All sounds in the strip bar died down. Even the half-asleep batarian DJ, who was also slightly drugged, understood the moment and turned off the music. Only the light music still played in time with the now inaudible melody, casting a broken light in the room.
"I told you, this was a very bad idea!" Garrus chimed in, already mentally choosing a place to hide, to dive behind it as soon as the shooting started.
Only the spirits knew how he managed to convince himself to embark on this adventure – to appear in this cheap dive in such a manner. Mentally, he was already composing a report on the upcoming incident and the number of still-living corpses that would fill this place in a couple of minutes. The turianian perfectly understood how the operatives of "Argentum" and the entire "CERBER" operated as a whole, and therefore had no illusions.
"Just a normal work situation," Miranda replied simply and concisely, prioritizing targets in the tactical network.
The girl knew that if Artyom got his way, not even a tribunal could stop him. Showing wisdom, she didn't argue, but simply suggested starting the entry into this establishment, unpleasant to any working person, not with a flash-bang grenade. She harbored a hope that the local contingent would show sanity and not open fire first. After all, her commander was known not only in the Union but also in the Citadel Space – thanks to a couple of similar incidents.
"Get lost before I kick your ass," Artyom said imperiously to the local rabble, his hand resting conspicuously on his holster. The man was tired of beating around the bush, persuading, and proving anything. After exhausting conversations with his superiors and his own foolishness, he no longer wanted to coddle anyone. The wounds of his comrades had made his innate caution subside, no longer hindering his movement towards the goal.
"I'm not paid for this!" the volus administrator said, running out of the room with uncharacteristic speed.
Several dozen sentient beings, who had come here solely to wet their throats or look at the firm asari asses, chose to take advantage of the offer, creating a small crush at the entrance along with the dancers themselves. What could be done, the lieutenant colonel was too well known.
For the same reason, another part remained in their places, though divided in their aspirations. In some places, an outrageously large number of credits were given for the heads of the "Argentum" operatives.
Others saw in the impending shootout an opportunity to earn a plus in their personal file, which could affect both their relationship with all Soviet citizens in general and bring personal dividends. The USSR special services were very generous to concerned citizens, although the reward still had to be obtained somehow.
One should not forget the fact that the mercenaries themselves might kill such a risky figure. Although the subjugation of the Hegemony happened generations ago, the galaxy had learned this lesson thoroughly. The Red Fleet had demonstrated this very clearly with the fire of its main caliber guns...
"Well, well, who do I see!" Fisk himself emerged from his office, practically radiating sarcasm. "The Bloody Crest has come to visit!"
The man in black armor opposite the girl and the operative looked frankly unimpressive. Having voluntarily refused augmentations, a descendant of those who did not undergo genetic and other modifications, Fisk was two heads shorter than Miranda. The years had left their mark on him in full. Although the man looked strong, his unextended life made itself known, adorning his face with wrinkles. This contrasted him not only with the employees of the central bureau but with all citizens of the Union.
Even if one disregarded all external differences, the expression in his eyes was very striking, in which his irritation and thirst for profit were clearly read.
"Fisk, I presume?" Artyom asked questioningly. "We need you."
"And why is my humble person of interest to two mutants and the system's dogs? Did your beloved Motherland finally turn its semi-divine mechanical gaze upon me, sending its hounds after an honest businessman?"
"She needs you," the operative replied dryly, expressing his entire attitude towards the unconnected, wondering how such a thing could have sprung up among highly spiritual people who preserved the heritage of the past.
"We need information," Miranda said no less dryly. "And we know you work for the Broker."
"Everyone knows that, doll," Fisk waved her away.
The man slowly walked to the bar counter, went behind it, and with undisguised pleasure, demonstratively took a sip from an opened bottle of something alcoholic, continuing to test the patience of the law enforcement representatives.
"Do you hear," he prattled, "this is silence! But you can't understand what it's like to live without a supervisor in your head! You even fuck by recommendation, let alone eat. But I can do whatever I want..."
"That's why you look like an ass?" the operative politely inquired.
"Oh-oh, such words!" Fisk wagged his finger as if to a small child. "You just increased the price. Coming to ask me and spitting in a proffered hand... How do you put it. You feel the Soviet upbringing, that you absolutely don't give a shit about the opinion and desires of strangers!"
The man slammed the bottle on the counter, throwing maliciously, "Get to the point, you hunchbacked dog. Say what you want, or get lost!"
"I can also not ask," Artyom hinted at another development.
"You can, but since I know that you mutants have a hard time extracting information from a completely drunk body," Fisk said sarcastically, his tongue already noticeably slurring. "And your favorite tortures... I'll die faster. Alas, I'm not that tough."
"Information. About Liara..." Miranda began, but was interrupted by the bar owner's laughter.
"You too?" he wiped his drunken tears, groaning, unable to laugh.
Instantly ceasing his clowning, he gritted out, "Five hundred thousand!"
The mercenaries grumbled at the man's unheard-of audacity.
"One hundred and fifty," the krogan sitting at a table corrected Fisk. "It's still useless, but unlike them, I'll immediately move from persuasion to action, tearing off your arms, legs, and dick, pouring panacealin into the wounds so you don't die. I also need information about this blue-butt, and you had the imprudence to blurt out, food for pyzhiks, that you have it!"
"Our friend is not so simple," Garrus said, nodding towards the ceiling, drawing attention to the object mounted there.
Among the disco equipment, a SEARCH turret was clearly visible.
"Not a problem," the operative stated, having only given the ship's weapon a fleeting glance, whom they had tried to kill this way about five times.
"And who said that's my only trump card?" Fisk replied carelessly.
The mercenaries and simply dubious visitors remaining in the strip bar began to turn noticeably pale, realizing they were caught between a cannon that could incinerate them in an instant and an irritated Soviet special forces fighter, ready for serious confrontation, with his entourage.
"I can check," Artyom replied just as carelessly.
"Then you wouldn't be drunk," Miranda noted reasonably.
"And wouldn't reek of fear all over the district," the krogan finished, casually flexing his fists, while his comrade, sitting with him at the table, tried to slowly slip away from the line of possible fire. Even if he was a turianian three times over, that didn't mean he wanted to catch a laser charge with his already beaten hide.
"One hundred and fifty times, one hundred and fifty-two..." the bar owner began to count hurriedly. "Sold, to that gentleman in red!"
"What did you call me, you still intact soft-skin?" the krogan asked him tenderly.
"I didn't mean to offend you, Comrade Rex!" Fisk immediately corrected himself, "And you, although I would be glad to see your corpses in a gutter..."
"That's precisely why I hacked your toy before entering this den," the operative noted, mentally controlling the aim of the SEARCH turret. "Consider it a discount, and you'll get the standard rate, period!"
While all the remaining people followed the movement of the weapon with their eyes, Miranda's gaze momentarily defocused, indicating the sending of a mental message. The girl also decided not to leave anything to chance, calling for reinforcements, and now coordinated the actions, transmitting the location of the targets.
Turning to Rex, ignoring the gasping Fisk and Garrus, he asked him, "For what purpose are you looking?"
"Exclusively to return the child to its mother," the former mercenary said slyly, enjoying the sight of the human groaning like a vorcha, giving credit to Lieutenant Colonel "Argentum's" abilities in driving those around him crazy.
"And we just need to ask," the special forces fighter stated.
"I suggest we join forces," Rex concluded peacefully.
"A heavy infantry soldier with your abilities will be useful to us," the lieutenant colonel replied in agreement...
***
Garrus walked out of the bar, breathing in the cool air. "These communists are insane! Spirits, how do they do it?" the thought flashed through his mind.
"Silently," Miranda replied concisely, who, out of habit, had approached from behind too quietly, to block the pistol that tried to poke her in the forehead, also out of habit. "Calm down. You have too high a stress level."
"And you're too calm!" Garrus almost blurted out everything he thought. The news that at least two squads were hunting Liara made him justifiably worried about the mission's success.
The turianian only remained silent, instantly understanding the Soviet idiom that a hunchback will only be corrected by the grave...
Behind Garrus, Rex laughed openly, who had disliked Kestelites all his youth and did not want to change his habits even after years. The ancient krogan was openly amused by how even a professional-looking C-Sec officer could shit himself for no reason, without hearing someone approach him.
However, he appreciated the reaction speed, estimating that it was not a fact that he himself could have caught the barrel flashing in the air. This means that the investigator, mistakenly taken for a frigid bitch, is not as simple as she seems. "A very interesting company has gathered. Just like a joke. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to break more than a dozen heads. This will be a fun activity, worthy of a true warrior," he thought, regretting that he had taken too few shotgun shells, not expecting a planetary war.
He could only envy the spatial backpacks, which were very reluctantly issued to freelance hunters, which with his former carrying capacity would have allowed him to carry several hundred tons of cargo without any strain.
"I would worry about why these Amazons are driving all their fighters to this semi-abandoned station," Artyom growled grimly, whose mood had gotten even worse, although it seemed impossible.
The reason was the quantity and quality of the supposed enemy. If a crowd of ordinary women didn't bother him much, then two dozen renegade Justicars, known in certain circles as "Chest Cutters" – that was not something to be ignored. Famous for slaughtering women who disagreed with feminist policies, rabid (in the literal sense of the word) Asari, fanatical in their ideology, were a force. Even with a dozen of his squadmates by his side, it wasn't a guarantee that the operative would be able to neutralize everyone without losses.
"That's quite simple," Miranda surmised, returning the pistol to the C-Sec officer, who had taken it and continued to rub his injured wrist. "They found something related to the Protheans, or they captured a prominent male figure."
"If they had kidnapped someone, then, by the spirits, the entire Extranet would know about it by now," Garrus stated, almost hissing.
"Therefore, it's a Prothean artifact. And not an ordinary one."
"With your luck, Lieutenant Colonel, it'll be a living Prothean," the patriot of the Hierarchy's voice was so full of venom it could have taken down a Thresher Maw.
"You flatter the commander, kind sir," a new interlocutor intervened, immediately surpassing the two very different beings in sarcasm. "By the way, you shoot well with that little toy of yours, bird!"
From the parapet of the second floor, Risa watched the friendly and cheerful company of like-minded individuals with the superiority characteristic only of felines. She held a sniper rifle in her hands, aimed at the entrance of the strip bar, larger than herself, even measured from the butt to the barrel. The fur color programmed to a gray stripe, combined with a camouflage cloak, made her almost invisible.
Having enjoyed the effect, she recalled the weapon and cloak into her spatial backpack, gracefully jumping down. Stretching as only cats can, Risa, in one leap, found herself near her comrades. Straightening the folds of her slightly crumpled sundress, worn instead of her usual uniform, she declared:
"Wow, you really made a scene in the air! No, if there had been a great one, then you and I, Commander, would have shot down the vehicle much earlier..."
"And hello to you too, Risa," the Lieutenant Colonel chuckled. "Where did you lose the natural disaster?"
Before the felinid could answer, an angry voice with characteristic dwarven inflections came from behind a dumpster:
"By the way, I can hear everything," Freya announced herself, without indignation, with a hint of mad amusement.
The dwarf emerged from cover, recalling two stationary machine guns, taken from heavy equipment, that were stationary for anyone but her.
Artyom, Miranda, and Rex, who felt their presence in the "Collective," reacted normally, while Garrus stared at the ladies with an unreadable expression, uncharacteristic even for a Turian's sparse mimicry.
"If only they'd let me blast..." Freya muttered to herself, but as soon as she saw the Krogan, she switched from grumbling to him. "Congratulations on your acquisition, Commander! And what a healthy specimen! Hey, Krogan, let's have a fistfight, one on one! I've never fought your kind hand-to-hand! Let alone dismembered one!"
"And I'm already starting to like you," Rex grinned a terrifying grin. "I won't even bother and will make a cutlet out of you. A small one."
"Hey!" the dwarf exclaimed indignantly. "Why a small one?! I'm forty kilograms of pure meat! Who are you calling scrawny?! Me?! A warrior?! I'll shove your frontal shield through your nostril all the way to your ass!"
"You have amusing pets, Lieutenant Colonel," Rex's mood had just sharply improved. He already foresaw many fun moments on their unexpected journey.
The operative, on the contrary, darkened, imagining how he would have to command this den of vipers.
"In the heart or in the eye," the cat clarified to the Krogan, baring her fangs and bristling her fur.
"From you, only in the boot, kitty," Rex enjoyed the process.
Garrus looked sympathetically at Miranda and Artyom, stating:
"The question is answered why you are like this. I would have crushed them in their uniforms..."
"And no one is asking you, grilled chicken, right now," the cat waved him off. "You're all skin and bones, no protein. Don't bother me, the great me, while I'm acquiring a new scratching post in the form of a Krogan with his ego!"
"I haven't fought with Turians in a long time either!" Freya perked up. "In a circle, or are you scared?!"
"Stop it," Miranda said calmly.
Rex was already openly laughing, admiring the whole scene, especially the C-Sec officer, who looked as if he had eaten a box of lemons all at once.
"But you're taking too long," the Lieutenant Colonel said, crossing his arms over his chest, drilling the two ladies with a stern gaze.
"We dropped a walking piece of iron onto the cruiser," Risa clarified. "You just can't imagine the chaos that's erupted now. I can't create such a commotion so skillfully. As soon as your superiors snapped out of it, they rushed to the embassy. I don't know what they said there, but congratulations, you are now SPECTRES, and Miranda too."
"Unexpected," Miranda stated.
"Shit," Artyom and Garrus showed rare unanimity, uttering this word simultaneously.
If the Turian was indignant at the fact that the Citadel Council had awarded the rank of special agents to these two, then the Lieutenant Colonel swore as soon as he processed the mental packet transmitted by the cat. And judging by Miranda's frown, she didn't like the message either.
"I need to contact the commander quickly!" Artyom decided. "But first, load onto the cruiser. Now finding this Liara is not just desirable, but necessary. A significant mess has stirred up..."