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Shepard had never seen a bar so open and closed at the same time. Most glasses had been abandoned or spilled, more out of blind panic than drunken stupidity. Or maybe there were those running down Purgatory’s steps, drinks in hand and bouncing off of the kinetic barriers every step of the way.
It was odd to be in a nightclub and be able to see where you were going. No music blared, just the tinny echo of a news report from the clubs upper bar. Looking out at the clubs lower levels, he could see just how large the place really was. No crowds of Hanar or Elcor to block the view.
The place was dead. And still, two remained. Well, three if you included the Salarian bartender. He seemed more preoccupied on the vidscreen anyway. Shaky camera footage took over from Al-Jilani’s makeshift headquarters. A Guardians shield lay split in two, cracked open down the middle. Its previously unified form sported a livery of a rather ugly Asari with a mane of writhing serpents rather than the standard tentacles.
So, a career man. And what a man, to make a career out of terrorism. This man lay dead, his surely mutilated and modified face hidden beneath his layers of armour. No-one cares enough to note his name, only the logo imprinted on his upper arm. And probably his skin.
“Humans have such an odd fascination with their hounds. Some ought to focus on finding their own leashes first.” The Salarian let out a humourless chuckle at the dark Turian woman. More of a gasp for air, a drowning man’s first respite.
Shepard motioned with three fingers for a drink, before tapping the side of his neck. May as well cover all bases. Both of the non-humans stared at him with harsh eyes, yet the Turian’s seemed fiercer. Well, not much of a surprise there.
“You. You’re Shepard, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question. He put his head in his hands as he sat down on the opposite end of the bar. _One of those._ Not the time for it.
He sighed and looked to her. “I am, and you’ve got a problem with that.”
The woman stood, walking over to him and taking the seat to his left. The Salarian followed on the other side of the bar, dumping the woman’s empty bottle into a bin. He poured two new drinks and left both bottles.
Yes. I lost my job at Armax because of you. After you saved the councils lives, we lost a lot of contracts to human firms.”
She took a shot, and poured another.
“I worked down at the foundry district on Zakera ward, closed now. Think Hahne Kedar moved in after some maniacs shot the place up.”
She took a shot, and poured another.
“And now, out there… I noticed a lot of chest plates with ‘Hahne-Kedar’ written on them. Filled by human bodies, murdering my people.”
He wondered where she drew the line of “my people”. Turians, Asari, Salarians. Humans. Death is death. “Were you out there?”
“Well, I- I… No. No, I wasn’t.”
“What were you doing?”, he asked with genuine curiosity. If he kept the focus on her, maybe she’d forget about him.
“I was attending an interview, if you must know. At the human embassy.” He nodded while observing his bottle. A 2176 Janx spirit. Batarian. He squinted at the bottle before shrugging and unscrewing the top.
“There’s a odd combination. I’d have seen about getting my old job back, we sure as hell could use the arms right now.”
Shepard took his first swig of the bottle, not bothering to pour it out first. He falsely coughed, more theatre than any discomfort.
”Get em cheap again, maybe.”
The woman snorted. “Old heads were pushing for dreadnoughts. Of the Hierarchy contracts, Armax got Thanix cannons and Elanus RC got the small arms. Armax cuts back on their small arms contracts to compensate, and I get shit-canned. Left begging for admin roles.”
She buried her head in her arms and sighed deeply.
“And that was for nought anyway.”
She drank again, her cough coming out far raspier than his. She swallowed, pounded her chest and continued. How long had she been here?
“They gave a human the job, even evacuated him from Earth. Council standardisation committee prefers human designs, so Armax goes and puts a short ape with long arms in the front-facing role. I’ve met the man, it’s true, so don’t give me that ‘prejudiced against humans’ argument. It’s getting to be grating.”
“Human C-Sec, human ships patrolling our space, human coups on the citadel…” He hummed and tilted his head.
“Humans saving the council, twice…”
Another snort from the lady. “Only for your own benefit, you play the political game well, I admit. Whatever leverage you can find, you use. You’re worse than the Salarians.”
The bartender turned his attention from the news and scowled at her. This went unnoticed: she was far too focused on Shepard’s face. Another swig from the squints drinks. He knew from the days events the danger of acting before you thought about it first. Hell, he’d been fumbling for months. Earth, Mars. Ashley. A moment was all he needed.
“You’re staking a lot on assumption. You ever served?”
“I was serving.”
“On a ship, station? A colony?” he listed on his hands.
“No.”
Video footage begins to play on a vid screen behind the bar, showing Commander Shepard shooting and killing Ashley Williams. Behind Shepard in the footage is Garrus and Liara. They both go silent as they watch.
Shepard mutters while he takes a sip of his drink: “Never think you know everything about a person. I gained nothing today. What’s your name?”
“Kastela Icula.”
“I sincerely hope you find a better job than mine, Kastela. I wouldn’t recommend it.”