Chapter Text
Round the corner, and you’ll be out of the warehouse, he reasoned. He could lose her in the crowded market. She would not get a clear shot there and would not risk missing. A shot in the markets would alert C-Sec to her presence.
The Wards always reminded him of Vegas, the color, the light. He was in the dimmer sections now, where there were back alleys and dirt laden dark streets where all manner of deals and merchandise passed hands. He felt the seedy pull of somewhere familiar. The Wards were home. He needed that level of familiarity now to outpace her. She was a stranger here. He intended to use the familiar streets to cage her. He could trap her in the usual corners that are only known to him and others who dealt with things that no person should possess let alone sell.
All I need is a head start, even just a little, he bounded up the steps, taking two at a time. He could hear her heavy footfalls behind him then the rustle of armor as a pistol was pulled from its holster.
A shot.
A bullet ricocheted off a wall as he made a right turn past it, the plaster left flecks of white on his left shoulder. Her hesitation to fire delayed her enough to give him a slight advantage of a few extra seconds precious life-giving distance between her and himself. The few seconds could save his life.
He ran down through the markets, shoved past an irate Volus and slid under a sluggish Elcor. He stole a glance over his shoulder; he watched her leap over the Volus, her boots hit the floor with a hard thud. He leaned himself forward ducking down an empty side street. He willed his tired legs ahead, taking ragged gasps of air. He could not discern whether his lack of breath was nerves or years of off-duty inactivity.
“Surprised Anger: Human, you violated my physical space!” The Elcor’s monotone drone soon became nothing, but a faint wilt in the distance. He could hear her curse the great gray alien sloth.
“I need someone to pick me up. I need cover!” He panted into his communicator. His armor felt heavy, and his legs began to cramp. He did not hear her but still felt death was upon him.
A voice chimed in from the communicator, cool and calm. “Take the alley to your left past the Asari’s trinket shop; there’s a tower under construction, get to the penthouse floor.”
The feeling of fire overcame his side. His pain struck him before he could even hear the shot. She had caught up with him and shot a round. The wound stung. His breathed hitched. He tasted blood. He slowed his pace. They were in the Wards in the middle of an alley.
Could I die here, for this? He began to panic.
Ahead of him a few paces he could see the Asari’s shop. The store was full of eager buyers; a sale had caused a rush. He could hear Commander Shepard’s ad, “I’m Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite shop on the Citadel.”
He removed his pistol and fired a shot past the merchant’s head. Chaos erupted as the patrons fled the store. As they panicked to find safety, a Volus and his Asari companion crashed into two Turians and a Salarian. In the chaos, the group shifted out of the shop into the walkway. He slipped into the crowd. She could not fire into it.
Two Turian C-Sec officers responded to the shots: one with red facial markings made his way toward the Asari shopkeeper and the other with purple facial markings scanned the confused mass of crowd like a Collie herding sheep.
They’re looking for her. The realization was not comforting, if they had not found her yet, she could still find him.
The crowd shifted forward in the chaos. He heard grumbled protests and frightened shrieks. The Turian’s voice hummed over the high pitched notes of the crowd’s squawking. When the mass of confused patrons, streamed across the street following its flanging command, he used the opportunity to slip across the street into the tower as instructed.
The stinging pain subsided. He began to feel numb and dizzy. He pressed his hand to his left side, the pressure he applied to stop the bleeding made him whelp. The sharp burn left him disorientated. He limped into the tower’s elevator and pressed the highest number he could find. The elevator began to ascend.
The music was mechanical and generic, a series of random beeps and bops. The sounds were the same across the entire Citadel in every elevator. The familiarity was comforting.
Bang. Bang. Bang. The sound of her boots hitting the other side of the elevator’s roof.
“Goddamn biotics!” he cursed. He coughed. The pain intensified with the spasm of his muscles.
The lights flickered. The main bright neon light on the roof of the elevator extinguished leaving the violet LEDs that decorated the elevator floor. The small confined space had a soft violet colored hue. He waited for death, for her, or for rescue. He did not know which. The elevator halted. Perhaps, they were saving him as promised. He turned on his communicator.
“Hello, this is—“
“I know who it is. Get out of the elevator.” The voice was stern.
The doors to the elevator sprung open. He limped out into the semi-darkness. The large unfinished floor was not furnished. He leaned against a nearby pillar. His breath came in short heaves.
“To the window.” The voice instructed him.
He approached the large glass pane. He could see the entire Citadel from there. The violet, red, and yellow jewels, millions of lights, beacons of the homes and millions of aliens and human’s alike. It reminded him of the night sky on Earth.
“What do I do now?” His sharp pain had returned. His knees buckled, and he pressed one hand against the glass and the other to his wounded side.
“Die.” The voice instructed.
He hit the glass in front of him with his fist. He heard the delicate step of his pursuer behind him. He turned to meet her. He went to draw his weapon, but the movement caused another shot of pain down his side. He only turned and fell back against the window.
“What did your little friend tell you?” She teased as she emerged from the darkness.
“They’re coming for me.” He lied. He hoped she could be persuaded to leave.
“No, I don’t think they are.” She came a few steps closer. She drew a shotgun from her back.
“You won’t find it you know. You won’t find any of them.” He coughed. He covered his mouth then withdrew his hand to find it spattered with blood.
“So you kept saying.” She looked past him toward the city. “That’s a beautiful view. Looks like a long way down.” She aimed her shot steady toward him.
His heart began to race again. With each beat, he felt his side ooze more. He was overcome with an eerie warmth. He began to get tired. He started to shake unsure if it was blood loss or panic.
“Y-y-you’ll pay for this.” He sputtered.
She hesitated for a moment, tilting her head to the side. She studied him awhile as a cat does when toying with its prey. Her amused. His breath slowing. The muffled sound of the city below them. The silence of his communicator. He closed his eyes. She pulled the trigger. He felt the glass behind him shatter. She had not hit him.
“I won’t pay for this. You can’t pay for something that’s already yours.” She kicked him in the stomach. The blow was as if she had wretched his intestines from his body and wrung them in her hands. He felt the air whiz past his face, the sound of the wind, the sound of pedestrians gasping, and, finally, silence.