Martin stumbled through the darkened corridors of the Citadel, each step sending a fresh wave of pain radiating from his chest. The wound Vyras had given him wasn't going to close up on its own, but he'd deal with it later. There was no time to sit down and bleed. Kol was gone. The damn Salarian had vanished, along with their skycar, leaving Martin stranded and on his own. Typical, he thought bitterly. He couldn't say he hadn't expected it. Kol was as opportunistic as they came, and Martin was just another pawn in his game.

"Keep moving," he muttered to himself, stumbling toward the elevator. He hit the controls, feeling the jolt as the car lurched upward. He pressed a hand against his chest, gritting his teeth as he felt the blood oozing between his fingers, soaking into his shirt. He had to get to the lower wards. The clinic there wasn't exactly a hospital, but it would have to do.

He switched the frequency on his omni-tool, pressing his hand to his ear. "Athria," he rasped, waiting, his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears. For a moment, there was only static, and he feared the worst. "Athria, pick up, dammit!"

A burst of crackling, then her voice came through, clear and urgent. "Martin! What's going on? You don't sound good."

He exhaled, feeling a weight lift off his chest just hearing her voice. "Ran into Vyras," he said, his voice strained. "Doesn't matter. Kol got the information, but he took off. I'm heading to the lower wards…" He paused, the effort of speaking leaving him breathless. "Need to take care of something. Meet me at the clinic."

There was a brief silence, then Athria's voice came back, laced with worry. "Whoa, wait, the clinic? What happened?"

"It's fine," he lied, swallowing back the pain. "Just… meet me there. Vyras is relentless. He won't be too far behind me."

"Shit," she muttered. "Alright. I had to abandon the apartment, anyway. That damn Asari Spectre showed up."

Despite the pain, Martin found himself smirking, picking up the faint note of pride in her voice. "You mean I missed the catfight?" he teased as he winced at the pain. "Did you take any pictures?"

"You're a jackass," she replied, but there was a faint chuckle beneath her words. "Martin… I'll be there in a bit."

The comms cut off, and Martin let his arm fall to his side, leaning against the wall as he took in a steadying breath. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep moving. The blood loss was starting to weigh on him, slowing his steps, making each movement feel like dragging through mud. But he had to keep going, trying to look normal.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to the lower wards. He stepped out, ignoring the odd stares from a few passersby who noticed the blood streaked down his shirt. He kept his head down, moving through the crowd with as much purpose as he could muster. He'd made it this far. Now he just had to hold on a little longer.

Martin entered the clinic, a faint sense of relief washing over him as he stepped into the sterile, dimly lit space. Familiar faces didn't mean much on the Citadel, but this doctor was an exception. She'd had seen him before, no questions asked, and today he'd need more of the same. The doctor took one look at him, sighed, and motioned him to the nearest bed, already pulling on a pair of gloves.

"Let me guess, you pulled out the knife?" she chided, not bothering to hide her annoyance as she prepped a suture kit. She moved over to a cabinet, pulled a large applicator of medi-gel, and sunk the injector into his chest. He winced, and this breath caught in his throat for a moment. Martin shrugged it off as she removed it, a cold feeling rushing through his body. He stayed silent as she went to work. He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth as the needle dipped in and out, sealing up the damage Vyras had left him with. The pain dulled slightly as she worked, her practiced hands quick and efficient, stitching up the wound without any small talk.

Halfway through, he heard footsteps and turned to see Athria pushing her way past the curtain, her gaze settling on him with that blend of frustration and concern he'd come to recognize distinctly her. She took in his battered form, scars scattered across his chest, fresh blood staining his side.

"Oh, just fine, I see," she said, with her arms crossed tightly, cocking an eyebrow. Martin raised an eyebrow right back at her, a wry smile twitching at his lips. "I'm alive. That's 'fine' enough." The doctor paused her work to give Athria a knowing look, one eyebrow raised in mild amusement.

"He's fine, miss," she said, almost as if reassuring her. Athria's gaze softened, but her tone held a hint of anger. "He better be. He's not allowed to die yet."

Martin chuckled, looking dead in her eyes. "Oh, I need your permission now?"

Athria narrowed her eyes at him, though her words came with a faint edge of jest. "That's right. You don't get to make that call anymore."

The doctor finished up, patting the wound to check for any lingering bleeding. She then applied the sterile bandage over his wound. "You're good to go, but if you pull these stitches…" She let the threat hang, eyeing Martin with a look that told him she'd seen her fair share of reckless patients. He glanced at her, wondering if he came off as one of those people.

Martin nodded, carefully sliding off the table. The moment his feet touched the ground, a wave of dizziness hit him, and he had to grip the edge of the bed for balance. Athria and the doctor exchanged a glance, both of them watching him with expressions that mingled exasperation and concern. Martin shrugged it off, steadied himself, and looked at Athria. "I need food."

Athria let out a short laugh. "Of course, the barbarian gets stabbed and immediately wants to eat."

"Barbarian eats when barbarian is hungry," Martin replied, deadpan, mimicking the nickname. She rolled her eyes but smiled, a hint of relief flickering across her face as she looked him over one last time. "Fine. Let's get you fed, 'barbarian.' Just try not to bleed all over the place on the way."
"Can't promise anything," He retorted.

Martin lowered himself into the skycar with a groan, sinking into the seat and trying not to jostle his injured arm too much. The adrenaline was fading, and the throbbing pain was creeping back in. Athria climbed in after him, glancing at the mess he'd made of himself, and reached back for his bag, digging around before she pulled out a clean shirt. Without warning, she tossed it straight at his face.

"Here. You look like hell," she said, Martin let out a huff, pulling the shirt off his face and giving her a look before pulling off his bloodied one. His movements were slow, deliberate, each shift a fresh reminder of the wound under his newly stitched skin. He slipped the clean shirt on, throwing the old one into the back seat, sighing as he finally leaned back, settling into the seat.

Athria glanced over at him as she started up the skycar, adjusting the controls and settling in for the ride. "Where's your jacket?" she asked. "Left it in Kol's car," he muttered, Just saying it aloud made him feel like realize just how bare he was. Athria raised an eyebrow, throwing him a sidelong glance as the skycar began to ascend. "You left it with that weirdo?"

Martin chuckled, wincing a little as his ribs reminded him of their presence. "Yeah, he's probably sniffing the hell out of it right now," he joked, shaking his head. "The way he was asking questions… makes me think he might mount it on his wall or something."

Reaching into the back, Martin grabbed his hoodie, but he noticed immediately that it had a few new holes in it and a strange, tattered look. He frowned, holding it up and inspecting it. "What the hell happened to my shit?"

Athria didn't look at him, her expression deadpan as she kept her eyes on the skyway ahead. "Catfight," she said, completely straight-faced, offering nothing more.

Martin blinked, glancing between her and the hoodie, as her deadpan delivery finally sank in. He shook his head, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leaned back, choosing not to press further.

"""""""""""""""

Athria guided the skycar through the familiar lanes of the ward, weaving through the towering spires and buzzing skyways until she found a quiet restaurant on the far side of the ward. She'd chosen it for its simplicity, a place far from the chaos they had left behind. She wasn't sure how long they had before the Spectres caught up again, but they needed a breather, and Martin… well, he needed to eat.

Sitting across from him now, she watched with a mixture of fascination and mild concern as he devoured two full meals in record time. Athria had seen him push through all kinds of physical strain, but this was different. He wasn't just eating; it was as if he were fueling a fire inside him. Every bite was calculated and purposeful, as if he were consuming strength itself. She couldn't understand how he could keep going like this, but then again, that was Martin. Always pushing the limits, even in small moments like this.

"Were you… hungry?" she asked, her tone betraying a hint of worry as she watched him polish off the last bite. Martin looked up, pausing as he washed down the food with his drink. "Yeah, fighting makes me hungry," he said with a smirk. "Getting hurt? Twice as much."

"Is that normal?" she asked, leaning forward slightly, her brow furrowing.

Martin laughed, his tone casual as if he were explaining a mild inconvenience. "Maybe. Blood loss can do that, sure. But my body tries to heal fast. So, the more nutrients I can consume, the faster it can repair. If I don't, I'll start getting weak… my body starts pulling what it needs from itself. It's not a great feeling." His explanation was clinical, almost detached, as if he were talking about a machine rather than his own flesh and blood.

Athria studied him for a moment, her face softening. "I take it that's the augmentations causing that?" She wanted to understand this part of him, this strange combination of man and what was changed that had made him both resilient and alien to her. He nodded, his expression neutral. "Yeah, I don't think it was intended that way, but that's how I ended up." He brushed it off with a shrug, his tone almost dismissive.

But she couldn't shake the weight of it. How could he just accept it like this? "You seem so unbothered by what… they did to you," she stated, unable to keep the edge of sympathy from her voice.

"It is what it is," he replied, a hint of coldness in his tone. "I can't change it, but the augmentations have been… useful." He sounded almost as if he were justifying it, trying to convince himself as much as her. Athria frowned and leaned forward. "So you don't care? I mean, they used you, and yet 'it is what it is?'" She needed to understand. This man who had been molded, scarred, and altered by forces beyond his control… how could he be so at peace with it?

Martin looked at her, his expression puzzled. "I don't understand what you're getting at," he said slowly. "I don't like that they messed with me, sure. But I have larger concerns: Turians, the Council, Spectres, C-Sec…" He paused, and his gaze softened slightly, almost imperceptibly. "You…"

"Me?" she echoed, feeling a strange flutter in her chest at his words. She wasn't sure what to make of it. Martin chuckled, shaking his head with a teasing grin. "All that, and you're worried about you," he mocked lightly. She rolled her eyes, fighting back the hint of warmth his words stirred. "That's not what I meant."

He let out a sigh, setting his drink down and resting his injured side on the table, wincing slightly as he shifted. "I know what you meant, Athria. You're a concern of mine. I've dragged you into this mess, and I have to get you out," he said, his tone quiet but resolute.

Athria held his gaze, feeling a strange mixture of frustration and affection toward him. "If I remember correctly, I asked to help," she reminded him, sitting back in her seat, her tone pointed. "And I can handle myself."

Martin nodded, but his expression didn't change. "Sure, but still my problem." He leaned back, smirking with that familiar glint in his eyes. "You've probably worn me out more than they have," he added, his voice laced with teasing.

Athria felt a sudden warmth rise to her face, unable to suppress a slight smile. She quickly composed herself, rolling her eyes. "Don't blame me for Vyras getting one over on you," she quipped, crossing her arms and giving him a playful look. For a brief moment, the weight of their situation seemed to lift, if only slightly. They were just two people sharing a quiet moment.

Athria watched Martin's smirk as he shrugged at her comment. "I can blame whoever I want," he said. She shook her head, refocusing her thoughts.

"So, Kol..." she said, leaning forward, studying his face. "What happened at the Archives?"

Martin paused, his eyes darting past her for a split second before returning to hers. There was something guarded in his gaze, almost as if he was weighing how much to share. "I think Kol got what he needed... or I hope," he replied, a hint of uncertainty slipping through.

"You hope?" she pressed as she frowned. "You mean you don't know?"

He gave a casual shrug, wincing as the motion pulled at his injury. "I was a little too busy dealing with Vyras to ask. I told Kol to get out once he got it... I thought he'd wait for me, but I guess that was too much to expect."

Athria felt a wave of frustration ripple through her, her mind racing as she processed what he was saying. "So he has the data, and Vyras knows… shit," she muttered, her hand instinctively moving to her chin as she tried to piece together their next move.

"We need to find Kol," she said, almost to herself, her mind already calculating the risks and strategies needed. Martin tilted his head, giving her a look that bordered on amusement. "Maybe… or we could just wait. I'm sure he'll find us," he suggested with a casualness that bordered on maddening.

She shook her head. "The Spectres coming after you is one thing. But a suspected rogue Spectre? That's something else entirely. Vyras and the... other Spectre... they'll hunt him down without mercy." She paused, feeling the weight of the situation pressing on her. Kol's life was as much in the balance now as theirs, and if he was caught, they could lose the only leverage they had left.

"Yeah, I guess you have a point," Martin admitted as he looked away, "but what really concerns me is what Vyras said to me. It was too familiar–too much like what the Colonel was spouting off about putting humanity in its place."

Athria narrowed her eyes. "But why? Why you? You're…" She stopped herself, catching the frustration bubbling up. "You're not allied with the Alliance or any other human faction. It doesn't make sense."

Martin's jaw tightened, and for a moment, she saw a flicker of something raw and unsettling in his gaze. "Nothing?" he asked, his tone almost flat, defensive. Athria looked at him steadily, her gaze softening as she shook her head.

"...You're not tied to them," she clarified, holding her gaze on him. "Not in any way that makes sense for this level of… persecution. It just doesn't add up."

Martin lowered his gaze to the table, exhaling deeply. "No, I'm not. But the way Vyras has been going about this... it's just strange." His hand tightened on his empty glass as if grounding himself through the pain in his shoulder. "It's like he's been pushing C-Sec and the other Spectres on us in a way that feels… half-hearted, almost haphazard. If they'd come at us with everything they had, if all three Spectres and C-Sec pooled resources, we would've been done before we knew what hit us."

Athria leaned forward, caught up in the threads of his thoughts. "What are you saying?" she asked quietly. "That he's been toying with us?"

Martin shook his head slowly, a dark expression settling over his face. "Not toying, no. It's more like he's expecting me… us to cause more damage, like he's trying to provoke me. These Spectres? They're good, sure, but Vyras… he's on a different level than Nira or Kol. It's like they picked them specifically to put up a fight but not enough to overwhelm me. Just enough to keep a rope around my neck, but not hard enough to pull."

Athria felt a chill run through her as she processed his theory. The way his mind pieced it together, how he could see the game being played against him–it was terrifying, yet it made an alarming amount of sense. She felt a surge of admiration for his resilience and his sharpness, but also a pang of worry. His life had conditioned him to see traps in every corner, every face.

"We need to find Kol," she said, feeling the weight of it settle like iron in her stomach. She watched as Martin nodded.