He'd seen countless slaver dens throughout his 'career' as a slaver hunter. There was a distinct lack of variety to them—damp, cold, and dark places, typically located underground. The air always hung heavy with the stench of fear, despair, and unwashed bodies. Never had he been fortunate enough to explore one of the rat holes from within the confines of a cell. The enclosure they placed him in was poorly lit, but it wasn't a problem; he could see perfectly in the dark.
The cage, once a reinforced metal crate of some sort, had long since been covered in rust and repurposed as a cramped lockup for slaves. It barely offered enough space for him to sit up straight, but at least he could stretch his long legs. The metal surface was rough against his plates, scraping uncomfortably with every small movement. One side of the crate was entirely missing, replaced by metal bars and a warped door.
They had taken away his armor and weapons. Only pants remained of his 'combat skin'—a form-fitting underlay designed to provide additional protection and regulate body temperature—the tunic was missing. A neuroshock collar was fastened tightly around his neck—a must-have accessory of every slave. The cold metal pressed against his hide, reminding of his predicament. He was fucked.
Alright, let's assess just how much.
Garrus took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm and analytical. He looked outside the crate he was in through the metal bars.
On the outside it was just another pen with concrete walls, which served as a larger holding area. The walls were stained with age and neglect, bearing silent witness to countless horrors. There was a tiny window, too high up, that let in what was left of the daylight. Weak rays struggled to penetrate the gloom, casting eerie shadows.
He didn't let the light fool him. Garrus knew they were deep underground, and it was an optic trick the Lindor dungeons were known for. The light got into a narrow vent and passed through multiple lenses, giving prisoners a false hope of the surface being right there, outside.
The door leading into the hallway was open wide. No lock. There were many sounds coming through the concrete halls that led deep into the seemingly huge structure of the den. He strained his turian hearing, trying to pick up something useful. The wandering echoes made it impossible to discern one sound from another.
And then he heard her.
She was screaming. In fear, probably also pain. Her screams were followed by the croaking sound of batarian laughter. Her voice resonated between the walls, reaching him distorted, almost inhuman. But he knew it was her.
Garrus concentrated on his own situation for now. He needed to find a way out of this cell if he wanted to help anyone else. He started examining the bars of his cage, looking for any weaknesses or gaps he could use to escape. His talons scraped against the metal, testing for loose spots.
As he worked, he heard more sounds coming from the hallway. Footsteps, voices. Yes, definitely moving towards him.
He backed away from the bars to the wall behind him right the moment they walked in. Two batarian slavers and one krogan guard, all armed. They were laughing among themselves, not paying attention to him until they got close enough to the crate.
One of the batarians, probably the leader of this joyful enterprise, examined him slowly with four eyes. When he decided he was satisfied with what he saw, his fleshy mouth split into a disgusting grin.
"Welcome to Lindor! We hope you will enjoy your stay with us. I trust your accommodation is to your liking?"
The slavers laughed. Garrus maintained a seemingly calm expression, refusing to give them the satisfaction. The batarian cast another evaluative look at his prisoner and continued.
"I know I should have said—Welcome back to Lindor, Captain Vakarian. It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Very, very fucked.
Garrus's heart sank as he saw the triumphant look on the batarian's face. They knew who he was. This was bad news. Not that he could pass for a simple turian grunt with his kind of armor and weapons. But still, he could have fooled them into thinking he was BlackWatch or something.
He knew a turian officer of his rank would be a lucrative bargaining chip for any shrewd slaver who could play his hand just right. A lot of ransom credits.
For any officer but him. The rat attached the name to his title and welcomed him back, so he might not be interested in ransom as much as revenge. Had he crossed Garrus's path before? He very well could have. All those sickly-yellow four-eyed faces looked the same to the turian. And Lieutenant Vakarian had screwed a lot of scumbags in his time as a slaver hunter.
Did the rat know him personally and wanted payback, or had he just heard his name within his trade circles and wanted to brag about it to his friends, make an example of him? Garrus didn't like either of those options.
But how did they know? They couldn't have hacked his omni-tool, that was for certain. Turian military tech used cutting-edge salarian encryption. His second guess would be they probably scanned his implant, though he never heard of slavers having turian ID readers. But then again, he'd been out of the game for too long. Who knows what these fucks were able to get their hands on these days.
Garrus moved closer to the bars and looked straight into the rat's smug face. His mandibles tightened against his jaw, a sign of tension that he couldn't entirely suppress.
"Nothing really changes here, does it?" He tried to maintain a calm and composed demeanor, whereas his subvocals thrummed with barely contained rage, a sound imperceptible to his captors.
"I have to admit, this place is a pale version of a splendor it once was. But you are pretty preoccupied these days, aren't you?" the slaver winked at the turian with both of his left eyes. "So, the business is booming."
As if to prove his point, there came steps of another batarian entering the pen, holding a small body in his hands.
"Looks like you have yourself a roommate," the leader sneered, not taking his eyes of the turian.
They carried her closer to the crate.
Did they want to put her in with him? They would do exactly that, wouldn't they?
The leader's company raised their guns on Garrus, pointing to move aside and warning from doing anything stupid.
She was stripped to her undergarments, though he could hardly call it that. Her jumpsuit was gone, leaving only a strange human top on her chest and tiny shorts on her lower body. She was all covered in dark bruises and scratches from resisting the captors. Broken lip to shut her up, a dark spot on her cheek-bone to knock her out.
He moved to the back wall, crouched to get his legs out of the way for them to toss her inside unceremoniously. Her body made a thump as it hit the floor, and Garrus winced internally at the sound.
"Why the fuck is she still dressed?" the leader asked, only now glancing at her. "Strip her."
He said the last words with a certain kind of anticipation that made Garrus sick. The batarian who brought her in hesitated, as that meant getting back into the crate with the turian. Sure, the guns were pointing at him, and he had a collar on, but what if he was fucking insane?
The rat moved closer only to freeze in fear as he saw the turian slowly lean over the human. He stood on all fours, his mandible flared to the sides, exposing sharp predator teeth. He bent lower in an animalistic stance, a warning growl escaping his chest. His subvocals were roaring with menace.
This was going too far, Garrus thought. She was a civilian. And Spirits be damned if he let them touch her. Humans wore clothing, he knew that much. That meant they shied away from nudity. It was probably shameful and degrading for them, even more so than for turians, since their genitals were not hidden behind protective body plates. And all these rats just couldn't wait to strip her completely naked for their sick entertainment.
Of course he knew that it was a completely different dynamic just hours ago, when he was chasing her, when she was his enemy, his mission. But these rats changed it. They brought her in here, making her his responsibility. Which he knew might change again once they got out. If they ever got out.
Until then, they will have to go through him.
The thought itself was ridiculous. His whole stance was ridiculous and he knew it. What was he planning on doing? Bare his teeth and hope they would just back away? They had guns and omni-tools. All they needed to do was to activate the collar on his neck. It would render him completely useless. Instantly.
It was one thing to help slavers' victims from the outside, it was completely another to be in the cage with them, to be one of them. Fuck. This was bad.
And the batarian leader knew it too. He laughed out loud and raised his hand to signal the trigger-happy krogan to relax and lower his shotgun. Apparently he was the jumpy one among them. The krogan was massive. Over seven feet tall, looking very bulky in his heavy armor. He had broad shoulders but a smaller shoulder hump, meaning he was not that high in his race's hierarchy. Young too, as indicated by yellow and green spots on his reptilian head. He was a real threat, Garrus decided. Too dangerous in close combat.
"That's a first," the leader said through his laughter, finding it genuinely amusing that a turian would protect a human. "No need to get all territorial over a piece of meat. We can share." He gave Garrus a disgusting wink. "You can have her first. Call it a welcoming gift."
The turian held his gaze without blinking. This was a small victory, but he would take it. His mandibles relaxed slightly, but he remained alert, ready for any sudden moves from their captors.
"Don't worry, she won't bite," the rat continued. "We gave her little something to be more… accommodating."
The batarian closest to the cage chuckled.
Shit, more bad news. They knew she was a biotic, no element of surprise there. Probably saw them fight on the surface from their hideout before attacking.
Most likely they gave her some kind of biotic blocker.
Garrus knew it was a nasty form of suppressant, capable of making even the most powerful biotics lose their powers completely for days. In high doses, it could lead to paralysis or even worse outcomes.
These chemicals were primarily produced in makeshift laboratories using uncertified, black market materials. Every self-respecting leader of a slaving ring had a chemist on the side, someone who could cook various drugs for training, handling, and subduing their 'merchandise'.
This was cheaper than purchasing high-end drugs from reputable pharmaceutical companies through official channels. However, the end product was often volatile and potentially dangerous for those it was intended for.
The leader signaled to shut the door. Once it was done, he fiddled with his omni-tool, then looked back at the turian.
"Sit back and relax, captain. We'll see what we can get for such a pricey merchandise like you… and in what other ways you might be of use to us."
Garrus moved closer to the bars, his voice low and controlled as he asked, "What happened to my men?"
"They didn't make it," the batarian answered simply not even blinking. The casual way he delivered this news made Garrus's mandibles twitch with barely suppressed rage.
"And humans?"
"Put too much of a fight with your squad. Didn't want to surrender. I can't blame them, though, wouldn't want to do that either."
He confirmed what Garrus had already known deep down. His team was dead, as were the humans. He failed his mission and he failed his men. Led them straight into a trap. Stupid, stupid turian.
He grew too complacent, too detached as he moved up on his way to high command. Captain-fucking-Vakarian, captured by the batarian scum. Something Lieutenant Vakarian would never have allowed. The weight of his failure pressed down on him, threatening to crush his spirit. But he couldn't afford to give in to despair. Not now. Concentrate. Think. You are still alive.
He looked at the human on the floor. Yes, the two of them were still here, still kicking. He just had to figure out how to keep it that way, long enough for his people to find him.
The loss of communication during a high-priority mission was going to stir some feathers in the high command. When he fails to report back, they will launch a full-scale search. They would be looking for him and they would come here. Maybe would even finish the job he started almost ten years ago. And Garrus would finally be done with this place, once and for all.
The batarian seemed to read his thoughts, as he suddenly interrupted them, "Sorry to disappoint you, captain. They will be looking for you in the wrong place. And they will find a pile of burned bodies—turian and human—too far gone to be identified. They'll assume you are dead, so no, nobody's coming for you."
He finished with a triumphant smile, clearly trying to press the turian for emotions. What did he want? Fear? Panic? Garrus would never give the rat the satisfaction. He listened to the batarian with a straight face, mandibles tight to his jaw. Only his subvocals giving away how distraught he truly was by the news, but it wasn't something the smug rat in front of him could pick up.
It was indeed very concerning. The planet was big, and the slavers' dungeons could go for hundreds of miles underground. An impossible maze. If they took them somewhere far, then the search party would indeed be looking in the wrong place.
But they would still look. Not for a second did Garrus believe they would assume he was dead. Captain Garrus Vakarian missing. His name alone would make the turian command turn this rock upside down, Garrus's father would make sure of that.
So it wasn't really a question of if, but rather when. Therein laid his true problem. Time was not on his side. He realized he couldn't wait for them to come to him, he had to go to them. Sounds easy enough, right?
To batarian's disappointment, he didn't show any signs of despair. The rat clearly had other things to do, so he finally said, "Like I said, sit back and relax, captain. We have plenty of time to enjoy each other's company, you and I."
Then he turned around and left the holding arear, his entourage followed him. The sound of footsteps grew more distant, interrupted by a slam of the door somewhere deep within the structure.
The doorway of their holding area leading to the hall remained open. Which wasn't necessarily a good sign.
Garrus sat back against the cold metal wall of the crate, occupying what space was left for him with the female laying at his feet. The floor seemed even colder. He wondered if she would be okay. He couldn't remember if the humans hated the cold as much as turians did. Their soft, pliable skin seemed ill-suited for harsh conditions, but then again, they had managed to survive and thrive on many worlds.
He looked around once more. It was absolutely a place where a batarian rat would feel himself right at home. Those many-eyed many-fingered fucking spiders evolved to thrive in this kind of environment. They could see perfectly in the dark and preferred underground. It was their domain—cold, damp, moldy. All those things detrimental to turians.
Garrus's home world was hot and dry. His people hated the cold. That is exactly why they wore the combat skin under their armor, to insulate themselves from the harsh environment and preserve their body heat. Now, stripped of that protection, he felt increasingly vulnerable to the chill seeping between his plates.
He was watching the human on the floor. Was she even breathing? He wasn't sure if he should touch her. He just hoped she would wake up, because he might need her help.
He studied her motionless body—it was pale, smooth, and looked too soft for his liking. But that didn't fool him anymore. He knew what she was capable of. He needed her if they were going to get out of here.
He needed to think. He needed a plan. He needed her help, but more importantly, he needed her to trust him, to believe that they were in this together. He wondered if she would. Humans as a species never struck him as a cooperative bunch, hence the eight-year-long war. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and their current situation certainly qualified.
She moaned and stirred. He tried to pull his legs towards him even more to give her space. She lifted her hand to rub the side of her face, and moaned louder as it was the one with the bruise. The female opened her eyes and set up slowly, with her back towards him. The sound she uttered made him uneasy. It came out as a whimper of pain and confusion.
Suddenly she realized she wasn't alone. A turian! He heard her heart pound in her chest as she turned around and faced him, eyes opened wide, lips parted in deep labored breaths. Still somewhat disoriented, she panicked and scrambled backwards until her back slammed against the opposite wall, quickly realizing there was no room. She was cramped into a tiny cell with a turian. They were too close to each other.
Garrus held absolutely still and made no sound, watching her as calmly as he could. His whole demeanor was carefully controlled, every muscle tensed to avoid sudden movements that might startle her further. He kept his mandibles close to his face, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.
They sat like that for some time until she realized he was in the same predicament as she was. Though it was hardly a cause for celebration, it still made her heart beat a little bit slower, her breathing calmed down. The tension never left her body, however, he could still be a threat to her. He was still a turian.
Her scent was filling in the small space they occupied. He didn't know why, but he was breathing it in small breaths, just in case.
Humans had many smells. Their skin, their… mane?.. were like a sponge, absorbing all the scents around them. Too much information for turian sensitive noses. But underneath it all only a few had a unique and distinct smell. She was certainly one of them.
The smell bothered him.
He tried not to think about it and concentrated on other more important things.
He noticed she was studying him with those violet eyes of hers. He didn't mind, he needed the human to get used to him. He guessed she never saw a turian without armor before, as her gaze lingered on his carapace and his massive metallic chest plates. She then lifted her eyes to his face.
Garrus knew he looked more alien to her than she could ever look to him. Human appearance was similar to asari, the species turians got used to centuries ago. Turian features, however, were quite distinct and threatening. They looked avian to humans, making them resemble humanoid birds or raptors. He never knew what a 'raptor' was, until he heard a word from a human. He looked it up.
Other races of the Citadel were comparing his kind to their indigenous bird-like creatures as well. Personally, he didn't mind. There was no denying they looked different from other sapient species. Their forward-facing alert eyes, set of mandibles around their mouths, razor-like teeth and three-fingered massive hands armed with sharp talons—all characteristics of predators rather than those of prey species... So he let her explore him from a distance…
His eyes were blue, they reminded her the color of Earth sky. Like every turian, he had markings on his weird face. They looked like tattoos and were an indication of the turian's origin—a certain clan from a native planet or an outpost to which he held affiliation. Different clans had different colors and shapes. His were bright blue, matching the eyes.
She had read somewhere that each marking was accompanied by a certain slogan. Weird lines were actually words in an ancient turian tongue. And that was all she knew about that.
His plates were silver, the hide between them light grey, the scales on his neck and wrists had a golden tint. The turian's body was massive, way bigger up close… And that scary carapace thing. He truly looked like a monster from a bedtime story, a creature from the Black Lagoon.
Yet as he sat in front of her, she could see this was an intelligent being. He was a person—with all sorts of emotions and fears—just like her. Not something the Alliance wants you to believe.
He didn't seem threatening. If anything, he was doing his best to communicate that he was meaning her no harm. Even though he was chasing her to capture just hours ago, she somehow believed it.
Garrus didn't know how much time had passed. All he knew it was getting really dark outside. The window of their holding cell was not providing any more light.
After a while, she pulled her knees close to her chest and put her arms around them—an impossible pose for a turian. His body could never flex like that. He wondered how come it didn't hurt her to sit that way.
Her violet eyes, when not squeezed shut, flicked nervously around, always returning to him with a mixture of reserve and wary curiosity. She tried to look out of their crate behind the bars, but it was too dark now for her to see.
She still didn't want to talk. He didn't mind, since he had nothing to say to her at this point. Garrus decided to wait until he had a plan, or at least until she could trust him.
She didn't ask him where they were. There was no need. She met them in person and they showed her their hospitality. They hurt her enough to give a hint of what this place was.
She was scared, but not scared enough, because she didn't know. He did. He knew what they were capable of. Knew what they were going to do to her. It was fate worse than death, far, far worse.
He saw it so many times on so many faces. The people he saved, he knew most of them could never be helped. All he could do was stop those who hurt them, make sure they never hurt anyone else… but the victims, he could never truly bring them back… They were almost all females. Young like her, sometimes even younger.
He tried not to think about it now. They were not there yet. He wouldn't let them get there. He didn't know how, but he just knew…
The light outside the window faded completely, plunging the cell into near-total darkness. Nighttime was coming. Shit, he started to feel it. He guessed so did she.
He shivered, feeling his tightened plates rattle slightly. The cold was seeping into his bones, facilitated by the lingering dampness. He could only imagine how much worse it must be for the human, with her lack of natural plating. As if in response to his thoughts, she shuddered violently, a small whimper escaping her lips.
The sound tugged at something in Garrus's chest. It was a mix of pity and something he couldn't quite name. He pushed it aside, focusing instead on their surroundings, always alert for any sign of their captors returning.
He was the first to hear the footsteps. He remembered the sound of that limping gait. The batarian that had thrown her into the crate with him walked inside.
The four eyes gleamed as they swept the cell, quickly locating the human despite the dark. She recognized him and shrank further into herself, her breath catching audibly.
Moving with deliberate slowness, the batarian stepped closer to the bars. Not close enough. He crouched, bringing himself to the level with the trembling female. His upper eyes remained fixed on her face, while the lower pair roamed her body with unconcealed hunger. She sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, so the scumbag couldn't see what he came to see.
The lust on a sickly-yellow face made the turian move almost instinctively. He shifted his weight and drew towards the bars to position himself between the slaver and his pray. Plates scraped against the metal floor and low warning rumble echoed through the room reminding the scum of the threat inside.
The batarian's head snapped towards Garrus, all four eyes narrowing in clear displeasure. His posture stiffened, frustration evident in every line of his body. He wanted more of the human, but turian's presence made it impossible. For a long moment, they stared at each other in the darkness. Neither one spoke—there was no need.
Finally, the batarian's lips curled into a smirk. He gave Garrus a look that spoke volumes—this wasn't over. Reaching into his pocket, he did what he actually came here to do. He produced two small packs of something soft and tossed them on the floor next to the crate. A small container followed.
Rising to his feet, the thug cast one last, lingering look at the human. His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips in a gesture that made Garrus's plates crawl. Then, without a word, he turned and limped away, the uneven rhythm of his steps fading into the distance.
Garrus waited a few moments to ensure the slaver was truly gone before moving.
His hand reached between the bars and closed around two soft packets. Food rations. The third item was a small container of water. Not much, but better than nothing. He carried them back to his corner, settling down to examine more closely.
The ration packs were unmarked, giving no clue as to their contents. Garrus tore one open, sniffing cautiously. The scent was bland, unappetizing, but familiar. Military-grade amino-neutral paste. It wasn't tasty by any stretch of the imagination, but it would keep them alive without risking an allergic reaction from their differing biologies.
This was perhaps the main difference between their two species. Turian life, though carbon-based and oxygen-breathing, evolved with dextro-amino acids, unlike the levo-amino acid basis of most Citadel races. This disparity created nutritional challenges for turians on non-native worlds. Levo foods provided them with minimal sustenance, while dextro foods could trigger severe allergic reactions in levo-based species. The solution came in the form of amino-neutral paste that, disgusting as it was, could sustain any race for a short period of time.
He was dextro, she was levo. At least the batarian scumbags had some brains. More accurately, they had a lot of experience with slaves of all kinds, and turians were not an exception.
It feels so nice to be included, he thought, looking at the brown unpleasant amino-neutral substance in the bag.
So they were not interested in starving either one of them to death, even though that point was up for debate, since there were only two tiny bags of food for two grown adults.
He glanced at the human, who was watching him intently, her eyes struggling through the dark. She hadn't moved from her corner, either too scared or too cold to approach. Garrus hesitated for a moment, then slowly pushed one of the ration packs across the floor in her direction, controlling his movements to avoid startling her.
"It's food," he said simply, his dual-toned voice soft in the stillness of their cell.
The human looked at him with a silent question in her eyes.
"Don't worry," he answered. "It's neutral."
She nodded at him and reached for the ration. He was very observant of her, very curious, but tried not to stare. She was eating the same way he was. Apparently they were similar at that. She bit the pressed paste slowly, chewing it carefully. Her smaller teeth were blunt, clearly not meant to tear raw meat.
They ate in silence, the only sound was the quiet rustle of the packets and their measured breathing. Garrus finished his portion quickly, his stomach grateful for the sustenance despite its unappetizing nature.
He looked over to see the human had only eaten about half of hers. She caught his gaze and, after a moment's hesitation, offered him the remainder of her pack. He was bigger and consumed way more energy. He needed it more. And she was willing to share what little food she had.
The gesture caught Garrus off guard but as much as he appreciated it, he refused. Instead he took the pack from her and stashed it in the further corner of the crate. He didn't know how often they would be fed. They might need it later. She might need it later.
He took a small sip from the water container to wet his throat before passing it to the human. She drank more deeply, her thirst evident despite her clear awareness of their limited resources. He noted this, realizing humans likely required more hydration than turians.
With the immediate need for food and water addressed, the cold once again became the dominant concern.
Garrus could feel his body temperature dropping, his metabolism slowing in response to the chill. The human was in even worse shape, her thin frame wracked by increasingly violent shivers. Both attempted to conserve heat—he was trying to relax his core and limbs, she was curling tightly into herself. Neither one was successful.
The tightening of his plates was getting painful.
He noticed her looking at him, studying his face, his whole body, as if thinking something over. Slowly, hesitantly, she moved closer to him. There was a flicker of fear in her eyes, but also resolve. She reached out, placing a trembling hand on his arm.
Garrus was startled by the touch, but what truly surprised him was the warmth radiating from her skin. Humans ran hot, he realized, way hotter than turians.
Her eyes looked straight into his, and suddenly she spoke, for the first time since they had been captured. This was not the shrieking high-pitched sound or low venomous hiss he heard before during their fight, but her normal, so very human voice. It startled him even more.
"Please don't hurt me."
The way she said it made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar emotion. Barely a whisper, fragile and frightened. It struck him then how young she was, how vulnerable. Despite everything, he found himself wanting to reassure her.
Garrus made a soft trilling sound of agreement. The noise was alien to her, but somehow she understood its meaning. I will not hurt you.
Slowly, she pulled herself closer, pressing into him and shuddering.
Garrus held himself perfectly still, wondering how much of that shaking was from the cold and how much from proximity to a turian.
The human settled against him, her small form fitting the curve of his side. Her arms, slender and impossibly soft, wrapped around his narrow waist, sending a chill down his spine from the intimacy of the gesture she was completely unaware of. Instinctively, Garrus covered them with his own larger arms, trapping their shared warmth.
He felt his plating loosen, scales rippling slightly, soothed by the warmth that was her. The human's body, tense at first, was gradually relaxing into him… getting even softer.
As they sat there, he found his mind wandering. There he was, sharing body heat with a human to survive. If someone had told him this would happen even a day ago, he would have laughed in their face. And yet...
She was drifting off, her heart slowed down to a quiet flutter. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest was oddly comforting. Last thing Garrus remembered before he fell asleep was her tender cheek against his plating. Her scent took him completely.
It was the sound of footsteps that made him wake up.
"Well isn't that sweet," sneered the batarian leader as he walked into their cell, followed by his krogan guard and the limping rat.
His voice woke up the female. She squirmed, her small human hands gripped at his turian arms unconsciously. Garrus leaned forward, as she hid behind his broad back.
The leader walked closer to the crate, stopping just beyond the turian's reach, taunting him no doubt. He was holding something in his hand. Another collar. For her.
Makes sense, Garrus thought. They knew they couldn't give her too much bioblockers, and keeping her sedated the whole time was also not a viable option.
"Lookie, lookie, what I found for you, kitten." The batarian chuckled, addressing the human. He dangled the collar in front of the crate, and by the look on her face Garrus knew she was well aware of what it was. "Come here, gorgeous." The rat motioned her to move closer to the bars of the cage.
The limp behind him made a hungry sound, eyeballing her the whole time.
She didn't move. Her eyes were frightened, but defiant. "No," she practically whispered.
"No?" the leader asked in a playful, but threatening manner. "It's not healthy to say 'no' to me. You'll see."
He made one more step closer to the cage. Garrus immediately assessed the distance between them. Damn it! Not close enough.
He couldn't reach the bastard, so he did the only thing he could think of. He moved forward, inserting himself right between the batarian rat and the human, shielding her from him completely. He gripped at the metal bars with his taloned hands, looking straight into batarian's eyes.
Krogan aimed his shotgun at Garrus's head.
The limp chuckled. He couldn't hide his excitement for what was about to happen. He really would love to see the turian dog dead. Then she will be all alone in that cage. Then…
But to his utter disappointment, their leader shook his head and motioned the krogan to stand down.
Just as Garrus thought, they were only threatening. He was too valuable.
"That's all right," the leader said, two of his eyes never leaving Garrus's. The other two went down to his omni-tool.
He pressed a button and the collar on the turian's neck came to life.
Fuck.
He knew everything there was to know about slave collars and neuroshock, except one thing—how it truly felt. The pain hit him faster than he realized what was happening. The world around him blurred in an agonizing jolt of pain. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't even breathe. He fell on the ground face down as shockwaves were jerking his body again and again in never-ending excruciating anguish.
She looked down at the turian in horror. He stood up for her. Placed himself between her and the batarian, probably knowing what would happen if he did. And they punished him because of her. She saw his body go rigid, muscles tightened, chest strained for a breath he could not take. He was in agony. She never saw anyone in so much pain. She couldn't watch it, couldn't bear to listen to it, that terrible buzzing sound and his immeasurable pain. She dropped on her knees beside him, knowing there was nothing she could do.
"Stop it!" she yelled at them. They only laughed. They enjoyed it, she saw it on their long four-eyed faces.
"Stop it, please! Please!"
The leader laughed for a moment longer, then reluctantly looked down to his omni-tool and pressed a button.
Garrus stilled and went completely limp for a couple of seconds. He uttered a growling sound resembling a human moan, and took a deep hard breath. He tried to get up, but his arms were not complying. So he just lay there, breathing, finally breathing.
"Lesson learned," the batarian said, probably addressing them both. "Now take it."
He reached out to her with the collar in his hand. She moved slowly to the bars.
"Don't make me repeat myself," he warned her in a voice that chilled her spine.
She slipped her thin hand between the rods and took the collar from him. The moment she did he made a couple of steps back, creating a safe distance between himself and the turian who was slowly regaining his feet.
"Now be a good girl and put it on."
She hesitated. She knew what it would do. At least she thought she did. It was still better than the bioblockers they had given her before. The injection was painful, very painful. Like liquid fire spreading through her body, making her burn from the inside.
She shivered at the memory as she was looking at the metal circle in her arms. It was smooth and cool. The size of it was much smaller, thinner than the one they had put on the turian.
She hesitated for too long.
"I warned you," came the batarian's voice. She looked up at him, then back at the turian.
Garrus's collar heated up and buzzed. He grabbed at it with his clawed hands, trying to rip it off unconsciously. But as the pain came, all he could do was pointlessly scratch at his neck with sharp talons, as his body bent backwards this time, hitting the wall behind him.
She begged them, "No! Please!"
The batarian looked at her silently, waiting. She hastily put the collar around her neck.
"I want to hear it clip," he said.
She pressed two ends of it together, it made a magnetic sound as it fastened. Then came the activation 'beep' that told her she would never get it off again.
She looked at the batarian, hoping he would stop the turian's agony now. But he didn't move. What else did he want from her?
"Make it tighter," he commanded.
Tighter? She didn't know how. The buzzing sound of the turian's collar and his pain was unbearable. Her hands were feverishly roaming the smooth metal. What did he want he to do? She pressed at the collar from both sides once again and felt it slide. It was adjustable. She tightened it around her neck.
"Tighter…"
Oh God! If she made it tighter she wouldn't be able to breathe.
"Hurry up. He's not looking so good," said another one of the two batarians, clearly enjoying turian's pain.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her hands were shaking. She pressed at the sides again. It tightened further.
She looked up at the batarian leader with pleading eyes. He seemed satisfied. Either with the position of her collar, or with the sight of her begging. Probably both.
"That's my girl!" he said warmly, giving her one of those disgusting smiles.
He pressed on his omni-tool, ending the torture. The turian could breathe once more.
Garrus felt the batarian was waiting for him. To get up, to gather himself, to look him in the eyes and to show him signs of his defeat.
That's how it works. First you resist. Then you comply. That's how they get to you.
He took his time, collected himself of the floor. And finally looked up at the scum in front of the cage.
"Is it everything you ever dreamed it would be?" the rat sneered at him.
"I've had rougher foreplay. Maybe you are using it wrong," he answered, trying to sound as casual as possible, but his voice came out too hoarse from all the panting.
The batarian laughed, "Or maybe we should try it again, but make it longer this time, how about that?" His humor bordered on threat.
Garrus was silent. He looked at the human crouching next to him, shaking and crying. Even in their tiny cage she managed to look small. At least they were not hurting her. Not yet.
Spirits, she was so scared. Some turian you are. Can't even protect one helpless civilian.
The batarian followed his gaze, measuring her up, and said, "This one is the sweetest one I got so far." Her huge violet eyes darted at the rat, and he looked straight into them. "Do you know how much I can get for those pretty eyes of hers, how rare kittens like that are? You are a sweet little thing, aren't you?" he said almost tenderly, crouching to see her better inside the crate.
She hid her face in her hands, shaking and making sobbing noises.
"Shhhh, kitten. It's ok," he hummed. "We'll get along just fine, you and I."
His eyes were scanning her greedily. And he wasn't the only one. The other batarian was almost drooling at this point. He was shifting from one foot to another impatiently. He waited for them to drag her out of the cage—now that she had a collar on, they had nothing to fear.
Fucking cowards. Garrus growled instinctively. His chest broadened in a threatening posture. He didn't realize he was guarding a female the way a turian male would.
His eyes were fixed on the batarian's throat. He wondered if he could reach the bastard at this distance, if it was worth trying.
"Easy now," the slaver warned, looking at him. He raised the arm with the omni-tool to the level of Garrus's eyes, reminding him the rules. "Don't act all high and mighty with me, turian. Someone of your stature will be exactly the one who buys her off my hands."
He saw his prisoner flinch and knew he struck a nerve.
"You do know, of course, that your kind is the main consumer of my services?"
Garrus froze.
The scumbag continued enthusiastically, "Oh yes. Turians are among my most paying clientele. Well…" he paused and frowned. "They used to be. Nowadays, you guys don't need an honest businessman like me, heh? You have all-you-can-eat buffet right in your back yard… Those prison camps of yours. Oh, I know what is happening there."
Garrus blinked. What the fuck was he talking about. That was clearly a lie. The bastard was just trying to rattle him. Making that shit up as he went, just to see where it landed…
The four-eyed rat suddenly switched to a dramatic whisper and leaned in a little closer.
"You want me to let you in on a secret? We don't even need to raid human colonies no more. Buy them straight off your turian hands. We don't get the pretty ones, of course. They are used to death by your commanders."
He made a pause letting it sink in. The expression on Garrus's face was apparently exactly what he was going for.
"Don't look so surprised. Your kind has always been eager for soft unplated flesh. Asari have been the most common merchandise… right until the discovery of humans."
The slaver looked back at the female almost tenderly. She sat there motionless, face still buried in her hands, unable to look at him. Listening to all that shit.
"They are just better in every respect, wouldn't you say?"
Garrus never thought about humans in that way. Enemies, that's all they had ever been to him. But that was beside the point. The batarian was clearly lying. And yet… there was a voice in the back of his head telling him there might be some truth to the words.
For one, there had been indeed fewer raids on human colonies in the recent years. But that didn't necessarily mean...
He hadn't been paying that much attention to the whole slavers situation in the Terminus Systems, too busy fighting the war. Too busy to realize what was happening, the voice said.
No, this was outrageous. His people were no rapists. And selling war prisoners to slavers. That's just beyond... He felt sick at the thought.
Of course, there was abuse of prisoners. Instances of cruelty, torture. Things like that happened. On both sides. It was war after all. But not to such an extent… His mind refused to believe it.
The batarian took his time enjoying Garrus's conflicted expression.
Then he finally stood up, making it clear the conversation was coming to an end. "You turians… All you do is fight and fuck. You are too easy. Too weak for something soft and willing. And things you do to them, you sick fucks… It's almost a shame…"
The slaver's voice trailed off as he turned around and went to the exit, krogan guard following him like a shadow.
The limping batarian lingered.
He was clearly not satisfied with what just happened. He thought there would be more. He thought they would test her collar. Would make her soft and warm, even softer than she already was. He thought they would take her out of the crate.
He grunted in disappointment, but followed the boss out.
They were left in the cage alone once again.
Garrus turned to the human. "It's ok," he said softly.
He didn't know if he should touch her. Were comforting gestures normal in situations like this?
She looked up at him. There was liquid running down her cheeks. Human crying was the strangest sight. He moved in closer, making her flinch, then pointed at her collar.
"I won't hurt you. Let me look."
She realized what he wanted, thought about it for a second, then gave him access to her neck. He bent over, diving into her scent. He traced the shape of the collar with his talons, trying to avoid contact with the human throat and failing at it. Touching her there felt too intimate, though she probably had no idea what it meant to a turian.
The collar was smooth, felt seamless to the touch—as it should be. No weak points he could exploit, no structural defects. Much like his own. Frustrated, he pulled back with a low growl.
"Will it..." she began, her voice faltering. "Will it hurt like yours does?"
"No," he replied, choosing his words carefully. "I don't believe so."
He could see her collar lacked the neuroshock function of his own. Its purpose was to suppress biotics, though it likely had other means of ensuring compliance. He decided not to tell her that. She was scared enough.