that he could give it a wave, make it obvious to the pilot that this vehicle had no batarians in it. However, he need not have worried, for some form of missile launcher at the far corner of the camp fired and the streaking projectile slammed into the gunship's tail. The whole tail tore away in an eruption of flame, and the gunship immediately fell into a wayward spin. Given how low it had been over the camp, it did not take long for it to slam into the ground, black smoke pouring from its destroyed tail-end.

Lyssa swerved the buggy hard around the crashing gunship, narrowly avoiding the detonation of its fuel core that sent forth a flash of blue-white flame. The whole gunship went up in spectacular fashion, the explosion sounding out with a thunderous boom that sent the pair's ears ringing. Several tents were swallowed up by the flames, with blackened and smoking fragments of the gunship raining down all over the camp. Whoever they were seemed irrelevant now, although Sevarn supposed he should be thankful for the distraction they had provided.

The gate ahead had taken a hit, leaving only part of it still standing. Lyssa gritted her teeth, with Sevarn firing his weapon from the passenger seat, sending the batarians gathered by the gate running for cover as the vehicle shot on through. With some relief, the pair left the burning insurgent camp behind them, yet even Sevarn suspected that their problems were only just beginning.