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

[b][u][center]Chapter 2: New Information[/center][/u][/b]

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

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

Getting the Blue Suns out of Afterlife wasn’t that hard, particularly with Gavorn keeping the two healthy ones covered with his sniper rifle. Oscar had it slightly more difficult, considering that he had to drag the mouthy squad leader along, and – annoyingly enough – the pain didn’t keep the mercenary from yammering about how much pain he was in.

“You fuck! You shot me in the knee! Do you know how much that’s going to cost to get healed? Do you think I’m ever going to be able to walk again? I swear, if I wasn’t already disarmed, I’d be shooting the fuck out of your fucking legs and then shooting off your dick, and then –”

Oscar rolled his eyes. The worst thing in the world was a talkative prisoner, and the last thing he wanted was to encourage an actual conversation. Not before they started the interrogation, anyway.

They walked down the stairs, the Blue Sun behind him grunting every time that his shot-up leg bounced off of the steps, and Oscar took no small amount of pleasure in the fact that he was getting a little revenge for the constant threats and shouts in his ears. He glanced over his shoulder as they hit the bottom of the steps, and chuckled as he saw the other Blue Suns doing the same to their passengers.

[i]Heh, always fun to see someone else suffering, particularly when they’re the assholes of the night.[/i]

But he didn’t let himself enjoy it for long. They still needed to find a place to interrogate their prisoners, and while Omega had a lot of back alleys and small spaces for getting it done, it was one thing to do it on the street, and another thing entirely to do it in private. Private tended to work better, because you could use more tools, and there was more of a way to stifle people screaming.

[i]Azen’s apartment would be an option,[/i] he realized. [i]Nobody else in the area, not a lot of traffic coming through it. People wouldn’t notice the screaming until well past time when we were done, and it’s already been scanned and cleaned by anyone that matters.[/i]

He glanced at Gavorn, nodding his head towards the street Azen’s apartment was down, and the Turian nodded back.

They were about a third of the way there, traveling down the street, when the squad leader went quiet. He paused, the human glancing down at the armored figure, and then started to look around.

“You know, if we’re walking into an ambush here, I think that I’m going to need a drink later. I don’t deserve this sort of bad luck twice in one night.”

“I doubt that it’s an ambush, Oscar.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Look at the way that he’s looking everywhere but at the buildings. He’s not trying to hide an ambush. He’s trying to hide something else.”

Now that he was paying attention, he had to admit that the Turian was right. There was something weird about the squad leader’s behavior, and it didn’t add up to just keeping quiet about an ambush. He looked around…and then paused as he stared at the side of one of the apartment buildings.

[i]How did I miss that?[/i] he wondered as he walked over. There was a wide metal slash and grind along the front wall, almost like some hovercar had gone shooting by and scraped itself up along the wall. It was more than that, though, more than just the simple damage that caught his eye. There was a bit of metal left behind, as if the car had left a calling card, and he pulled it free to get a closer look.

“Oh, shit…”

“What is it?”

“The logo. Take a look.”

He tossed it back, shaking his head a few times. It had been some time since he’d seen that variation on the Blue Sun symbol. He’d still been in the Alliance back then, and he hadn’t liked knowing it was around back then. It did explain why all the thugs were so scared about turning on their boss, though. Or, as he guessed earlier, the Boss.

[i]Fuck, if we’re dealing with him…fuck.[/i]

Oscar rubbed his head as he leaned back against the wall, trying to pull his thoughts together. Arthorius was one of the only mercenaries that had the respect of people on both sides of the law. Not for his being fair, but for just how damn effective he was, and how he managed to work himself into situations that shouldn’t have been possible for…anyone, for that matter. Oscar had gone up against him twice, though not directly, and both times the Alliance had suffered massive casualties for the trouble that they went through to beat the Blue Suns back, despite outnumbering them 8 to 1.

When he looked at his partner, Gavorn had the same expression on his face. The Turian shook his head, putting the piece of metal in one of his packs.

“We just jumped into a whole world of problems.”

“You think?”

He shook his head, trying to pull his thoughts together. He reminded himself that he’d already dealt with bigger problems on Omega than he’d ever had to deal with as part of the Alliance. The latest thing with the Eclipse had just been the icing on the cake, a massive operation that he’d pulled together in an impossibly short time in order to save his life, but there were other things.

[i]Yeah, it’s not like I haven’t dealt with psychopaths before,[/i] he told himself, even as he shivered at the thought of dealing with Arthorius again.

[i]Don’t focus on the fact that it’s him. Don’t think about the fact that he’s humiliated the Alliance about six times already, or that he’s a genius on the battlefield, and impossible to fucking rattle. Just…just think about how you’re going to get Azen out from under his thumb.[/i]

Because if it was him…well, Aria had more trouble than just getting out from under the Blood Pack and the other threats that Omega had to throw at her. This was one Turian that could throw every operation on Omega into the blender and scramble them under his control. The Blue Suns suddenly seemed a lot more dangerous than he’d been planning.

As he kept thinking, he vaguely realized that one of the healthier mercs were starting to pull away. Too late, he turned his head and raised his weapon, but the asshole was already running.

“Gavorn!”

The pair of them took a few shots, but it was too late. The blue-armored mercenary ducked into one of the side alleys, and there was no chasing after him. Not without losing everyone else that they already had.

Oscar stomped his foot, cursing under his breath at his own stupidity for letting it happen, but he dragged himself back from the brink before getting too angry to function. He had to focus on the bigger picture right now. If that guy was running, then Arthorius would know about them before too much longer. He’d have to start thinking of other plans, new strategies to start cracking the Blue Suns headquarters, and make sure that he was more unpredictable than usual. If Arthorius knew it was him…

[i]That man has strategies for every enemy that he’s ever had to deal with. He’ll have something ready for me, so I’ll have to do something I usually wouldn’t.[/i]

“Alright…alright, we better keep moving. All the way to Azen’s, now.”

#

As soon as they arrived, he and Gavorn threw the injured ones into the Salarian’s bedroom, tied up the healthy one and made sure that he wasn’t going to get free, and then slammed the door. Oscar sat down on the couch, his head in his hands as he slapped his temples.

“Think, think, think. You’re a fucking planner, so come up with a fucking plan!”

“Oscar, calm down.”

“Calm – Gavorn, this is Arthorius we’re talking about here. This guy…Fuck. FUCK!”

He threw one of the pillows on the couch against the wall. He was getting hysterical and he knew it, but it was impossible to stop now that it had started. There was no pulling back now that panic had him in its grip.

[i]Azen’s already in a drug trip. He always gets the prisoners knocked out, dependent on something or other to make sure that any sort of rescue is either doomed, delayed, or a hell of a lot harder than it has to be. He makes sure that they’re docile, and then he either uses them or makes them into a toy.[/i]

Both of them would be bad for him, considering the things that Azen knew. The Salarian hadn’t been close, but he knew how smart Azen was. The dancer would have been able to extrapolate a great deal of things about him, and if the Turian was using the Salarian as something of a strategy engine, then he was utterly fucked for any sort of surprise attack.

On the flip side, if Azen was being converted into a toy, then the Salarian was going to take forever to heal back to some sort of normal life. Whatever happened during the fight, if they somehow managed to win, then they would still have to work with Azen for years, possibly decades to get the Salarian back to his former self.

[i]He likes to sell them as slaves, to turn them into something that is most anathema to their own selves. Uses the stuff that they like the most, the secrets that are deepest and darkest in their heads to turn them into the shadow side of themselves. He’ll turn Azen into an idiot whore rather than a brilliant dancer,[/i] he thought.

The thought of his friend being turned into something so horrendous, so…so wrong made him want to hurt something. His fingernails curled against his head as he tried to calm down, tried to get a grip on reality –

Suddenly, Gavorn was there, pulling his hands down and yanking his head up until they were staring at one another. The Turian glared into his eyes, looking far sterner than he usually did.

“Calm. Down.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying, it’s just –”

“No. You’re freaking out. Stop. Just look at me.”

He did, not really given a lot of choice. He looked at the mandibled Turian face, saw the stillness there, the details, the calmness that he had none of at that point. Everything was hyper-detailed as he panted for breath, his entire world closing in on itself as Gavorn leaned in.

CRACK!

“GAH!”

He fell backwards, clutching his forehead, groaning at the sudden pain that had exploded from that hard headbutt right to the face. He shook his head, desperately rubbing the spot as the Turian stood up again.

“What the fuck?!”

“It focused you on something else, didn’t it?”

“Fucking hell, that hurts!”

“It worked.”

Yes, it did, though he would be amazed if he didn’t have some sort of head injury after that. His forehead felt like it was bruised to the bone, and he doubted that there wasn’t some damage just above his eyes. He groaned, rolling back to a seated position, shaking his head and trying not to wince at the way that his brain felt like it was rattling around inside of his skull.

“Ugh…Ow…”

“Better?”

“Better…Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll do it again if you need?”

“No…no thanks, I think I’m good.”

“Hmm. Now, that might be a move for our next match.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Despite himself, he was smiling, and he couldn’t believe that he could even manage that much, considering how panicked he had been just a minute ago. Somehow, Gavorn just managed to do that. How, he didn’t know. Why, he didn’t know. But the results spoke for themselves, particularly with the problems they had ahead of them.

With a sigh, he pulled himself up from the couch.

“Well, let’s get started on the torture. Might as well see if they know anything.”

#

It didn’t take long to get the mercenaries out of their armor, and less time after that to get them talking. The fear of Arthorius was strong enough, it seemed, but not strong enough to hold out against some of the pain that he had prepared. The biotic fist to the spine didn’t work as a threat, but the first time he carried it out…well, it loosened the tongues of the others when they realized he could literally reach down through their throat and pull out their spines.

Afterward, Oscar went to the sink and threw up. The blood on his hands really, really didn’t want to wash off, and he threw up a second time before all the stuff in his stomach seemed to be done coming up from where it belonged.

He kept up the cleaning as Gavorn handled the three living mercs, putting them back in the bedroom before coming to the bathroom to meet up with him. Oscar continued to wash his hands as the Turian leaned on the doorway.

“He scares you.”

“Uh-huh. He fucking terrifies me.”

“He is that bad?”

“Worse than you’d think. He’s not a glutton for blood the way that some of them are, but…that almost makes it worse, with the things that he does do.”

“Can you tell me?”

Oscar paused, looking in the mirror for a moment. He could see it, could see the last mission where he’d been fighting against the Blue Suns on the side of the Alliance. It was right there, down to the sandstorm that Arthorius had known would be coming and had used to perform raids against Alliance positions, cutting down their observation bases while they were blind and leaving a bloody swathe through their lines.

He could see it, could even remember the sight of the blue-armored fiends coming through, shooting down men on his left and right and how close he’d come to being shot himself. There was a wound in his hip that had come too close to hitting a vital organ, and the medics had told him afterward that if it had been even an inch to the left, he would have been dead before they found him.

He remembered the Blue Suns leader passing through the lines, the Turian calm as one could ever imagine someone else being, despite the blood on the ground and the stink of it in the air. He could see the face of that mercenary in his mind, and knew that this was the face of someone that lived war.

“I can’t…not yet. Not with him.”

“Fine. Then we’ll kill him.”

Oscar whipped around, hardly believing the blasé way that his friend had said that. The Turian shrugged his shoulders.

“I know his name, and I know what he can do. He’s still a Turian, and still mortal. It’s not like he can’t die if we shoot him enough times.”

“…You really think that we can do this?”

“I think that we don’t have much of a choice. If he’s this terrifying to you, then he’s someone that we need to get off of Omega. At the very least, off of Omega, and kill him, if we can.”

“I hope that that’s even possible. He almost seems like he can read minds, sometimes.”

“He would have to, to pull off a trick of getting away from the both of us.”

“Much as I’d like to be as awesome as we were back at the Eclipse base, I think that’s going to be impossible. Arthorius isn’t stupid enough to leave an opening like that. We’ll have to be clever. Really clever.”

And he had a few ideas. Not much of one, but something that might actually pull together a big enough force to make rescue a possibility…if it didn’t turn into a complete massacre.

He reached out his hand, still soaking from the constant washing, and grabbed Gavorn by the shoulder. The Turian looked down at him with a curious expression, and Oscar just gave in. He pulled the big guy close, and hugged him. Even with all the little spines and shard pieces that were sticking out from the shoulders and waist and hips and…everywhere, he held the other fighter, just needing that for a moment.

“Thank you.”

“…You’re welcome.”

There was a moment of silence and awkwardness before the Turian returned his hug, but they quickly passed it over, favoring getting ready instead. He knew that there were some hidden weapons in the apartment, and there were others that he had stashed all over Omega just for this sort of thing.

If Arthorius wanted a war, he was going to get one.

#

The compound of the Blue Suns was quiet, save for the blubbering of the mercenary before the Boss. Azen watched, forcing himself to focus on something other than the vibrating toy that the Boss had shoved up his ass, trying to keep the information flowing so that his thoughts didn’t slow down and die.

The mercenary was talking about some sort of ambush that failed. Afterlife. They talked about Afterlife. The Turian must have been trying to do something there. Bold, after the faked attack. Less bold when he remembered that the Blood Pack were holding the blame.

“He managed to get us all. Squad leader went down, two others, before we managed to get back. He got the table up as a barrier.”

“You didn’t kill him, then?”

“No…We…we had to stop. He had help.”

“Gavorn?”

“Yes.”

The Turian leaned back, tapping a finger against his chin, and despite his own strange circumstances, Azen felt a small hint of satisfaction. The fact that he was right about Gavorn and Oscar working together gave him a small boost of confidence. While the Turian was a fearsome person, he knew the capabilities of his friends. They would come through for him, particularly now that he knew that they had gotten his message.

As the blubbering continued, the Boss turned to him. The Turian smirked.

“It seems that my dismissal of Gavorn as a possible ally of your friend was premature, at best. Then again, Oscar has gathered allies like this before. It seems to be a skill of his, annoyingly enough.”

The Turian stood up, taking a few steps one way and then a few steps the other. Rather than the slight fear that he was hoping this setback would cause the soldier, there only seemed to be more insight happening. The Boss plodded back and forth several times, thinking to himself, before gesturing at one of his soldiers.

“Send a message to the surviving Eclipse soldiers on the station. Tell them that we have a way to guarantee Oscar’s presence, if they’re willing to donate some of their mechs to the cause. Send them 5,000 credits to make sure that they’re willing to listen.”

The Blue Suns shivered, and for good reason. The tension between the three main mercenary bands on the station was legendary, only broken for the occasional battle that required all of them – such as the hunt of Archangel – or when the law started cracking down on the station as a whole. Azen had never seen them hold temporary alliances for longer than a few weeks, and this might require more than that.

But even that was a worry. He trusted Oscar to fight and figure things out, but this was taking it to an entirely different level. How would the human find a way to get around that many different merc bands? How would he even be able to fight against that many?

As the runner dashed off, the Boss turned to the mercenary at his feet. The others started backing up, and despite the lust that the Salarian was suffering from due to the plug up his ass, he half-worried that he was about to see his first execution. The Boss stepped forward, pressing his hands down on the mercenary’s shoulders.

“For giving me this information, you won’t die.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

“Go…see the Medic.”

The room gasped at that, and the mercenary on his knees shuddered. Azen couldn’t blame him. There were no wounds to be seen to, and there was only one other reason to be sent to the Medic. He shivered in sympathy, only to gasp as the Boss reached over and grabbed him by the dick. A forced orgasm was dragged out of him by a couple of simple tugs down there, making him splurt his seed on the ground.

“Go, soldier. Or I will find another punishment for you that you’ll like even less.”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

Silence lingered over the back chamber of the base, the soldier departing and leaving only the Boss and the top officers of his unit in his wake. Azen hissed, shivering as his cock continued to throb in the Boss’s fist, knowing that this wasn’t going to be the end of it. His eyes were already glazing over just from the pressure on all sides of his cock, and he wanted to thrust forward, even though he knew it would only make it worse.

The Boss didn’t let go of him as he sat back down, even stroking some little bit more, back and forth, teasing, tiny strokes. Azen shuddered, biting his lip as he hung from the ceiling, dripping down over the ground with constant little throbs.

“Who here has dealt with Oscar in the past?”

Four hands out of ten came up, and the Boss nodded.

“I want the four of you to stay here, at all times. I’ll assign your shifts after everything else is settled. The rest of you, take a squad and start moving the streets. Keep an eye out for him. You’ll have a description to work with, but I want you to go to plain clothes. Leave the official unit armor here.”

“Sir?”

“He’ll be on the watch for Blue Suns. He won’t know to keep an eye out for people in normal uniform, not yet. If you catch him outside a building, take the shot. Make sure to keep it looking like normal criminals, though. Don’t make it obvious what you are.”

They started nodding, sort of getting it, while Azen already understood the plan completely.

[i]Oscar is connected. Not a hero, but well known. Someone that the people can see as a competent person. He gets taken down by random criminal, message sent towards everybody. Nothing safe, need more protection. Blue Suns and others gets more contracts, more security stuff, get more money, get more prestige, more power. They get rid of a risk towards exposing them. Witness, me, stays buried.[/i]

The Boss had it in hand, already, and with this many men to patrol, to hide out and wait to shoot at the guy organizing the rescue effort, it seemed more and more hopeless. Azen shuddered, not entirely from the stroke down along the underside of his cock, either.

As the officers were dismissed, the Boss turned his attention towards the Salarian once more. He tried not to look back, and he tried to ignore the way that the armored fingers were sweeping up from his cock to his asshole, rubbing around the vibrator that was buried up to the hilt in it.

“You will break, you know. You are already on the cusp. I have a few more drugs to work you with, Whore, and then, I will start putting proper thoughts in your head. Resistance is not attractive in a slave.”

“I’m not…Whore. I’m…Azen.”

“Can’t even speak, hardly. I imagine that you are already craving something inside of you that moves. You want to ‘study’ a cock, rather than simply have it waved around in front of you. Your perverse study and field has turned you into a magnificent toy, but you need to stop pretending that you are more than you are. It isn’t just your name. It’s what you are.”

He shuddered, trying to shut out the words, but they were so strong. The Salarian could hardly hold himself back from shuddering as he looked down at the Turian’s crotch plate, remembering how big that cock was, how much it had stretched out his ass the last time that the Boss wanted him to take it. He remembered how much he had screamed in pleasure, when he had been doped up to the gills with whatever cocktails the Medic had shoved inside of him. His ass burned with the need for cock, for something to slam in and fuck him open, to make his hole gape and to bruise his prostate with hard thrusts.

He wanted to cum. He wanted to cum again and again and again.

Thought-death was right around the corner for him, and he whimpered as the Turian stood up, pulling the toy out slowly. Azen shivered as it slid out of his hole, his rim weakly clasping at it, no longer muscular enough to hold it, only puffy enough to make an imitation of tightness compared to what he once was. Inside, he could feel the slime of other drugs rolling around, getting absorbed through his inner walls, cum from other men still making him all slimy and squishy inside.

A sudden finger up his ass made him arch his bac, his eyes rolling back and his horns nearly grinding against his shoulders as he tilted his head back so far. He moaned, his cock oozing, dripping. The flow of pre hadn’t stopped since he was taken from the Medic’s quarters. It just kept falling, dripping, drooling from his cock, leaving a string that went uninterrupted from his tip to the floor. The only time that it broke was when someone started teasing him, stroking him, making him spurt rather than just ooze. His eyes rolled back in their sockets as he tried and failed to pull himself together.

In and out, in and out that one finger went. It felt as big as a cock, so heavy and thick and without texture. It was smooth armor, pushing back and forth, rubbing over his prostate. His thoughts were fleeing, no study for this hopeless stimulation. His eyes rolled back, his toes curled –

Then it stopped.

He groaned, thrusting his hips forward, backwards, as much as the ropes that held him above the floor allowed him. Nothing worked. All he could do was hang there, staring ahead through glazed eyes as his ass burned, begging for more stimulation, for that little bit that would send him over the edge.

“You know what you need, Whore.”

The Turian grabbed him by the balls, pulling them down, forcing his orgasm down and away as his sack couldn’t pull up to deliver his seed. The finger came back, pressing down on his prostate even as his balls were held down, stretched away from his crotch so that he couldn’t cum, not without permission.

Azen squirmed, his ass puckering and twitching, his mind slowly going blank. The word was repeating in it again and again, that name, that title.

[i]Whore, whore, whore. Whore, whore, whore.[/i]

He whimpered, trying to shake his head, but mustering thoughts against it had become impossible. All he could feel was the need to cum. The drugs clouded his mind, made his sharpness dull. It made sensation high, his body throbbing, on fire, burning all over from the need to cum and the need to be filled again. He wanted to give in. He wanted to surrender. Some part of him didn’t care about thought-death, if he could just have what he needed.

That part was danger, that part was horror, but he couldn’t stop it. All he could do was ride it out, biting his lips and tongue as hard as he could, trying to hold back anything that his traitorous body could beg for. All he needed was to hold out. Azen could do that. He could…he could not talk. He could try…try not to think.

[i]Not-think is not thought-death. Not-think is just quiet. Just quiet.[/i]

Desperately, the Salarian tried to turn his brain off, and he just about managed it…and was immediately overwhelmed by the pleasure that came after it. His tongue hung out, his eyes glazed over and blank as he felt that hammering at his prostate harder than ever before.

There was no thought, no words, only feral grunts as he was finger-fucked, his mouth drooling over his chest and down to the floor. He arched his back, taking it like a bitch, letting himself get fucked as he drifted off somewhere else. The Boss came up behind him, a second finger filling him, more pressure than ever mounting up inside of his ass.

“You know what you have to say. Say it.”

Knowing it or not was dependent on thought, and the Salarian had shut off his thoughts in favor of just the stimulation that he received. He made himself not-think, made himself avoid thought-death by shutting down his brain and hoping that later he could start it up again. He hung there, drooling and panting, his legs pushing and kicking against the restraints as he dumbly gave in to the pleasure hammering at his ass.

His cock throbbed, about to spurt before the Turian pulled his hand back, slowly walking around him. Azen was barely conscious of having his horns gripped, made to look up at the Boss. The Turn stared at him, cocking his head one way, and then the other.

“Clever...you are much more resistant than I thought, if you could still think to do this.”

Azen drooled, as unable to speak as he was unable to think. Soon, he was released, hanging and humping the air as much as ever as the mercenary walked around him. There were mutters in the background, something that might have been important, but he didn’t hear them. They were not part of the stimulation running through him, not part of the lovely goodness that was making him so horny and hot. He wanted more of that, not more of the words.

It didn’t come, though. Not for some time. Instead, he was cut down and taken back to another room, his body left on a pile of pillows with his legs spread. Azen immediately reached down, forcing his fingers into his ass in a dumb, almost feral attempt to start bringing his pleasure back up. Somewhere, deep in the depths of his brain, he was afraid, but why he was afraid was a thought, and thoughts were not allowed. Thoughts would be killed if they came, so they stayed buried.

And so, the Salarian laid there, fingering his puffy, swollen ass until his first client of the night came. He smiled, spreading his legs happily for the familiar Batarian, pulling his ass cheeks apart like a good whore, and sighed gleefully as that cock slid inside of him. It was hard, it was hot, and it was just perfect for pounding him.

He came from that one, and from the one after that, and the one after that. By the time that he was finally sated, by the time that no more came to him, Azen was coated from head to toe in the slime of other men. Barely any of his soft skin showed under the shower that he’d been coated with, and the tightness that his ass had been given was broken open again, stretched by the men as they took him two at a time, and once with three.

Vaguely, he was aware of the Medic in the doorway, and for a moment he was afraid again. Azen wiggled, swaying as he sat up. Then the Batarian was in front of him, needle in hand, and jammed right into the space between his balls and his cock. His shaft slowly went down, despite his arousal, and Azen giggled as he stared at the floppy thing. Grabbing it, he swayed it side to side, even stroked it, but it was like he felt nothing. His cock didn’t harden, and he didn’t feel a thing from it.

His balls, though…

High as he was, Azen could play with those for a long time, bouncing them and rolling them, squeezing them, and waiting for someone else to come and use his ass. After all, in the dim part of his brain that was the only thing still functioning now that the rest had been turned off, his ass was what people wanted, and he should make sure to focus on that instead of his cock.

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