T
The Philosoraptor
Guest
Original poster
[fieldbox=Alister, orange]
The Citadel. The most marvelous accomplishment of alien engineering in the universe, housing upwards of thirteen million individuals of various races and sub-species, with defenses both natural and artificial that could fend off an armada. Cast against the myriad of lights that made up the Serpent Nebula, it could, without a doubt, be called the most beautiful sight in the galaxy. Divided into various parts, the Presidium acted as the seat of the Citadel Council, where policy was made and races came together to govern the galaxy as a whole. However, it was not the heart of Citadel culture. To find that, one would have to travel along the Wards, which took up the most space on the station. Residential sectors, business centers, and entertainment venues mixed into one, the five Wards of the Citadel housed everything from arcades and clubs to brothels and crime dens, and acted as a galactic melting pot of civilization. At the moment, however, Alister cared not for the basic pleasures the Wards had to offer. Leaning against a railing, he stared down from the top of a skyscraper. Beneath him raced skycars and small aircraft, rushing to who-knows-what and who-cares-where. And further below, visible only through his helmet's telescoping optics, everyday citizens wandered between retail stores and restaurants and night clubs on ground level, oblivious to the commotion above them. What is it like to live like that?, Alister thought to himself. To live without knowing of the omnipresent danger, of the eternal threat to their lives. How could anyone live like that? And then he remembered. People like him bought that security for them. Without soldiers, the danger would be a weight for everyone to bear. The weaklings would be crushed, and only the strong would be able to survive. But society couldn't allow that. The strong had to bear the burden for everyone. They had to. Not because it was right, but because it had to be done, and only they could do it. Alister had come to terms with this a long time ago. Matter of fact, he didn't think he'd ever had qualms about his job. Was that a good or bad thing?
"Is it wrong to like your job, Harlok?" He pushed off the railing and turned back to the apartment behind him. His eyes passed over the fresh layer of white dripping down the chrome walls, as well as the lacerated, bullet-riddled, and dismembered corpse of a Yahg casually tossed into a corner. The glass coffee table was shattered, and the Thresher Maw-leather futon was broken in two, as if someone had crashed through it. In fact, someone had. Or at least, they'd been thrown through it. The rotund body of the Volus lay on its back, coated in a thin layer of the same blood painting the walls. This one, however, was still alive. The blood belonged to his bodyguard in the corner. His breathing came strained and raspy through his respirator. His lung might be punctured, from the sound of it. Oh well. Alister grabbed Harlok by the leg, lifting him easily. With an equal lack of effort, he tossed the Volus onto the balcony, the body sliding until it hit the glass railing. Seeing that he had almost gone over the edge, the Volus whimpered loudly. Alister took his time getting to his quarry, grabbing an apple from a fruit basket on the counter in the apartment's kitchen. The Volus had managed to get to his feet by the time Alister got back to the balcony.
"What... Do... You... Want?" He managed to wheeze. In response, Alister kicked him back into the glass, which cracked from the force.
"You didn't answer my question. Is it wrong for me to like my job?" He kept his boot on the weakly struggling Volus. With his free hand, Alister took off his helmet, revealing his aged and scarred face. His graying hair and beard were close-cropped, leaving his features outlined, but easy to see. Staring deep into the Volus's face mask, Alister's tan eyes remained calm and undisturbed by the situation. "See, I don't think it's that bad. Free travel, no rules. It's tons of fun." Despite all the years around humans and aliens of various different dialects and tongues, and despite speaking many of them, Alister's proper English accent remained clear, his helmet no longer obscuring it. He took a bite out of his apple. Between bites, he continued. "But then, I always hear someone somewhere say 'Oh, it's not right, List. It's wrong to kill people!' And it makes you think, you know? What am I doing with myself?" Harlok grunted, and Alister increased the pressure on him. The glass railing continued to crack, making a spiderweb of fault-lines. "And then I remember. What do they know? They live in peace and quiet. People don't have to do what I do, because I do it for them. And because they don't do it, they don't know that it's best for them." Finished with the apple, Alister tossed the core over the edge. "So many are going to say that I was wrong for killing you. And when I say many, I mean many. But in the end, they'll know it was right. They'll know."
Harlok wheezed and gasped under Alister's boot. "You'll... Regret... This..."
"No. I don't think I will... Ambassador." Drawing back, Alister kicked the Volus through the railing. Glass shards and Harlok's body tumbled through the air, rocketing down to the ground level of the Wards. Alister could see him hit a skycar, itself spiraling into another skyscraper. The explosion drowned out the screams below as passersby saw Harlok's body hit the ground, splattering only feet away from where a single piece of refuse had hit an Asari couple only a few seconds earlier. A fire broke out on the building opposite of him, and he heard emergency vehicles in the distance. Relishing his kill only briefly, Alister whipped out his Omni-Tool. Not five seconds later, a myriad of holograms appeared, each of a different race. A veiled Krogan female was the first to speak.
"Your presence is required, Spectre."
A Turian chimed in. "Now, DeLacey." Without another word, the com shut off. Sighing, Alister put on his helmet and leapt off the edge of the balcony, landing on the roof of his shuttle, camouflaged against the skyscraper. If they wanted him now, who was he to deny them? As he flew away, blending into the flow of traffic, he read incomplete reports of the prior events on the extranet, satisfied that none of them contained any mention of him. "Terrorist commits suicide." "Prothean incursion into Citadel space results in seven dead." "Bodyguard found murdered in apartment."
"War imminent?"
A matter of minutes later, Alister was standing in the Council's chambers. His arrival had not been without incident.
"How do you explain this, Spectre?" Councilor Irissa's face was hard and cold. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Shrugging dismissively, he said "I'm not sure what you mean, Councilor."
"Cut the sass, DeLacey," Councilor Moreau cut in. "The Wards. The Volus and the Yahg. Murdered. The explosion not a block away." He leaned casually on a cane, as if he didn't care about the importance of his position. His tone, however, carried the weight of his standing.
"How would I know anything about this, Councilors? For the past month, I've been chasing Batarian insurrectionists in the Voyager Cluster. At your urging, I might add, Dalatrass." He gestured to Councilor Esheel. "In fact, I only arrived back here today because I was following a lead I gained while in Voyager. I was told I'd find an insider in the Purgatory Club. By the time you called, however, I'd found nothing, and was merely enjoying a drink at the bar. You could call the Club and its manager can verify my alibi." This seemed to silence most of the Council. Most.
"The media's in hysterics. The populace assumes that the Citadel has suffered a terrorist attack. How else would members of a faction we're supposedly opposed to manage to sneak weapons into our own fortress?"
"I'm certain I don't know, Councilor. How would a terrorist cell manage to sneak into the Citadel? It's a matter for C-Sec to deal with new arrivals, after all." This verbal jab was directed at Irissa. The newest Executor of C-Sec was an Asari, a change promoted heavily by Councilor Irissa. Just as she prepared to fire back, the Turian, Quentius, interrupted.
"Enough! We didn't call you here, Spectre, to engage in an oral sparring match." He glared at his fellow Councilor and at Alister. "Your presence was required for different reasons." Fully aware of what these "reasons" were, Alister feigned surprise.
"You couldn't possibly mean...?"
"Yes. It starts now. In fact, they should be arriving any minute. A period we should use, perhaps, to gather our thoughts." In other words, shut up and be polite. Something Alister was perfectly fine doing. He could play nice for an hour or so.
And so he did, as the first recruits for his task force arrived. As they did, he could only let his thoughts wander to what they were going to do...[/fieldbox]
The Citadel. The most marvelous accomplishment of alien engineering in the universe, housing upwards of thirteen million individuals of various races and sub-species, with defenses both natural and artificial that could fend off an armada. Cast against the myriad of lights that made up the Serpent Nebula, it could, without a doubt, be called the most beautiful sight in the galaxy. Divided into various parts, the Presidium acted as the seat of the Citadel Council, where policy was made and races came together to govern the galaxy as a whole. However, it was not the heart of Citadel culture. To find that, one would have to travel along the Wards, which took up the most space on the station. Residential sectors, business centers, and entertainment venues mixed into one, the five Wards of the Citadel housed everything from arcades and clubs to brothels and crime dens, and acted as a galactic melting pot of civilization. At the moment, however, Alister cared not for the basic pleasures the Wards had to offer. Leaning against a railing, he stared down from the top of a skyscraper. Beneath him raced skycars and small aircraft, rushing to who-knows-what and who-cares-where. And further below, visible only through his helmet's telescoping optics, everyday citizens wandered between retail stores and restaurants and night clubs on ground level, oblivious to the commotion above them. What is it like to live like that?, Alister thought to himself. To live without knowing of the omnipresent danger, of the eternal threat to their lives. How could anyone live like that? And then he remembered. People like him bought that security for them. Without soldiers, the danger would be a weight for everyone to bear. The weaklings would be crushed, and only the strong would be able to survive. But society couldn't allow that. The strong had to bear the burden for everyone. They had to. Not because it was right, but because it had to be done, and only they could do it. Alister had come to terms with this a long time ago. Matter of fact, he didn't think he'd ever had qualms about his job. Was that a good or bad thing?
"Is it wrong to like your job, Harlok?" He pushed off the railing and turned back to the apartment behind him. His eyes passed over the fresh layer of white dripping down the chrome walls, as well as the lacerated, bullet-riddled, and dismembered corpse of a Yahg casually tossed into a corner. The glass coffee table was shattered, and the Thresher Maw-leather futon was broken in two, as if someone had crashed through it. In fact, someone had. Or at least, they'd been thrown through it. The rotund body of the Volus lay on its back, coated in a thin layer of the same blood painting the walls. This one, however, was still alive. The blood belonged to his bodyguard in the corner. His breathing came strained and raspy through his respirator. His lung might be punctured, from the sound of it. Oh well. Alister grabbed Harlok by the leg, lifting him easily. With an equal lack of effort, he tossed the Volus onto the balcony, the body sliding until it hit the glass railing. Seeing that he had almost gone over the edge, the Volus whimpered loudly. Alister took his time getting to his quarry, grabbing an apple from a fruit basket on the counter in the apartment's kitchen. The Volus had managed to get to his feet by the time Alister got back to the balcony.
"What... Do... You... Want?" He managed to wheeze. In response, Alister kicked him back into the glass, which cracked from the force.
"You didn't answer my question. Is it wrong for me to like my job?" He kept his boot on the weakly struggling Volus. With his free hand, Alister took off his helmet, revealing his aged and scarred face. His graying hair and beard were close-cropped, leaving his features outlined, but easy to see. Staring deep into the Volus's face mask, Alister's tan eyes remained calm and undisturbed by the situation. "See, I don't think it's that bad. Free travel, no rules. It's tons of fun." Despite all the years around humans and aliens of various different dialects and tongues, and despite speaking many of them, Alister's proper English accent remained clear, his helmet no longer obscuring it. He took a bite out of his apple. Between bites, he continued. "But then, I always hear someone somewhere say 'Oh, it's not right, List. It's wrong to kill people!' And it makes you think, you know? What am I doing with myself?" Harlok grunted, and Alister increased the pressure on him. The glass railing continued to crack, making a spiderweb of fault-lines. "And then I remember. What do they know? They live in peace and quiet. People don't have to do what I do, because I do it for them. And because they don't do it, they don't know that it's best for them." Finished with the apple, Alister tossed the core over the edge. "So many are going to say that I was wrong for killing you. And when I say many, I mean many. But in the end, they'll know it was right. They'll know."
Harlok wheezed and gasped under Alister's boot. "You'll... Regret... This..."
"No. I don't think I will... Ambassador." Drawing back, Alister kicked the Volus through the railing. Glass shards and Harlok's body tumbled through the air, rocketing down to the ground level of the Wards. Alister could see him hit a skycar, itself spiraling into another skyscraper. The explosion drowned out the screams below as passersby saw Harlok's body hit the ground, splattering only feet away from where a single piece of refuse had hit an Asari couple only a few seconds earlier. A fire broke out on the building opposite of him, and he heard emergency vehicles in the distance. Relishing his kill only briefly, Alister whipped out his Omni-Tool. Not five seconds later, a myriad of holograms appeared, each of a different race. A veiled Krogan female was the first to speak.
"Your presence is required, Spectre."
A Turian chimed in. "Now, DeLacey." Without another word, the com shut off. Sighing, Alister put on his helmet and leapt off the edge of the balcony, landing on the roof of his shuttle, camouflaged against the skyscraper. If they wanted him now, who was he to deny them? As he flew away, blending into the flow of traffic, he read incomplete reports of the prior events on the extranet, satisfied that none of them contained any mention of him. "Terrorist commits suicide." "Prothean incursion into Citadel space results in seven dead." "Bodyguard found murdered in apartment."
"War imminent?"
*****
A matter of minutes later, Alister was standing in the Council's chambers. His arrival had not been without incident.
"How do you explain this, Spectre?" Councilor Irissa's face was hard and cold. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Shrugging dismissively, he said "I'm not sure what you mean, Councilor."
"Cut the sass, DeLacey," Councilor Moreau cut in. "The Wards. The Volus and the Yahg. Murdered. The explosion not a block away." He leaned casually on a cane, as if he didn't care about the importance of his position. His tone, however, carried the weight of his standing.
"How would I know anything about this, Councilors? For the past month, I've been chasing Batarian insurrectionists in the Voyager Cluster. At your urging, I might add, Dalatrass." He gestured to Councilor Esheel. "In fact, I only arrived back here today because I was following a lead I gained while in Voyager. I was told I'd find an insider in the Purgatory Club. By the time you called, however, I'd found nothing, and was merely enjoying a drink at the bar. You could call the Club and its manager can verify my alibi." This seemed to silence most of the Council. Most.
"The media's in hysterics. The populace assumes that the Citadel has suffered a terrorist attack. How else would members of a faction we're supposedly opposed to manage to sneak weapons into our own fortress?"
"I'm certain I don't know, Councilor. How would a terrorist cell manage to sneak into the Citadel? It's a matter for C-Sec to deal with new arrivals, after all." This verbal jab was directed at Irissa. The newest Executor of C-Sec was an Asari, a change promoted heavily by Councilor Irissa. Just as she prepared to fire back, the Turian, Quentius, interrupted.
"Enough! We didn't call you here, Spectre, to engage in an oral sparring match." He glared at his fellow Councilor and at Alister. "Your presence was required for different reasons." Fully aware of what these "reasons" were, Alister feigned surprise.
"You couldn't possibly mean...?"
"Yes. It starts now. In fact, they should be arriving any minute. A period we should use, perhaps, to gather our thoughts." In other words, shut up and be polite. Something Alister was perfectly fine doing. He could play nice for an hour or so.
And so he did, as the first recruits for his task force arrived. As they did, he could only let his thoughts wander to what they were going to do...[/fieldbox]
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