This is my first foray into fanfic, so criticism is very welcome. Also, I don't know how to link stories like other people are doing so I'll just post it (yeah, criticize that too if you must).
I sincerely hope you enjoy!
MASS EFFECT 3: Victory’s
Burden
By Tim Johnson
Chapter 1:
The two Batarian guards stepped out of the shadows with
their eyes fixed on the lone turian walking through the Afterlife’s doors. With the usually bright and sporadic flashing lights turned off there were plenty of shadows for the thugs of Omega’s chief to
hide in, and though the Turian didn’t notice there were enough of the old
chief’s hired help to fill all of the shadows.
“Look at the pond scum that just walked in our door,” said one of the batarians. “Are you looking for a quick death, because you’re walking into the wrong door for a peaceful discussion.”
The Turian glanced over at the guards, apparently oblivious
to the danger they presented.
“If you pull that trigger, you’ll have to answer to Aria.” The turian cooly turned, “I doubt she likes
her invited guests to be treated in this manner, especially when she is about
to begin bargaining.”
“We’ll see about that,” scoffed the Batarian, as he lowered his weapon. He turned to walk into the club and the turian trailed behind. While keeping his gaze fixed ahead, as if he wasn’t worried about the figures moving weapons and explosives around, he tried to scope the place out. Exit to the front, side behind the bar, and rear exit underneath the lounge. Three, maybe four guards watching the traffic, the rest are busy. Afterlife looked more like a shipping facility than a raunchy club, but as the turian walked up to the owner’s lounge he smiled.
“Well it looks like some things don’t change on Omega,” he quipped as he took a seat next to Aria T’loak.
“Vakarian, Garrus isn’t it? Archangel, rogue C-sec agent, hero, and Shepard’s right hand man.” She turned and smiled at him. “You’re racking up quite a resume that should land you somewhere close to Primarck, and yet your kind still crawls there way back here, to the dregs of the galaxy.”
“Don’t fool yourself Aria, I’m not here out of some failed
sense of accomplishment or belied underworld identity. You and I both know that Omega has its draw
to characters of… spotty deeds. I’m here
on an investigation into some very sensitive
items and I know you have your hands in it.”
“Really Vakarian, I expected more from you. You who single handedly had the galaxy’s
three largest gangs cooperating to bring you down come in here without a weapon
and…”
“Look, I’m done with your little games and dodging facades.” Garrus stood up and towered over Aria. “I want to know where the shipments are that the last Vorcha freighter dropped off.”
“My my, aren’t we on edge? Turian galactic interests weighing that heavily on you now?”
“Let’s just say between an honest job and living for something more than myself, I don’t get much time off for R&R when I’m home.”
“Well we could change that, Garrus. Aria lifted a hand and ran a finger down the
crest of the Turian’s armor. I’m in need of some more hired help, though I doubt you’d let yourself be put on the same level with Gredge and his friends,” she said as she pointed to her Batarian sentries.
“Garrus grabbed her hand and moved it back to her lap. Uh, I don’t think so Aria.” He chuckled.
“You’re exactly the kind of criminal that I left my cosy C-sec office to
hunt down when I went with Shepard.”
“You may not agree with my methods or morals,” mused Omega’s leader as she stood up. She spread her arms out wide, indicating entirety. “But I run a tight operation. No government interference, no crime above and beyond what this slummy asteroid is used to. I just need someone to help me make my place as leader more… unquestionable.”
“Oh how far the proud have fallen!” Garrus let out a laugh. “What was the expression that you used to say
so much, Don’t F**k with Aria?”
“Alright Vakarian, In the words of your illustrious friend’s species, I’ll scratch your back only if you scratch mine. I’ve got a job for you to do if you want my cooperation to find that scientist.”
Garrus sat back, his mandibles jerked outward only slightly. “Scientist, what scientist?”
“The package you’re looking for is an asari scientist named Fresa T’pose. She’s been hiding here after some great discovery of hers. Apparently she is worth gold to the next stage of galactic evolution. As a fellow asari…” Aria trailed off and smiled. “And as a bargaining chip, I’m helping her stay safe and sound out of sight.”
“And?” piped in Garrus, who sat up strait now and listened intently.
“And nothing. You want to know where she is, you have to give me something. “
Garrus stood up to leave and turned back to Aria. “It’s not quite the same as I remember it, he said gesturing to the club around him. “Less lively and less… dancing.”
---
Garrus slapped the panel next to the door and it slid shut. He walked into the room of his tiny ship and sat down in the pilot’s chair, head in hands. A loud sigh left his chest as he released a deep breath of frustrated, confused, and tired air.
“Shepard, where are you…” He sat back and looked at his gun rack. Reaching up, he pulled out a pair of N7 dogtags with the name of his best friend now not-so-clearly etched into the metal. He remembered when they had been given to him…
Modifié par Timusafa, 25 janvier 2013 - 12:07 .
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