7: The Fight Club

The call came in late that evening, a persistent buzzing that tore through the apartment at a volume that seemed so loud as to almost be obscene. Kanen'Jaslek, formerly a Marine of the Migrant Fleet, came to slowly, his head pounding and his skin slicked with sweat. His room was small, a specially sealed sterile section that he had had built in his apartment at great cost. It was a necessity, however, for being a quarian brought with it certain drawbacks in regards to one's immune system. At least in this space, he could strip off his suit, shower and sleep comfortably.

There were no windows in here, just sterile grey walls with a bunk in one corner, a partitioned shower in the other and a closet containing his environment suit and various spare parts for it. The one airtight door here opened into the rest of the apartment, a somewhat more cluttered space than his carefully arranged sterile bedroom.

What was the time? Kanen groaned, glowing eyes roaming the room for the source of the noise. As expected, it was coming from the small computer terminal at the nightstand. Someone was calling him, and they were being very persistent about it. Normally someone would give up after a few rings; not this person, whoever they were. The buzzing continued, repeating itself again and again. Kanen could only squint in the dim light within the room, and for a moment there he felt like throwing up. The nausea was fleeting, passing almost as soon as it had hit him.

He fumbled about under his pillow. One three-digited hand clasped around the hilt of the pistol underneath, a standard Predator model. He considered shooting out the computer and was already in the process of aiming the gun when he realised that risking putting a hole in his cleanroom would be idiotic. He was not thinking straight, courtesy of the potent liquor he had downed several hours before.

He put the gun aside and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Quarians were similar to humans in some ways, right down to lifespans. In Kanen's case, he would be thirty-four now, and despite his unique living where quarians were concerned, he was in reasonably good shape. It came with being a former Marine of the Migrant Fleet, as the urge to keep fit did not ever truly dissipate. His pale, faintly lavender-toned frame was well-built, and as was the case with all of his kind he had several curious and faintly glowing marks weaving along his body. Given how he spent ninety percent of his time in a suit, his dark hair was cut short, making it far less annoying to deal with when he had the helmet on. At the moment, there was a noticeable set of bags under his eyes, and his features appeared somewhat more pale than normal.

He reached over and tapped the "accept" button flashing on the holographic terminal. The call was audio only, yet the voice that came through was one he recognized immediately:

'Finally. It's Natasha. We need to meet.'

'Meet?' Kanen glanced at the computerised clock at the corner of the display. 'You do realise how late it is, right?'

'It's urgent. The whole operation could hinge on this. I need your help, Kanen. Please.' The last word was added with just the right kind of pleading tone. It was the kind that Kanen, even in his hungover state, would be hard-pressed to resist.

'All right, fine.' He had suspected getting involved with this woman would bring him trouble. From the somewhat worried edge to her voice, he was beginning to think he had been right in that assessment. 'Whereabouts?'

'Same as before. Get here as soon as you can.'

Same as before…It took Kanen a solid moment to remember just where it was he had last met the girl. It was a rather seedy establishment on the outskirts of New Thebes. Not the kind of place that would necessarily be welcoming to a quarian, but it was also the kind of place that could easily look past what he was if he proved to be a reliable and paying customer.

'Fine, fine. I'll be there soon.' He rose to his feet, slowly. He was still sore from what that turian had done to him the other day. Thinking about that now, he was reminded of how much he hated biotics. If he ever saw that turian again, he would stick a knife in him. Or he would try to; generally getting close to a biotic was difficult.

'Just sit tight, all right?' He was going to regret this, he just knew it. With a sigh, he ended the call and strode over to the closet. Thus began the laborious process of suiting up.

The city still bared the scars of the war. Bombed-out buildings remained as they had been left in the less affluent neighbourhoods, and some had since become makeshift homeless shelters for the world's population of disaffected citizens. The population was a mix, the most prominent being the batarians, with the humans a close second in terms of population size. After that, the minorities currently present included just about every Council species to some extent, a result of the influx of mercenaries that had come here during the war to sell their services to either side.

Anhur was a hub of black-market activity, and such illicit trade attracted all manner of scum and villainy. It had even managed to attract a certain exiled quarian, perhaps the only one on the entire planet. Of course, Kanen could not be one-hundred percent sure of that, but it seemed a safe assumption to make.

There were distinct sections to the city as a whole, from the wealthier central districts and suburbs to the much poorer higher-density areas. Kanen had made his money trading information and his skills, which had in turn allowed him to build a decent life here. This included owning an apartment in a more affluent and secure area of the city, away from the rubble and the disgruntled batarians who seemed the most likely to pick on a "suit rat". Even so, he had to have his wits about him just to walk the streets, and even now he took care to take the shortest route between his apartment and the automated taxi stop. Paying a little extra for a private cab was always worth it here in New Thebes.

The city was a hodgepodge of conflicting design aesthetics, mostly batarian or human in origin. There was little in the way of actual organization in how the city itself was arranged, with development having seen the city expand every which-way and quickly. The war had certainly stalled this, but enough time had passed for some of the larger developments to get back on track. Kanen rode the otherwise vacant flying taxi in silence, peering out the window as the city swept by him below. Many of the denser neighbourhoods were comprised of prefab structures, all piled up and connected by walkways and corridors. At least the central district resembled something of a modern city with a small collection of gleaming high-rises; a jewel amongst the Terminus Systems, yet one surrounded by muck. If there was ever a clear indication as to the economic inequality prevalent here, it was in this sight alone.

The night sky was only partly cloudy and the trio of moons that orbited Anhur appeared as silver crescents against the dark. The flying cab settled Kanen down into a mostly empty plaza in a more northerly quarter of town, and he disembarked into the subdued white glow provided by a nearby streetlight. Squat structures surrounded the small open courtyard, a mix of simple dwellings and multi-floored shopfronts. At this late hour, none of the shops here were open. Even the street ahead seemed empty. Kanen started at a steady walk, eyes scanning his surroundings closely as he moved. The heads-up display within his helmet offered some helpful indicators, as well as a night-vision mode that helped to highlight anything of note within the darkened alleys around him.

He passed by an oil drum fire near the entrance to one alleyway. Here, three vorcha loitered, their ghastly features locked onto the unusual sight of the quarian in his modified environment suit. These three were likely up to no good, although for now they seemed content to simply stand around the fire and speak quietly in their low, hissing tones. Kanen kept walking, finding his way to the establishment as specified.

It looked unassuming on the outside, an otherwise rectangular two-storey building with little to no signage and barred windows. There was one door at its eastern side over which hung a single glowing sign arranged in the batarian language. The name there roughly translated to "The Pit". A fitting name for such a place, and Kanen approached the metal door under close scrutiny from a bored looking krogan bouncer. The alien was dressed in black casual wear, his yellow eyes settling upon Kanen with suspicion.

'What do you want?' He asked, in the typically gruff tones of one of his kind.

'Entry.' With a deft hand, Kanen slipped a credit chit from under a strap at the left wrist of his armour. He had built plenty of hidden compartments inside this suit over the years, his ingenuity only increasing given time and practice.

'For me?' The krogran's big mouth formed into what Kanen took to be a smile. 'Well, I guess it would be rude of me to keep you out now.' He snatched the credit chit from Kanen, pocketing it before he stepped aside. Kanen nodded his thanks, approaching the door and pushing it open.

The room beyond was small and illuminated by neon red light. A batarian stood behind a counter that was walled in with reinforced plexiglass, and past that counter was a set of double doors that opened into the establishment proper. The batarian waved Kanen over, his four eyes surveying the quarian with some familiarity.

'You again?' The batarian had been here the last time Kanen had visited. 'You know the drill, suit boy. Weapons on the counter.'

A small opening at the bottom of the glass allowed for one to pass items through. Kanen had brought along his pistol, and he ejected the thermal clip from within it before he slid it through the opening. The batarian took it, gave it a once over and then put it aside to be tagged for pickup later.

'No trouble in there, is that clear?'

'Crystal.' Kanen hated this place. Were it not for the filters in his suit, he suspected the stink of sweat and tobacco and alien urine would probably be enough to give him a fever alone.

'Go on then.' The batarian nodded for the double doors. 'Have fun.' There was some obvious sarcasm in his voice. Kanen barely paid the batarian any further heed and pushed on through the doors. A set of stairs beyond them went down, and from ahead he could hear the cheers and shouts of an excited crowd. He could also hear the hard, unmistakable sound of fists and feet striking flesh. As he took these last several steps, Kanen surmised that he had arrived at a time when there was a real nasty fight on.

The main establishment was centred around a large circular fighting ring, wire fencing around its perimeter. The ring itself was set slightly lower than the spectator positions about it, so that those viewing the brawl would be offered a clear view of the action. The place was packed, filled to the brim with gamblers and drinkers. Human, batarian, turian; even a few asari and vorcha were scattered within the crowd, and dozens rattled the fence about the ring in their excitement as the brawl became especially heated. There was a shirtless turian in the ring, the flexible and firm plates that adorned his leathery flesh positively gleaming in the light. He moved with the agility of a trained athlete, practically running circles about his much larger opponent.

That one was a burly batarian in a snug-fitting leather vest, his muscular bulk far in excess of anything Kanen had seen on one of his kind before. Both opponents jabbed and kicked and side-stepped one another in a dazzling display of finesse, and for a moment Kanen found himself watching the brawl. The turian struck the batarian hard across the jaw then, landing a solid blow that sent the oversized alien stumbling hard against the fence behind him. And then the turian followed it with a full roundhouse kick that caught the batarian in the side of the head, sending forth a spray of spittle and blood. The crowd roared, some in approval, some in dismay at the sight of their favoured fighter taking such a beating.

Kanen looked past the fighting ring and towards the far corner of the establishment. There was a booth far off in the corner, the same one wherein he had initially met his contact more than a week before. The fact that the table was currently occupied by a trio of human men happily downing one shot of heavy liquor after another suggested that his contact was either not here or simply had not been able to get a seat at her favoured table.

Before he could ponder the matter further, he felt a hand land upon his left shoulder. He turned around quickly, heart suddenly pounding. There was an unassuming human male standing behind him, dressed in a blue and grey set of smart casual wear. His features, that of a man of about thirty, narrowed as they regarded the quarian before him.

'Apologies, sir. But you are Kanen'Jaslek?'

'I am.' Kanen frowned. He was not sure he trusted this man or the situation he had found himself in. Nonetheless, he remained where he was, looking to simply wait and see.

'Your friend, Natasha, told me you would be coming. She wishes to inform you that she apologises for not being able to make it. My boss, and the proprietor of this establishment, has had some interactions with her and would very much like to make your acquaintance.'

'Is that so?' Kanen did not trust this at all. He became aware of two heavyset human men moving in behind him, dressed in black suits. Bouncers or bodyguards or both, it hardly mattered. Kanen looked to the exit, figuring that he could make a run for it. That was until he felt the unmistakable prodding of a gun barrel in his lower back. Upon feeling it there, it was not fear or anxiety that rushed over him in response. Rather, it was a sense of simple frustration, weariness even of having seemingly the worst luck on Anhur.

'I assume your boss won't take "no" for an answer?'

The man before him smiled, giving him a single nod. One of the bouncers at his rear shoved him forwards. Kanen took the hint and began walking, gun at his back whilst the bouncer in question kept his other hand firmly clutching the quarian's shoulder. They guided him through the crowd of spectators and gamblers, and down in the ring both the batarian and the turian were beginning to look especially bloody. The floor was becoming smeared with a mix of red and dark blue blood, and the formerly deft movements of both fighters had become slower and more lethargic. They were beating each other into a pulp in there, with neither fighter willing to yield. With a crowd as voracious and bloodthirsty as this, who would truly wish to be the one to yield first?

There was a table right down at one end of the ring, slightly elevated above those around it. An elderly human male was seated there, flanked by two bodyguards. He wore an elegant grey suit, his white hair close-cropped and his face clean-shaven. Pale blue eyes were set upon the fight in the ring, but as Kanen neared they flitted to him and seemed to light up with curiosity upon sighting the quarian. The bouncers forced Kanen down into the vacant seat across from the human, and for a moment there neither said anything.

Slowly, the old human male reached over and picked up the glass of expensive liquor upon the table in front of him. Kanen watched, unsure of what to make of this man or this impromptu meeting. What he could determine was that it was not a situation he wished to be in, and his mind was already working quickly to find a path out of this mess. When one did what Kanen did for a living, trust was hard to come by and it was likely one could wake up in the morning only to find that a whole bunch of people they had never met before wanted them dead. Kanen suspected that if one was to list all the enemies he had made over the years, they would need an exceptionally long piece of paper.

'Kanen'Jaslek,' the old man stated, blue eyes settling upon the faceplate of the quarian's helmet. 'There is no mistaking you, that is for sure. Not many quarians come out this way. Those that do are either one of two things: pilgrims who got lost, or fugitives looking to disappear. And I suspect that your pilgrimage was done and dusted a long time ago.'

'Who are you?' Kanen asked, not bothering to hide the irritation from his voice. The old man's own tones carried hints of an unusual accent he had not heard from any human before; perhaps it was the translator glitching out, but he had picked up enough of the more common human languages to know that what he was hearing was really how this man sounded.

'I am simply the owner of this establishment,' the old man stated. 'A businessman, first and foremost. I am also one with connections all throughout the sector, connections that sometimes pass to me certain intriguing pieces of information.' The old man, the Proprietor, took a sip from his glass. Kanen remained still, well aware of the gun that was still being pointed at him. This time, it was pointed at his upper back with little more than two inches between him and the business end of the barrel.

'For instance, I am aware of your extra-curricular activities,' the Proprietor added. 'That you are a small-time information broker, aside from being a mercenary. And that for a time, you served as bodyguard to the Governor, Johan Van Rensberg. A position that paid exceptionally well and allowed you to construct for yourself a comfortable living when so many others on this planet wallow in poverty.'

To say that Kanen felt uncomfortable with this stranger knowing so much about him would be an understatement. He felt that he had walked into a snare of some kind, yet he could not understand why his contact may have placed him in such a position. No, this had to be someone else's doing.

'You fell out of favour with the Governor six months ago and were subsequently approached by others to provide certain services.' The Proprietor gave him a wry, uneven smile. 'Am I mistaken, Kanen?'

'What do you want from me?' The quarian demanded, feeling his anger rise. The Proprietor's smile fell away, his aged features adopting a more serious countenance.

'Your contact is known as "Natasha". I wish to acquire her.'

'Isn't she here?'

'Evidently, no. But I suspect your presence here will encourage her to pay us a visit.' The Proprietor finished off his glass, before he set it carefully back upon the table. 'If I may shed some light upon your obvious confusion, I am a businessman, as I said. And that means I must make certain decisions to keep my business afloat. An interested party informed me that they are willing to pay a great deal for what your friend has in her possession. It was only very recently that she acquired information that my potential benefactor has deemed to be of a sensitive nature. You are my best means of finding her.'

'Look, I don't know her all that well.' Kanen went to stand up then, only for the bodyguard behind him to push him back down hard into his seat. 'She came to me because she wanted local help.'

'She came to you because you have become an informant to multiple sides of a conflict that has been waged behind the scenes for many years,' the Proprietor countered. He sounded sure of himself here, so sure that Kanen found himself momentarily at a loss for words. 'Every major species in this galaxy is trying to get the better of the others through covert means. My kind has Cerberus, the turians have their own black ops, even the asari have their commandos. Covert soldiers fighting an invisible war. The Citadel, the Council, it is a mere façade. You, my quarian friend, have found yourself embroiled in something far beyond your understanding.' He paused then, allowing his words to sink in. Kanen did not entirely disagree with his assessment of galactic politics; when it came to getting the short end of the stick, the quarians had turned it into an art form. Every species was looking for a way to get an advantage over the rest without starting any wars. And then there were those individuals within every intelligent race who were simply out for themselves, so much so they would trample their own kind to get ahead.

'You pass information to the Alliance assets concealed here on Anhur,' the Proprietor added. 'You then pass information to the turians. And you have gone out of your way for a stranger, this Natasha, because of her seemingly bottomless pockets. You are clearly unaware of the trouble she has caused most recently? It pains me greatly to be the one to break this news to you, but the woman has used you, Kanen. She used you for her own selfish gain. Her vendetta against Cerberus has cost many lives, and it will likely cost many more to come. You will tell us what you know of her, and that includes her potential whereabouts.' This latter sentence was not phrased as a question or even a request. Rather, it was a statement of fact. These people, whoever they were, were going to make his life a living hell if he did not get out of here right now. And if he ever did see that woman again, he would have an awful lot of questions to ask her.

'Someone's paying you to grab her?' Kanen scowled, even though he knew most of the expression would be lost through his helmet's visor. 'You really think she would come here, for me? We've exchanged information a few times, that's it. Hardly the kind of relationship that would encourage a rescue, if that is what you're hoping for.' When he put it that way, it really did seem he had been used. Sure, he had suspected as much at the time, but the reward money had been too good to pass up.

'We shall see, Mister Kanen'Jaslek.' The Proprietor managed to sound so self-assured it grated deeply upon Kanen's nerves. His gaze went down to the arena fight below. The turian had gained the better of his batarian opponent, and now he had the bloodied and bruised alien in a headlock. The batarian was struggling, albeit feebly.

'A fine fighter, is he not?' The Proprietor said, directing Kanen's attention to the pair down in the ring. 'Former Blue Suns. He carries with him a calculating ruthlessness that I find most impressive.'

These people must have been confident Natasha would come. Kanen still had a gun pointing at his upper back. Slowly, he bent his left wrist inwards such that his fingers could reach the small, concealed pressure pad built into the armour under his left forearm. With a barely discernible click, the compartment underneath opened and a set of twin barrels appeared. Just another small modification he had made to his suit during his years as an exile.

'You are a player in a much broader game,' the Proprietor added. Kanen looked about the room then, at the excited crowd and the fighters in the pit and then towards the old man who ran it all. If he was to do anything here, he would have only one chance to do so. He shifted in his chair slightly, planting his feet hard against the floor. One wrong move and he would get a bullet in the back. As such, he had to ensure that the one move he did make was not the "wrong" one.

'There is one thing that I haven't been able to ascertain in regards to your past,' the Proprietor said, his ageing features adopting a more curious expression. 'That is, whatever did you do that was so serious, so heinous, that it saw you exiled from the Migrant Fleet?'

Kanen did not reply. He threw himself backwards then, slamming into the bodyguard and knocking his gun-wielding hand aside. The Proprietor's eyes widened noticeably, and in the seconds it took for those standing around the table to realise what was happening, Kanen had already planted one powerful elbow strike into the throat of the bodyguard behind him. The man fell backwards, gasping for air, and as he went down Kanen spun to face the Proprietor and pointed the dual-barrelled concealed shotgun directly into his face.

'Nobody move or the old man gets his head blown off!' Kanen's eyes darted from one bodyguard to another. They were all reaching for their guns, three of them all standing about the table. Some of the patrons in the fight club had shifted their attention to the new scuffle that had broken out at the owner's table. What they saw was a quarian in a heavily modified environment suit pointing a crude shotgun at the club's owner. Behind him, a bodyguard had fallen, writhing about in an effort to overcome the sudden choking sensation that had taken hold in his neck.

Kanen darted about the table and pulled the Proprietor up and out of his chair. He held the old man out in front of him, daring the bodyguards to shoot.

'Get back!' He barked at them, yet they hardly looked willing to listen. 'Damn it, get back or he dies!'

The fight in the pit had stopped. The turian fighter, the batarian still clutched in a headlock, did an abrupt and cruel twist with his powerful arms, a loud crack sounding out as the batarian fighter's neck broke. He allowed the alien's body to crumple into a heap at his feet, before he turned for the fence surrounding the ring and darted straight for it. Suddenly, there was a bloodied and topless turian scrambling up the wire fence behind him. Kanen could not turn to face him, not without exposing himself to the Proprietor's bodyguards. And then there were the people within the spectator crowd itself who may have been in the old man's employ…

One of the bodyguards drew his gun as Kanen turned his way again. Without even thinking it through, Kanen shifted his forearm cannon away from the Proprietor and straight at the bodyguard. He fired one barrel, the flechette rounds tearing through the bodyguard's chest. A bloody eruption followed, with a fist-sized hole having been shot through the man's sternum. And then he fell backwards against a table, the whole thing collapsing under his weight, plates and glasses falling with him and shattering across the floor.

A stunned, uneasy silence fell upon the club then. All eyes went to the quarian and his worried-looking hostage.

'Shit,' Kanen muttered, right as the turian fighter jumped down from the top of the wire and landed behind him. He spun about to face this newest threat, seeing in that turian's eyes an unmistakable bloodlust. And so, acting on impulse once again Kanen threw the Proprietor at the turian, sending both stumbling back into the fence. He fired his forearm shotgun, and the second barrel blasted forth a torrent of buckshot that blew off part of the turian's head. Dark blue blood spattered in a gory mess, and his lifeless corpse landed on top of the ageing Proprietor, who emitted a startled and pained grunt as he was beset with the unwanted weight.

People were screaming about him now. Panic reigned throughout the fight club, and Kanen was almost knocked aside by one man as he went racing for the exit. The other bodyguards tried to ready their guns, only to be shoved and knocked about by the dozens of people now trying to push their way to the exit. Kanen threw himself to the floor, knocking over the Proprietor's table as he did so. His hand found its way around the hilt of the pistol of the dead bodyguard, and he brought up the Carnifex model and opened fire.

Another of the bodyguards fell, a bloody hole shot through his torso. Further behind him, the burly human bartender working the counter appeared with a submachine gun in hand. It was a Tempest model, the kind that could spew an awful lot of rounds downrange very quickly. Seeing Kanen partly behind the overturned table, the bartender opened fire, raking the torrent of rounds across the row of tables and chairs about Kanen. The quarian ducked as several bullets clipped the top of the overturned table. Several of the panicked patrons running by twitched and spun as they were caught by the hail of bullets mid-run, sending them sprawling to the floor.

Another of the bodyguards brought up his own pistol and fired a shot, and this one set Kanen's kinetic barriers flaring. The quarian threw himself around the overturned table, pistol raised and finger working the trigger twice, both rounds hitting the bodyguard in the chest. The man crumpled into a bloodied heap, and as soon as he was down Kanen was up and he fixed his determined gaze upon the portly bartender, who was now fiddling with his submachine gun, attempting to eject the thermal clip.

Kanen levelled his pistol, the area between them now somewhat clear of panicked patrons. He fired a shot that hit the bartender square in the chest, and the portly man fell into a heap with his eyes wide in a mix of shock and pain. As soon as he was down, Kanen turned to the Proprietor, who remained sprawled on the floor with a dead turian on top of him. The quarian needed to make himself scarce quick, but he needed answers and the old man was his best bet for them.

'You're coming with me,' Kanen stated, and he reached down and grabbed the old human by the collar. He kicked the dead turian off of the Proprietor before pulling him to his feet. Yanking him along and ignoring his protests, Kanen started for the exit. He was part of the way there when the double doors swung open, and the krogan bouncer from the front door appeared with a large shotgun in his beefy hands. It was the kind of model weapon that was large and unwieldly for most, yet in the krogan's grasp it looked like a toy. His yellow eyes fell upon Kanen, in the process of pulling the Proprietor along, and the quarian could have sworn he saw the krogan's wide mouth shift into a smirk. He brought the shotgun to bear and fired, the noise like thunder within the confines of the fight club. Kanen dived to the floor, only dimly aware that the Proprietor went down with a bloody hole torn through his chest. The krogan stepped forwards, firing again, and the table closest to Kanen was simply torn in half by the devastating blast. And then, with an annoyed huff, the bulky alien began to reload.

Kanen was up on his feet then, just as the krogan readied his weapon for another shot. Kanen dived forwards, firing his pistol as he went down, putting three rounds through the krogan's chest. His enemy stumbled, blood spilling forth, yet the alien emitted a low rumble that Kanen realised was a chuckle. And then the krogan fired again, and this was enough to spur Kanen into a full pelt run. The quarian dived over the bar counter as another of the shotgun blasts blew a chunk out of the wall near him, glasses and bottles on the shelving there shattering and showering him with liquor and slivers of glass.

Kanen landed in a heap behind the counter. The bartender lay here in a pool of his own blood, eyes wide open and vacant. With a dead man for company and a krogan stomping his way, Kanen took a brief moment to ponder just what had landed him in this mess. He was no stranger to violence: as a Marine in the flotilla he had seen his fair share of fighting. Granted, that had been mainly against geth, but since coming out to the greater galaxy at large he had fought plenty of organic enemies. Organics tended to die messier deaths, with the blood and tears and screams and involuntary bowel movements. Nothing could empty a man's bowels faster than one's imminent death, and he was starting to suspect the bartender had found this out firsthand.

Kanen rose up from behind the bar, firing as he went. He hit the krogan as he moved, the inadvertent stumble causing the alien's shot to fly wide. Another hole was shot in the krogan's torso, then another, and then Kanen shifted his aim up just enough for the third to strike the burly alien in the head. This put him down suddenly, and he fell to the floor in an abrupt, unceremonious manner whilst making barely a sound of his own. He was standing and firing and alive one second, dead the next. Even with all his previous experience, Kanen often found it disconcerting just how quickly one's life could end.

As soon as the krogan was down, he vaulted over the counter and raced for the exit. He stumbled out onto the darkened street with his heart racing, and he took a moment outside to gather himself. There were several people out here, patrons from the fight club and passersby, and they had all started staring at him. Aware that he was quickly becoming the centre of attention, Kanen started jogging down the street, intent at putting as much space between him and the fight club as he could.

It was barely a minute before he realised he was being followed. There were four of them, all human and all dressed in similar attire, much the same as the bodyguards in the club had been. They did not fire on him in the open street, and instead simply kept pace after him, breaking into a jog when he did.

Kanen saw them coming and turned the corner into an alley, passing by a homeless batarian who had been attempting to get some sleep under some plastic sheets of insulation, no doubt ripped from some prefab structure somewhere. The batarian swore at the disturbance, and then swore some more at the four men who tramped on past him.

Kanen stopped in a small courtyard between townhouses, seeing in the lane ahead another two figures emerge. It seemed the Proprietor had many thugs in his employ, and they were all converging right on his position. Even with his kinetic barriers active and his pistol ready to go, Kanen did not fancy his chances being surrounded like he was.

He held up his hands, offering the gunmen a sheepish smile. Sure, they could not see it through his helmet, but it was the thought that counted.

'Look, we can talk this over. Your boss, he's dead. You don't have to work for that guy anymore.' Kanen realised that was perhaps the one line of discussion that was unlikely to help, for if their boss was dead then who would pay them? Unless there were others willing to pay for his capture, and from what the Proprietor had said it seemed that there were most definitely other parties interested in him, or rather the woman he had assisted in recent months. Damn her, Kanen thought in that moment, damn that human bitch and her wiles. He would never trust a woman again, human or otherwise.

Suddenly, he heard something hit the ground a few paces from him. It had to have been small and comprised of metal judging from the noise it made, yet before he could take a look there sounded a deafening crack and his vision filled with white light. He stumbled, blinded, his suit's visor struggling to polarise in response to the sudden rush of brilliance. Panicked shouts emerged from the gunmen about him, for they were as stunned as he was. Kanen realised then that someone had set off a flashbang of some variety, and now he was stumbling about like an idiot trying to work out where he was in relation to everyone else.

Gunshots sounded, but only a few. He heard the cough of a suppressed weapon, multiple shots sounding off, and then he heard more than one body hit the ground. Kanen's vision returned to normal over the course of several seconds, and had he not had his helmet on he would have been rubbing his eyes vigorously. As it was, he could only wait for them to adjust, and as they cleared he found himself looking into the face of a young and certainly attractive human woman with black hair and blue eyes. Her hair was tied back, and her eyes regarded him from somewhat pale features with a mix of curiosity and amusement. In one hand, she clasped a bulky pistol fitted with a suppressor, one of the newer Alliance M-11 models.

'Are you okay, Kanen?' Natasha asked him. She wore a simple set of civilian clothes, comprised of a light brown flight jacket and blue, snug-fitting pants that did much to accentuate her feminine curves. She had to have been no more than twenty-five, perhaps twenty-six at most. Kanen could not be sure; he was no expert on telling humans apart. Even so, there was no mistaking this woman, nor that wry smile of hers.

'Okay?' Kanen looked about the courtyard and at the bodies of the six men sprawled around him. An old woman watched him from the balcony above, glaring at him and Natasha. She then quietly ducked back inside her apartment, knowing better than to stick her nose in such business here on Anhur.

'Am I okay?' Kanen repeated, and he saw Natasha's smile broaden. He was not even sure if that was her real name. 'You called me out here and I end up with half the neighbourhood trying to kill me, all because they're after you.'

'I couldn't get word to you, I'm sorry.' Natasha slipped her pistol back into the holster under her jacket. 'Someone's put a price on my head. I think I may have been used.'

'Used?'

'Look, to put it simply, I may have blown the lid on something a whole lot more complicated. Come on, we'll go to your apartment. My place isn't safe.' She started walking down the nearby lane then, as if that settled the matter. Kanen, who had been expecting some kind of explanation, started after her.

'Hey, hey, wait a minute…' He started, before he simply sighed and went after her. He would have warned her that his apartment was not well suited for anyone who was not quarian, but he supposed that was irrelevant now. Part of him felt that the longer he spent with this woman, the more likely his odds of being killed. Even so, he could not bring himself to turn away such an attractive example of the human species. That, and he was simply curious as to what was going on, and right now Natasha was his best chance at getting answers.