Commander Jacobus stood in the hall against the main doors. He slammed a three-fingered fist into the frame and yelled in rage, having been a mere moment too slow to reach the Quarians.
The suit rats proved difficult to catch, their smaller frames allowing them to move faster than most of his previous hunts. Combined with their amazing wits and resourcefulness, then it seemed to be an unreachable dream for Jacobus to catch them.
"Dammit..."
The Turian slammed his fist against the door for a second time with the hope that something would happen and he could reach his targets. However, fate was not so kind to him.
"Where are you going?" He growled. "You can't hide from me forever."
Jacobus would not allow this minor setback to be his undoing; Saren would take his head if he was incapable of stopping mere Quarians, meaning he needed to force his way into the room and destroy them both as a means of preserving his own life.
The Turian called his hired mercs and ordered the duo to gather around his current location. He gave them a moment before focusing back on the door, ignoring their footsteps as they approached.
He considered using something on his Omni-Tool to burn through the metal doors, or perhaps he could find another way inside from a second door. The layout of the lower wards remained a difficult obstacle for Jacobus to navigate, but he remained determined and hopeful that he could break-
Jacobus' thoughts were cut short when the sound of shattered glass penetrated his ears, followed by the lights short-circuiting and the entire hall falling into complete darkness. He looked around in utter shock as he tried to figure out the cause:
"W-What...how...?"
"Sir, what should we do?"
"What the fuck do you think?!" He screamed. "I need you both to search the area and find out who broke the lights! Now go, and don't come back to me until you've dealt with the problem!"
The mercenaries snarled at Jacobus, not liking his attitude, but ultimately followed his instructions and turned back to retrace their steps. The two of them seemed to freeze for a moment when a loud thud echoed down the hall.
Jacobus prepared his throat to scream at them for faltering. However, the Turian Commander soon joined them in despair when a familiar, horrifying sound reached his ears and echoed in his skull.
*Kuuuuuuuh Kerrr*
The sound of heavy footsteps approached from the darkness. It seemed to reach deep into the flooring and clutch upon their feet, preventing any attempt to escape from the figure that loomed in the night.
Metal floor-panels creaked and bent under such an intense weight that seemed to grow heavier with every calculated step the entity took towards them. Puddles of battery acid splashed in the shadowed halls with a sickening noise that earned shivers.
The constant presence of footsteps ceased without warning, leaving Jacobus and his mercenaries to stare with bated breaths as they awaited a calling from the towering beast. However, it remained still and without movement. The sound of dull breaths continued, but there was nothing else in the dark.
Jacobus, shaking, raised his weapon towards the colourless void and called out:
"W...What the fuck are you?"
There was a momentary silence as they waited for him to respond. He provided very little reaction to such offensive words, but that did not promise an escape from death. Instead, a beam of red light materialised and banished the darkness to unveil something that left Jacobus calling for its cloak:
Looming before them, bathed in crimson, was the familiar image of a towering metal man. His head remained shielded from the world in a blackened helmet, much like the unknown metals and fabric that was draped over his arms, legs, and chest.
The fear of death took hold as Jacobus raised his weapon and fired upon the spectre of death, who remained frozen in the centre of the hallway. The mercenaries followed their Commander's lead as they pulled out their own rifles and pistols.
Jacobus was not sure how, but within moments he witnessed both mercs freeze in place, hands tight around their own throats as they choked. He gave them a fearful glance before noticing how each of their necks swivelled around to meet his gaze.
He barely had time to scream before the same was done to him, the Turian Commander being raised into the air and slammed into the metal door as if he were a child's toy. The pressure forced upon his throat proved strong enough to break his skeleton.
The man spoke to him, but the words remained an unknown pattern of sounds that he could never hope to understand. He remained quiet, tears now building in his eyes, and waited for the inevitable.
As expected, the armoured man showed no mercy and raised his crimson blade above his head. The world seemed to freeze as Jacobus reminisced on his younger days playing in the gardens of his old home on Palaven - fonder times, he understood.
The final moments of his life were spent on all the choices he had made, the rights and wrongs, and what he could have done differently. The thought almost made him whimper, but he caught himself before the sound could escape his mouth.
Eventually, the agonising pain began to ease itself upon the rest of his body. The sensation was very painful for him but he was soon culled into a deep slumber the likes of which he could never escape.
Commander Jacobus fell limp.
Tali'Zorah slumped against the nearest wall, blood dripping down her suited waist as she desperately searched for a place to rest. Her blue-suited friend followed close behind with a noticeable tiredness.
The two of them -god, that was still painful for Tali to think about- had been discovered on Illium and were struggling to survive ever since. Their recent injuries had begun effecting them.
With a sudden bang, the male Quarian fell against the metal wall. "I don't think I can go any further. My lungs...there's fire in my lungs."
"I'm not leaving you here." Tali declared. "If the Council wont listen to us, maybe we can find help at one of the Embassies. The Elcor have always-"
"Nobody listens to the Elcor...not with a straight face, anyway." He replied sarcastically.
The attempt at humour was ignored as Tali noticed a red hatch on the approaching wall. She reached out tiredly, grasped its yellowed handle, and gave an admittedly weak pull that barely forced it open.
Both Quarians stumbled into the chamber, only to pause when the unwanted sight of heating bars and trash shoots came into view. The two quickly realised they had found themselves in the Citadel garbage disposal, a generally unsafe location.
Tali looked around for another means of escape, noticing a rusted ladder in the far-right corner of the room. She turned to her friend and pointed.
"Up there - you see that?"
The blue-suited Quarian suddenly fell down to his knees and struggled to remain upright. "That V.I we interacted with earlier...i-it said there's a clinic in the upper wards. Go for it, I'll just sit here..."
"What? No!" Tali yelled in defiance.
She kneeled in front of his mask and grabbed his shoulders, "We need to keep moving!" he gave no response to her words, earning a worried look from Tali as she nudged his shoulders. "Keenah?"
The man's head lowered towards the ground, eyes dimming behind his mask, as the purple blood on his open wound began to drench his legs. Tali was frozen in place as she watched her friend's posture fall to that of a lifeless husk, completely unmoving.
He was dead.
She was the last member of their group to survive, no one else was there to remember them. Her life would not end her, it would be an insult to all that her friends sacrificed if she merely lay down and accepted the outcome.
Wordlessly, Tali placed her data-pad on the floor and rushed towards the ladder. She climbed with vigour, not ceasing her movements for a moment, but offered the corpse of her fallen comrade one final look as she moved through the exit hatch.
"Thank you." she whispered, then vanished.
In the aftermath of the slaughter, Darth Vader had continued towards his new targets with focus, the Sith Lord watching for any signs of movement; he needed to remain vigilant in case they decided to retrace their steps. Unlikely, but not impossible.
He marched down the metal hall with calculated steps, but his sauntered movements lasted mere minutes before the sound of footsteps reached in from the distance. The sound was sloppy but also light-footed, which indicated to Vader that he had followed the correct path down the Lower Wards.
The sound grew louder and louder until he finally came across an opened hatch in the wall. He was about to enter the doorway, but found himself in the same difficult position as before:
These aliens were travelling in two, as their third part had already fell in combat. Mercenaries with advanced weapons training had been hunting the group for a while and yet had failed to secure info about them, or even come close to catching them.
Vader did not think himself foolish, and so he gave the situation a large consideration; these creatures were not stupid by any means, and yet the hatch in question had been left wide open.
Realisation struck Vader. "They wanted someone to follow them. But for what purpose?"
The Dark Lord approached the hatch and peered inside, glancing at the scorch marks on the walls that seemed to deform the metal. He noted a blue figure slumped in the corner before peering down to confirm the male as Quarian.
"Loss of blood." Vader noted. "But where is-"
Suddenly, the blood-red hatch slammed shut and entrapped Vader within the mysterious chamber. Looking around for the cause, he noticed a purple, feminine figure rush through a door on the higher levels and lock it behind herself. The walls burned with immeasurable heat and pressure.
Realising the true purpose of this room, the Sith reached out with the force and shielded himself with complete mastery of his abilities. The once scorching heat became a comforting warmth as Vader moved through the metal box towards the nearest platform, manipulating his cybernetics and jumping entire metres into the air.
The sound of thick, plated boots slamming into a thinned alloy sheet vibrated throughout the room before fading into the chamber. The Sith Lord remained completely unharmed as he forced his own limbs to quicken in pace; this woman was a natural with machinery, and could prove useful.
However, before Vader left, something came back to his mind that caused him to freeze. Reaching a gloved hand towards the ground floor, calling the force to perform his will, the towering man held a powerful grip against the dead Quarian's left arm, removing the orange virtual-tool from the wrist.
He clutched the technology in his hands, looking down upon its bizarre shape and shimmer, then continued rushing through the exit door. During the chase, Vader strapped the device to the inside of his armoured wrist and covered it with layered, metal-plated fabric from his life-support suit.
The feeling of electricity travelling down his back startled the Dark Lord for a moment before it soon faded, leaving a confused Vader looking down at himself with a questioning aura. Realising he was not qualified to identify the source, he continued with his mission and chased after the Quarian.
Unfortunately, the distraction of his new device allowed the young woman to escape. He gave a defeated, angry sigh before moving through the lower district with obvious tension; he had now taken notice of the low-life's and shady shops. It seemed to be a good place for purchasing some less-than-legal equipment.
Vader wandered around for some time, ignoring the different aliens who motioned him over and eventually found himself standing in an elevator leading to the Presidium.
The calming lakes and fountains helped to ease him, but that did not mean he lowered his guard for even a moment. He paced back and forth on the large, metal bridge whilst thinking of how he could locate the Quarian and claim her data.
Some time passed with little-to-no progress made in his mission. The time passed rather quickly the virtual timer on his new Omni-Tool showed that a whole hour had been wasted on standing around next to fountains and going in circles. He thought harder about where she could have ran to, but it seemed almost pointless to continue the chase.
"...She was injured. Limping. Those wounds must be treated within a limited time if she wished to continue." The Sith thought to himself. "If there was anywhere she could go...the hospital."
The idea held merit. Quarians, from what he was able to gather, were not as resilient to disease as most aliens. This meant open wounds were much too risky to leave untreated. Vader could feel the resolve building up within him as he rushed down towards yet another elevator, this one linked to a second area within the Presidium.
He pressed a button, closing the main doors, and stood with his arms folded against his chest. The anticipation was killing him. So much running for some nameless alien who may not even have an acceptable amount of data to 'share' with him. It did not need to be said that he was taking a risk.
The elevator doors opened once more and he was quick to step out. He gave little heed to the people rushing past him, following the neon signs placed around the different chambers; the ability to read the signs was something Vader had no time to be surprised about due to his need for efficiency.
"Excusing it with the device is adequate." He said.
Vader shifted down the metal halls like a spectre of death, mindlessly turning down a corner until he could find another sign to redirect him towards a befitting path. Fifteen minutes of walking later, he finally reached his destination as he loomed in an unlit corner of an abandoned hall.
Directly in front of Vader was an ordinary door. It seemed faded in colour, despite it likely being an important area within the Citadel, and above the frame was a holographic medic sign concealed in metal. He could assume this to be a medic room.
Vader researched the nearest medical centres on this side of the ward but found that only one had been constructed in the area. This would make a hunt for the Quarian much easier. He approached the door and forced it open using the force.
The first thing he noticed was the small, horrified red-head cowering in the corner. She had most likely been frightened when the door slammed open and took cover out of sheer instinct. Both Vader and the woman watched each other with uncertain emotions before the former spoke:
"Where is she?"
The doctor jolted in fear. "I...I-I don't-"
A thundering slam echoed throughout the room. The towering Sith Lord loomed above her with a dark aura that almost suffocated her. The sound that reverberated from his life-support made her shiver and quake, but she managed to breath in.
"The Quarian. I know she was here. You will tell me her location. Refusal to cooperate will be met with less...peaceful methods."
"I..." She pondered his words. It seemed that she had been weighing her options, a look of guilt on the doctor's face as she looked him in the eyes of his dark mask. "I sent her to Fist, in Cora's Den. I imagine she would have recently left after a deal, Fist could tell you more."
"Interesting..." Vader continued glaring down at the woman before suddenly pulling back. "You have been most helpful. I will allow you to live, a reward for your cooperation."
The metal man did not wait for a retort, instead he moved back through the main entrance and down the halls, having a faint memory of the location of Cora's Den; he passed the alien bar a few times in his search, so finding the place would be simple.
Reaching Fist and getting out, however, would be challenging for most. It was a good thing Vader was no mere man, but a powerful Sith Lord. The presence of blasters and turrets meant nothing to someone as grand and determined as him.
Vader loomed on the metal walkway connecting the main wards, and gave his Omni-Tool a glance before turning right towards a large door. He was getting ready to enter Cora's Den. Fist was said to be inside with his hired mercs. The Sith Lord did not care about such threats, however, as he used one of his many force abilities to expand his own sight and senses to peer through the walls.
Basic equipment, no enforced armour, lack of real firepower - it was almost insulting. The whole of the Den had been locked down, and if Vader were to make a bet, Fist had mobilized ALL of his goons in a desperate attempt to save himself while also laying out some ''advanced'' defences. "This will be an easy hunt." Vader muttered as he walked.
The armoured male paused, standing before the neon-lit entrance, and raised a hand towards it in an obvious attempt to break through. He felt the force push the framework until it creaked, and in less than a second it exploded from the wall. The thugs on the other side watched in horror, clearly underestimating their newest foe. Vader was the first to act as he pulled out his lightsaber.
"Come. Face your death." He proclaimed.
Cora's Den immediately turned into a war zone as mercenaries and unknown gunmen pointed their weapons at Vader and fired. He predicted such an obvious response, using his enhanced body to be faster than even their mass-accelerated ammo. It left them all baffled and afraid.
The constant twisting and dodging began to grow irritating for the Sith. He was not patience enough to let these people aimlessly shoot their blasters, and so instead he took the initiative and raced to the nearest merc. His crimson lightsaber coursed down from his shoulder and cut the alien in half.
Vader did not give his enemies a chance to recover and rushed the following ten gunners with both precision and purpose, cleaving them in two with immeasurable ferocity. He was relentless in form. The mercenaries gave up on strategy and tried an undignified method of running away screaming.
The Dark Lord scoffed silently, pulling them back with the force, and stabbing through them all. He reduced them to human-alien kebabs before the group slowly fell off the end of his lightsaber. His eyes wandered towards the remaining six men: a single human, four Turians, and a Krogan. There was some difficulty in identifying the aliens, but it became much easier with time and practice.
Vader noted how the first two groups were frozen from utter terror, yet the hulking Krogan stomped towards him with no sign of fear. He almost felt a shimmer of respect for the mindless brute, but it was obvious that he did not approach Vader with genuine courage but mere cockiness.
"Approach me, and you will die." Vader warned as the silver-armoured Krogan began to charge the length of the bar towards him. Vader prepared to face the weight of an entire mountain, but he was surprised by the lack of pressure on his body. He chose not to question it and tossed the alien to a nearby table, breaking the face upon contact.
"Enough! Die, human!" The Krogan called out as he stomped his feet and ran towards Vader once more, and opened his arms like a rugby player in preparation to catch the ball. Vader felt no worry and side-stepped the brute whilst raising his red blade diagonally, cutting through his thick guts.
Vader watched him bleed out on the floor. "You had your chance." He muttered, coldly, before a final stab with his lightsaber ended the creature once and for all. Silence permeated the Den, but that did not mean the Sith was fulfilled just yet.
The towering man approached the inner doors and went to work at hacking it open, which only took him a few seconds. Once the doors opened, Vader was faced with two remaining workers who aimed their pistols in the man's face.
Having reached the limits of his mercy for today, Vader flicked a mechanical hand with the force to slam both men into each other. The sound of their brains squelching against their shattering bones proved ineffective in unnerving him, and he gave them no mind as he pushed through the storage.
He could hear a man's voice curse their names in the next room, probably Fist himself, calling them cheap and useless. Fist was clearly desperate now and wanted to bide time for some final defence. It was all in vain, however, as Vader slammed into a second door and forced it open with sheer will.
Fist screamed in fear.
"I presume you are Fist." Vader said. It was not a question, but a statement of what they both had known to be the truth. Fist was cornered. "Your pitiful defences have been breached, it would be wise to give up and surrender." His voice was a cold, uncaring tone that left the human shaking.
"L-Look, I never wanted to go after you! I was on contract with S-Saren Arterius. He's the one you should be hunting down." Fist exclaimed with a growing dampness on his face, caused by sheer sweat and suspense.
Vader was silent, but not for long. "I am not here to listen to you grovel, Fist. I came here to find a Quarian - a female, dressed in purple." He took hold of Fist's left arm and tightened his grip. The unexpected pressure made the poor man yelp.
"R-R-Right!" Fist sputtered. "The Quarian said she had evidence on Saren that proved he was behind the attack on Eden Prime. I said that I'd send an agent of the Shadow Broker to meet in one of the Lower Wards' back allies, but Saren's mercs will be waiting there for her."
Vader nodded, pretending to understand what he had just been told, but in reality he barely knew what Fist was talking about. He could find where the back streets were located, and he also had an idea of who Saren was based on recent news, but the Shadow Broker remained a mystery to him.
"...Interesting..." Vader moved closer to Fist and looked deep into his brown eyes, earning him a confused look from the shorter male. He felt the urge to kill the man here and now but also knew there could be uses for him in the future, should Vader require someone with street knowledge.
"So... You're gonna let me go?" Fist asked him.
"Correct. I shall spare you, for now, but you will provide me with information when I have need of it. Understood?" Vader coldly informed him of his future investments. There was no room for him to negotiate, lest he want to face Vader's wrath.
"Y-Yes, of course, Vad- Lord Vader!" Fist agreed.
The Sith Lord watched him for a moment longer before turning on his heel and leaving. Fist gave a weak sigh of relief, heart racing as he struggled to keep himself upright from the fear that running in his meagre body. The stress made his brain fuzzy and slow to respond when he stumbled around.
He now understood the fear mankind could instil.
Tali'Zorah was beginning to fear that she would never find peace, even after the issue of the Geth data was removed from three-fingered hands; it seemed the Turian Spectre, Saren Arterius, had a personal vendetta against the Quarian woman.
She had grown tired of watching over her own shoulder all the time, fearful that someone was going to catch her off-guard and finally end her disturbance on the Citadel, and such ideas were proven right when a Turian male came running after her with his own band of hired alien mercs.
Ever since the evidence fell into her hands, Tali had been relentlessly hunted across an entire system and hadn't been able to get proper rest. Perhaps it would return, once the Shadow Broker took away the horrible curse that was her evidence, then she could finally focus back on her pilgrimage.
However, as Tali pondered this within the tension of a dark alleyway, awaiting the arrival of one of the most dangerous brokers in the galaxy, it had become clear to the Quarian how stupid she was being in believing that such issues would vanish along with the data. It would be more likely that Saren would hunt her down and get revenge.
The cloud of negativity was hardly appeased when an unfamiliar group came into view. It was a single Turian male in white armour, and a few Salarians who were armed to the teeth in combat gear and specialised weapons. Tali began to experience the sickening tingle in her gut once more, like a threat of death had just arrived to threaten her survival.
"Who are you?" Tali asked, silently cringing at the lack of confidence in her voice. She tried to clear out her weariness and continued. "Where's Fist?"
"He'll be here. Do you have the evidence?" The Turian neigh-interrogated her as he began to run his hand up Tali's left arm, rather seductively. It earned him a glare from the woman as she used the opposing hand to slap him away from her.
"No way, the deal's off." Tali said, earning shocked expressions from both the Turian and Salarians in the back of the street. None of them had expected her to announce something so utterly suicidal.
The Turian scowled in her face as he tried to reach for his main gun. Predicting his reaction, Tali used her legs to kick herself away and reached into her pockets for a grenade. She threw it towards them and scurried behind a nearby supplies crate. The sound of an explosion, accompanied by a pained grunt, reassured Tali that she had hit someone.
She fumbled with her belt to pull out her gun and fired a few rounds from behind cover. Once more, the sound of pained groans reached her ears. The noise was calming, somewhat, but that would not be enough to assure her that it was safe.
Tali's worries came to be, as a hoarse voice called out to her as a warning. "Don't fucking move." It caused the girl to freeze in shock before glancing to her right, just enough to make out a familiar Turian in white armour. He seemed to be holding his pistol towards the side of her helmet, likely to reinforce the idea that HE was control, not her.
A single thought entered Tali's mind: Is this really how I'll die? The promise she had made to both friends and family -just her father- that her quest would be quick, and an incredible success. That neither Council nor criminal would keep her the least bit doubtful about her quest into the stars.
Noting the futility in fighting against fate, Tali had closed her eyes in preparation for eternal sleep. It would be quick demise, she hoped, considering how close the Turian was pointing the gun to the side of her masked head. That small reassurance had been a bittersweet comfort before the end.
But 'the end' never came to pass. A loud strangled noise escaped the Turian's throat as he reached a three-fingered hand up to the plates beneath. His eyes widened in mixed confusion and terror. Dark blood seeped from beneath and dripped down to the dirtied floor like an in-use tap, falling with the speed of an opened dam. Tali noted the plates on his neck vibrating with an incredible speed.
The Turian's blood-filled gargles were interrupted when an unseen force threw him across the length of the street, into the far wall, and lifting him up to the air like a blood-stained ragdoll. "W...Wai-" He was given no time to plead as the unknown power threw him once again, this time into a jagged box.
Two Salarians, who had been watching from the doorway, immediately readied their weapons and searched the opposing entrance. Silence met the two mercenaries for a moment, but it would soon be interrupted by a frightening sound. The hoarse intake of air, followed with an equally horrendous outbreath that sent shivers through their spines.
With two loud, thunderous steps, the perpetrator revealed themselves - a dark, towering male in a slithering cloak that reached past their feet to the ground, running across the metal flooring. Metal armour of the most expansive quality covered his shoulders, legs, neck, and head entirely. He was focused on the Salarian mercs who continued to watch him in utter silence, unsure of how to act.
Tali gawked at the man with bated breaths as he pulled something thin and silver from the depths of his ebony cloak. It seemed to be crafted from the rarest metals, the reflective surface almost a blinding shimmer as it glared into Tali's mask. He pointed the tool towards the ground before a red beam ignited from the end, illuminating them all with a crimson haze. The Salarians gulped in fear.
The man pointed the weapon -something Tali had issue with understanding- and proclaimed with a cold, uncaring voice. "You are in my way." He was blunt with his words, showing little care for how it effected everyone around him. It showed that he held authority. An authority Tali could not ignore.
In a fraction of a second, he closed the distance between them and readied his red-bladed tool of destruction, cleaving one of them in two with no effort on his part. The remaining three Salarians tried desperately to resist him, firing their pistols with barely-contained fear, but their weapons in question had no effect on him whatsoever.
He finished them off in moments. Their bodies in pieces, falling to the ground with a sickening slap that almost caused Tali to regurgitate her dinner. Whatever that tool was, it held much power for a mere handle crafted from metal.
The relief that coursed through Tali had not been lasting; the metal-framed figure pulled himself up into a respectable posture, then turned his gaze towards Tali. The coldness erupted from his body and threatened to leave her curled up and frozen from the blatant hostility and uncaringness. This man held little regard for anything, even himself.
He watched her closely. Tali looked back.