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[b][u][center]Rescue Operation[/center][/u][/b]

[b][u][center]Chapter 3: Gathering Forces[/center][/u][/b]

[b][u][center]For bbbuuu[/center][/u][/b]

[b][u][center]By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]

It took Oscar a day to pull himself back together after his breakdown. Finding out that Arthorius was commanding the Blue Suns for this operation had rattled him badly, and he honestly was a little surprised that it only took a day for him to be back to normal. Even with Gavorn’s support, he’d expected to be almost catatonic for a week, which would have rendered him utterly useless.

Perhaps that was why he’d been able to find out who the Boss was in the first place. Reputation could do a number on the enemy before they even saw each other.

[i]He’d do something like that, for sure,[/i] he thought as he walked down the street. [i]He’d start playing the mind games well before we even started fighting. He wants to make sure that anyone coming after him isn’t thinking clearly, that they’re at a disadvantage, and…[/i]

Oscar took a deep breath, pulling his hands back from his sides and forcing them out of the fists they were clenching into. It was not going to be as bad as that battle between the Alliance and the Blue Suns. No matter what he planned, it wasn’t going to be another massacre like that.

He walked up towards the rebuilt Afterlife, finding his way to the front door. The bouncer didn’t even look at him before passing him through, and Oscar was glad of that much. He didn’t have it in him to have a normal conversation.

Due to the early hours, the flames on the walls weren’t on yet, and the place was almost empty compared to the busy night hours. He walked over to one of the bars, sitting down and ordering a drink. Nothing hard, just something to give him a chance to relax. As the Turian started pouring, he glanced around the room, little memories flooding in as he did so.

[i]Heh, met Gavorn over there. He was staring at a human stripper so hard that I thought he’d peel that costume right off the guy’s ass.[/i]

He chuckled. He looked around again, remembering the various contacts, enemies, and friends that he’d made through the years here. Some were long-gone, some were still around. Some were gunning for him, some would come in and share a drink or two on good nights. It varied, but Afterlife was the hub of Omega, and it was the place where everyone would come for a good drink and some good business, profitable for all. There was no other place on Omega quite like it.

And Arthorius had come here and destroyed it.

Oscar’s good mood started to fade as he saw that the stands and poles were new, no longer the slightly jagged and marked poles that had been in use for years. Possibly decades, for all he knew. The stages were made of temporary material while the other, more important construction work was taken care of. Even the nozzles and serving devices for the drinks were replaced, given a new shine with so much of the rust taken off. The attack had done a number on every part of the club, ripping away so many of the physical things that would trigger the memories for him and so many others.

He shook his head. It was getting to him again, and he needed to pull himself together before he started falling down that path once more.

The Turian bartender handed him his drink, and he tossed it back without any hesitation. When he finished, he shook his head.

“You see Gavorn come by anytime recently?”

“Yeah. He was just getting off-shift.”

“Know where he went?”

“Dunno. There was some human stripper that came to him, talking about a message or something.”

“Message? From who?”

“Couldn’t tell ya, man. I wasn’t exactly paying that much attention to what a Turian does with someone that ain’t one of us.”

He narrowed his eyes at the bartender, but didn’t say anything. Just because Gavorn had a preference…

[i]Eh, they’d probably look at me that way back home. Hell, they’d probably be shouting at me back at home for fucking a Turian, even if I was the one on top. Heh.[/i]

Getting up from the stool, he fought a little pang of jealousy as he realized what Gavorn would probably be doing with the stripper after getting the message. He told himself that it wasn’t a big deal, that it wasn’t like the pair of them were exclusive to each other or anything, but it didn’t do much for him. He just felt…wrong, for some reason.

Telling himself that it was the drink and the fact that he was so on edge, Oscar stepped back out of the club. He’d just come back later, when he was sure that Gavorn was done and there was no chance of walking in on the Turian balls-deep in a human. It was better that way.

He wandered the streets for a while, walking down past the apartments and then down towards the warehouses in a long loop. It was not the safest move, but he was used to keeping an eye out for threats and taking care of himself. Dealing with people that wanted to kill him was just part of being a mercenary these days, and when there was an entire company waiting to see him dead…well, that was just part of business as well. It wasn’t like it was the first time that someone wanted to see him die.

[i]Just gotta make sure that it’s not the last, either.[/i]

Oscar leaned his head back as he walked, staring up at the roof of Omega for a bit before looking back down at the streets. He was thinking about this too hard. If he was going to get through to Azen – and he had to do that soon – then he needed to have a plan. A good one, for that matter.

[i]What are my options?[/i]

The old Alliance battle strategies were bubbling up in the back of his mind, reminding him of all the possibilities. The human nature to pull themselves into alliances with other people, other cultures, making use of them to enhance their own capabilities, was something that he was particularly good at exploiting. There were a number of people that owed him favors, he knew that much. Not the Eclipse – they were ready to see him dead no matter what the cost – but he was pretty sure that there were a few Blood Pack officers that he could talk into a fight. Either through old debts or through some promises that they could take down the Blue Suns a couple of pegs, they would come running.

But what about the rest? A couple of thugs from the Blood Pack would only give him a few extra guns, maybe a meat shield or two for him to make a run at a door. When he got inside, he’d still have to contend with all the other traps and problems that Arthorius would have inside, and that meant that he’d need a lot of numbers…

Or some very good trap breakers.

[i]Quarians.[/i]

Oscar smiled to himself. The band was still on Omega as far as he knew, and they might just be amenable to a few offers, maybe a couple of threats. If they could deal with the traps that were undoubtedly lining the halls of Arthorius’s base, then there would be a better chance of breaking through. A very good chance, for that matter.

What else, though? He needed more than a few Quarians and a couple of hired guns.

[i]Maybe Gavorn might have some ideas, or maybe Aria could recommend a couple of people.[/i] He knew that Aria wouldn’t hire them herself, but the information would be something he could work with. Not like she needed to pay for it when he was doing all the legwork.

Rounding one of the corners on his loop, he saw several people lingering around a trash can in the distance. He started to look away, but paused, a twitching feeling of alarm going off in the back of his head. He slowly looked back, then down a bit, his eyes flicking towards a couple of bulges in their pockets.

The old soldier in him recognized those bulges. They weren’t any sort of stolen goods or bits of old food. That was an ammo bulge, and that strap around the middle of the leg was a holster.

“Fuck!”

It was too late to run; they’d already noticed him, and were pulling out their weapons. He had a gun aimed at him already, and he knew that there was no chance to duck back around the street. So, instead, he threw himself down and forward.

The shots rang out over his head, hyper-sped bullets shooting over his head and cutting chunks off of the building behind him. He came up, a biotic blast shooting out of his hand at the center gunman, and he pulled his pistol out and got off a couple of shots at the ground. They scattered, some leaping behind the trash compactor, one behind a pole, and the other two running and gunning across the street.

He took their idea, rushing to one of the other alleys and taking cover behind one of the compactors. As the shots rang out around him, spatting against the ground and ricocheting around him, Oscar shook his head.

[i]Not good. Better than the average thugs, too; they were waiting for me.[/i]

He poked his head around the side of the compactor, and just as he expected, they were waiting. Three shots came shooting by, one of them nicking his cheek before he ducked back out of sight.

[i]Yep, way better than average thugs.[/i]

That meant that they were either assassins, something that he wouldn’t put past Arthorius, or someone that was out of uniform and coming after him. Either way, he wasn’t happy about it. Not happy about it at all.

The two that were running off to the side had disappeared, too, which meant that he might not have cover for very long. Oscar glanced about for some sort of idea, and spotted something that might just work. A pipe ran down from the roof of the building at his side, and the trash compactor would keep him out of eyesight long enough to reach the roof. He hoped.

Holstering his pistol, he leaped up and started climbing. The pipe hummed, barely covering a power-line, and he hoped to all that was good that there wasn’t some break in it that would electrocute him further up. He dragged himself up, up, up, hand over hand as any second he expected to hear the sounds of more gunshots tracking him up the side of the building.

Thankfully, there was none of that.

Unfortunately, there was something worse.

Just as he poked his head over the side of the building, the two gunmen that had been running off spotted him. They’d taken up a position on the top of the building, and their guns swung up to point at him. He ducked down just in time, but lost his grip, falling fifteen feet to the hard concrete below.

“Are you fucking –”

CRACK!

Oscar screamed despite himself, his eyes rolling back in utter agony as he felt his ankle break. He went down in a heap, sucking air desperately to keep from making another scream. This was about as not-good as not-good could get…and this time, he doubted that there was a Turian on the rooftops playing guardian angel for him.

[i]Okay, gotta get out of here. Gotta get out of here right now, right now, right now.[/i]

Dragging himself to his feet, he hopped along past the edge of the alley, even as he heard the shouts of the mercenaries chasing him along. He looked back, spotted one that was about to take a shot, and snapped off one of his own. The thud of a body hitting the ground was hardly the sort of prize that he wanted, but it was better than nothing, particularly with the fact that he needed to even the odds fast.

He pulled himself through the back door of the building, shutting it behind him and leaning against the metal barrier. It wouldn’t hold for long once they found out where he’d gone, and with the other guys on the roof, he couldn’t just keep going up, either. They were good. They were very, very good.

[i]No surprise, if Arthorius has been training them. Think. Think.[/i]

There were ways of getting out of this. He could run through the buildings. There were windows and other back doors, but that would require more speed than he currently had, or could really get up. The fact that he was crippled wasn’t going to help him in the slightest right now.

He could set up a defensive position, but that had the same problem as staying by the compactor. They had already split up, forming two different waves, and he couldn’t keep himself defended on two sides for long.

A glance down at his communicator showed that they’d jammed that, as well, so there was no calling for reinforcements or cashing in on a favor now. Oscar groaned, shaking his head.

[i]I really shouldn’t have gone out alone. I should have just waited, and bitten off that jealousy.[/i]

But for now, he had to make a choice. He could hear the thumping on the door, feel it through his back. They weren’t going to break it down with their fists, but he would just bet that a few of them had grenades. That’d do the trick in a heartbeat. Oscar forced himself to think.

[i]Apartment building, two enemies on the top, two enemies behind me. Unless they blow a hole in the roof, the ones up top will take longer to get to me than the ones outside. Deal with them first. Let’s see…[/i]

He dragged himself from the door with a cry of pain, throwing as many different knickknacks as he could find against the door. It didn’t matter that they broke. In fact, it was better. This would never work if they were in armor, but here, without that protection, it just might be enough.

Throwing himself behind the couch in the break room – or at least, what he assumed was the break room for staff here in the building – Oscar waited for the door to get blown in. It didn’t take long, but he still winced as the door went flying over the couch and almost banged off of his shoulder.

“Get him. Make sure to check all the –”

No time to wait. He jumped up and threw out his hand, spinning the fastest Warp that he could from his biotics. It strained him, but it lifted up the two gunmen…and the shards of all the cups and everything else that he’d been throwing around. He clenched his fist, making it spin, and watched as the metal shards smashed into the unprotected flesh of human and Turian alike. The pair of them were shredded in short order, the little trick working to break them down and smash them apart. They were cut to pieces.

He panted softly as he sat down, trying to pull himself together. His ankle was throbbing hard, and he knew that it’d need some sort of medical attention soon. The bone was completely broken, and dragging it around like this was only making it worse. If he didn’t find something to set it, he wasn’t sure that he’d be walking again in weeks, let alone hours.

Groaning, he dragged himself across the floor, pulling at some of the old pieces of the doorframe. It wasn’t much, but there were straight pieces of metal, and the clothes of the two dead mercs were fragile enough to rip. Now…well, this was the painful part.

Bracing himself, Oscar reached down to his ankle, feeling for where the bone had snapped. He could find it pretty easily, and pressed it slightly to the side. The immediate agony left him whimpering, biting down on his lip enough to make it bleed, and he shivered as he forced himself to push it down and to the side. The pain had to be gone through, or he wasn’t going to be useful to anyone after this. He gave himself a mental countdown of three.

And then he pushed the bone at one.

“GAAAAAAAAAAH!”

His scream echoed through the room as the bone ground back into place, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he almost fainted from the pain. The human shivered, his face wet with tears as he struggled not to black out from just how much that hurt.

“He’s on the run, I bet.”

“Yeah, sounds like the others got him.”

“Let’s finish him off.”

[i]Not…not a good…time for this…[/i]

He whimpered as he tried to pull himself to his feet. The brace put out a few inches of space between his heel and the floor, keeping his foot and ankle from supporting quite so much of his weight, but it was still horribly painful compared to what a normal walk felt like. He grunted and winced every time that he hobbled into another step, hoping that he could get back to cover before the new mercs came down from the upper floors.

It was almost possible. Oscar had made it to the hallway and was just shoving a door open when the other two gunners – a batarian and another human – rounded the corner at the far end of the hallway. Their pistols came up, aimed right at him, and the Batarian was unslinging a rifle. They both got off a shot just as he lunged through the doorway, and one of them hit.

“FUCK! Fucking, fucker fuck!”

He landed with a scream of pain as he felt the piece of metal rip through his lower arm. Not his gun hand, thankfully, but enough to really, really hurt. He panted hard, shivering as he desperately turned around, fumbling his weapon free as the two mercenaries came barreling down the hallway.

Their eagerness was just enough of an advantage for him. They rounded the doorway, the Batarian first. His rifle was too big to swing around and aim quickly, giving him the chance to shoot first. The bullet hit the merc in the forehead, and just as the human tried to get off a shot, Oscar had shifted his gun. A bullet right to the throat took the human back a pace, and a second shot to the torso ended it.

He laid there for a bit, panting for breath. It was too hard to move right away, so he didn’t try, not wanting to mess his body up further. Instead, he slowly filtered through his thoughts.

[i]Plainclothes mercs. Arthorius is gonna use this as a way to make me look bad, if he has to. He lost some men, he injured me, and because they weren’t in uniform, the worst I can prove is that they were doing something off-duty that he wouldn’t approve of. There’s no accountability there, because none of them are fucking alive to say otherwise…[/i]

It was so frustrating. The damn Turian was cutting him off at every turn, making it impossible to get any closer to him. There was no evidence of what he’d done save for what Azen could tell them, and that was the one thing that they could get at.

[i]Mmmph…still…flattering that he’s coming after me this hard.[/i] He chuckled, even as he winced from the wound in his arm. [i]The fact that he considers me this much a threat…fuck…I should take that as a huge compliment.[/i]

Then again…

[i]Wait…what about…[/i]

Oscar thought back to that first night, when he and Gavorn had been interrogating the other Blue Suns. There had been an escort that night, someone that had pulled the Turian off to the side before Oscar had gotten threatened. Was that…could it be…

[i]He couldn’t be thinking that far ahead…[/i]

But if he was…

Groaning in agony, Oscar dragged himself across the floor to the dead bodies in the hallway. One of them, the Batarian, had the comms jammer on him, and he turned it off. Just like that, the connection with his own communicator was back online, and he flicked it on, putting out a call to Gavorn.

It rang…and rang…and rang.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up…”

When he was just about to give up hope, the connection was established. The Turian panted, but not the way that someone who’d just gotten a whole lot of sex would be doing. He was groaning, gasping, a few shudders in his voice.

“Hello?”

“Oscar here. Gavorn…are you okay?”

“Could be better. I just had a whore stab me in the ribs. Not a place that I’ve been stabbed before, I have to admit.”

“Ugh…It’s Arthorius. He’s working on getting us taken out.”

“You think so?”

“I just got ambushed by a bunch of his men out of armor. They were looking for me.”

“This isn’t good.”

“No. We need to get rid of him, fast.”

“Agreed. Do you need help?”

“Do you?”

“To be honest, it wouldn’t be unappreciated.”

“Call Aria. I’ll get there as soon as I can…Somehow.”

He cut off the call, taking a few deep breaths. Oh, this was going to use up a lot of favors, but if he didn’t…well, he wasn’t sure that they would ever get close enough to do a damn thing to the Turian.

#

It took six hours, but he was able to stand on his leg again. His arm was almost all the way better, though it was a bit slower and less responsive than he’d like. Oscar flexed his fist, shaking his head as he stepped out of the small infirmary Aria kept at the back of her club. It would have to do.

Gavorn was waiting for him, the armored Turian clicking his mandibles a few times as Oscar stepped back into the hallway. He nodded down towards the meeting room that they’d commandeered, and the two of them started walking.

It took him a little while to be able to say anything. Something in him still felt jealous, but…he had to ask.

“So…how was your time with the whore?”

“Pretty good, up until the point he decided to stab me.”

“How’d he get close enough to do that? I thought that you would have a pretty good grip on him.”

“Let’s just say that he wasn’t using his ass this time.”

“…”

“Please, as if I’d let someone else top me. He was using his mouth on me, and he was very good. Very...distracting.”

“As long as I’m still the top.”

“Heh, until I take you down, you are.”

It was an odd little compliment, but he’d take it. He was smiling at the end of it, at least, which was better than he expected after having so many broken bones and a new hole in him.

When they entered the meeting room, it was something to warm the heart. There were a number of different people inside, all representatives of the groups that he’d reached out to for help. In the corner, fiddling with a drone, was one of the Quarians that had tried to kill him, then blackmailed him to get their credits back. He’d made their leader an offer for first tech salvage rights if they helped out, and that had been enough to get them onboard.

A krogan leaned over the table in the middle. Not one of the nicer ones, but Oscar had helped the guy get revenge on an Asari commando that had slighted his honor a while back. Not sure what that was about, but the Asari had been an asshole, anyway. The Krogan nodded at him as they walked up, clicking his weapon a few times.

There were others, too, some Batarians that he’d finagled into an apartment building as a refugee camp, a Salarian or two that had been guilted into trying to save one of their own, a Hanar that wielded double blasters and was convinced that he was Blasto, of cinematic fame, and more besides. All of them were either crazy, on the hook for a favor, or had their own reasons for going after the Blue Suns.

[i]Maybe about a hundred, a hundred fifty different hands and weapons, all told,[/i] he thought to himself, adding up what he knew about their forces. Compared to the hundred – well, ninety-five, after today – men that Arthorius had under his command, it wasn’t that impressive, but it was something. They had a chance.

Limping up to the table, Oscar looked around at the group as they slowly fell quiet. Gavorn stood behind him, but didn’t say anything, just lending his own presence to the group and letting him talk.

[i]What do I even say?[/i]

When it came to battle speeches, he’d never been one for them. They were annoying, barely motivated people as far as he could tell, and they tended to make one look like they were grandstanding. Yet, everyone seemed to be waiting for him to say something. Oscar looked around, and slowly shook his head.

“I’m not sure what to tell all of you. Tomorrow, we’re going to be making an attack on one of the best commanders I know. Arthorius.”

There was a shifting glance around some of the people at the table, particularly among the Quarians. That name wasn’t just known among ex-soldiers. He was someone that most people had hired at some point or another, if they could afford him. The Blue Suns officer was that good. Oscar continued.

“He’s got a secured place of operations here on Omega. As far as I know, he’s also the one that planned the attack on Afterlife, and was the one that managed to make it look like the Blood Pack was responsible. If you’re going to ask me for proof, the most I can tell you is that there is an eye-witness that Arthorius is keeping in his base, and trying to break down. That eye-witness is our target, with the Turian being the second if we can manage to take him out.”

There were no questions. There was reluctance, there was annoyance, and there was fear, but there were no questions, and despite some people glancing at the door over Oscar’s shoulder, nobody tried to leave. They were all in it for the long haul. He nodded, tapping the table and activating its holographic capabilities.

“It took a while, but I’ve been able to figure out where he’s set up base. He’s down at the –”

#

Arthorius looked out over the slow-floating ships that were just starting to come in. The Turian had opened his windows for the first time in a while, and enjoyed the slow, steady movements of the spacecraft that were coming in to dock. They were sliding in just above his base, making for an easy location for him to hide.

He smiled at the easy beauty of ships moving in silence, letting himself enjoy the solitude and quiet for a little while before slowly closing the metal panels. Best not to show off too much to anyone that might be looking.

The Turian turned back to his strategy table, leaning over it and stroking a finger between the different holograms that had been assembled on the edges of his base. He knew a battle was coming, it was just a matter of when. His fingers dragged some of his men along the edge of the wall that formed the barrier of the base, putting them first at the front, and then along the flanks, testing out the different ideas.

[i]A pity that Oscar survived that little ambush, but it did injure him. I can’t ask for more than that, I suppose.[/i]

His men had tracked those that were meeting in Afterlife, and he knew the forces that would be arrayed against him. He tapped the table, putting in about a dozen Krogan, five Quarians, and a couple of former STGs. They would make for a formidable force, if they could get through the walls.

Arthorius considered it for a moment, sliding his men around and the mechs that the Eclipse had so handily donated. One heavy mech per Krogan would eliminate all but two of them, and his men could handle the rest. The light mechs would be useful for a time, perhaps even eliminating the Quarians if the STG didn’t find a way to mess with them first. He would have to rely on a couple of self-destruct units buried in the infrastructure to keep them from being turned on his own people, as well.

The Turian shifted the pieces around again. An arrangement that put the heavy mechs at the flank would mean that the Krogans would get closer and more of them would survive to reach his gates, but it would also mean that the heavy mechs could launch grenades and rockets at the cluster of enemy soldiers as they rushed the gates.

[i]It would be a gamble over whether the gates held long enough for the mechs to come around, or if they would get through first.[/i]

Fortunately, the gates were the only way in. He knew Oscar; the human would be looking for any other way in besides the front gate, even looking for means of finding a way in from beneath or above. There would be none.

He had chosen this location specifically for that. From above, the private docking bays of mercenary companies and companies pulling illegal freight kept his sky protected, allowing nobody through because of their own self-interest. Beneath him was one of the power cores of Omega itself, leaving no room for wiggling through without risking full radiation poisoning as well as potentially blowing up the station itself.

The same could be said for the walls outside. Explosives powerful enough to breach the walls and cut a new entrance could damage the power core and render the space station ‘dead.’ Oscar couldn’t sneak in, so he would have to fight in an open battle.

Arthorius nudged a few more pieces around, setting up a couple of heavy gunners with repeating weapons at the gates. Yes, that would do well, if he could set it up. Ensure that the heavy gunners were properly camouflaged at the door, and he would be able to mow down anything that tried to push forward through the narrow entrance if Oscar’s little force pushed through before the mechs could come around and deal with them.

It was almost perfect…and yet he felt like there was something missing.

The Turian tapped his chin. There was one other possibility, and it wasn’t one that he was too keen on. There was a Vorcha that his men had seen arriving late at Afterlife, and that was the wild card. Arthorius brought his hand back to the Mess Hall, bringing up a zoomed in view of it. There were many vents through there, allowing the heat that came out from the power core to be pushed out and up to avoid overheating. He couldn’t afford to cover that up, except for the most minor of radiation shields.

[i]If he does manage to convince the Vorcha to side with him, then there will be problems,[/i] he thought. [i]I can’t keep heavy gunners at the gate and at the mess hall, and if they come through in the mess, then I will need them there. A two-pronged attack…[/i]

Much as he hated to mess with the perfect plan of stopping people at the gates, the Turian couldn’t risk having an underground, strike from behind strategy used against him. He shifted the heavy gunners to the mess hall, and sighed.

[i]It is down to discipline, if they get through the gates. Discipline, and the Medic’s traps.[/i]

He had faith in those, but he knew better than to rely on faith to get through a battle. If there was to be a good end to this, he would need more.

Glancing down from his office, he could see the roof-less chamber where the Salarian whore was kept. The brainless little thing was getting fucked once more, drooling as his ass was pounded by one of his men. Another Turian, from what he could tell, though he wasn’t paying much attention to the action.

A pity that the Salarian had shut himself down. The final piece of resistance was something that not even the Medic could crack, though he supposed it served his purposes well enough. The alien wouldn’t be able to give evidence against him, or do anything that would bring his plans to ruin. All he could do was get fucked.

It would have been nice to get a little more information about Oscar and this Gavorn, however…

Arthorius sat down at his table, pushing the battle plan away and bringing up a couple of files. Gavorn had been nearly killed by his little trap, though it hadn’t worked out as well as he’d hoped. The sniper’s profile labeled him as something of a pervert, someone that preferred someone outside of his own species.

Oscar, on the other hand, was someone that the files had less information on. There were proclivities of being with a number of different aliens without shame, though always on top. There was a masculinity there that didn’t take well to being challenged, something that needed to constantly be the best.

[i]I can use this.[/i] Arthorius chuckled to himself. [i]Yes…yes, I can use this.[/i]

He reached for a button, pressing the button for the Medic’s quarters. The Batarian answered right away.

“Yes, Boss?”

“Do you still have the gas traps that we developed a few years ago?”

“Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“Start filling them with Turian and human pheromones.”

“Which ones?”

“Sexual ones. Specifically, ones that push submission in others.”

“Got it, Boss.”

“Then bring them here. I have some trap-laying to do.”

He ended the conversation, and leaned back, his fingers pressed together as he looked at the files. Regardless of Oscar’s battle plan, Arthorius knew that he had already won. The Salarian was unable to speak, let alone rat him out. Even if the human somehow won in the fight in the next day or two, he would gain nothing.

But that was if he won, and Arthorius, for all his respect of the human, doubted that was possible.

[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]