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Chapter Text

Saren awoke gasping for breath from yet another nightmare, his hide clammy and cold from sweat. Sovereign was implanting him as it originally wanted to, the ‘upgrades’ it had promised would make him better. They were not simple or gentle such as the one’s he had before. He already had nanites and minor implants at that stage. Most were not that invasive, slowly brought on by the nanites. His eyes, mandibles and biotics had all been augmented both by himself for his work, and later by Sovereign through the nanites. He shivered as he could still feel the cables puncture his hide and run under his plates in his dream.  

This was followed by all the things he was made to do on behalf of his previous overlord, and some he had not yet done. Nihlus’s stunned face upon catching a glimpse of Saren shooting him was still the worst…Seeing the shock and betrayal in his eyes the split second before the bullet shaving leaves the barrel of his pistol. Saren wasn’t sure what were dreams any more, or what were his original memories. Between the Indoctrination and the vivid nightmares, reality and dreams were beginning to blur. But shooting Nihlus? That was real. That he knew from the very ache in his heart, the screams in the back of his head as he was powerless to stop himself.

He and Nihlus had been… something to each other. “Occasional lovers” felt like a disservice to his former student, but their true relationship was never spoken aloud. He knew deep down that Nihlus had wormed his way into his heart, slowly but surely; but they never discussed it. Only when he lost -no, killed Nihlus by shooting him in the back!-, did it become apparent to him just how far he’d fallen, both for the red-plated trickster and from his grace as a Spectre. He was supposed to protect the galaxy, not endanger it. The L-word seems too strong to use, but it might have been, given enough time. Time he no longer had.

Getting out of bed, the room’s lights came on automatically at a low level to his movement. He still squinted for a second so his eyes; -his natural eyes- could adjust. Grabbing his night robes and pulling it on, trying to stave off the perpetual cold feeling that seemed to have seeped into his very Spirit, no matter how high he tried to put the thermostat. He moved to the kitchen for some kava, knowing from experience he would not be able to sleep again for several hours.

After Shepard had saved him from shooting himself and then surviving the debris of his machine master falling on them, the Council rightfully imprisoned him, questioning every move he had made in the past few years leading up to the attack in interrogation after interrogation. The ex-Spectre told them everything he knew. Everything that he was able to learn about the Reapers and about Indoctrination, so they could learn to protect against it and what was to come. He never saw a trial, as it was a moot point. He knew he was guilty and openly admitted it. Again, Shepard stood up for him, proving that indoctrination was indeed what had happened to him. From there, more tests, surgical removal of his minor implants to help sever the link the Reapers had with him, and to learn what they could about them. The nanites were of particular interest, as they augmented him over time.

He had gone willingly if just to rid himself from the whispers in the back of his mind. There were still others of his kind out there, albeit far off, and somehow they could still speak with him over all this distance from dark space, but not outright control him. Thank the Spirits for that. Only Shepard believed him. It had ranked to be saved by a human, and then to have this human be the only one that believed him, and that has any power to enact change, to stand up for him. Saren was still bitter about it, but had kept quiet as the future of their galactic civilisation depended on it and was more important than his petty grudges. 

The surgeries were not gentle, and they only took minimal care of him afterwards.  His plates and hide still bore the scars of these. Not that he deserved better. The new prosthetic mandibles and arm took some getting used to, was of basic quality and he was not afforded physical therapy to learn to use them. Luckily, he was a Spectre and had a vast knowledge to help himself, with more than enough time to practice in his cell. His eyes they replaced with cloned versions of the originals. He was still uncertain as to why but was strangely thankful to have his natural vision returned to him instead of seeing shades of grey. The world once more had colour, even if his life did not reflect that.

He put his favourite (and only) mug under the kava maker and turned it on. Leaning back on the small kitchen counter as he waited, his mind kept going back to those early days. The pain, frustration and humiliation he had to endure. Eventually, he was sentenced to a maximum-security prison for several asari lifetimes. Why they didn’t kill him outright, he wasn’t sure. But, again, he suspected Shepard’s involvement. Valern had stated he would be called upon if they needed more information on the Reapers, so maybe that was their angle for keeping him in this miserable state?

Eventually, after only a  few months in prison, the Council decided to ‘rehabilitate’ him, make him work back his sentence to the people instead of rotting in a prison. Saren still was their best and longest-serving agent and could still be useful. This was probably another of Shepard’s suggestions. With proper supervision this time around, of course. He now had a ‘handler’ in the form of another Spectre that regularly checked up on him in person, and reported directly to Sparatus. Not that he didn’t know several ways around that if he wanted to. The silver Spectre was to stay out in the fringes of Citadel space as well. Saren was now another of the Council's dirty little secrets, as no one was supposed to know he was even still alive. It was reported to the media that Shepard had killed him.

It suited him just fine though. He didn’t have to face mobs of angry people, while he could still do something to repay the debt he had to the people he had wronged, and he was not idle with the knowledge that the Reapers were coming, even if the Council were.

The kava maker beeped it’s completion and Saren stepped forward to retrieve the turian cup. Blowing on it’s steaming contents, he hugged it to his perpetually cold form, taking a little comfort in the puddle of heat it produced, before he walked to his pilot’s seat. Once comfortable, he took a tentative sip. And slightly singed his tongue. The burn helped centre him to the here and now. Clicking his mandibles in displeasure, he put the mug down on it’s designated spot, while he pulled up some reports on the area. Work was always safe, kept his mind from wandering too much. Some pirates were hitting supply ships that went from the outer colonies to Citadel space and back. He was trying to ascertain a pattern or common point of origin so he could start to track them. Were they different bands, acting at random, or one organised group? They also seemed to favour dextro suppliers, so most likely consists of turians.

Unbeknownst to anyone, Saren was also starting to hoard stockpiles of food, medical supplies, raw materials and munitions on various worlds for when the Reapers did eventually arrive. He still had access to his hidden accounts and contacts that the Council did not know about before his incarceration and were now using these for good. There would be shortages and people would starve. If he could have some hidden stashes, both on core worlds and outlying colonies, and then somehow get those to where it was needed? It might just help keep people alive long enough to figure out how to beat the mechanical devils. Or even if some survivors happened upon them, it would work out all the same. It was the one thing Shepard had impressed on him, and that was that the Reapers could be beaten. If only the Council would start to prepare themselves.

Unfortunately, Shepard was now dead for over a solar year and a half. The Council backslid on any action and now denied the Reapers even existed, claiming it was him leading the Geth. Saren snorted at the thought. Like the Geth would ever follow him. Simultaneously the Council was sending Saren on farther, longer and more dangerous missions. They must be trying to keep him from saying anything as well or try to kill him after all. Not that he could talk to anyone without going through mediaries. He was dead, after all. And he actually liked to keep the general perception as such. 

What did surprise him was that Anderson, the new human Councilor, was the only one that was pushing the others to do anything about the Reapers. His once disgraced mentee was now standing up for him and his ‘stories’. It left him with a foul taste in his mouth, but what could he do? Anderson was putting his hatred for himself after the need to prepare the people, even asking for his opinion on the topic. For the Galaxy, he will comply.

His console beeped with new information, which he gladly opened in the hopes it might be a lead. Which it was, just not for his current mission. His source was credible, but how did he send this through. With his current reputation, the Council might not believe him.

Saren sat back in his chair, looking out at the stars as he took another tentative sip of his kava, contemplating. Scuttlebut has it that Separatists were going to make a play at assassinating Counselor Sparatus himself. That was quite the claim to make. Looking at the source, it came from Taetrus. Hmm. Maybe he could work it around to go fact find for himself on the planet. It had strong Separatist connections, and they might lead him to some other information on his current mission.

For safety, he sent the information to his handler. They can decide if security should be increased or not, while he investigates. Setting a course for Taetrus, he looked out onto the blue-shifting stars as his ship began to move. It would take about a day to reach Taetrus from his current location, but he already had a standing cover identity there as a mercenary. Good thing he was already barefaced, now he just needed to dye his plates. He loathed to do so but it was part of the job. Once his Kava was done, he set about gathering all he would need to become Veso Recerian, merc for hire, and headed for his shower. Maybe the hot water could warm him for a few minutes, at least.

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Landing on Taetrus was easy enough with the fake transponder code he used, and he soon found himself among the riffraff of Turian society. Here, in the main city, it was still Hierarchy controlled. Soon though, once he was done with port authorities, he’d be taking his small ship to one of the smaller towns in the Diluvian Wildlands with known Separatist connections. With his plates and hide a dull light brown, dinged up Predator armour and scowling face, people paid him no more mind than to move out of his way. Good. He hated crowds. 

When he finally made it into the smelly, dimly lit bar overflowing with the scent of sweat, cigarette smoke and cheap brews of both levo and dextro variety, he relaxed marginally. It was strange that such a place would let him relax even a little, but now he had his back to a wall and he knew what to expect inside the establishment. Outside had more variables to account for and a blindspot. His contact would meet him here and they would discuss ‘possible jobs’ for him, as well as exchanging any local information.

Not too long after he received two cold beers from the bar and took a seat at a table in the corner, his contact appeared as if out of a Tactical Cloak. Only he didn’t use one. His plates were as black as dark space itself, and his dark cloth cloak helped hide any features, which helped him glide from one shadow to the next.

“Thanks for the beer.” The shadow said as it took a seat and a swig.

“You got the goods?” Was Saren’s terse answer. His gruff voice didn’t even sound like him. To an outsider, he’d sound just like the grizzled merc he appeared.

“Ya, give a guy a minute to enjoy his beer. It’s hot as fuck outside.” came the soft voice of his contact. The torin always spoke like he barely had vocal cords. From the scars on his throat and only single vocals working, he might not have. The heat Saren could not argue. This poor excuse of a colony was only just bearable to Turians, and very few other races. Krogans, and Salarians maybe; but they wouldn’t be able to survive on the dextro-based planet for long. Invictus was the only colony worse off than Taetrus in terms of heat. But he was digressing from his aim.

“C’mon. I pay you good creds. Fork it over before I decide to shoot ya for it instead. I need a job soon, man.” Desperation always makes them think they have the upper hand in negotiations. Also means the other knows you will not play around to get what you want.

“Fine. Pay first. You know the drill. If you rush me again, double the price.” Just where Saren wanted him.

Saren tossed an OSD at his black-clad contact, who caught it mid-air. “What is this, I asked for cold hard creds, not data.”

“It has your creds on it. Electronic transfer. Untraceable. Had a Volus do the job at gunpoint, so it’s solid. What? Ya think I’m gona swing around here with a pocket full of cash? How dumb do ya think I am, Epodus?” He gestured to their surroundings.

“Fine.” Epodus brought the OSD to his omni-tool and transferred the credits. Once he was satisfied, he slid an OSD back to ‘Veso’.

“Lots of rumours flying around, but there are some new pirates on planet looking for warm bodies to use as cannon fodder. Those that live they take on for better positions. Or there are some smugglers looking for a runner with a ship, get goods into Citadel space. Or, and this you’ll like, Separatists are looking for those who could help them with a big job. They ain’t even saying what the job is, only that it pays well. You decide.”

Gulping down his beer, the shadow got up and disappeared back into the crowds. Saren quickly scanned the OSD for any malware or other viruses before opening it. Indeed. A lot of jobs to choose from. There were several other, smaller job offerings on the OSD as well. But which one will gift him with the inside intel he needed? Leaving his untouched drink on the table, he left for his ship. The drinks here tasted like someone urinated in it, and he will avoid drinking wherever possible. Some sorry sod would happily drink when they find it regardless. Back at his ship, he could properly disseminate the data.

Epodus was always good on his word, and he paid him well for it. One of the few contacts he kept since before his time with Sovereign, even if he never knew exactly who he was dealing with. 

Walking the streets to the small docks here, he was focused inward, trying to decide which of the leads he should pursue first when whispered words caught his augmented hearing. A Spectre should always be mindful of his surroundings, no matter the situation.

“...need to get into the Citadel past security. When are the fake ID’s coming?” Saren continued on his path but deviated to lean on a wall nearby, seeming casual and not listening while he worked on his tool. He was too far for conventional hearing, but not his. One of the few augments he was allowed to keep to do his job effectively. Instead, he was trying to spot who the owner of the voice was, turning up the sensitivity of his augmented aural canals through his ‘tool.

“Our guy is working on it. Blue Suns will deliver what they promised.” Saren almost faltered in his act at the second voice. It couldn’t be ...

“Good, that’s phase one….” In the crowds of the busy market place, Saren saw a glimpse of a ghost. The male looked just like Nihlus, only without colony markings, and had the same voice. But he did not get a clear enough look and couldn’t be sure. It must be his mind playing tricks on him. The other male must just look nearly like him. The second was a female with grey plates and light hide, yellow colony markings, identifying her as a ‘Sundowner’. Those words were enough to tail them for though. Someone wanted to get onto the Citadel without triggering security? He should find out why, at the very least. It could be connected to the threat of assassination he recently received.

Following the pair, they left the markets and headed for the slums. It was hard to believe, but this run-down town had an even more run-down sector of squatter camps for those down on their luck and who couldn’t afford the measly rent for a home here. Though a ‘home’ in these parts was barely more than a used container or stapled together tarp and frame. Some had old military tents if they were lucky.

It was densely packed with smelly bodies, but they made way for him and his targets. Mercs with big guns generally did get their space. But the equally densely packed and disorderly spaced dwellings had him losing them before they got far. Damn. They must have noticed him trailing them. He must be losing his edge.

Doing a quick double back and going around in a big circle, he could not find them again. That was unfortunate. They must have entered one of the dwellings here. Grunting in frustration, he headed back to his ship. They were either already where they wanted to be, or would hide out until they thought the coast was clear. He could wait them out, but without knowing where they are in this insect nest of movement, or a high perch to scope from, it would be near impossible to spot them as they emerged.

Once there, he started going through the data. Things must be bad around here if there were so many job offers for mercs. Going through the details had him quickly dismiss the lesser jobs, but sending the intel on to ST&R as well. You never know when your little bit of data could be a lead in another Spectre’s investigation.

In the end, the Separatists, or the smuggling seemed to be the most likely options to gather intel. Both for his current investigation into the pirates, and for the tipoff for the possible assassination. The former for the known threat they posed as well as the threat made to the Council at the present time, and the latter because they would need to get the equipment or people to the Citadel to accomplish their goal. Of the two, the former was the most likely to bear fruit in terms of information.

Making up his mind, Saren followed the attached info to get in contact with the Separatists. Not minutes later and he received a message back with a time and location to meet. Alone.

He scoffed at their audacity. As if he would be dumb enough not to scope out the site before going there, and he was always armed enough to take on a small army. Not that he wanted to attack them. Not yet.

Hacking into the local municipal office was laughably easy, even for around these parts, and he retrieved the most recent maps of the location. Hmm. It was a typical warehouse, said to be used in processing local produce for export and distribution. A likely cover. Nonetheless, he uploaded the map to his tool for use later. Checking his weapons and amp, swallowing a tasteless cardboard ration bar whole and taking some water, Saren headed out to do some scouting.

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The scouting went about as well as could be expected for Taetrus. The heat meant everyone tried to hide in the shade or indoors, so sneaking in was easy. The problem would be once he got past the exterior defences. His years as a Spectre served him well in this aspect as well, easily slipping by plant workers and guards, and sending a worm into the camera systems to erase all images of him on the system. The building kept to the map he had, as well as being an actual food processing plant, so he would not need much updating to it. However. His scans showed there was another level below him. Somewhere there must be a hidden door, leading to an underground complex. Interesting.

From what he could tell, it was extensive - perhaps running under this entire sector of the town, and his passive scans could not determine the depth to which the compound went. It was troubling that such a large complex existed here at all without ST&R catching wind of it. They could have labs here and be developing weapons and the Citadel and Hierarchy would be none the wiser.

Shutting down his tool and sneaking back out, Saren knew he was on to something big. Which meant he had to take this ‘job’ whatever it took. Back at his ship, he uploaded the first 3 floors he could scan, and looked over it. The top floor seemed to be bunks and crew quarters, second might be labs with larger open spaces. The third is where things got problematic, as the scan detail is limited to thick walls and open spaces. Might be a hanger? Or even large storage bays. Being close to a cliff edge meant that there might be a hidden entrance on the side where shuttles could come and go in the cover of night.

The Spectre saved all the intel on his encrypted hard drive, with instructions to send all the data to ST&R intel division should there be tampering or in the event of his death. He couldn’t risk sending this information now over even secured channels. Some data was just too sensitive for that and needed either hand delivery or only in an emergency. With a satisfied nod. Saren went to bed for the night, as the meet up was in the early morning before sunrise.

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The next morning saw Saren at the meeting point an hour early. He snuck up and surveyed the area. He saw more guards outside than yesterday through his helmet’s thermal scan, as well as an unmarked shuttle. Well-armed turians were standing around talking, while others secured the area. None of them had colony markings, so they were likely separatists. The one with markings wore a processing plant uniform- their cover man then.

As the meeting time drew nearer, a few other mercs arrived, either in their own shuttles or by foot from outside the fenced area. The variety of applicants was interesting. A few were typical brutes with new fancy weapons and armour. There was one older male with scratched up armour and scars covering the left side of his face, with a  white synthetic eye in the damaged socket. There were a couple of young brothers who probably didn’t know what they were getting into and a few typical rifraf mercenaries. Lastly, there was a group that looked like techs, that even had a salarian among them. They were all made to wait by the crates by the shuttle. Finally, Saren approached from behind his crates, making sure they would only see him once he was next to the back of the group.

Two minutes after the stipulated time, and an ancient-looking female came out of the shuttle and addressed them, her tan plates cracked and scratched from years of wear and tear. He estimated her to be around a hundred years old, though she looked far older with the aged and cracked plates. Her eyes, however, were still sharp and didn’t miss anything, hinting at an equally sharp mind underneath it all.

“All right you lot. You got the gist of the mission, but for you to continue, you must agree to the job. No intel leaves here with you. You’re either in or you’re out. The pay’s on par with the risk, but if you back out later we’ll shoot you. If you don’t want that, then leave now and we won’t kill your worthless ass for wasting my time.”

‘Tardy and charming. What more could he ask for?’ Saren mused to himself. Of course, the younger ones wouldn’t back down. Too stupid to back out of a challenge with such high rewards. They’d likely die or try to bail out first. Two of the older mercs decided they did not want to go in without knowing what they were getting into - smart moves. All questions were shot down or redirected, saying they needed to stick with it to find out.

One of the techs left, eliciting complaints from his comrades. She retorted with they were stupid to stay if they didn’t know what was going on. Another smart one. Doing a job just because they were offering a lot of credits meant you were either stupid or desperate. Either way, you were not likely to survive to see the payout. After no one leaving for an additional 5min, the tarin spoke again.

“All right you bags of meat, into the warehouse, briefing in the meeting room there.”

‘Her charm just kept on coming,’ Saren mused. He piled in with the others, grumbling at the cramped meeting room space like a good merc should. When each one of them had a space, the train moved to the front of the meeting room.

“Now, you lot will just be muscle and tech support to what we are doing, so don’t get any ideas. We need you to steal a shipment at the spaceport docks. You don’t need to know what is in it, just to deliver it and keep yer traps shut about it. The techs will hack and control security, you others will rush in, kill the port guards and escort, and get the stuff out to the pick-up point on time. Questions?” She looked about the room while walking with a slight limp. The years have not been kind to her. Saren would probably look just as bad at her age. If he lived that long.

When the usual questions were dealt with about pay and what would constitute payment, Saren spoke up with a more pertinent question. “I got one for ya, sack of bones. If ye’r so well equipped and staffed as to have a shuttle and all the weapons your lackeys are showing off, why by the Spirits do ya need us to do it?” Saren was leaning casually against the back of the room, the corners being taken by the time he entered, gesturing with a lazily waving hand at her personal entourage that followed her.

He could see his comment riled her up, just like he wanted. Angry people make more mistakes and perhaps she would let slip more details about the operation. She marched up to him with various subvoclas thrumming from her second larynx through her keelbone and into the air around her, mandibles quivering in rage as she addressed him in a threatening tone with a low growl. She was clearly used to not being questioned or addressed in this manner. “You will show respect to your elders! If you didn't just ask the smartest question out of this lousy bunch of retarded varren, I’d have shot you myself. Tread carefully.”

They glared at one another before Saren pretended to accept her authority with a nod and vaguely apologetic subvocals. He flicked a mandible to show teeth in warning, though. It would not do to look weak in front of them by submitting so easily, and neither was it in his nature.

After another minute of staring, the tarin continued on her pace in the front of the room, satisfied the ‘smart merc’ had been put in his place. “Yes, we could do this. But we’re obviously trying to avoid attention to our operation, so we hire disposable guns like you to do it for us, and plant evidence to keep the Hierarchy guessing. If one of you gets caught, you don’t know enough to endanger the whole operation. It’s as simple as that.”

There were nods around the room in agreement. It made enough sense to Saren, but he knew this was only the superficial information. Enough to get this job done. From the gleam in the tarin’s eyes and the way she kept glancing at him, she knew he knew as well. The other older merc with the scars and synthetic eye might know as well, but didn’t seem to care or just needed the credits badly enough to not ask further questions. Must be the way jobs worked around here.

“You will stay wherever you please until we send out the message with the shipment details. We meet up at the given coordinates and fly within 15 minutes from the message going out. You’re late, you get left behind, followed up on and shot. No questions asked. From there you complete the mission, drop off the goods and get the fuck out of here. I don’t care where I just don’t want to see your ugly plates anywhere near here again. If I do I will shoot you. Or our esteemed Hierarchy might, since you will be wanted criminals. Payment will only happen once the cargo is securely in my possession. Failure means you were either killed or we shoot you because you didn’t deliver on your end. Do we understand each other?”

More nods and murmurs of understanding do the rounds since they all already signed up for this. “You seem to like to shoot people, don’t you?” One of the techs commented off-handedly and promptly got shot in the shoulder. Not a vital point or near an artery. A warning. The offender promptly crumbled in pain and started to apply medigel. Any further shooting was stalled by the guards levelling their guns at the group. 

“As a matter of fact, yes, I do.” She stated calmly and turned to address the group again, lowering her pistol and holstering it “Any further questions?” None dared answer her. Saren just nodded in understanding of the terms. It would not be the first time he did a mission like this to get intel from a group. However, he did not even know which group they were affiliated with, what the cargo was or when they would try to steal it. He did not want to risk the group getting any major tech advances or equipment that would give them an edge unnecessarily. This time he did not have much of a choice.

A few more minor questions and the group disbanded. Saren used the opportunity to walk the warehouse while running low-level scans, since he was supposed to be here anyway. He made it look like he was walking to an opposite exit to get to his destination. It helped give him a different perspective on the size of the underground base. As of yet, he has still not found an entrance to the facility nor an end to its underground extent beneath the city, and it frustrated him to no end.

When he finally reached his ship and reviewed his scans, it only gave 5 possible entrances, but nothing definitive. It was only where the scans of the sublevel came close to the surface where obvious structures were located for possible hidden doors. Growling at his lack of progress on the matter, Saren started to compile a map of what he does know. For one thing, this facility was larger than the warehouse that sits atop it. How no one noticed the excavation of such a large underground space, he wasn’t sure. Either they took advantage of a natural sinkhole forming, extended and reinforced it, or they had been chipping away at the underlying bedrock for years on end so no one could notice. The latter seemed unlikely. Few terrorist factions had that time to waste on building a facility of any use.

Sitting back in his pilot’s chair and looking at the map again, Saren weighed his options. He could send the data of the shipment to be raided along once he received it from the terrorists, but it left little time for local authorities to react and gather forces for a counter-attack, which was probably intentional. Or he could go along with the scheme and place trackers on the cargo, and maybe scan the contents of the cargo and improvise as he went. If the cargo was too valuable a resource to let fall in the wrong hands, he would try and sabotage the shipment by either detonating it with a small explosive, or start killing some of the mercenaries with him on the job, letting the port guards and escort win and making them fail. If it wasn’t he could just track them. But it struck him as unlikely to go through all this trouble for mundane supplies.

He was missing something big and he didn’t like it, but he could not do much about it now. Saving the data on his encrypted hard drive, Saren dismissed the map. All he could do now was scout out the warehouse, looking for entry points to the lower base. Maybe, just maybe, he could sneak in if he found it before their ‘job’ was to start. Only time would tell.

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Saren did not find that hidden entrance on surface level. One of his drones spotted the hidden hanger open for a shuttle during the night, but that could not be their only point of access to such a large facility. Needing to move people and supplies could not always wait for nightfall, and had too high a chance of being discovered with regular use of such an entrance.

Unfortunately, he did not have the time to find it. On the second day after the meeting, his secondary omnitool rang with an emergency message - the coordinates of the cargo, and pick-up and drop off point locations. Fifteen minutes was not a lot of time if you had to factor in travelling to the location as well. Making sure his disguise was still well in place, Saren grabbed some of his older weapons, sent in the anonymous tip-off to the authorities and headed out.

The group of techs were mostly present, as well as the young brothers and a most of the rifraf mercenaries that were at the meeting. The other older merc with the scars was not there. His mistake seemed unlikely but did not bother Saren. The pick up only waited till the stipulated fifteen minutes were up, then took off even if some of the others were not present yet. They will most likely be dead before this operation was over, in his experience. The level of coordination needed for such an operation hinted at a large, well-structured organisation. Something not generally associated with the Separatists.

Their shuttle was heading back to the capital city, Vallum, bound for the spaceport. So it was cargo that just came in from off-world - that ruled out basic supplies. This was going to be interesting.

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It wasn’t as easy as he’d thought. The cargo was heavily guarded with an armed escort. Even with his advanced warning to port authorities, they could not change its route or add more guards in the short time they had. Or they did not take the tip seriously. It has happened once or twice in his career. Always at an inopportune time.. Nevertheless, he took down as few of the guards as he could,  without using biotics. This cover identity did not have any on file. Leaving too many hints to his true identity was never a good thing back when he made the identity, even more so now that he is supposed to be dead.

Saren took cover behind the large metal crate they were to secure, covertly scanned it, and stuck a tracker onto its side. If the raid succeeded, at least he could see where they took it. The guards made sure he did not have time to look over the scans as they fired on anyone that tried to get close to the cargo. Whatever it was, it must be valuable. And well fortified, since no one cared to shoot at the crates themselves. Though, no one dared use grenades in these tight quarters. 

He tucked and rolled out of the firing line, jumped up and bolted to behind some other crates nearby, shields taking a beating as he raced over the open ground. Hitting the back of the crate hard, panting, he assessed their situation. Their side had also incurred some losses, but he did not intend to become one of them. Half of the hirelings were dead, some of the techs as well. It was down to him, five others and three techs. The young brothers were strangely still alive, maybe they worked well together but he wasn’t paying them enough attention to discern their fighting style. 

They outnumbered the opposition by one. At this point, it was anyone’s game. If he wasn’t a Spectre. He could make the battle swing in either direction if he really tried, but that would draw too much attention to who he was.

The fake brown merc cast an overload at the guard that had been hammering at his shields the hardest, who then quickly ducked back into cover. Saren did the same, letting his own shields recharge before shooting at the next guard that ventured their head above their cover. He was stalling for time, hoping reinforcements would arrive and that they would call off the raid. It seemed the remaining techs on their side were doing a sufficient job, since the backup he estimated should have been here by now, have not materialised. Barring that the mercs would be left to either die in the shootout, -which was likely the plan if all went to hell- or they would take the cargo. Luck was not on Saren’s side this time.

The salarian engineer set a chain Overload that fried the remaining guards’ shields - after that, taking them down was quick work as one of them would pop back out to attempt to shoot at the attackers. He rushed in with the mercs, secured the corners of the large crate to chains, and their transport came in on the signal, hooked it up and they flew off. It needed to be fast, as they could only delay the package from reaching the next checkpoint for so long. Feeling frustrated at the turn of events, Saren sat apart from the celebrating lowlives in the transport. He would have preferred the terrorists not get their hands on valuable cargo, but at the same time, he needed more information on what was really going on. And for that they needed to succeed. Of course, his face stayed outwardly blank, attempting to look like he was nursing a wound.

Thinking fast, he released a worm into the ship’s system, careful not to trigger any firewalls or warning flags. Hopefully, it could upload itself onto their network as soon as it docked back at their base, and he could start to hack his way to their mainframe with his backdoor approach. Something big was going on and he didn’t like the gut feeling he was getting about it. And his gut was always right.

When the pilot landed them in a remote grain field away from the city, they were all yelled at to get out by the co-pilot. “Your money has been paid. There are hovercycles behind the shed of this farm. Get out. And maybe the Hiererarchy dogs won’t find you in time” The pilot took off again, hardly even waiting for the last of them to touch the ground, amidst much complaining from the mercs.The other older merc grumbled about why they needed to be dumped in this manner. The brothers grumbled about needing medical attention, as one had been shot in the fight. It was only a flesh wound, so Saren saw no reason for them to complain. The Salarian tech stated he was allergic to some Dextro grains. Though luck for him, what was he even doing here then?

Just dropping them in a field? The Separatists must really want to keep their secrets. All the more reason for him to find out what it is.

A ten minute hike over the nearby hill to the nav point, and they could see a small, abandoned dwelling with a large shed attached to it at the bottom of the hill. Inside were several hovercycles as promised, though a few would have to share. There were only six. It seems their employer did not expect many of them to survive. Those that travelled together did so, and a few more arranged amongst themselves to meet up. Saren waited for all of them to leave next to his chosen cycle. The last one looked back as he opened his tool to look at a map of where they were. Whatever he thought, he said nothing and sped off.  He was currently about thirty minutes’ drive away from the nearest town, and an hour’s shuttle ride from Vallum. The scan showed worrying results, as he looked over the data. The crate was carrying advanced medical supplies to a research facility, along with mechs and weapons to be used as security.

The tracker was still working, and it seemed that they were indeed taking the crate back to their base. One spot of luck, he supposed. Now to hope their firewalls could not stand up to his worm. The credits for the job were in his fake account. He hardly needed them, but he started to try and backtrack their source, sending the information on to a contact in finances that could help him in the matter. At least till he could return to his ship and work from his terminal with all its accesses granted. This ‘tool was just a backup and used for this cover identity in case someone got smart and tried to hack him, no sensitive information would be found. That, and if this ‘tool was too hard to hack for someone of his supposed background, it might raise unwanted questions. The aim is to blend in, and he does so fully.

With nothing more to do here with his limited omnitool resources, Saren got on the bike and headed in the direction of the nearest shuttle port. This charade better have been worth some good intel, or he would have wasted his time.

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Back at his ship, Saren looked up the progress of the financial tracking. A dead-end, just as he thought. After a quick meal and a shower, he started in on his Spectre access to track the many fake accounts and bounced terminals used to transfer the credits, until he came upon a cash deposit from a random terminal with no name attached. But it was from this planet, that much he could discern at least. Hmm. A clue perhaps?

He mulled over the possibilities while he started up some kava for himself. He found that he thought best with a cup at hand, even when he never took a sip from it. Taking a freshly brewed cup and inhaling the warm, aromatic steam helped settle something deep inside him that no amount of therapy or physical comforts could. Even if it was short-lived. There was only one other that could help him settle before… before… Everything went wrong.

Shaking his head at the thoughts it brought up, Saren took a seat at his terminal to begin processing the data he had well managed to collect. The scans came first. The shipment was direct from the Hierarchy to help upgrade a research facility in Vallum, along with adding security as they have been having issues with theft as of late, and not in the small quantities variety. Frequent break-ins have nearly closed the facility, and no thieves have been traced yet. 

The first sip of his Kava scalded his tongue and he pulled away reflexively. Normally he used the burn to help ground him so he could start to focus, this time it was detracting from his attention as he had gone to take a sip out of habit, forgetting it was still too hot. Mentally berating his inattention, Saren put the mug down to cool off and returned his attention back to his work.

As his browned talons floated over the haptic keys, a memory came unbidden, unwanted to the fore.

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“Hey Saren. Come have a look at this,” came the words from his small lounge.

Saren rose from his desk in his room and headed out to his protege. It was his old ship, with more room than the current. Nihlus was nearing the end of his training - they were on a mission to stop some Separatists from planting a makeshift nuke on a major trade hub to the Hierarchy.  

“Have you found something, Nihlus?” He asked even as his electric blue eyes scanned the display in front of him. His synthetic eyes from the nanites he received at the Temple Palaven incident. 

“Yeah, I think so. See here-” he pointed to a line on the screen “The funding for the parts our target bought on Omega for the nuke? It came from Invictus. And the Separatist presence there is pretty strong. Think that might be the ring leader’s hideout?” The reddish Spectre-to-be looked up over his shoulder to his mentor for his opinion.

Saren perused the information and hummed in consideration. “It could be, or it could be a decoy to buy them more time. They know we are following them. It is only a matter of time until we catch up with them.”

“You think we should ignore this?” Nihlus asked, surprised and defensive. 

“No. We will go and investigate. But do not have your hopes up that it will lead us to the target so easily. It seems like a trap to me. Be aware of all the possibilities.” He spoke in the tone he used to teach.

“Ah.” Was the eloquent answer. Nihlus seemed put out by the fact that he didn’t think of it himself. Taking some pity on the normally crafty torin , Saren added. “See if you can narrow down a location and an alias? That way we have a starting point when we get there. I’ll set course for Invictus.” He gently squeezed Nihlus’ shoulder in reassurance, and his facial features softened in return. Looking back on the memory, he could see the hidden longing and admiration in those forest green eyes.

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The memory faded, leaving him with a warmth lingering in the hand - his real hand, not the mechanical one - that squeezed Nihlus’ shoulder so long ago. Saren looked down to his hand and flexed it, the ghost heat disappearing with it, the perpetual cold setting back in his bones and he shivered. Now he had a longing for a warm body he would never again feel next to his. Curse his wretched photographic memory. Remembering every twitch of warm muscle under hide, every sigh of pleasure at his talons' ministrations, every lick of hot breath over his own hide… Those shocked and betrayed gorgeous green eyes as he shot him.

He shook the memories from his mind, taking a sip of his too hot kava to ground him once more. Though these were far more pleasant memories than what normally kept him up at night, it left him with a longing no Omega dancer or Hierarchy soldier on shore leave could fill, a depression that no therapist could lighten, and a pang of guilt that will forever follow him like a shadow. With a deliberate deep breath in and a sigh out, he tried to focus back on his work. It was all he had that made him feel alive any more. And maybe, one day, he would meet a situation he could not handle. Then, hopefully, the Spirits would take him away from this cursed existence in self-torture. 

Though the memory did serve its purpose. That mission so long ago paralleled this one in many ways - perhaps it was the same mastermind who escaped him and his protege back then. They’d stopped the nuke eventually, with more information and finding the shed they were cobbling the nuke together in; caught all those responsible, except for the top leadership. So if this was the same, he would only catch the minions doing their dirty work instead of the real perpetrators by following this lead. Clever, but now it’s predictable. 

They probably figured that those following them before were dead, so they could use it again. Their mistake. He still needed to look into the clues he had to find more leads, but would not stop at the names of the fall-men given to him on a silver platter. With a plan in mind, Saren set about pulling apart all the data he acquired on this mission so far, one line at a time.

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The leads only lead him to dead ends of fall-men, as he predicted. The torini the local security forces arrested were too dimwitted to commit these crimes, yet he was the only one to see it. The tarin that gave him his mission was nowhere to be found, and he suspected her to be one of the higher ranking operatives for the Separatists on the planet. A scan of local databases brought up nothing to indicate what her identity is either.

His tracking beacon did lead into the base eventually, but it stopped transmitting once inside. Someone must have found the tracker, or they had scramblers at the entrance to the base for that very reason -the latter seemed more probable. He could only hope his worm was ready and waiting in their databases so he could access it once he managed to get past the scramblers. What it did reveal, was that there must be a hidden entrance for shuttles to the base on the side of the cliff, as he originally suspected. Not that it helped him right now. He still did not know how the hanger door would open for him, and that would be a too frontal way to gain access to the base, with possibly too many eyes to see him.

That left the warehouse. There had to be a ground-level entrance he missed. Personnel could not always wait till night to be transported by shuttle - if they used that entrance too often, someone was bound to spot it sooner or later. Going back to the passive scans he was able to obtain, he started to go over them with an overlay of the warehouse map he had. Somewhere the two had to be close enough to touch, and those would be likely entry points.

He was starting to get watery-eyed from staring at the maps for so long when an emergency call rang from his terminal. It was from his handler. Knowing better than to dismiss the call, however much he wanted to, he flicked the command to answer it. 

“What is it, Sylnius?” He spoke tersely, but not disrespectfully. His ability to remain on missions rested solely on her opinion of him, and it wasn’t high to start with. What would he have left if he could not work? 

“Hmpf. As welcoming as ever, Arterius. But this is not a courtesy call. Sparatus wants to see you. Now.” Yes, the Councilors also did not speak to him directly any more. Only through his handler, and referring to him as a Spectre asset -under an alias, at that. More plausible deniability from them, if his name ever came up in conversations. The tarin looked about as pleased as him about making this call. But why call on him in this fashion? Since being released from prison, he had not been to or called upon the Council directly.

His face and subvocals must have betrayed his surprise, and she rumbled an agreement. “Yes, I voiced my disapproval of this move. But the Councilor made it very clear he wants to see you in secret and in person. I don’t know what crawled under his plates, or what you did wrong, but he was very vocal about that fact. I will meet you at Afterlife in two days. The usual. Pack light. I don’t expect you to stay long.” And she abruptly cut the call. Charming as ever.

It grated on his nerves that he had to take orders from such an upstart fledgeling Spectre such as herself, but at least she let him be when she could. And she was probably the only Spectre, next to Shepard, that stood any chance against him if a fight were to break out.

With a frustrated grunt and rumbling subvocals, he put his work aside to plot a course to Omega. He would have just enough time to meet up with her at the normal time at Afterlife. Even though he really needed to look into this matter more fully, he had no choice but to go. He had one hour to gather what he needed here on the planet before he had to take off. Maybe he could sneak in some passive scans with his ship’s stronger scanners on a pass over the warehouse? Plausible.

Both metal and flesh talons grabbed his armour again. He needed some basic supplies from the markets here, then he could leave. He also put in his emergency application for take-off to the local air traffic authorities. He avoided using Spectre authority if not absolutely necessary, especially when he was still undercover. Starting the decon cycle of his airlock, he mentally prepared a list of all that he needed, and the timeframe to do it in.

Chapter Text

Omega held the usual stench of filth, unfiltered air and too many sweaty bodies. Here and there were the scents of food from one species or another. Add in some blood, urine and faecal matter and it pretty much covered what hit you between the eyes when you came off a transport. If you were unlucky, you would catch a whiff of something dead and rotting, though Aria generally kept the docs and sector around Afterlife clear of such filth. It still rankled his senses to this day, but he had learned to shrug it off. Much could be gained on Omega. Any goods or services could be obtained here, for the right price, as well as information. 

Today he was not here for any of these. With his ship secured in a long term dock, he headed out.

Entering Afterlife in his merc getup had him being held back by the bouncer. Saren would have just shot him in his previous life for not recognising him, but he could not do so now. His deals with Aria were as dead as he is supposed to be. Every time he came here, he had to be disguised. 

With a grumble, he paid the obnoxious Elcor an exorbitant amount of credits just for entry. He made sure he looked upset by the high price - otherwise, the elcor would probably charge more.

Taking a seat at his usual table, and ordering a Palaven wine, he sat back to wait. This was the one place he could afford to drink the alcohol served, as Aria not only had a wide variety of good quality drinks but would personally kill any bartender poisoning or drugging her clients without her say-so. Aria’s dictatorship had many advantages, even if her thugs were prone to exporting illegal drugs to the Citadel. She kept the sector stable. No one merc company could get the upper hand, nor a war break out over who ruled the largest producer of eezo in the Terminus.

His natural silver-blue eyes stared at the dancers as if admiring them, while he was actually scanning the bar. It seemed to be a quiet night. He could also hear some of the gossip floating around the bar area with his augmented hearing. The music was giving him a headache though, but it always had.

As he casually perused the sights, he caught some whispers. “.... heard that there have been more sightings of Collectors on Omega. Think Aria has a deal with those insects?” 

“Shhshshssshh. Don’t say that so loud you idiot! Aria would never willingly allow them on her station. She hates them!”

From another corner came more worrying news, some humans were mourning over a drink. Normally he wouldn’t care, but it tied into the recent news. “They’re all gone... Fred, Sammy, Tina… The whole colony just went poof and no one can say what happened or seemed to care! The Alliance ain’t doi’n nothin about it!”

Colonists disappearing and Collector sightings increasing? It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Taking a sip of his wine, savouring the familiar fruity taste, he contemplated this latest troubling development. Even though Sovereign never mentioned the Collectors as working for the Reapers, he had his own suspicions. In the corner of his eye, he caught sight of new and expensive Phantom armour. The same type Nihlus favoured, only in the female shape. Soon that shape sat at his table with a visible scowl to her features, red-painted mandibles tight to her stone coloured face. Amber eyes shining with an intelligence and almost vengeance when they landed on him.

Upon sitting down she immediately waved off the Asari waitress that wanted to come and take her drink order. So she was not in the mood to talk then. Her words reinforced his deduction.

“Ready to head out? I can’t stand this place.” She almost shouted over the music, not that she needed to. He could hear her just fine and she knew it. But it was part of the play. He was a regular contact of hers to the outside perception.

“Why do you then insist on meeting here, Kid?” He jabbed at her in his merc accent, taking a leisurely sip of his wine, pretending nonchalance. They always had some remark on why she wanted to meet here. Part of him wondered if she really did hate this place as much as she let on, or if it was part of her carefully orchestrated ‘bitch-face’ towards him in particular.

“It’s neutral ground. Now, are you ready to get off your old ass or do I leave you here to rot?” She shot back angrily. Such a temper this one. He let a mandible tilt in a toothy grin. Letting her know he won this exchange but swallowed the rest of his wine in one gulp. It was a disservice to the taste and vintage to do so, but he would rather not waste such quality produce either.

“I’m ready.” He stated and picked up his single duffle bag off the floor. He was wearing his armour and weapons, amp ready to go. The bag just had maintenance tools, personal hygiene products and some clothing. One suit if he needed to make a formal appearance without weapons, and more plate dye. He couldn’t step foot on Omega, much less the Citadel, looking like himself, after all.

The tarin nodded and got up, leading the way out of the club and to her ship. To help keep anyone from tracing him back to the Council and perhaps his true identity, it was agreed he would never go there with his small craft unless it was an emergency. This matter seemed urgent from Sparatus, but was not deemed an emergency.

Exiting the noisy club brought some relief for his aural canals, but he could not stop. The tarin was steamrolling her way to the docks, and Saren stayed short on her heels. Once inside her surprisingly spacious ship, she set a course for the Citadel immediately. She clearly didn't want to waste time or spend any longer in his presence or with him on her ship, for that matter, than absolutely necessary. He agreed wholeheartedly. 

“I’m letting Sparatus know we are leaving now. Once we dock at the Citadel, you will enter with me, in plain civilian clothing. At the meeting point, you will be searched, stripped of any removable parts, and given other clothes to wear before being allowed an audience. You can put your things in the storage closet. There is a collapsible bed there for you to use.” She rambled off while pulling out of the docks. Short, to the point and only what he needed to know. And it told him they still didn’t trust him if even his clothing would be changed once he got there. The cons of having once been the best and turning on the Council. He was still a criminal to them. Again he wondered why he was still left alive. 

Without a word of acknowledgement, Saren turned to said storage closet. The ship looked large enough that it might have second sleeping quarters or even a third, but he would not question it. He had a space for himself, small as it may be. He could have gotten a couch in the shared, open living space instead; so would take what was offered to him. His days of luxury and choice were long gone. It also proved just how much she held him in malcontent.

The entire two-day trip, she did not speak with him unless absolutely necessary, fed him food she made herself as he was not allowed into the kitchen, and he was only allowed his armour because they were in dangerous space. Weapons, though, he had to store away. His amp chip was neatly stored in its box, and locked in her armour, and his weapons were in her locked weapons crate. Even him omni’tool was disabled from anything more than basic use.

Not that he hadn’t already discovered some of the hidden weapons the tarin had across the ship. Like himself, she was never far from a weapon of some kind. A good habit to keep for any Spectre worth the name. In general, they didn’t bother each other and avoided interacting. It worked well for both of them in the limited lodgings. Once they were closer to stable Citadel space, he was even divested of his armour and walked around in plain clothing. She never removed hers.

Nights brought a different challenge. In his standard military issue cot, with the scratchy, stiff blanket, the dreams intensified. He blamed it on his treacherous mind, having seen a glimpse of someone who looked almost like Nihlus, and who he wished was still alive. It brought back too many memories. 

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It was his apartment on the Citadel, they were both wrapped up in each other and the linen. One of the few times their busy schedules overlapped with them both on the Citadel. Warm breath tickled his neck as Nihlus panted after their last session. Saren himself was panting lightly, happily sated, running his talons along gorgeous red plate and hide. A memory from a long-forgotten time.

“Hey, Saren?” Came the sleepy question from his partner.

“Hmm?” Came his own groggy reply. He was still riding the wave of euphoria on his way to falling asleep.

“Will we always have…. This?” He gestures vaguely at their surroundings and encompassing them. Saren knows what he really wants to ask, but is too scared to utter it for himself. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge. 

“I will always be here for you, in whatever capacity you need me.” It was as close to the truth without using those fearful words. To truly admit and commit to each other.

“Just… just don’t forget me. When we’re out there all the time. Ok?” His words were timid, yet hopeful. Something so unlike him, always being so self-assured. 

Electric blue eyes looked down into forest green. There was so much he wanted to say, could say; but never did. Even now in the dream, his heart is yelling he should make right what he had pushed aside. “I will not.” Is all he says instead. A soft nod could be felt against his shoulder, then shuffling of blankets in the near dark as Nihlus settled himself next to his bedmate, head ending up next to Saren’s keel.

They had both just drifted off to sleep when a loud explosion erupted outside. They were both on their feet and heading for the door to ascertain what is going on when it too burst open. Husks streamed in, swarming Nihlus and pushing him farther away from Saren. Try as he might, he could not get any closer to Nihlus, the Husks deliberately keeping them away from each other

Geth marched through the door, whirring and chirping. Thinking on his feet, he tried to pull on his biotics to Throw the Husks off himself, but he could hardly pull up a flicker. His amp still rested on the nightstand. But he should still be able to use some of his biotics, just not as strongly. Something was wrong here.

“Saren!” Screamed Nihlus as husks swarmed and engulfed him. Kick and claw as he might, he could not win against their sheer numbers. Saren fought harder himself, but could not push the assailants back enough. Looking up, they were suddenly not restrained, but he had his mechanical arm, aiming a pistol at Nihlus. Nihlus was standing, staring open-mouthed at him, both in armour like they were on that day. Their background had changed to that of Eden Prime, with its afternoon red lighting. No husks or Geth between them, but for the life of him he could not lower the pistol.

Nihlus was still staring, then finally, with betrayed and hurt subvocals asked “Why?”

Saren could not answer him. Even if he wanted to, he could not move his mouth or lower his arm. He tried to scream for Nihlus to get out of the way, but could not even get his subvocals to announce a warning. A sinister laugh reverberates through the air, and in the distance, Sovereign lands.

“You are mine, Arterius.” Echoed in his head. But Nihlus kept staring at him as if there was no Reaper in the background controlling him; for that was the only explanation as to why he had no control of himself.

Again, his accusatory words and hurt subvocals lash out at his non-answer. “Why?! Was it all just a game to you? Was I just a toy to be used? To be discarded when you’ve had your fun? Was anything you told me even true?!”

His words cut deep like a mass effect tipped blade. Saren could not move, but he finally spoke. Only the words were Sovereign’s words, just as the mechanical beast lifted a leg in his direction.

“You have outlived your usefulness. You are just a hindrance now. Nothing will hold me back.” And the pistol took aim and shot him between the eyes. At this distance, even Nihlus’ augmented shield meant nothing to his heavily modded pistol.

His gracious body slumps to the ground like an empty sack. Cobalt blue spilling out on the ground, the anger still trapped on his face. Saren screamed inside his own head, but outwardly his body turned and walked away like he just killed another worthless merc. Turning to his once mechanical master, the laughing intensified. 

“Nothing will distract you. Now go and do my bidding. We cannot be stopped.” Black boots turned and headed down the ramp to the Beacon, Geth and Husks following in his wake. 

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Saren bolted upright with the scream lodged in his throat that he wanted to utter when shooting Nihlus. Sweat dripped down his browplates to his nasal plates, stinging his eyes. He ignored this. Panting and trying to bring his heart rate under control once more.

The dream had felt so real like it actually happened. Sovereign’s control of him was undeniable, complete, palpable even. Yet he knows it didn’t happen like that. It didn’t change the hurt and guilt that now freshly cut through his Spirit. He was so lost to his master at the time, he willingly shot Nihlus, believing it to be for the greater good of the galaxy, to prevent him from living through the war that was to come. And yet saw nothing wrong with it. No warning flags jumping up, nothing. And this despite his research on Virmire, or was it because of it?

When his surroundings finally come back into focus and clarity, Sylnius was standing in his doorway draped in nothing but training shorts, pistol levelled at him, a scowl on her face. He did not even register that anyone was there. These dreams were becoming more of a problem if he lost his awareness of his surroundings.

“What the fuck was that?” she demanded with irritated and angry subvocals.

Anger flared in Saren at her arrogance, and at being caught. According to Council psychologists, he was mentally fit for duty. This could jeopardise this view.

“A bad dream. What does it look like? You cannot tell me those in our positions never get them, seeing what we’ve seen.” Doing what he’d done went unsaid. He did not even look at her directly. He was just too angry at it right now and would gladly take it out on her instead. He needed a redirection and valid reason so she would not think him crazy.

She replied with a warning snarl but lowered her pistol. “If you want to have your PTSD pity parties, try not to wake the whole sector in the process.”

She left him then, and he collapsed backwards on his cot as soon as the door shut. Taking a moment to look at the time, he cursed inwardly. He’d barely been asleep for two hours. Experience told him he would not be getting back to sleep any time soon either. With a resigned sigh, he sat up and pulled open the foldable workbench. With the cot acting his chair, he could use the setup like a desk and a chair.

Work was all he had to turn to right now. He could not make kava for himself, as the kava maker was locked in the kitchen. He could hack the door easily enough, and did not particularly care for the fallout with his handler. Saren was trying to prove a point to himself as well as those in charge of him. Firstly, he was not addicted to kava. Secondly, he could be trusted with the boundaries set before him.

He pulled up his scans from his ship as he left for the port. It seems the warehouse was shielded from low-level subterranean scans, as it just came up with a blank. No one would pay it any mind, as there was not supposed to be anything anyway. But he knew better. Anything of higher intensity would set off alarms on most systems, but blocking those would lead to questions. They were probably gambling on the fact that no one would want to do deep scans over the warehouse. He could probably do the scan from his omni’tool because he was inside the shield at the time, as well as the scanning signal from an omni’tool was different from that of a craft, as well as shorter range. With another sigh at the dead-end, he went back to his older scans and the map of the warehouse. There had to be a connection somewhere.

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Saren awoke to jostling of the ship. Before he could ask if there was an emergency, the pilot poked her irritated head out at him. “We're here. Get dressed to meet the Council. We can grab breakfast on the way,” she said and disappeared back down the hall to retrieve her own things most likely.

Saren’s neck was sore from falling asleep on his workbench desk. He did not even register falling asleep. Nor the passage of an entire day. He had been making headway on his comparisons of the scans and plans, and was down to three possible locations for personnel and minor cargo entrances. Somewhere through to the second night, he must have dozed off, and oddly had no dreams. It was rare but did still happen when he was exhausted enough.

Getting up, his body informed him of several things. Firstly he ached all over from remaining in one, seated position for so long. Secondly, he needed to use a restroom. Thirdly, he was starving. Being a biotic meant he needed extra calories, and to skip eating for a day was not a good idea. Prioritising what he needed to do in order to be the most efficient while still handling it all quickly; he set about getting his one formal set of clothing and headed for the washroom.

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Saren arrived at the Council’s secret offices at the base of the Citadel tower. It was a fallback position where the Council could wait for extraction if they could not safely reach to the Destiny Ascension. It was more a bomb shelter than an office, and was situated in the maintenance tunnels, close to some Keeper tunnels. This deep into the maintenance tunnels, few ventured and needed security clearance for the access hatches here. It being a possible point of entry to the tower itself, it was never questioned as a security precaution, and no one would know where it was or wander into it by accident. At least that is what kept most at a distance. Hidden cameras, tripwires and armed patrolling guards lined the tunnels beyond those security hatches.

Getting there had been degrading. Passing through security at the port was easy - Sylnius just waved her tool over the scanner, and shut down the duty officers with “Spectre Authority. Stay out of my way. And he’s with me.”Some of the officers looked downright furious, while one looked on in awe. Must have been a new recruit. There were a lot more humans in the C-Sec uniform than he remembered. Must be them having a human Councilor now. It grated on him in a way few things could, and he had to restrain a snarl of distaste every time he passed one.

After that it became… unpleasant. At the base of the tower, just after they entered the restricted maintenance tunnels from the Presidium, a team was waiting for him. A salarian doctor took him into a small examination room, with multiple armed guards standing outside. The doctor demanded he strip while he was scanned and asked questions to ascertain if he was indoctrinated again -it was the only reason he could think for the very pointed questions.

Did he hear voices in his head, did he do anything that he was unaware of doing before the fact, did he feel the urge to kill the Councilors or open the Relay to the Geth, did he have any contact with the Geth since he was arrested and so it went. If they thought he could not lie convincingly under shotgun questions, they had forgotten who they were really dealing with. Not that he had to lie about the answers.

Once he stripped down, the doctor removed his prosthetic arm and even replaced his amp with an inhibitor chip. The technology was for those who have trouble controlling their biotics, or do not wish to train to use them. Slavers attached it directly to the brainstem for maximum effect. He never thought they would force him to wear one. The feeling was… discomforting, like one of his senses was muted out and making him feel slightly sluggish, but at the same time left a painful tingle in his fingers and toes; but he showed no more reaction than a twitch of a mandible when the chip was inserted. That reflex he could not control even when inserting his normal amp.

When he was cleared of having anything dangerous on his person, he was given a new formal set of clothing to wear, with the left arm already tucked in. At least someone was considerate. The gloves and boots had caps for his talons, to even further disarm him without cutting them. He might need them out on a mission and could not always wait for them to grow back.

Finally, he exited the exam room to be escorted by six guards to the shelter. Inside, Sparatus was pacing behind the large conference table. Saren had not seen him so upset since the Battle of the Citadel. The guards surrounded him, and one directed him to take a seat. He obediently complied and waited politely for Sparatus to speak. Sparatus was taking his time about it, but unlike certain people, Saren understood the Hierarchy’s etiquette

After pacing for far too long, Sparatus turned to face Saren. “Arterius,” he greeted him flatly.

“Councilor,” Saren greeted in return, nodding respectfully.

“Do you have any idea why you are here?” His subvocals sounded accusatory but restrained. 

“I can assure you, Councilor, I have no idea why I am here.” Saren gestured with his one hand to the room and guards, genuinely perplexed.

“Hmpf.” Sparatus turned and paced three more times. It was really starting to grate on Saren’s nerves to be kept in the dark like this. As a Spectre he’d had intel at his fingertips, or was tasked with its retrieval. Only the Shadow Broker knew more than Spectre Intel division. He withheld the biting remarks he wanted to give, in regards to this and the incessant pacing.

When Sparatus returned, he pushed by the guards to look at Saren, judging him. With a final sigh, he took a seat next to Saren and rubbed at his ageing browplates and eyes. Whatever Sparatus was looking for in him, he did not find it. For better or worse. And then he spoke.

“Do you remember the intel you forwarded to the ST&R division?” Sparatus stared straight into his eyes. His real eyes, the simplest indication that he had not been tainted by the Reapers again. Though his research on Vermire indicated that this was not always the case. Not that the Council cared to look at the information he handed over to them, choosing instead to make their own conclusions. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if it was a good marker for indoctrination.

“Yes, Councilor, but which intel in particular? I have forwarded a variety of intel in the last week,” he replied calmly and truthfully. 

“The intel about a Separatist group wanting to assassinate either the entire Council, or more particularly, me?” Those green eyes were boring into him now. Not as vibrant and alive as those of Nihlus, but the Councilor did resemble the torin at a glance even down to the familia notas .

“Yes. My source is credible. I thought it pertinent to pass along.” It was no secret that the council got death threats on a weekly basis, if not daily, but these threats sounded plausible, unlike most of the others.

“We received the same information from different sources. At the same time.” Now those eyes were searching for something in him, browplates lowered in a scrutinising manner. It is known that Turians would not lie if asked about something directly, but he was one of the few that knew how to misdirect with his answers, while technically telling the truth. Perhaps Sparatus was trying to see into his Spirit, to determine if he was lying? He wasn’t sure. Sparatus’ hands clasped in front of him as if to keep his fingers from following their own mind. The Councilor did have a tendency to fidget if he remembered correctly. A personal tick.

“Which would suggest a legitimate threat, I presume?” he summarised quickly.

“Correct. Only we don’t know from who exactly, and cannot trace them either.” 

Saren could only think of two likely probabilities. First was, they suspect him of sending the death threat about Sparatus, perhaps even the whole Council, as he was being vague about those details. It would then make sense to call him in, but then they would have handled this like an interrogation, not open questioning in a conference room, regardless of the security measures taken. The only other option was they wanted his help in either finding this threat or to protect them from it.

Saren looked the Councilor directly in the eyes. “You wish for me to track them down?” He stated more than asked. It made some convoluted sense to him. If they could not figure out from where the threat was coming, in order to eliminate it at the source with sending in a Spectre or two; they would need to track them down with their best or protect themselves as best they knew how without cancelling any public appearances.

“I see your time out in the Terminus has not withered away your sharp mind, Arterius. We will need it to catch these individuals. You will be working alongside other Spectres and STG as an Asset. Each Councilor elected their best to protect them as well as a small team to investigate the allegations. You are part of my team. Regardless of your past dealings, you are still our best.” Sparatus stood and started to pace again, only slower this time, thinking deeply.

“There is a major event next week. We are unveiling a memorial dedicated to all the people who died in the attack on the Citadel. I think they are targeting this event to send a message. It could be any number of agendas, but it would be the perfect opportunity. We will be in a public setting, there will be people everywhere and it would be easiest to sneak a sniper or bomber into the crowds.” He turned back to Saren.

“It is your job to safeguard not just us, but the people of the Citadel, and our fragile stability at this current time. We have yet to finish rebuilding. Politically there have been demands for the current Council to step down. Some say it is a human group, others are not so sure. Either way. Can you imagine the chaos if the Councillors were assassinated at this point? Or even if I alone was assassinated? They might be planning to use this instability to promote someone to office that will forward their agenda they have. Or perhaps an outright coup?” The Councilor was gesticulating as he spoke, frown never leaving his face.

“What will be my role in this search, Councilor?” He asked for clarification. Let his boundaries be set before he begins.

Sparatus looked up him with all seriousness and replied: “Search and destroy.”

That was all instruction he needed. A small thrill ran up his spine. It felt like when he was working for the Council, before everything went wrong. When they trusted his judgement. It made him feel needed once more. With a feral smile, Saren -the old Saren- replied: “With pleasure, Councilor.” 

Sparatus dismissed him with a flick of a mandible. Saren rose and the guards followed him out to the examination room, where his arm was reattached, suppressor removed, and suit returned. Saren quickly dressed back in his clothing and was escorted by two guards to the entrance to the private docks, where Sylnius was waiting.

“Well, since you’re still alive, I guess it wasn’t you. You’ll be staying on my ship, and we will work from there, coordinating with the Huntresses and STG on any information we find.” As Saren neared her the guards fell away. So she was to be his warden after all. No matter. He could still work just fine with minor limitations and inconveniences. He nodded to her and they moved towards the elevator that would take them back to the docks.

In the elevator, the tarin spoke once more. “You will be allowed to wear your armour and weapons on the Citadel. You will have full Spectre Asset clearance pertaining to this mission. Use it for anything other than that without proper reasoning and it will be revoked.”

Saren nodded along until they reached her ship, then he quickly went to put on his armour and weapons. It felt right to put on proper Colossus armour. It may not be his old experimental set but was better than the usual fare he went undercover with. Getting to work, Saren updated himself on the latest intel for the situation.

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The STG had thoroughly researched the matter, but even they did not know what group had sent the threat. All they knew is they were from Separatists, since it was stated as such, but not which of the many factions. With Saren’s contacts, they narrowed down the list of groups capable of carrying out a threat like that against the Council, on the Citadel with all the added security. It was a short list of three groups in the end, with no further clarification as to who it might be.

Facinus, Liberatae, and the Sundowner factions were their names. All three have some means and motive to commit to the threat. Facinus being the most obvious choice from these. They had the resources and the influence to get their people onto the Citadel without notice; while the others were smaller and more locally based on their planets.

In the end, their intel team decided to focus on watching for suspicious arrivals in the days leading up to the event, while Saren followed up on suspicious-sounding jobs on Taetrus,  especially those involving smuggling or fake IDs. Even with the increased security at the docks since the attack by Sovereign, Saren pointed out several ways one could get past their measures. All measures they could not really change within the short time they had before the event, or be too expensive and slow down the deluge of people entering and exiting the Citadel on a daily basis. People were already arriving on transports for the festivities that were to follow the unveiling.

C-Sec was near useless in tracking down any possible fraudster that could make fake ID's for potential assassins to come on the station, and there was not enough time to upgrade their systems. Even with his tip-off that the Blue Suns were involved, there were no solid leads. Saren suspected an insider, or someone with insider information was helping the Blue Suns with their fraudulent activities. But that was a matter below his pay grade and list of priorities. Right now he had to protect the Councilors and the public at large from any threat that might materialise at this event.

Saren took to sitting on the overhead maintenance walkways from the security checkpoint to the docks, working from his omni’tool. He picked a different one each day, as he only trusted facial recognition software as far as a person could hack it, so took to looking for himself. He could not quite explain why, but a part of him was hoping to catch a glimpse of the Nihlus-lookalike and the tarin that was with him that day. Not because he wished to determine if the stranger indeed looked like Nihlus, but that would mean he was on the right trail, and could hopefully follow and corner them. With his full arsenal available to him once more, he could take on a small army.

He was sure Sylnius was glad he avoided her ship, but he was always reachable if they needed to check on him. Overall, the others on this mission did not seem to think much of Veso Recerian, the Spectre Asset brought on for this assignment, but he did not care. Not only did it let them underestimate his ability, but it minimised the risk that someone would link him with Saren Arterius the dead traitor.

Two days before the unveiling ceremony and they have managed to narrow down the possible factions to two. Facinus was his prime suspect, as this group by far had the best resources. Saren was sitting above dock 442’s security checkpoint when a dark red fringe caught his attention. A transport from Illium just landed, so it was very crowded with all species, but comparatively few turians. A group of turians were sticking together among the throng of mostly blue bodies, waiting their turn at the security checkpoint. Among the usual grey and browns of his kind, the distinctive red stood out.

Time stopped for Saren as he spotted what looked like a Nihlus doppelganger. No colony markings on his scarred face, and a few extra piercings for rings in his mandibles, adorned with jewellery in his crest; but he could never forget that face. Every line, every plate and scute was etched into his memory, replayed to his traumatised mind with every nightmare. 

‘It couldn’t be Nihlus. Nihlus was dead! He shot him, himself at point-blank! It couldn’t be him…’ his mind kept repeating, but his eyes and his heart told him it was Nihlus. When the doppelganger turned his head to survey the crowd, his eyes, those unforgettable forest green eyes made his gut clench and his mind spiral. Then they locked onto his eyes. They carried the same intensity as when Nihlus was on a mission, searching for targets, but with a new fire of hatred he had never seen before, not directed at him.

The moment of surprise passed and Saren realised he’d been spotted. Quickly activating his cloak and retreating back into the shadows, he shook his head to clear it and started to follow… How dare this stranger imitate his love? From a new vantage point, he could see the tarin that was with the fake-Nihlus that day in the slums, discussing their plans. It had to be them! They were going to attempt the assassination. Saren ducked back behind a pillar so he could activate his tool to call in the find. When he looked back out, they were gone.

Cursing himself for having been discovered and then freezing in the first place, Saren hurried to see if they were through the security gates already. By the time he reached the other side, they were nowhere to be found. Of all the Spirits damned luck. Their first true lead and he already lost them because he was staring at a ghost. A ghost that looked very real and very alive.

Searching the walkways and maintenance tunnels in the area left no evidence, but he had one last avenue to discover which direction they took. Staying at the entrance to a keeper tunnel, he accessed the security cams on the dock from the timestamp when he spotted them. It did not take long for him to spot them again. A single mandible tilted into a smile. Got you . 

This proved to himself he wasn’t seeing things, or imagining the resemblance. He quickly copied the shot where not-Nihlus was looking around the docks, appearing bored until he spotted Saren on the above walkways. It showed his face clearly for any doubters. Saving the clip, Saren watched as the not-Nihlus talked to his tarin companion nonchalantly just as he must have ducked behind the pillar. Then they moved through the security gate, not triggering any alarms. He must have informed her that they’d been spotted.

He swapped over to the camera on the opposite side of the gate - they’d called a cab and left. 

‘That’s it, run and hide. This hunt’s just beginning.’ 

It had been too long since he’d hunted like this, adrenalin and a feral sense of glee filling him at the prospect. He tracked the cab number as it flew to another ward, following up on any information he had on them.

Of course, that was when Sylnius called him, already scowling.. “What is it, Recerian? Your message was too cryptic. ‘You’ve found them?’”

Breathing out through his nose, Saren explained what he had seen and his conclusions. Sylnuis did not look impressed. “That’s it?” she snapped. “You have no further evidence than an overheard conversation to link these two as being the assassins? What group do they belong to? Or are they alone? Are they hired by one of the groups that sent the threat? Even false ID’s for us to trace back to their real identities? For their best, you come up with half-assed results.”

Saren bristled at her insults but did not let it show it. “You forget, Sylnius, We know when they passed through the gates, which means we have their alias’ and good quality security footage. It is a lot harder to hide from security if they know who to look for.” He moved her call window to the side and went back to filtering through the names that entered this security gate on the specified timestamp from the footage.

He had barely glimpsed the names when static ran through his screen and the names vanished. Someone was in the system, deleting their traces. He looked back to Sylnius with a serious expression while his talons flew over the haptic keys to try and trace the virus or hack.

“They’re deleting their presence from the server!” Saren ordered. “Inform Intel division to stop them or trace them! Hurry!” 

It must have taken some willpower for Sylnius to take his orders without making biting remarks - her mandibles tilted down to bare teeth, and her mouth worked like she was about to speak - but she managed it.

That was evidence he was looking for! Why hide yourself if you were not afraid of being found? They were here and up to no good.

Unfortunately, even the STG could not stop the hack in time. By the time they found the virus, it had already deleted the images and names on the list, as well as on that of the transport. No record existed of them coming from Illum either. The virus itself did not yield many clues, except than whoever created it was either well funded or were a coding genius. It was of similar design that high profile thieves and espionage agents used. Even a few Spectres had this variety of virus -technically illegal to own or create, but every Spectre had their own version for undercover jobs.

Sylnius grunted in frustration and stomped off on his screen. “Come on Veso. I’m sure the boss will want a debrief.” Boss was her word for Sparatus. Some lingering afterthoughts from her mercenary upbringing, no doubt.

Saren followed suit while typing away. She might have forgotten, but he had a photographic memory. He quickly searched the names, and stored them on a file along with the short security cam clip he managed to download before the virus scrubbed all traces of them. It almost sounded like she was angry that he did anything right at all. She made no secret that she despised him, but wanting him to fail? Saren would keep an eye on her. It wasn’t too hard to take a personal agenda against him, and she would not be the first. At least she had proven that her hatred did not go as far as compromising the mission.

They met up at the ST&R offices and waited for Sparatus to contact them, while checking in with the techs about the virus. Ten minutes after their arrival, they were shown to a terminal and all three Councilors appeared before them. Saren took on a parade rest, while Sylnius gave a claw salute.

“Spectre, we have heard that there has been a development in the situation.” Tevos started off diplomatically, as always.

“In particular, that there are now possible assassins on the station. Can you track them down?” Came the questions from Valern. The logical one, wanting pointwise information.

Sparatus was strangely silent.

As only Sylnius was addressed, she spoke. “Councilors, we identified the possible perpetrators from a hunch, and they quickly tried to cover their tracks once spotted. As it is, we have one contained virus that the techs are analysing for any clues to its origin. Unfortunately, they were able to scrub their presence from the system before it was caught, while Agent Recerian managed to spot them himself, and can give an accurate description for us to find them on.” Her last words were pointedly directed at him, and he received a look that probably meant ‘don’t screw this up’. Pity for her, he was about to upstage her and teach her a valuable lesson in being a Spectre.

"Is that so, Recerian?" Sparatus spoke at last. Having been addressed, Saren stepped up to the terminal. 

"Councilors." He greeted with a polite nod. "I identified them from a previous encounter on Taetrus, where I overheard a conversation of getting onto the Citadel without detection. Having visually positively identified them here, I searched up the aliases they used to enter through security. Please meet Julianter Natarian and Malbia Honorius.” He pulled up the image from the security cam he saved and projected it for the Council to see, followed by a short description of their fake identities from the database.

“They took a taxi upon exiting the security checkpoint, and said taxi has dropped them off in the Kithoi Markets. From there the virus was released in a nearby terminal, and any further traces of them had vanished.”

He could see the disapproving scowl on his handlers face, while Tevos gasped and put her hands over her mouth in surprise, Sparatus stared but with enough dignity not to gape openly, while Valern just frowned at this information. “ By the Goddess, he looks just like Nihlus.” It was no secret that Nihlus was one of Tevos’ favourite Spectres, even among the Asari on the force. Having not stated this fact himself, he could not be accused of being biased to a former student.

Valern’s frown deepened “Yes. Can you trace their real identities from this? Perhaps what group they are affiliated with?” Never distracted from the real questions like the others were. That is why the current dynamic between the Councilors worked so well. They knew each other's shortcomings, and made up for it with their own strengths. It was a different story when they were vying for lobbies or trade agreements for their people. This was also why they needed to prevent the assassination of even one of them, as it would throw everything off, allowing for others with more personal interests to take to the stage perhaps.

“Intel division is working on it as we speak, Councilor, but we know they originated from Taetrus.” It bothered him that they were not able to find their true identities in the 10 minutes they were at the ST&R offices. These were no amateurs or lone assailants. 

Sparatus looked pointedly at Saren “Is this going to be a problem, Agent Recerian?” Of course he would ask that. Few knew that he and Nihlus were… involved in more than just a student and mentor relationship. Sparatus was one of them. Though Saren was unsure just how much the Councilor knew.

“No, Councilor,” he stated immediately and flatly. The mission always came first, no matter the cost.

“Good. Then find them and bring them in for questioning. If that fails, then make sure they are not a threat to the Citadel.” Capture or kill order given, Saren merely nodded his understanding of the situation. He too, hoped to capture and question this doppelganger. 

“Good, then we will await your next report on developments.” Sparatus answered, seeming self-satisfied with the reply.

“Goodbye and good hunting.” Tevos finished off for them, and then the link cut out.

It was only then that Sylnius turned to him, a furious buzz to her subvocals. “You got a clip and their names before the virus scrubbed it?! And where they went in a cab? When were you going to inform the rest of us that you had this vital information at hand? Or send out a team to track them down in the markets?” He really had made her look like an idiot in front of the Council.

Saren flicked his mandibles dismissively at her. He did not have time for a fledgeling’s rant over superiority. “You dismissed me even when I had more information to give. I do not pander to your attention, and can work on my own. Intel division already has this information. You now have the information as well and we can continue. As for tracking them down, I sent out some feelers with my contacts here for anyone fitting that description. They would have already left the markets for another ward by now, if they are true assassins.”

She seethed for a few seconds before growling out, “We are supposed to work together on this, Recerian!”

“Then perhaps you should follow your own advice,” he stated calmly and turned to go back to the techs who were investigating the identities. He knew she was seething, but she knew better than to threaten him with words. He has become thick-skinned to such words over the decades, and even more so in the last solar year. Any threat she would make now was baseless, as he was contributing to the investigation and working with the various departments as needed. Now was not the time for petty squabbles, they needed to act now or forever lose their trail.

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Whoever these assassins were, they were good at covering their trails. They were spotted a few times in the next two days, but they always made sure to vanish before any agents could get to the location. They were worthy of the name assassins. All that remained was to keep a close eye on the Councilors at the event. Security was increased, but Saren knew it would not deter them from their task.

As it were, Saren was going to suggest something he knew would be met with a lot of resistance, but would be the only way he could assure the Council’s survival during all of this. He pressed the comm at the ST&R offices that linked directly to the Councilor’s. Sparatus answered promptly to the request.

“Agent Recerian? What is the meaning of this urgent call. I hope you have good news for me?”

“Unfortunately, no, Councilor. But that is the reason for this call. As we have been unable to catch these Seperatist assassins, I wish to be inserted as part of your security detail, in order to protect you to the best of my ability, as you are the main target of the threats received. Being there would also mean I can effectively protect the other Councilors at the same time.” It was a long-shot idea, but the idea with more pro’s than con’s Saren could come up with. If he was part of the crowds, he might not be able to get to the Councilors quickly enough to block a shot with his Barrier, or prevent a bomber from storming them.

It might be easier to go after them after the act, or if they were spotted beforehand; if he wasn’t at the Council’s side, but protecting them came before potentially capturing the assassins. There were enough plain-clothed Spectres to be in the crowd to handle capture if they had to.

Sparatus hummed in thought for a few seconds, weighing the options like Saren already had, before nodding in agreement. “Very well. You will be part of my personal guard until the end of the event. Take on a different disguise. Some have voiced their concerns about a mercenary for hire as an Asset in this operation, and the assailants already know your current face. I wish to lure them out so we can capture them.”

It was Saren’s turn to hum in thought. It would work best if they didn’t see him, and would then be more inclined to continue with their plan, potentially revealing themselves. A trap in a surprise attack. Even though Sparatus had  been a politician for many a decade, his tactics were still in top form.

“Indeed, Councilor. I shall do as you ask. I will meet with your detail in front of your office just before the event is to start.” They both rumbled a polite farewell, and Saren quickly set about changing his plate colour.

He should have thought of it himself. If he suspected that the same people were behind this as those that he overheard and who spotted him, he should have taken on a different appearance before arriving on the Citadel. They could have captured them already had he not been spotted and recognised at the docks in the first place. It seemed his mind was slipping with the years, but he could not afford to worry about that now.

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The new statue was on one of the open walkways between the rebuilt buildings. Skycars and trams came together in this small open park to ferry the citizenry on their way to the various districts. This allowed for an open-air view of the station and surrounding nebula. The event itself was as boring and full of political pomp and circumstance as any other public appearance of the Council. People swarmed around them to catch a glimpse of their leadership and share in the festivities.

Saren hated crowds, but held back his dislike of the throng of bodies. He appeared like any of the faceless personal guards by the Councilor’s side. Slate grey plates and tan hide had him looking positively generic. The fake light blue colony marking and visor over his right eye helped this fact even further.

While keeping the crowds at bay, Saren kept a sharp eye out for anything out of the ordinary. He had noted possible vantage points to the route that was to be taken through the ward to the new memorial monument before their departure. It was situated where the most damage and loss of life occurred, where there was still ongoing reconstruction in the surrounding buildings. Even with added security and screening to those in hotel rooms overlooking the route, there were ways around such measures.

The reveal of the statue went as planned, and all three Councilors started their speeches to the gathered public around the stage and media camera’s floating about. Saren was perpetually scanning the crowds and buildings when Sparatus came up for his part of the speech.

A glint of metal caught his eagle eyes from an overhanging crane on the next building over. The slowly turning ward arms had exposed that portion of the crane to the faint light of the Widow’s local star through the purple haze of the nebula. His optics in his visor zoomed in on the command to reveal a flat silhouette on top of the crane arm, a muzzle to a sniper rifle at its end.

Saren leapt out of formation onto the stage, raising a heavy Barrier to cover the Council. “Get down!” he cried out, as a high-velocity bullet struck the shield and bounced back. The crowds panicked, running in all directions. Saren reached Sparatus behind the podium and quickly brought him over to the other Councilors, herding them along in a group so he could better cover them with his barrier.

Two more shots bounced off in quick succession, making him wince. It felt like ice shards were trying to imbed themselves in his brain with each shot. Those were high calibre bullets, meant to pass through shields even at a distance, but he was strong enough to hold them off as the Councillors scrambled off the open stage. Interesting that the assassin kept firing when they could have run - if nothing else, they were determined!

The other bodyguards joined him in surrounding the Councilors. Tevos’ Huntresses joined their Barriers to his to encompass the group and strengthen it. Training with Asari did have its advantages. When the Councilors were off the stage and on their way to safety, Saren broke off to help in the chase. Sylnius joined him from the scattering crowd. People were probably being trampled, but he could not stop to control or direct people right now. That was C-Sec’s responsibility.

“Security is already going up the building where the shooter is situated, come on!” She yelled at him as they ran.

“No, they would have an alternative escape plan.” He snarled back at her as he pushed pass another panicky Salarian that ran into his path.

Looking up, Saren saw the telltale lights of a jetpack flying between two buildings close to the crane.

“They are heading to the building on the right!” He called out to her over the screams, simultaneously informing the security over the comms. Sylnius cursed next to him, then dragged him off to the side.

“I have a skycar waiting! We won’t catch them on foot!”

He followed wordlessly as they jumped into a Cision red sports car, taking off before the doors were even properly closed. As they raced to the building, the security called out that their targets were escaping in a skycar of their own. So there was more than one now. Looking out of the window, Saren spotted the black vehicle taking off.

“There!” He called out to his driving partner and she banked them hard to follow behind. Saren gripped the seats so his talons put punctures in the leather at the manoeuvres she pulled, but their target was making equally insane moves to lose them. Swerving between buildings, he could hear the sirens of C-Sec joining the chase. About time!

This chase continued for nearly the entire length of the wards. It seemed they were heading for the docks at the industrial sector - lots of big buildings to hide there, or possibly catch a waiting shuttle to get off the Citadel. They needed to catch them before they landed. Sylnius was of the same mind as she rammed the black car the next time they got close. While this jarred both cars, it did not deter them from their chosen course. When she tried to ram them again, the other car swerved out of the way and hit a booster, shooting them ahead for a few seconds and nearly making Sylnius crash into a building. Whoever taught her to drive did a marvellous job.

Saren silently swore at her as she pulled manoeuvres that took the internal dampers well past their limits. Through a series of dives and cut corners, she caught up to them and rammed their rear placed engine. If only she had taken a vehicle with some form of armaments, they could be shooting them down now! 

They finally crashed them with a third ram, damaging the engines enough so they started to slowly spiral down, finally crashing between some warehouses. They saw two figures crawl out of the wreckage before it burst into flames. As they themselves came to a screeching halt not far away, they jumped out and the chase continued on foot. It did not look as if their targets were wounded too bad, or they were good at hiding the pain and running for their lives. When their targets split up, so did Saren and Sylnius, Saren following the conspirator who looked so much like Nihlus, while she followed the other tarin down the warren of passageways and alleyways in the warehouse district.

Whoever his target was, they were very fast and agile. ‘Just like Nihlus was.’ His mind supplied unwanted. This was not the time to be comparing the two! This was an imposter and he was ordered to capture him. 

After several more twists and turns, they came on a dead end. Being cornered, the assassin turned to fight instead. In that moment Saren was reminded of the first time he saw the then young torin. Feral looking and waiting to pounce with tooth and talon, combat knife in one hand. Then he had been cornered in a merc base his unit was to take out. Now it was on opposite sides, no knives involved. The similarities were starting to become jarring and far too many to be just coincidence.

The not-Nihlus jumped at him before he could get lost in thought. He blocked the initial attack to his throat, trying to swing it around to attack in return with talons. His opponent was ready for the move and retaliated with a kick to his torso. Saren dodged low and kicked the standing leg out from under the fake. Even though that had worked, his other leg came to catch him a split second later. As he came low to go after Saren again, Saren came up with full force, one arm between his legs and the other going over the shoulder. Saren saw the moment of realisation in his eyes that he could not dodge in time in these close quarters, even then, his gaze was calculating and not fearful. As Saren bodily picked him up to throw him over, the fake used the momentum to flip in the air, bringing him to land on solid footing. His side ached and he felt where he was jabbed in his softer waist by a quick hand, probably as he lifted him up. The assailant was good, almost as good as Nihlus was. Almost, and he clung to that shred of evidence as if it would disprove everything before him, as they went at each other again.

The similarities in their fighting style brought up memories of training spars he had with his once protege. Some which lead to more pleasant activities afterwards. These reminders had his body start to heat up, parts of him stirring he thought dormant. This was not what he wanted right now and suppressed the reaction with a force of will alone. When he finally had him pinned, arms screwed up behind his back and his knee pressing in on Nihlus’ spine to keep him immobile, those green eyes bored into his with such fury it caught him off guard. Never before had he seen such anger directed at him from those warm and inviting eyes.

“Who the fuck are you!” he snarled out and Saren froze again. It was Nihlus’ voice, every fibre of his being screamed this fact. While he had him pinned, he saw a scar at the back of his head where a major surgery must have taken place. Exactly where he shot Nihlus, between the two brain lobes. The almost-Nihlus used his stunned moment of inattention to throw him off his back with nothing more than brute strength, pulling his arms free and bashing his head into the nearby wall. There was a moment of hesitation from him now, almost like recognition, before he came at him again, talons going for his throat. He probably would have finished the ex-Spectre off then and there if the sound of C-Sec sirens didn’t fill the alleyways. With one last bloodied look, he took off running and escaped.

Saren was never so glad for the ever late C-Sec to appear on the scene as he was this day. He must really be out of practice if he was so nearly beat, a small trickle of blood running down the side of his head where he met the concrete wall. Spartacus was just going to love this outcome.

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After the ST&R medic patched him up and sent him home to recover, he got a full debrief and dressing down from Sparatus. He felt like a cadet in bootcamp again, but Sparatus’ words were softened when he mentioned that Sylnius was in ICU. Her target had nearly killed her, and the only reason she wasn’t was because of her superior gear and of a stubbornness not even death could defeat. These were not just any assassins, but some of the best in the business and would give a Drell assassin from the Illuminated Primacy stiff competition. Considering he came off with a light concussion and minor scratches and bruises, he was lucky. At the end of the day, they thwarted the plans to assassinate the Council even if the targets escaped. All ports were either locked down or under heavy security to prevent them from escaping the Citadel.

Saren had the option to return to Sylnius’ ship, but it felt wrong to make his home in someone else’s space that he loathed on a personal level. After some fact-checking, he still had one fallback apartment left that the Council had not known about and wasn’t sold or destroyed like the rest of his belongings. He decided he would recuperate there, and try and make sense of this day and all the emotional upheaval that came with it.

Saren arrived at the dusty apartment with a bag of takeaways in one hand, while the other carried his duffle. This wasn’t one of his luxury apartments that came with cleaning services, but it was large and had a great view for this part of the ward. The moment he opened the door he was alert. Someone was here. He quietly dropped the bags on the floor, drawing his pistol and scanning the room. Nothing jumped out at him and so he moved in deeper. As he entered the hallway and swept in one direction, an assault rifle pressed into the back of his head like they knew he was going to check the left side first.

“How come I remember this place, your face but not your colour? The way you fight, yet I don’t remember you?” Came the quiet growl from behind him, the same growl Nihlus always had when he was angry but confused. Saren’s hands slowly rose into the air with the pistol, which was quickly snatched up and tossed out of reach. The tight space of the hallway meant turning and attacking now would be difficult. The fake had had enough time to plan this out properly.

Saren’s breath caught. He even smelled like Nihlus… Now that his mind wasn’t consumed with a fight, it registered with his senses. With no regard for the weapon trained on him, Saren turned and stepped closer. He had to know. This becoming torturous to not know if this was some elaborate joke or the truth.

“What do you remember?” he asked in a voice that was far calmer than he felt.

The gun wavered as he recalled and Saren leapt at the opportunity, disarming him and rolling to the ground in another struggle. This time Saren pinned him and he could not escape as Saren placed him into Stasis. Something he should have done that first time.

“Go ahead. Shoot me!” Nihlus yelled in defiance. It had to be Nihlus, dead or not. Everything pointed at it being the truth, even if the how was still a question.

“I want answers,” Saren growled out in return. “What do you remember of this place?”

The target struggled some more, before realising it was futile and yelling out. “I remember you in this place! But I don’t know how I know you or why we were here!”

Memory loss. It made sense with a severe head injury. Saren fell back on his haunches at the implications. Someone had resurrected Nihlus when all others left him for dead. Maybe that shot didn’t kill him outright, and someone stole the body in stasis to brainwash him and bring him back? He was so deep into his head with thought that he wasn’t paying enough attention to his attacker. In a flash, his biotics was dismissed with a damping field and he was tossed away by a Throw, making an indent into his wall. The definitely-Nihlus made for the door before he could stop him again.

Nihlus was alive! Yet working for the enemy and now somehow had biotics as well. Saren wasn’t sure how, but he was going to find out, and get back what was once his, punishing those that forced him to believe he had lost everything only to fight what he held most dear in this galaxy. And this time, he would not let words go unsaid.

As he stumbled after the long-gone ghost running down the corridor of flats, he promised himself that he would find Nihlus and make him remember.