FIVE
Spot the Merc
Shepard crashes against the curving guide-rail of the skycar lane, sliding down its length as she goes. Her gut stings, burnt where the attack had impacted it, but she grits her teeth and pushes the pain from her mind. Her grasp quickly loosens, one hand slipping from the rail just as her appropriated Avenger falls over the precipice. She is shortly to follow, a glimpse of the precipitous fall—and the swarming skycars there within—her only prelude. And she drops, feet-first, passing between two cars as she goes. She skims another and bumps against a forth, careening now as a fifth comes to meet her. Despite its over-use already, Shepard has no choice: She summons her biotics. Her arms fly out, turn in a lifting motion, and a rush of electric-blue flits about her body; her momentum cuts clean in half, pushing her in an arc that skims over the hood of a skycar and down toward another.
She drops hard—but safely—against the windshield of the next, tumbling with the impact and careening toward the side. One hand flies out, snatches on an edge, but just as quickly slips. She drops again, strikes against a skycar's engine block, and careens down to land atop another. To this one she grips tight, hanging precariously off one side and dragging it into a tilt as she does. The ground—maybe a storey below, now—flies beneath in a blur of colours and shapes. She thinks she spots a clearing between buildings, devoid of threats and civilians both, but the passing seconds threaten to bring her too far past this.
With the thunder of a thousand pains assailing her, and the tang of blood in her mouth, Shepard keeps her hold for some terrible and perilous seconds before the moment rushes up to meet her. She drops again, curling up her limbs as she does, and sails between a flurry of traffic before the ground begins to rapidly approach her. At the last second, she crosses her arms and demands a final trick of her biotics. Her skull bursts into retaliatory agony, outraged at these endless demands, yet Shepard's will is not denied; inches from the ground her biotics react in a burst of rippling energy and an envelope of mass effect. She halts mid-air, all momentum stolen by the stasis field so firmly stretched about herself. It lasts mere seconds—all her over-taxed mind can muster—before, with a flicker, she drops to her hands and knees.
And the throb in her head sling-shots back to the fore. She groans, fingers on her skull, but barely hesitates more than a moment. She rises, staggers, and turns a glance back the way she came. Three storeys at least, she realizes. The skycars above take no notice of her, barely disrupted in their travel, and, at this angle, no sign of Shepard's companions can be gleaned either. She pops her neck, spits the blood from her mouth, and checks next the burn in her abdomen. A hole has been scorched clean through her dress coat, the shirt beneath, and into the second layer of skin; she needs not see it clearly to know this much. She's had enough burns to know the difference. At least it wasn't deadly.
No sooner does this thought occur, however, than does a change in the traffic above steal her attention. Several cars break from the stream—each a navy blue with black accents—and Shepard snatches up her pistol instantly. Three C-Sec cruisers make a break for her, rushing her position in seconds. She has no choice but to assume them to be enemies. She looses four bolts—token resistance at best—before turning tail and racing for the far side of the street onto which she's fallen. Her left leg screams in protest—a bruise or a sprain, maybe—but she pushes it from her mind. This level is mostly narrow alleys and the bases of taller buildings, some stretching up to the level above. What catches her eye most, however, is an alley with access to the maintenance ways. The keepers won't be any help, but their tunnels just might.
Shepard sprints for the alley and ducks inside, a chorus of gunfire following after. The C-Sec cruisers hover in pursuit, their occupants firing fully-automatic from the windows. A saturating salvo scatters about her, catching on her barriers and blasting craters in the floor-panels. At the maintenance tunnel, she leaps past a working keeper and through the open passage, rolling with the fall. The keeper is blasted to pieces in her place, silent and uncaring in death as in life. She pays it no mind. The tunnel here is low-lit, narrow and uneven. She figures this to be an advantage. She rushes down the corridor and makes the first turn, the sound of boot-steps following behind.
As the false officers flood into the corridor, guns trained solely ahead, another figure watches from a corner of the alley. Sixteen combatants in all, counts the figure, each as undisciplined and unconvincingly C-Sec as the last. The figure relays this information through its omni-tool, illuminating in the orange glow a human form, a masculine profile, and a pair of glinting eyes in the gloom. With the message sent, he fingers the handle of a pistol affixed to a mag-holster at the base of his spine. He could be killer today, but his job is informant instead. A message returns a moment later. The Informant answers, disappointed but compliant. Shepard's chances seem slim, by his reckoning, but the big-man says otherwise. Fair enough. Instead of following the mercenaries in their pursuit, the Informant opens a menu on his omni-tool. Three messages are already prepared, the first to C-Sec HQ and the second to a certain quarian in Shepard's employ; the former details information on the mercenaries currently wearing their stripes, the second details the elusive cargo so recently smuggled through the Citadel. The last message contains coordinates, Shepard's probable location, sent to a krogan willing and ready to save her. With this, the Informant reaches into a coat pocket and draws a cigarette for one hand, a flip-lighter for the other. The burning end of his cigarette flickers in the gloom, allowing a single breath of aromatic death to billow before his eyes. They glimmer blue with cybernetics.
The Emissary stares at her omni-tool, an azure fire burning in her eyes. Failure is the word that echoes in her mind, resonates from the text message sent her way. Shepard still lives. She growls, teeth grit, and squeezes a fist; a powerful haze of biotic energy whirls about her fingers, coalescing at her knuckles just as she thrusts out her fist. It impacts the wall and crunches it inward, leaving a warped crater. With this, her anger subsides into a quiet simmer. She stands before a window again, this one overlooking the Presidium, but she shortly turns away from it and begins to run scenarios through her mind. Killing Shepard is no longer the goal—not for her Benefactors, at least—but this failure to do so somehow strikes her deeper than expected. That Benezia's killer might escape again, go on to meddle in the great matriarch's legacy... this has become too much to bear. No, the plan is underway—the Device is nearly complete. Now is the time for action. It will not interfere with the greater plan.
Once again, the Emissary opens her omni-tool and begins to write a reply. Track Shepard down, she orders, I will deal with her myself. For a moment, she traces a finger over the scar which streaks down the side of her face—a reminder of her adversary, of her own failure. Benezia will be avenged. With cold resolution in her gaze, she moves to make ready her skycar.
Shepard bites back a hiss and presses her remaining medi-gel into the wound on her abdomen. Her dress coat was removed, left discarded nearby, and the plain, black long-sleeve beneath has been rolled up past her midsection. The burn there revealed is perfectly circular, a scorch by laser precision, but it shortly begins to cease its complaining as the medi-gel goes to work. This isn't quite enough. After treating her neck wound some time ago, the remaining medi-gel can barely cover her freshest injury. It still bleeds. To make matters worse, the fall tore her previous one—sent blood streaming down her neck—and she makes quick now to staunch it. She removes her long-sleeve, tears it open from the point at which the sniper impacted, and makes from the length of it a de facto bandage for her burn. As for her neck, she cuts a wad of fabric with her omni-blade, presses it into the wound, and holds. She winces, but endures. Standard-issue Alliance gene-enhancements are supposed to make her heal faster, make her blood clot quicker, but it always takes too damn long either way. This is always the worst part—when the adrenaline fades and the pains set in.
Shepard reclines against the wall behind her and takes a moment to breathe. She's in a small and narrow compartment—an alcove from a corridor which runs beneath a wider one. From here, low, scarlet light from above casts shadows from behind a grate and bathes her in its rubedo. Last she checked, the mercs were swarming over the area. She'll kill them soon enough, if they make her, but not just now. Now is the time for pain. Her headache throbs, her muscles scream, and her stomach, gladly adding to the list of complaints, feels empty enough to form a vacuum. But she's alive. That's more than she can confirm for her allies. For the fifteenth time, she tries to start a call through her omni-tool. Extra-net access fails to connect, contacts fail to materialize, and even her omni-blade—used not a minute ago—now forms with perceptible lag. Whatever happened back at the safe house, it must have hit her omni-tool with malware. Still, she can't begin to figure out how. She saw no one in the room who could have hit four separate systems at once, not to mention the Spectres' own internal security, and leave it devastated for so long. Taleena didn't seem the type for tech like that, either. But, then again, her leave was far too convenient to rule her out. Any Spectre could get tech like this, in truth. Shepard has no reason, even still, to trust either of them.
All of this only serves to make her headache worse. With a groan, she braces her forehead and tries to calm her mind. At the thought, blue fills her mind's eye and blocks out the red from above. Interlocked, they rolled into her bed, a tangle of gentle blue and scar-scattered porcelain. She gripped Shepard with desperate tenacity, as if when next they part she might well vanish, and like this she pressed their faces close—nose to nose, each breath a shared endeavour. A wondrous pause in the chaos that submerged them, a moment of calm in the eye of the storm. Shepard braced her with a hand, a gentle touch to trail the curious fringe which so well echoed something human in her exotic form. And a glorious crescendo rose about them, errant thrusts and quivers drawn to greater heights until—a seize, a tremour—Shepard held her tight against it. A bolt, electrum, arced between them, melding thought and sense, emotion all, into a single, incandescent peak. Liara's eyes, black-shifted, fluttered closed as Shepard kissed her.
The Commander sighs. That crystalline moment was weeks ago, when nothing was certain and Saren sought the Conduit. Somehow, she can still feel that bridge between them—that inscrutable connection which deciphered the Beacon's message, which lead them to Ilos, which stopped Saren; that connection which entangled them both so perfectly together. She can still feel it. Maybe that's a good sign. For a fleeting moment, Shepard smiles. Even in the afterglow, she asked Liara for a round two. If they—when, she corrects—they meet again, they'll have to marathon it instead.
With a growl against the pain, Shepard comes to stand again. A check of her neck-wound confirms the bleeding has stopped, so she discards the wad of fabric used to staunch it. She throws back on what's left of her long-sleeve—any extra layers will be better than none, if she's shot again—then retrieves her coat as well. The former exposes much of her midsection, her makeshift bandage as well, and the latter she leaves unbuttoned with sleeves cuffed. A check of her Predator confirms that everything is in working order—at least something was unaffected by the fall—so she draws her fingers across the words king me. "Hold on, blue," she murmurs. "I'll see you soon."
Shepard climbs up through the parted grate she'd opened earlier. From here, she emerges into a narrow corridor and tightens her stance. With a low profile, and a finger on the trigger, she creeps down toward the end of the corridor and pauses at a threshold. Here, she presses in close and dares a swift peek beyond. The Marine Corps taught her to count heads, assess a room with the barest seconds of a glance; she sees three heads, three rifles, and a two-pronged path ahead. She figures she'll find the surface again if she travels far enough, but she'd rather not go through every merc to get there. Now is the time for a subtle approach. As she considers her next move, however, sounds begin to echo her way from the opposite side of the corridor. Voices, boot-steps—both advancing quickly. Forward it is.
A moment later, Shepard darts out into the low-lit chamber beyond, skirting a back-turned mercenary as she does. She comes within a few feet of him, her gentle steps drowned beneath the drone of Citadel machinery, and darts into one of the two paths diverging ahead. Here, she presses into the corner and freezes still. The mercenary twitches—maybe she made more noise than she thought—and turns with a lazy sort of slowness as he goes to investigate the area from whence she came. Eventually, his eyes settle on a keeper standing nearby; it remains nearly statuesque, its hands moving at a console. The merc growls something in frustration, then kicks the bug hard. It stumbles, recovers, and goes directly back to what it was doing. Shepard takes her chance to move onward.
Down the corridor, another chamber lies beyond; this one extends upward for some floors, inexplicable in its purpose or function. In some ways, it feels oddly older than the rest of the Citadel. The air is stale, resounding with a dozen footsteps and muted voices. There is something ghostly about this place, its only inhabitants the keepers themselves, but she pays little mind to this now. If nothing else, the darkness gives her an advantage. She crosses the room swiftly and tucks herself out of view behind a keeper; from here, she can survey the rest of the chamber. She counts seven mercenaries in total, two of which walk the level above. Each has a flashlight at the end of his gun and each moves with careful vigilance, as Shepard might well pop out to strike at any moment. And they're wise to do so, she thinks, though it hardly makes a difference now. Across the room—behind five other mercs engaged in the same search—is a wide set of auto-doors that seem to offer egress. Her only other option would be the branching staircases nearby, which would only lead her further up.
Shepard plots her route, who she might kill and she who she might bypass, when movement, back the way she came, catches her eye. Two more mercs appear—the source of the voices and footsteps from earlier, no doubt. They stride into the middle of the room just as another—a better-armoured one who stands nearby—orders them to sweep the upper levels. They comply, passing Shepard without notice. This, however, gives her an idea.
When no lights are cast her direction, the Commander hops to her feet and races after the men who passed her. She shadows them up the step a ways, then follows the leftmost staircase when it branches. She is a mere ten feet behind the merc ahead of her, but she keeps her foot-steps soft and careful as she goes. Sure enough, he takes no notice of her as she darts to one side of the stairs and holds still. The two mercs meet again, then take the next flight up. She makes a right instead. At the far end of the walkway here, another merc is actively searching; along the walkway behind her, so is another. If she isn't careful, she can easily be boxed-in. Shepard keeps her pistol raised and ready as she marches on ahead. Her objective—the auto-doors on the level beneath her—are within sight from here; if she's wise, she can drop down from above and bypass the mercs below. Or, at the least, she'll have the advantage of surprise. She notes, as she moves, that the wall to her right is lined in chambers—like empty shops in a mall—each of which is barren, grey-scale, and bathed in darkness. It strikes her, suddenly, that she has seen structures like this before on the Citadel—areas currently populated, with active shops and foot-traffic. This place is like a barren, lifeless mirror to the Wards. She wonders why the keepers would make it this way.
Moments after stealing for the far side of the walkway, however, Shepard is forced to duck into the threshold of an empty shop chamber. The merc on the far side turns her direction in the next instant, his flashlight cast over the dusty railings and grey-toned floor-panels. Shepard presses in and takes a deep breath to hold, her pistol raised. Boot-steps shortly advance toward her. A glance at the nearby shop chamber casts doubt on its effectiveness as a hiding space; one shine of a flashlight and she would have no concealment to speak of. Here, where she stands statuesque in the threshold, offers at least the barest semblance of cover. It will have to do for the moment. Besides, she already has another use for the chamber in mind.
At length, as the footsteps draw closer, she sheaths her pistol on her thigh and squeezes her left fist. The instant the shoulder pad of her foe slips into view, she moves. Her omni-tool flicks on, blade extending from atop her hand, and without a word or warning she strikes up to plunge it through his throat. A scream dies behind his tongue, spat out as a bloody gurgle that carries no further than she. Shepard seizes him about the shoulders, spurting blood across her arms, and drags him, kicking, into the chamber behind her. Once inside, she rips free her blade and lets him drop, spasming, to the ground. His rifle lies discarded to one side. In seconds, he no longer has a use for it. She takes it instead. When his thrashing stops, Shepard stoops down to inspect his armaments; he carries a single grenade, incendiary, which strikes her as amusing. They really want her dead, it seems. She takes this too.
Blood-spattered, Shepard emerges onto the walkway, rifle raised, and insures the flashlight is turned off. The other merc, across the way, has taken no notice. Good. Shepard keeps low and crosses the remaining length of the level, finding that it arcs abruptly leftward and runs above the door she seeks. Now for a distraction. Crouched as she is, near the railing of the walkway, she takes her grenade and primes it for ten seconds. With this, she hurls it high to the fourth level—two above her own—and tucks herself in cover. Moments later, it erupts in a blinding flash and thunderous crack, smouldering flame in its wake. The mercenaries collectively jump, hesitating only a moment before their leader—directly below where Shepard hides—barks orders at his men. Most rush off toward the upper level, but four remain near the exit. Shepard keeps careful count, but remains hidden, until she hears the response-force clamber up to the fourth level. Next, it's her move. Two mercs to the left, one to the right, the leader in the middle—simple enough.
With rifle raised, Shepard steps onto the railing, takes aim toward the rigthtmost merc, and unleashes a burst of five bolts. She drops him the instant she falls, her Avenger rifle tossed to the side as her omni-blade materializes once more. She drops hard behind the lead merc and stabs him through the shoulder, hauling him against herself as her free hand flashes for her pistol. The other two mercs spin about, wild salvos glancing off her meat-shield's barriers, and she returns with contrasting precision. Four rounds each in rapid succession, cracking shields and helmets both, drop the two before their leader has a chance for action. He thrusts back an elbow, strikes Shepard in her burn, and knocks her back; she groans, staggered, but counters even as he turns. Despite his wounds, the leader spins, pistol drawn, and shrieks in horror is it meets an omni-blade. Shepard slashes wide and severs his hand at the wrist, making room for her pistol to swing about again. He shrieks, then takes a bolt against his barriers and second through his visor. The leader drops dead, lending Shepard precious seconds to react.
She darts for the exit, taking her appropriated Avenger as she goes, and bursts out into the room beyond. Here, however, she freezes. Two men turn—mercs in C-Sec garb—and flinch in surprise. Shepard doesn't waste a second. She darts for a nearby column, firing as she goes, but manages only to glance their barriers as they return the assault. Shepard's barriers warp and shatter, saving her, if barely, as she ducks behind the column. And the gunfire continues, saturating her position and pinning her where she is. Her brief glance confirmed a broad corridor, another mirror of something she's seen on the Citadel before, with a doorway at its end. Only two combatants, she thinks, but these are bad enough. If she stays here long, the mercs she tricked before will return to gun her down. Her mind races, calculates a dozen scenarios in fractions of a second, and yet, each time, she finds a single outcome to them: Death. There's no pretty way to come out of this.
That is until a new sound captures her attention. A thunderous boom resonates from somewhere out of view, down the corridor, and a scream is quick to follow. One of the mercs is sent flying suddenly, his side rent to bloody ribbons. Gunfire is returned, fired wild and erratic, before a flash of blue strikes with the force of a skycar. The last merc is sent flying toward the wall, crack hard against it dropping, still, to the ground. With breath tensely held, Shepard dares to glance at this new contender.
And then she sighs. Before her stands a krogan, bloodied yellow on the side of his head, with a scattering of cuts and craters stuck into his crimson hardsuit. He growls, then tips his head in greeting.
"Shepard."
The Commander can't help but chuckle.
"Wrex."
"Never thought I'd see the day."
"What, you saving my ass?"
"No." Wrex smirks. "That I'd find Commander Shepard hiding like a pyjack."
"Don't get your quads in a twist, big guy," answers the Commander. "I'm just getting warmed up."
"Sure." He steps past her, throws out his free hand, and activates his omni-tool. The doors through which Shepard came lock suddenly, the holo-icon an orange error sign. "Courtesy of Tali," he notes, "but it won't last long once those idiots figure out what I did. C'mon. I know a route to the surface."
They begin walking at a brisk pace, making for the exit opposite the hacked doors. Wrex carries his shotgun casually, but this doesn't indicate a lack of readiness. Shepard knows that well enough by now. They talk as they move.
"How'd you find me?" is Shepard's question.
"Damnedest thing," Wrex starts, "here I was, getting my ass shot at by a geth ghost and a small army of mercs, when I got a message. Contact name blocked, Extra-net code hidden. Gave me coordinates and a request: Keep her alive." He gives Shepard a glance with one eye, an uncharacteristic quirk of concern. "I'm guessing it was one of the Spectres."
Shepard works ideas through her head rapidly, but none seem to fit. If it was Manok or Taleena, why didn't the sender identify himself? It certainly wasn't one of her crew. At length, she decides to pack that info away for later.
"Speaking of," she prompts, "you were trying to say something before the call cut. My omni-tool was hacked—actually, everyone's was. Still trying to figure out how that happened."
"Taleena," answers the krogan curtly.
The two of them reach the exit doors and take defensive positions on either sides of the threshold. Their eyes meet.
"You think she's the traitor?" Shepard asks.
"If it's only one of them, then yes."
"But?"
"But I got a bad feeling, Shepard. Manok's up to something too."
"You're not saying that just because he's a salarian, are you?"
"I'm saying it because he's ex-S-T-G. Back-stabbing bastards, the lot."
"Fair enough, I guess."
Without the need for communication, the two move in synchrony. They breach the doors, weapons ready, and proceed slowly when no threats present themselves. More narrow and twisting corridors are revealed here, but these are better-lit than the last.
"Did you fight your way here?" Shepard asks at length.
"More or less. Turns out, the club where I met my contact wasn't too far off from where you met the Spectres. We're heading back that way now."
"What for?"
"Got a skycar ready nearby. Had to leave it before, but we should be able to sneak back."
"Well, this is starting to sound familiar." When Wrex's glance prompts her, she explains: "Manok said almost the same thing. We were relying on him for exfil. Never showed."
"Tellin' you, Shepard," Wrex answers. "Don't trust him. My advice? Put a slug between his bulbous eyes the next time you see him."
Shepard doesn't answer this, but some part of her agrees. Her instincts are rarely wrong, especially when the Reapers are concerned. With that, Wrex wordlessly takes point and Shepard watches their rear. She suspects it'll be a long trip.
Tali stares at her omni-tool's holo-screen in disbelief. She's gone over the data three times already, each time confirming its verity, and yet she still can't quite believe it. She sits in the passenger seat of a skycar, Garrus at the wheel. Something in her mind screams that this is wrong, that somehow the data is a trap or a trick, but she cannot deny that it does more good than anything they've been able to find thus far. Photographs depict fragments of Reaper-tech—almost certainly Sovereign's pieces—held in crates or smuggled away by shady characters in darkened docking ports; tracking data follows the flight path of the smuggling freighter they found, corroborating her earlier findings and filling in blanks; bow-side photos even show the freighter in transit, if magnified to the point of blurring by what can only be assumed to be great distance. Someone was tailing the freighter, documenting the smuggling, investigating whomever it is that's puppeteering the geth on the Citadel—and that someone did a thorough job. Tali has checked and re-checked the data with every software she can find, every photo-verification VI she can think of, and each time it has come back clean. As far as she can tell, it's the real thing.
"Try Shepard again," Garrus says, his hands on the control-wheel. "She wouldn't just ignore a call."
Tali does as asked, but can tell immediately that it will be as pointless as last time. Ever since the info was sent her way, she and Garrus have been trying to contact the Commander. Thus far, it has yielded them no results; something has crippled their omni-tools' communication software.
"I'm telling you," she says, "something's wrong. I can't even call Joker! I'm running anti-virus routines, but I can't seem to find the interference."
Garrus curses under his breath, then swerves through traffic as he rises to a higher elevation. Warning holograms flicker throughout the cockpit, threatening C-Sec intervention if traffic laws are violated further. He ignores them. He too has tried to call each of the others in turn, but got nothing. No Extra-net connection, no audio communications, nothing.
"Damn it, Shepard, where are you?" he mutters. Then, with a glance at Tali: "Are we close by?"
Tali checks another monitor on her omni-tool.
"A couple of minutes. It's a small warehouse, one level up."
At risk of another traffic violation, Garrus speeds the skycar up past a couple of others and defies the holo-outlined lane in order to fly more closely over the pedestrian streets. Countless shops and stands, signs and advertisements, flicker by beneath him as he skirts between the bases of two skyscrapers, bringing the car into view of something which steals his attention immediately. A few dozen metres away, and nearly directly below, the street is overspread with wrecked skyscars, pox-marked with battle-damage, and spattered with blood. The warehouse comes into view, precisely as Tali's coordinates confirmed, and yet neither pay much attention to this.
"Keelah," is the quarian's response. "Shepard... you don't think she's—?"
"Not like this," Garrus answers instantly, assuredly in tone if not in feeling. He lowers the car for a better view, identifying now the nature of the dead: C-Sec. He blinks. "That... doesn't make sense," says he, half to himself.
"Shepard wouldn't butcher officers like this," Tali agrees. "Not unless... she had a good reason. Maybe they're collateral damage?"
Garrus eyes the destruction and pieces together events in his mind. He notes the bullet-riddled supply crate smashed against a skycar—evidence of a biotic, he thinks—and a disquieting pile of bodies which seem to have been once suspended by a singularity. That, or deliberately piled. He prefers the former. If Shepard was attacked here, then he would expect this level of devastation as she fought her way out. The fact that he doesn't see her body—or those of Ashley or Liara—is reassuring. That he doesn't see any trace of the Spectres, however, is less so.
"Maybe they did give her a good reason," Garrus says at length. "I need a closer look." He pilots the skycar to a lower hover, then exits to the street with pistol drawn. Tali is quick to follow in like fashion. With this, Garrus traces the scene and constructs scenarios in his head; he wonders from what angle the attackers would have approached, from which direction—and toward which destination—Shepard may have been fighting, and at length he walks up past a parked skycar which sits away from the rest. This one is riddle with bolt-scars, indicating it was used as cover. He wonders for whom and from whom. His eye catches, too, on the corpses nearby. Something about their armour seems... wrong. He knows C-Sec hardsuits like the back of his hand, but these ones are different. The body armour is nearly identical, but the helmets seem incorrect—narrower, blockier, less modular than what he expects.
He barely has a moment to note this, however, before movement catches his eye. He spins about—toward an alley nearby—and draws his pistol forward. When he does, however, he flinches. Two figures have emerged from this alley, each wearing striking, if unremarkable, street garb. An asari and a human. At length, the turian breathes a sigh of relief.
"Tali!" comes a jubilant greeting from Liara. "Garrus! Thank the Goddess." The asari rushes to rejoin her companions, Ashley following at her flank. "Shepard—have you seen...?" she trails off, leaving a knot to form in Garrus' gut.
"You mean you haven't?" Tali asks, lowering her weapon. "I thought she was with you."
"She was," Ashley says, grim this time.
"I... don't like the sound of that," Garrus answers. "She's not...?" Ashley points toward the drop off just past the parked skycar. Garrus swallows. When he speaks, his mouth feels suddenly drier: "You... you saw it happen?"
"We saw her fall," Liara says, more optimistic in tone if not in expression. "We do not know if she... we haven't been able to follow her."
"We need a skycar," adds Ashley, "but that damn salarian bugged-out on us. Must've taken his car with him."
"The Spectre?" Tali asks.
"Who else? Bastard was supposed to get us the Hell out of here. Instead, he left us stranded in hostile territory. God knows how many more of those mercs are out there."
"I thought something was funny about the officers over there," Garrus comments. Then, turning a serious look on each companion in turn, he adds: "I'm not giving up on Shepard until I see her corpse with my own eyes. Even then, I might expect it to jump back up with little worse than a migraine and a foul temper." This makes Tali chuckle—makes even Ashley smile—and so emboldens Garrus to continue. "We have a skycar," he gestures to the corpses nearby, "easy-access to an arsenal of weapons," he indicates the group, "and a serious thirst for payback. All we need now is a plan."
"And a location," Ashley adds. "Any idea where Shepard might be?"
"If I know the Commander," says Liara, smiling faintly, "I know she will be wherever the explosions are loudest."
"So we gear-up," Tali supplies, "prep our rescue plan, and wait for the next explosion to go off."
Ashley chuckles dryly.
"Better than hanging around here. Let's do it."
Wrex emerges into a wide tunnel and flashes his shotgun toward the flanks. When nothing stirs, he steps forward, cautious, and leads Shepard in. The Commander is turned to face the rear, head on a swivel, and follows close behind. They have been travelling for half an hour, at least, and only now does it seem like they're getting somewhere. This corridor is long and broad, with a high ceiling and rumbling machinery above; the right side is slanted, guarded by a railing, and cross-lit with red from inlaid LEDs. The lighting is low enough still that Shepard feels slightly more at ease.
"A couple minutes out," Wrex murmurs, as close to reassurance as he ever is. "But don't drop your guard, Shepard. The place has gotta be swarming with mercs now."
"Don't forget the geth," Shepard adds, a hand gently pressing on her burn. "Doubt I'll be as lucky the next time one of those bastards gets the drop on me."
"They can cloak now," adds the krogan. "As if moving that fast wasn't bad enough already. Just leave it to me, I've been needing a new head for my trophy collection."
"Sorry, big guy, but that thing put a hole in my dress jacket. It's personal now."
"Guess you'll have to be faster than me, then."
"Always have been, Wrex."
He chuckles.
Together, in close formation, they reach the end of the corridor and come upon a small elevator shaft with a lift currently at their level. Shepard turns to inspect it. Like everything else in these tunnels, it seems forgotten and disused. Yet its holographic interface is active, a shade of welcoming green to contrast the red. Wrex seems to indicate the lift as the way forward, at any rate.
"It'll bring us to street-level," says the krogan. "From there, we'll make for my skycar. Might have to chew through a small army, though."
"Or we take the subtle approach," Shepard says, half in chastisement. "I'd like to avoid a few new holes in my jacket if I could."
Wrex opens his mouth to answer, but spins around instead when another voice does.
"Good idea."
Shepard and her krogan turn with weapons raised, finding a figure—twenty feet away, at most—has somehow sneaked behind them. A spark of recognition is the only thing which stays Shepard's trigger finger; by consequence, it stays Wrex's as well.
"Taleena," the Commander says, halfway a growl. The familiar black-topped asari stands before them, her hands raised and unarmed. And yet an asari commando is never truly unarmed. Shepard does not lower her guard in the slightest. "Give me one good reason," she starts, "why I shouldn't shoot you right now."
"My omni-tool was hacked too," she answers. Then, stepping slightly closer, she casts herself in a beam of scarlet light. Her right side is riddled with battle-damage, her armour plating scorched and cratered; a fresh wound cuts along her right cheek and dried blood stains her shoulderpad. "And I fought through an army of C-Sec to get out of there," she adds. "Though, considering what I saw, I seriously doubt they're C-Sec at all."
"How'd you find us?" Shepard asks next.
"Shadowed you," is the asari's answer, nonchalant. "I saw you take that fall, Commander—you'll have to tell me how you survived that one later—and I figured, if you lived at all, you'd head for the maintenance ways. Easy cover with lots of hiding places. After that, it was as simple as following the trail of dead mercs."
"You didn't think to make yourself known?" Wrex prompts, an angry growl this time.
"Didn't know if I could trust you," says she. She lowers her gaze, as if ashamed. "When my omni-tool got hacked—the safehouse got hit—I figured it had to be someone on the inside. No way a malware attack could take out all our security like that, not externally. I... wondered if it was you, or one of your team, who betrayed us."
"But?" Shepard prompts.
"But I checked and double-checked," Taleena continues. "And I know exactly how it hit us. It wasn't a sudden breach of security or the mother of all tech attacks. It was a virus installed on our omni-tools—all of our omni-tools."
"How do you know?"
"I've used the exact same one." When Shepard gives her a look, Taleena explains: "Manok and I both have. It's his design."
"So you're telling us the salarian is a traitor," Wrex supplies.
Taleena lowers her gaze again.
"I... I don't know. I don't want to point fingers, but..." She takes a deep breath and composes herself. "Look, Manok is my friend. We've worked together since he first became a Spectre. I trust him with my life. If he betrayed us, then..."
"How else could you explain this?" Shepard asks. "From where I'm standing, it's starting to look like one of two things: He betrayed us, or you're lying."
"I don't know," Taleena settles.
Shepard exchanges a look with Wrex, but doesn't lower her Avenger.
"It's not looking good for you either, Taleena," Shepard says. "You left for a real convenient phone call, didn't you?"
"I know how it looks," the asari mutters. "And I know I can't prove my innocence—not yet. It was... I thought it was an important call."
"From whom?"
"My daughter." Taleena meets Shepard's eyes for a moment, then sighs. "I have a... a pureblood girl back on Illium. Resents me and her mother both. I'm talking to you, then suddenly I get this call—first message from my little girl in a decade—and I lose focus. I shouldn't have left the room, left you and your team unguarded, but... I lost focus." She swallows, then adds: "Best part? It wasn't even her. I answered the call and got silence—nothing—from the other end. Thought it was lag at first, but now I think it was a fake caller I-D. Whoever actually made that call wanted me out of the room at that precise moment. If it wasn't for a couple of grenades and some well-timed biotics, I'd be dead outside the safehouse."
"You haven't contacted Manok?" Shepard prompts.
"Can't," answers the asari. "Just like you can't. But... maybe that's for the best right now. That virus cripples communications; it's aggressive, basically a simple V-I, and it's not easy to remove. If I had access to the safe house, maybe I could fix my omni-tool. As it stands right now... I'm here, facing down an angry krogan and the most dangerous Spectre in history." She smiles a little, if wistfully, and adds: "And I eagerly await the judgment of the latter."
Shepard considers this for a moment. Her story could be a clever deception just as easily as the truth—she has no way of verifying either way. If nothing else, it means something that she surrendered her element of surprise, rather than using it to kill them. Shepard's intuition is rarely wrong. At long length, she lowers her rifle. Wrex, though hesitant, relaxes his guard as well. Taleena quietly, but audibly, sighs.
"You won't regret this," she says. "And I do like your plan, by the way. Sneaking our way to a skycar seems like the best idea."
"With any luck," Shepard starts, "there won't be any mercs in our way."
"If there are, I noticed something that could help us," adds the asari.
"Spit it out, then."
"The fake ones give themselves away. Their helmets are off-pattern—narrow near the mouthpiece, low-covering visor, tight at the skull, and not modular in the slightest. No good for any race other than human. C-Sec helmets are supposed to be easily modified for just about any race. Must be an oversight."
Shepard raises an eyebrow.
"Nice catch," she says. "That simplifies things. If they wear the wrong helmet, don't feel bad about popping 'em."
"Don't have to tell me twice," Wrex mumbles.
The krogan takes the lead again and starts the lift when his allies have boarded. A short trip brings them to a broader access-way, with a glass canopy above through which indigo light shines faintly. This path is a near-perfect mirror to the corridor into which Shepard had initially fled. The door nearby, she thinks, must lead out into the main thoroughfare by some means. The three approach carefully, inconspicuously, and breach into a narrow alley. They skirt up next to a recycling bin—one large enough to hide even Wrex's size—and peer out beyond. The footpath is largely deserted, which is at once relieving and frustrating; Shepard had hoped to blend in with a crowd. Instead, she makes out what looks to be a market plaza—spanning on out of sight—set up between the shadows of three skyscrapers. Stands and restaurants are scattered throughout, dotted with holographic advertisements and fully-set tables, open displays and overturned chairs. And yet the place is abandoned, its occupants supplanted by rifle-toting men in combat hardsuits. The officers are scattered about in staggered positions, well-separated with advantageous fields of fire; they stand vigilant, if weary, their heads on swivels. Some seem to be investigating, with scanners equipped to their omni-tools. The only advantage Shepard can spot from here is her positioning: Clearly, the officers aren't expecting someone coming from the maintenance tunnels. From here, she can't tell if they wear the correct helmets or not.
"Nothing's ever simple," Shepard sighs. "All right, who's up for a game of spot the merc?" When neither of her allies seems enthusiastic, she gestures up above the plaza ahead. Here, C-Sec skycars have gated-off traffic, projecting large holographic caution signs about them. "If these guys are mercs, it means C-Sec hasn't picked up our little firefight across the Wards. Considering that's practically impossible, I'm inclined to think at least some of these guys are the real deal."
"That makes things more complicated," Taleena agrees.
"Maybe," says Shepard, eyeing the skycars again. She glances at the other Spectre. "Or maybe a lot simpler. How's your omni-tool? Can you bring up your badge?" Taleena tries her device, which flickers tremulously, before she manages to project a display of her credentials. Shepard does the same.
"You're not really thinking what I think you are...?" the asari starts.
"What's the matter, Spectre? Balls not brass enough?"
"I'm more worried about collateral damage."
"Ah, c'mon, Taleena, you should know better: Talk tough enough and I can goad them into acting stupid. The only collateral damage will be to their egos." Then, after a pause, she adds: "But, if things do go wrong, I got an idea on how to solve that too."
"And that would be?"
"Ambush. While Wrex and me have everyone's attention, you pull that little shadowing trick you pulled on me. Should give you plenty of time to spot the mercs, line up your shots, and pop 'em." She glances at Wrex, adding: "Sorry, big guy: I'd suggest you go on ambush too, but I don't think a giant, red krogan would exactly go incognito."
Wrex gives the Commander a look, then sheaths his shotgun on his back.
"The things I let you drag me into, Shepard," he mutters.
Shepard winks, then folds her Avenger and holds it loose at her thigh. Taleena reluctantly nods, then moves away from them as they break their concealment. The Commander stands, dusts off her battle-worn jacket, and brushes aside that lock of hair which always seems to hover over her eye. "Trust me," she says at length, glancing at each ally in turn. "If I talked Saren into shooting himself, I can talk us through this."
With that, Shepard and Wrex stride into the market plaza and straight toward the nearest C-Sec officers. As they move, Shepard takes note of helmets—all correct, for now. It takes longer than she expects for one of the officers to spot them. There comes a shouted "halt!" from a turian, but Shepard manages a few more steps before further officers move in to surround them. Normal helmets. Good. The most notable amongst these officers is a human—a woman in typical uniform, lacking a hardsuit like her counterparts. She levels a pistol at Shepard.
"This area is under lockdown!" she barks. "Come any closer and I'll lock you up for obstruction without a..." She narrows her eyes, taking in the group's battle-scarred appearance. "Who are—"
The Commander interrupts in a voice smooth and confident.
"Commander Shepard, Special Tactics and Recon." She presents her credentials for the startled officer's inspection.
When the officer looks to Wrex, he grunts—halfway a laugh.
"Urdnot Wrex, babysitter."
After a moment of hesitation, the officer scans Shepard's ID and confirms it. Once this is done, she lowers her weapon; her allies do the same. "Ma'am," she says at length, a proper acknowledgement this time. "What are you... doing out here? Do you need medical attention?"
"Nah," Shepard answers, "couple shots a' tequila will put everything back together. What I do need, officer, is one of your cruisers."
"A cruiser?"
"Just one. Mine's a lost cause and I've already gotten more steps in than I wanted today."
"But, ma'am... like I said, we're in lockdown. There was a shooting just outside the plaza, a bunch of unknowns started a firefight half-a-click down the block. We're still canvasing the area."
"Yeah, I figured," Shepard says, moving up past the officer as she does. She climbs halfway up the steps to a raised platform, centre-left of the plaza, where an open-air restaurant stands abandoned. A quick scan notes two officers moving in—both with helmets much too narrow, too rigid—and both human. At this, she halts and puts a support column between herself and them. "Let me guess," Shepard continues, "there was a krogan sighted in the area? Red hardsuit, blasting biotics, cuttin' down unknowns in nondescript combat gear?"
"Yeah..." the officer answers, turning a frightened glance toward Wrex.
"What you've just stumbled into, miss C-Sec," Shepard says, "is Spectre business. And messy business so far, admittedly. You've probably heard chatter about another firefight a few blocks down, this time involving buddies in law enforcement."
"Well, actually—"
"Except when you tried to I-D them," Shepard interrupts, "you couldn't find any matches in the C-Sec database. No identifiable markings on the bodies, no criminal records, not even an Extra-net search history. That about right?"
"Yeah..."
"Well, pretty astute so far." Shepard spots another merc, this one moving up the stairs in pursuit; he walks slowly, casually, but his rifle is readied. None of the officers notice him. The Commander moves past the column, spotting the previous two mercs from before, and continues around a decorative terrarium occupying a portion of the restaurant's terrace. From here, the Serpent Nebula glows brightly in view. The C-Sec skycars are directly above; Shepard has no idea if the officers within are friend or foe. The unarmoured officer follows behind as well, but Wrex begins moving into an advantageous position.
"Now, I know what you're thinking," the Commander continues. "Just what the Hell's been going on? Well, speaking in the strictest confidentiality, miss C-Sec, a small army of unauthorized mercenaries have been traipsing up and down the Wards for the last couple of hours." She glances at the merc to her right. "And wearing piss-poor excuses for C-Sec gear while they do it, too." She passes her folded Avenger to the officer, adding: "This should put you on the right track if you want to figure out how they were smuggling in their gear. Check and double-check cruisers in your precinct, too; some of them should turn up missing."
The officer gestures emphatically to one of her men, who then begins speaking into an earpiece to relay these orders. "What are they after?" asks the officer at length.
"Me," says Shepard.
"You, ma'am?"
"Yup. And doing a piss-poor job of that, too." Two of the mercenaries move closer, nonchalant, but Shepard continues. "I've fought batarian slavers with more wit and twice as much coordination, but I'm sure if they put their heads together they might, someday, equal a geth drone with processing power in the kilobytes." She flexes her left hand—blood-spattered—and adds: "Of course, I can take apart those just as easily." The officer flinches; the merc to Shepard's right tenses. Shepard, however, feigns ignorance—glances toward the skycars above—and summons a rush of biotics.
"For the Emissary!" comes a shout—preceding a rifle which halts just as quickly as it raises. Shepard turns, body aglow and fist squeezed, as the merc freezes still within an envelope of biotic emission. She has an instant to consider what he said—the zeal in his voice—before her hand flies out, migraine snaps to the fore, and Predator raises to attention. The two other mercs lunge forward, rifles drawn, to a chorus of intervening gunfire. From somewhere out of sight flies a storm of bolts, shredding the suit and barriers of one merc in a devastating salvo. A slug punches through his visor as he drops, leaving his ally to run, stumbling, as he fires. Shepard braces the officer and pulls her down, drawing them both behind the terrarium as bolts skim them by. And a shotgun barks in return, shattering shields and blasting through breastplate. The second merc falls, so Shepard jumps to her feet. The last—still frozen—remains where he was, perfectly still to align with her gun. Shepard presses her pistol against his head and winks out the stasis simultaneously. Crack! A single shot through visor and helmet bursts out the back of his skull, dropping him promptly.
Like this, the battle is over before it begins. Shepard helps the officer to her feet—who remains stunned and wide-eyed—and dusts off her uniform for her. "Case in point," Shepard says. "Now, miss C-Sec, if you don't mind callin' me a cab?"
The officer nods and begins speaking into her ear-piece. The other officers, still overcoming their surprise, maintain the wherewithal to identify Shepard and her krogan as allies, at least; they take defensive positions, anticipating threats from all angles. This, however, quickly becomes irrelevant. Shepard turns to regard the skycars above, only to realize—in the time it took for that fight to conclude—a new cadre of cruisers has arrived. At these, Shepard's gut kicks in revolt. The officer hasn't even finished giving the order, yet four of the cars have already drawn closer. Their side doors unfold, but Shepard has already drawn.
Four cars, two men per car, and a chorus of gunfire unfurling from each. Shepard leaps backward, pistol barking, even as bolts eviscerate the floor-panelling and scatter off her barriers. A flash of blue emits an instant later—a rush of biotic power from the krogan just behind; a tremendous force wrenches one of the skycars forward, throwing the gunmen from their perch and sending them, tumbling, over the edge of the level. The car spirals forward, catching much of the hailstorm across its broadside—if for an instant. Shepard seizes her chance. She wraps her arms around the officer and pulls her behind the terrarium, bringing her nearly prone as the gunfire continues. The officers, panicked, fire blindly as they race for cover; a turian is blasted apart where he stands, a salarian dismembered, and a human shot-through. Another charges for the restaurant, racing for the kitchen, and drops at Wrex's feet when a bolt sails through his head. And the krogan, amid all of this, fortifies his barriers, taking glancing rounds as he throws himself behind the front counter and seizes cover. Taleena is nowhere to be seen.
Shepard presses against the terrarium and checks her barriers with her omni-tool: Nearly depleted, but holding. She glances at the officer—mouth open to bark orders—when she hesitates. The woman lies still, eyes wide, as blood streams from a trio of wounds in her chest. A slug cut straight through her heart. Shepard curses, eyes shadowed by her brow, and shifts to the opposite side to dare a glance out of cover. The gunfire has abated—if momentarily—and Shepard quickly works out why. The cruisers number eight now, the ninth adrift after being caught in the crossfire; among them, an unmarked skycar stands apart. It drifts out above the rest, unfolding doors like insectoid wings as it moves. From within, an asari in heavy combat panoply rises to stand. Shepard glimpses her for a singular moment, but this is enough to make out all the details she requires. The asari is dressed in black, contoured battle armour—a streamlined hardsuit the likes of which Shepard has never seen before—and from it extrude tubes and cables, plates and mechanisms; her body is a chimeric weave of geth-like synthetics, combat plating, and flesh, travelling even as high as her neck. Pale-blue implants glow along her fringe, marking the points at which bizarre augmentations meld with her skin. The Commander is reminded instantly of Saren—of how he looked in their final confrontation. The asari's lips are curled in a snarl, twisting the scar which streaks down her face.
"Commander Shepard!" she roars from her perch. "Murderer, usurper, and perpetual-fucking-thorn in my boot!"
"You forgot Reaper-killer!" Shepard barks in response. "But I'll take it!" She chances a glance, then snaps into cover when the asari fires slugs wide from a handgun. Yet she doesn't press the assault—not yet. Shepard is eager to find out why. "You seem to know a lot about me!" the Commander continues, shouting to carry her voice. "But I don't think I got your name!"
"Irrelevant," growls the asari in response. "What I was once called—what others may call me—is nothing but a word to give voice to your end." Her voice rattles with a mechanical underlayer, as if it is produced by means other than vocal cords.
"Now why does this sound familiar?" Shepard smirks, daring another glance so that her foe might glimpse her face. "You're not gonna start waxing apocalyptic, are you?"
"Quiet!" the asari barks. She gestures with a hand, prompting the skycars around her to begin descending. "I've not come this far to listen to your inane babble! You have no right to live after what you've done!"
"What, you finding it hard to idolize Benezia after I put a few slugs in her heart?"
The asari snarls, her body flitting with bright, roiling biotic energy. Shepard almost flinches at the sheer luminosity of it. The kind of power there implied would be awesome, if not for the nature of its owner.
"I loved her!" she shouts. "Thousands of us did! She was the greatest matriarch to ever grace this blighted galaxy and none of us deserved her!" Some of the skycars lower to a hover over the terrace, disgorging their mercenary occupants. The asari remains where she is. "She would have led us to Ascension!" she continues. "A glorious transcendence of all pain, all suffering, all insufficiency inherent to our wretched forms! And yet you... you stopped her."
"Ascension?" Shepard echoes, her eyes scanning for escape routes. She chuckles. "That what you're calling it now? Make it sound like a new-age religion! Benezia was brainwashed, Saren was indoctrinated, and Sovereign was a glorified space-flea who thought he could pull a fast one on all of galactic civilization! Your idol would've knelt at Saren's feet while he fed the galaxy to the meat-grinder!"
"Saren was right!" exclaims the asari. "But I won't waste my breath trying to convince you. The Reapers are inevitable. The age of organics is at an end. A shame you won't get to see it—but I've stood too long idle while you continue to exist."
Shepard laughs.
"Yeah, Saren said the same thing. Then I told him to shoot himself. Who the Hell do you think you are?"
"I am the Emissary of your destruction." A heavy rattle clamours through her voice—a resonant undertone which seems all too familiar. "This exchange is over." The Emissary glows fiercely blue, a rising maelstrom of biotic energy with threatens to upturn the entire Ward level if unleashed. Shepard plots a route past tables and chairs, railings and obstacles, and hopes it'll provide enough cover along the way. She doesn't have enough in her for another biotic fortification, not now. She barely had enough for stasis. Before she can begin to move, however, a howling skycar engine steals her attention.
She snaps her gaze out past the terrarium in time to see a civilian car come streaming into view. It swoops down from above, one of its doors parted, and from within a flash of azure light precedes a blast of immense kinetic force. One of the cruisers below, hovering just behind the advancing mercenaries, lurches into the terrace and flips, crushing two beneath its hood and clipping the other as it falls. And the new skycar boosts onward, crashing against a cruiser hovering above and heading straight for the Emissary. The asari leaps backward, a full and graceful back-flip with arms outstretched; her biotics flare and envelop her, drawing her into a slow and gentle glide that brings her clear of the oncoming collision. The skycar crashes against her cruiser and knocks it, spinning, out of control, sending it careening aside. From the open window, a familiar, dark-haired woman unloads from a braced Avenger, cutting down the remaining mercs even as they dive for cover. And the skycar skims over the terrace, taking out the railing as it goes, until it collides with the plaza's floor-panelling and slides to a halt. Ashley leaps from within, firing wildly into the cruisers above, while three more emerge behind her.
"Commander!" comes the chief's voice. "We got you covered!"
Tali is shortly behind Ash, wielding an Avenger of her own, with Garrus and Liara moving at the flanks. Shepard spares only a moment to breathe a sigh of relief. She's up in an instant, sprinting across the remaining length of the terrace and hopping a railing into the restaurant proper. Wrex is at her heels when she crosses to the far side and dives over the next railing, bringing her into the plaza. From here, she can spot, some distance away, the blocky shape of a structure which stands out from the rest. It grows out from the back wall of the level with tumorous irregularity, it's holo-sign a blue star sliced in half.
"There!" Wrex exclaims, as if hearing Shepard's thoughts. "My skycar's around the corner! Place is defensible, too. Looks like we'll need it!"
"On me!" Shepard shouts, drawing the attention of each companion immediately. She gestures with a hand, a circular motion to regroup, then wordlessly draws her allies into position. Ashley covers Garrus and Liara, who fall in at Shepard's flanks, then Wrex switches to his handgun and covers Ash. The cruisers move in, side-doors open, but turn about just as quickly when a wave of saturating fire ripples across them, executing their occupants before they can take aim. As Ashley moves in to Shepard's side, she wordlessly foists the Commander a rifle and an SMG—two extras she'd previously kept mag-locked. Armed now with a Shuriken, Avenger, and Predator, Shepard suddenly feels invigorated. The cruisers pull away momentarily, providing a chance to break for cover.
"Eyes up!" Shepard barks. Then, gesturing to the club: "Tali, make us an entrance. Garrus, take point going in. Ash and Liara, cover our flanks!" She glances at the krogan. "Wrex... make 'em bloody if they try to advance." She passes him the Shuriken, which he wields in the opposite hand to his pistol. His answer is a grin. With that, Shepard glances around—attempts to spot the Spectre she placed on ambush duty; it takes her a moment to do so. Taleena is rushing in to join them, her own handgun raised and ready. Shepard is halfway surprised, but makes a note of this. When the Spectre nears them, however, Ash and Liara nearly turn their guns on her. Wordlessly, Shepard's look conveys her response: later. Both are reluctant, but both obey.
Like this, the group breaks for the street and makes for the club. Wrex covers them as they go, then rushes to follow when Liara and Ash turn cover him. In this fashion, the interspersed gunfire holds at bay any attack more serious than pot-shots. A slug glances off Shepard's barriers as she mounts the stairs to the club, following at Garrus' heels. Sure enough, the club's doors were locked when the area was evacuated. Tali sets to work without a word, prompting the rest to take defensive positions around her. But all of them are in the open, their only saving grace the distance between them and the advancing foes.
"Covering fire!" Shepard barks. "Don't let the bastards get close!" She joins the staggered bursts of gunfire as the group saturates the street, bouncing errant bolts off barriers and hardsuits while the mercs make a desperate attempt to follow. It goes on like this for moments approaching a minute before Shepard glances at the quarian's work. Her omni-tool is pressed against the door's holo-sign, a screen and menu displaying hacking status. Nearly complete. In the moment Shepard turns away, however, the faintest flash of red catches in her peripheral vision. She moves even before someone grips her shoulder and pulls her.
A hiss and zap skims past her bicep and melts a hole in the wall behind her. She drops low, rifle raised, and fires quick bursts in the direction of a fleeting, shimmering shape. Each shot misses the mark as the shape hops from one wall to the next, one skyscraper window to another, and as it leaps out of sight she catches, for an instant, the distinct silhouette of a geth hopper. The same bastard who shot her before, she has no doubt. When she has a moment to spare a glance at who pulled her aside, she almost flinches; Taleena gives her a nod, then returns her fire to the advancing mercenaries. Something else Shepard will keep noted.
Her attention is quickly drawn back down the street, however. Amid stumbling mercs, prone or pressed into cover, the Emissary strides furiously toward the Commander. Her body is alive with biotic energy, and as Shepard orders to concentrate fire this haze only seems to strengthen. The Commander watches, eyes widened, as each impacting bolt stops dead at the asari's barriers, flashing as harmlessly as if they were fired at an active warship. Not even Saren had shields like these. And the Emissary only flares brighter, her hand outstretched and fingers flexed; a whole skycar draws up behind her, suspended in a biotic field. Shepard acts quickly.
"Any time now, Tali!" she shouts over her shoulder, drawing her allies together with a gesture. "We need to move!"
"Just a second," answers the quarian. Then, with a muted cursed, she taps a prompt on her omni-tool and unlocks the door. "There! Go!"
"On you, Garrus!" barks the Commander.
Her turian breaches, Tali close behind, and as they move Shepard rushes her allies in after them. And not before time: The Emissary hurls her arm forward, throwing her suspended skycar with force enough to paint the walls with any who stand in its way. Shepard, last in, leaps through the threshold of the club and rolls with the fall, coming to a crouch just as the skycar hits its mark. The vehicle slams bow-first into the doorway, wrenching the frame clean open as it warps to fit windshield, trunk, and all and shatters under the force. The windshield fragments and ejects with half the speed of a buckshot, cracking off Shepard's barriers harmlessly. Like this, the entrance is blocked and the area secured.
Shepard stands, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. It seems like the Emissary was a little over-zealous. This buys them some precious extra moments, Shepard thinks. She turns to survey the room, finding that it continues the strange and irregular shape present on the outside. The floor-panelling, walls, and booths all share a curving, streamlined quality which seems reminiscent of river-polished stones; a certain flow is indicated by the architecture, drawing one's eye toward a dance floor central to the room. Above, a vast lighting fixture—like a miniature star—cascades colours thereabout, though no music backs it. A second level also runs above this one, visible from the main floor by the edges of walkways and the glint of door-icons thereupon. The room doesn't strike Shepard as especially defensible, but it beats the main thoroughfare by a vast margin.
Her allies have already gone about clearing the area, but Liara, having broken away from this, comes to stand nearby. She looks pensive, though she cannot quite form the words to voice her thoughts. Shepard draws closer and manages a smile.
"Hey, blue," she says. Liara hardly reacts, her eyes fixated on Shepard. The Commander chuckles. "What? Got something on my face?"
At this, Liara lunges; she snaps her arms around Shepard and pulls her in close, a tight embrace which speaks with the same desperation they felt together that night before Ilos. Shepard hesitates—she never was much good at this—but settles, at length, with hugging her back. Even without the melding, that connection remains. At once, Shepard realizes it was real—that it really did stay with her, even during her flight through the maintenance tunnels. After a long moment, Liara breaks away only enough to meet Shepard's eyes again. There is a wordless question cast between them.
"I'm okay," Shepard assures. She caresses the asari's head, if briefly, and adds: "I was more worried about you and Ash."
To that, the asari chuckles dryly.
"Goddess, I don't know how you could say that, Shepard." She caresses the Commander's cheek in return, looking her over as she does. More concernedly, she adds: "You look... like you've been through a lot."
"Been through worse," Shepard answers. "And we're not out of it yet." Liara nods, reluctantly—though surely—parting from her paramour. At this, Shepard squeezes her hand—a parting gesture—before stepping into the middle of the room to get her allies' attentions. Without the need for an order, they all look to her. "Weapons check," Shepard starts.
"All good, Commander," Ashley answers, a faint bitterness underlying her tone. She flits her eyes between Liara and Shepard, but adds nothing beyond tactical appraisal. "We got enough ammo between us to last a few days—and enough tequila to boot." She gestures to the nearby bar, where a full stock of alcohol—even dextro—lies in wait.
"Injuries?" Shepard prompts.
"Nothing serious," Taleena answers this time. She approaches with omni-tool ready. "I got some spare medi-gel, Commander, if you need it."
"If we're gonna be here a while," Shepard answers with a sigh, "I guess I should." She places down her Avenger and undoes the de facto bandage wrapped around her gut. "Just make it quick and use it sparingly. God only knows how much shit they're gonna throw our way before we get out of here."
"Considering how many mercs we've wasted so far," Ashley adds, "I don't think they have many left."
"I'm more worried about that geth," Tali says, her omni-tool open and eyes focused upon it. "Garrus and I fought one just like it. It tried to ambush us on the freighter, but we killed it."
"So there's more than one," Taleena says thoughtfully, her omni-tool hovering over Shepard's wound. The device constructs tiny arms and servos spontaneously, precisely and directly applying medi-gel to the Commander's burn. Suddenly, Shepard realizes just how much it stings; the medi-gel should mitigate that.
"I suppose you would know," Ashley says, snide this time.
"If you're implying I had something to do with this, Chief Williams," Taleena starts. She pauses, finishes her medi-gel application, and stands to face Ash. "Then, well... I don't blame you," she says at last. "Shepard doesn't trust me either. All I can say in my defence is that I was tricked, just like you all, and I'll do everything in my power to earn that trust back."
Wrex scoffs.
"We'll have to see, Spectre," says he. "Your partner's not looking too good right now either."
"We still have no idea where he went," adds Liara, "or why he abandoned us. He nearly got Shepard killed!"
Ashley opens her mouth to add something, as does Taleena, but Shepard intervenes with stern posture and a steady voice. "Enough," she orders, stilling the argument before it starts. "Manok's loyalty doesn't matter right now. Between the six of us, we can watch Taleena just fine, but I won't reject her help—not right now." Her allies collectively nod, so she continues: "Tali, did you figure out a fix for our omni-tools?"
"So yours were hit too?" she asks. "I don't know what happened—some kind of tech attack, I guess, I—"
"It's a virus," Shepard explains. "A well-hidden one, if our Spectre friend is to be believed."
"Sweep your omni-tool's core systems," Taleena says. "If you have a sharp enough V-I program, you can probably isolate it. I don't have the know-how for that myself."
"But how did a virus—?" Tali starts.
"It's Manok's design," Shepard interrupts. "Somehow, it was introduced to our omni-tools—everyone's omni-tools. Another reason why our salarian isn't lookin' so good right now."
"Keelah," Tali mutters under he breath. She fiddles with her tool before adding: "Okay, I'll change the parameters for my V-I and see if I can isolate it. This will take time."
"Then we'll just have to make that time," Shepard says, drawing her rifle again. "Those mercs aren't going to wait politely, after all, and the Emissary made it pretty clear she doesn't like me. We're gonna hunker down and prep for a counter-assault. I want us ready when the first of those idiots pops his dumbass helmet into the club. Got it?" Her allies affirm, so she continues: "As soon as we get communications back up, I want detailed info sent to Joker and C-Sec H-Q. I'll harass the Council myself. Until then," she runs her eyes over the room once more, "follow my lead. I have a plan."