Police sirens wailed. Through handheld megaphones, law enforcement demands were heard as one group of mercenaries, fanatics, or matadors was cornered. In some places, individual shots were still heard. Red Army snipers or SBC special forces were at work, bringing final order to the streets of the Citadel...
The plastic black bag was zipped up, hiding the mutilated body of the disgraced Academician Lebedev from the gaze of onlookers. Two orderlies hoisted the deceased onto a stretcher as carefully as a bag of potatoes, took the handles, activating the antigrav. Without the respect and honors that the madman did not deserve, in the understanding of the USSR citizens, the body was placed in the refrigerator of a hastily delivered hearse. On this official note, the path of the once great scientist, who had done so much for the country, ended...
"And we'll check this," Artem muttered to himself, having already sent samples of the academic's brain to the laboratory for analysis.
Of course, he or Miranda could have performed this procedure in the field, but the accuracy would be quite low. Some barely noticeable clue might not be found. Sometimes it's simply not enough to break down the sample in polymer into its components.
"Even by the color of the brain tissue, I can tell that something is wrong. I've seen enough brains smeared on walls in service, and Comrade Lebedev was not the kind of person to just kill himself. If he wanted to commit suicide, he would have done it much more carefully."
Through Shep's eyes, he saw a discrepancy, but his mind could not grasp the tail of the elusive thought. Along with him, consequently, the powerful neural network connecting all citizens made a blank turn. If there is no data for analysis, then analysis is impossible.
"The Collective is built on scientific principles, not magic... It's a pity, sometimes I wish all sorts of mysticism existed," the operative frowned displeasantly, with a heavy heart putting aside the solution to the strategic problem, and taking up the current tactical one.
"Garrus..." Artem addressed the Turian, already sensing that this would not end well. The latter had a stern and determined look. "This is an internal matter for the USSR. You can be free. Thank you for your help."
"This stopped being your internal matter when the fanatics caused chaos on the Citadel, soft-skinned one," the SBC officer gave the human a contemptuous look, as if not snorting like a displeased purebred stallion. "Spirits see, the galaxy would be a much more peaceful and quiet place without you."
"And yet, I insist..." the operative made another attempt to persuade the unyielding interlocutor.
"And my duty to the Hierarchy and the Citadel insists on ignoring your wishes, Lieutenant Colonel. This is not your Union, where you can tell me what to do. If necessary, I will resign my authority, but I will follow you to ensure the safety of your games for others. Therefore, what are our next steps, Lieutenant Colonel."
"No peace..." Artem exhaled, taking a deep breath, fighting the insistent desire to simply stun this insolent warrior, feeling a note of respect along with irritation. Being stubborn as a mule himself, he liked reasonable people with this quality.
As if that were not enough, Shep saw Miranda, communicating mentally, frowning and silently mouthing something. The girl, who knew how to control herself, only allowed these parasitic habits when the news was bleak.
"On Therum, the Ghost has been spotted. He was caught on one of the surveillance cameras. Together with a group of Geth, he completely wiped out a group of archaeologists in the local ruins..."
"But? It's still not that simple, otherwise we would need another bag?" the operative "Argentum" asked an obvious question, seeing his comrade's hesitation, and he knew the girl for almost a century.
"There is no certainty that Liara was there. She is part of a radical extremist organization of extreme feminist and anti-Prothean orientation," Miranda explained. "Now our intelligence is registering unhealthy activity from these radicals. Activists and fighters of the organization are massively buying tickets for the nearest interstellar flights. It was established that several lower-ranking members were on Eden at the time of the attack."
"Hmm... This planet again. Trouble just gravitates towards it," Shep remarked. "I suppose it's not that simple?"
The girl turned on the holographic projector, embedded in her "Thought," transmitting an image downloaded into her brain from the general network.
"Investigators have already been notified, and according to indirect signs, the feminists found something and took it off the planet, taking advantage of the confusion. Knowing them, it will definitely be some Prothean artifact that they will demonstratively destroy."
"I know this Liara," Garrus, who had been silent until now, chimed in. "A couple of years ago, she was arrested on the Citadel for vandalism and indecent behavior. She defaced and demonstratively urinated on a memorial to a relay, along with other fools from the archaeological university."
The turianian did not hide his extreme contempt for this asari, only refraining from spreading his mandibles apart, tilting his head to the side, frothing with anger.
"That moment when you study archaeology not to preserve the memory of the past," the human was not surprised by what he heard. "Why isn't she in jail?"
"When they need to, these feminists know how to please men very well. The judge was a batarian, very fond of blue butts. The lawyer easily dismantled the case, presenting it as a teenager's protest, not something more," the turianian's level of irritation increased exponentially. "Even if the spirits descended to our prayers, the most she could have faced was an administrative penalty. Her mother is on the Matriarch Council and is not in a minor position there, and this vomit of a vorcha is less than a hundred years old. A child, almost. If she had been caught by us in the Hierarchy..."
"I understand," Shepard stopped the agitated Garrus, "but let's get back to the case. The faster we finish, the faster you'll leave us alone."
To this, the turianian only snorted, demonstrating his independence.
"Still, we don't know where she is, maybe," Miranda observed the obvious. "Of course, it's a matter of time, but the Spectre might get to her first."
"I don't know either, but I know who can help," Garrus said reluctantly, continuing to portray a true turianian. "I have connections to the Shadow Broker. Usually, his informants very keenly track down such... individuals, to quickly sell information to their parents if necessary. Easy credits."
"Aren't you one of the 'die-hards'? And you're in contact with the Shadow Broker?" Artyom was surprised.
"I have to be," the patriot of the Hierarchy almost ground his mandibles.
It was this organization that was behind the leak of information that led to the successful assassination of the first of a series of Primarchs, which the Kestelites could not forgive to this day. The Steel Hand enjoyed too much popularity with the people. After the USSR, they were the second to search for the Spectre with particular diligence. The "die-hards" distinguished themselves particularly in this endeavor.
"Lead the way," Shepard said grimly, sensing imminent trouble...
***
Drums were beating. Half-naked and bare-breasted women of all races of the Citadel Space danced around a blazing bonfire. A scarecrow was slowly burning in its flames. A sack stuffed with women's underwear and dressed in a business suit burned reluctantly, smoldered, scattering sparks, as if the world itself was against such an act.
The rhythm of the drums became even louder. Alcohol and psychoactive substances spurred the crowd, making them give themselves over to what was happening completely and without reservation. Jars of paint began to circulate among the dancers. Dark red patterns began to adorn the naked, sweaty bodies, smelling of cloying synthetics.
"Death to the penis-lovers!!!" the assembled crowd roared when the scarecrow finally burned out and fell apart, raising a cloud of slowly shimmering sparks.
In a drug-induced delirium, the sparks seemed like the radiance of long-forgotten gods. There was something forgotten-eternal, frightening, and terrible in this whole action.
To the hooting of the women, the scarecrow was pulled from the fire with a sharp hook. The individuals heated by substances, who had lost their last inhibitions, began to tear apart the still-burning mannequin. Wives, sisters, and daughters tore apart the personification of their fathers, brothers, and sons, spat on the scraps of fabric. Some even relieved themselves directly into this mess to approving shouts.
Among them, a pure-blooded asari stood out. More frenzied than her friends in the man-made chaos, she was the first to approach the effigy and rip out a hyper-exaggerated, simply gigantic phallus, tied with a satin ribbon to the mannequin. Raising this charred object like a sword, the tip of which was burning, scattering droplets of liquid plastic, the asari let out a wild cry. Her cry, full of malicious triumph, was picked up by the others gathered.
"Very soon, the female warriors will fulfill their main dream – to punish the most real prothean! We will shove his male superiority down his throat, avenging centuries of deceit and humiliation! Death to men!!!" Liara screamed, waving the melting phallus...
***
The dim light flickered with all the shades of the rainbow, creating a semblance of light music. Upbeat, languid music played. The few spectators, with a glass of something strong, watched the dancers writhing in a dance, in time with the melody being played. A usual scene for "Kora's Lair."
What stood out from the usual picture was a krogan in red armor, slowly consuming a huge portion of stew, fitting for his size, in a bread plate, washing down the meat with vegetables with ryncol. The warrior even smacked his lips with pleasure when the carbonated drink tried to escape from his nose.
The stout, in a good mood, was about to repeat his thermos of green viscous liquid when his solitude was interrupted:
"May I go to the spirits before my time!" exclaimed a turianian of a predatory appearance, which was only emphasized by a half-severed mandible on the left side. "Urdnot Rex himself!"
"Life has really taken its toll on you, Avriy," the krogan clicked his tongue, examining an old acquaintance. "As if a thresher maw first ate you, and then fucked you through all the nozzles."
"Not everyone is as lucky as you, mountain of meat," the mercenary plopped down on a chair, gesturing to the waitress. "Steak, and make it tough!"
The not fully undressed asari nodded and walked away, parading between the tables, provocatively swaying her hips, at which the turianian only snorted contemptuously, commenting:
"Better to stick it in a bucket of sand than this..."
"A hundred years ago, you would have drooled all over this place, and that blue-butt wouldn't have looked at you," Rex said without embellishment. "Now, you're right. A working engine looks much more attractive. And what did you find in them? Skin and bones. A real man has nothing to hold onto properly! It was right to put them in their place back then."
"They just took their rightful place in reality, that's all. The spirits never favor anyone forever," Avriy remarked philosophically. "Someone shits themselves, and someone grabs success by the udder."
The turianian glanced at the "Thought" device attached to his acquaintance's temple, hinting at who was having a lucky streak. The device's antennas twitched slowly, as if a bunch of seaweed swayed in a gentle current. He and the armor from the Vladov weapons factory screamed that this krogan was a citizen of the Soviet Union, and not a simple one at that. To obtain such equipment for personal use, in addition to social points, one needed a high social rating.
"A-a-a-a," the krogan drawled. "There is that. I can't chase pyzhiks my whole life, can I? Many had such thoughts, so they went to the communists. Worked a dozen contracts, then within, citizenship... May I be damned to clean up shit for a vorcha, but it was worth it! Now two-thirds of the clans from Tuchanka have settled on Karate. True, you have to work, sometimes literally. I was appointed head of the district. We breed livestock, beat each other's faces, and grope women. Perfect life, in a word."
"You, and a farmer," the turianian said skeptically. "But since you're here, does that mean the meat turned out to be rotten?"
"On the contrary, it's going like shit during depressurization. I decided to close a couple of contracts, slightly raising my social status. We want to get a couple more seeders, otherwise we're digging like pyzhiks with our dicks! I'll make it in time for sowing," Rex explained, leaving his acquaintance baffled. "Why am I the only one talking, and they're not pouring me anything? How are you yourself?"
"When I can. I'm working as a bouncer here now. I work under Fist. Too many holes in my ass," Avriy replied with a chuckle.
"Fist..." Rex said, "Nah, never heard of him. Whose is he?"
"He's yours, communist," seeing a sickly gleam in the warrior's eyes, the mercenary immediately corrected himself. "...a renegade from the unconnected. A human. Honestly, I used to think these soft-skins were shit, but it turns out they were still normal, compared to their unconnected kin. Looks like the spirits remembered all my sins, but this human is a vorcha's piss, after your swill..."
The krogan downed the thermos of bubbling green liquid in one gulp, asking, "Do you want me to rip out your second mandible, or just break all your bones?" Rex was absolutely calm and in a good mood, but any krogan would not tolerate an insult to his favorite drink.
"And who will pour for you then, if you break me?" Avriy retorted reasonably, maintaining his composure, but the ancient warrior could not be fooled by his mimicry alone. Rex sensed the smell of fear emanating from his old comrade.
"Fair enough," the giant decided not to spoil his mood and waste shotgun shells. "Live, you weakling. I don't want to explain myself to C-Sec again today."
"I see, I see," the bouncer drawled, "So that's how you ended up in a strip bar, and one where asari are shaking their asses."
The ancient warrior squinted at the pylons where blue-skinned maidens writhed in various ways, although their efforts did not arouse lively interest in the audience.
"If an unconnected person managed to establish himself on the Citadel, then either he is a seasoned businessman, or someone is covering for him. And I don't see any service..." the krogan immediately assessed.
The turianian chuckled, understanding what his friend was talking about. Now that the galaxy had stopped loving asari, they could count on a career as port whores somewhere in a remote colony, and only. Especially if they started gaining weight according to the new fashion.
"I was shocked myself. They say there were human dancers here at first, but that's just a fairy tale," Avriy said, nodding to the waitress when she brought the order, and gesturing to the krogan's empty mug. "Then the whole Citadel would be in an uproar. It's much simpler. Fist works for the Broker, and I thought you were here to take him down."
"Then I would have shot your head first, so you wouldn't get underfoot. I wouldn't have lived to my years if I left living biotics behind me," Rex said again, calmly and good-naturedly. "I have a different side job. A Matriarch, Benezia, put out a call. Her daughter Liara has disappeared from the scanners again."
The krogan took a sip from his refilled mug, glancing approvingly at the new thermos of ryncol.
"Many have taken on this order. The blue-skinned mother didn't spare credits for her daughter. She's always afraid that her fanatical little brat will get into trouble because of her fanaticism! And this, being a fanatic herself in her Republic!"
"Strange are the ways of the galaxy..." was all the turianian could say, when he was interrupted.
The music died down as two humans and a C-Sec officer in uniform swaggered into the bar as if they owned it. The dancers prudently disappeared from sight, instantly sensing the moment.
Rex calmly finished his drink, casually pulling his shotgun closer. Of course, one could use fists in a fight, and biotics, but why? Sometimes it's easier to feed the opponent with buckshot, giving them a second helping if the first shots didn't have an effect.