Chapter 3

The warehouse was dark when the drell arrived. He circled around from the front and found an unlatched window on the far side. Slipping inside he took up a good spot to see this evening’s events unfold. John had made good on his word and had set up a meeting with his benefactor. Unfortunately, the incoming message was heavily encrypted and the drell didn’t have time to get an accurate voice analysis of the sending party. Instead, he was eager to see them in person. He set up behind several large crates on the third level and looked down into the open void on the first floor.

His armor was a matte dark green; something he built himself to ensure it reflected as little light as possible. He had also installed numerous external biotic amplifiers to empower his own abilities. It was a suit of armor he was proud to wear; as was the sniper rifle he slung off his back and expanded. He normally didn’t hold much attachment to his equipment. It could easily be lost, destroyed, stolen; but this particular rifle tended to be his favorite out of his arsenal. The original manufacturer called it the M-92 Mantis; a slow firing, high accuracy sniper rifle fit for any crack shot. Usually not the type of weapon the drell preferred but after a few modifications, he became accustomed to its use.

He stabilized the Mantis on one of the crates and peered down scope at the only target below. John had already arrived at the meeting location and was quietly, and nervously, waiting for the others to show. The minutes ticked by as the drell kept his breathing calm and steady, keeping constant watch for any other movement. But something did not seem right. The meeting was scheduled for 16:00, and it was long past then. John was starting to get antsy. His body language went from worried to frustrated and was now passing into angry.

“Stay calm.” The drell whispered to John, who he knew could not hear him. He wanted the benefactor to show their face, not be scared off by a pissed off mercenary. The drell glanced around once more, and then he heard it. It was a sound that triggered the drell’s eidetic memory; he had heard the sound countless times before and made it himself on numerous occasions. It was the quiet zip of a silenced sniper rifle. The drell’s eye went back to the scope just in time to see John staring down at the fresh bullet wound in his chest, shocked. A second zip lingered over the air and half of John’s head exploded into brain matter and blood. His body immediately went limp and he collapsed on the ground.

“Damn.” The drell scoffed. His keen eyes immediately started scanning the surrounding areas, picked sniper nests and covert cubbies. He should have known better. John and his team were a loose end; they needed to be eliminated. However, he couldn’t dwell on that now. He needed information about what it was all about. Why was he being targeted? The drell remained perfectly still, his black eyes darting from spot to spot, desperately trying to pick up movement.

Then he saw it. A brief flicker of light caught the assassin’s armor. In a quick, silent movement, the drell spun his rifle around and took close aim. The shot rang out, followed by a sharp gasp of pain and the sound of a body collapsing. The drell collapsed his weapon and secured it to the slot on the back of his armor. He leaped from his cover, sprinting along the catwalks, trying to make it to the fallen assassin before they were able to crawl away. The shot had been good, but not good enough to take him down.

The drell leapt up a flight of stairs, taking them three at a time. Rounding a corner, he rolled for cover as a shot rang out. The assassin was alive and well, and was shooting at him. Several more shots echoed through the warehouse, slamming into the crate the drell had taken cover behind. He calmly reached for his own pistol that was strapped to his side and breathed deep, trying to calm the adrenalin pumping through his veins. Patiently he waited until he heard the familiar sound of a thermal clip being replaced. He jumped at the opportunity the assassin gave him.

The drell leaned from his cover, carefully placing his aim. He squeezed the trigger with strength and fluidity. The end of the pistol barrel erupted in a flash of flame as the mass-effect accelerator propelled the miniature slug through the air and collided with the assassin’s right hand, at least temporarily incapacitating it if not permanently. The assassin screamed in pain, clutching his hand as the pistol fell to the ground. Seeing that his target would not get far, the drell calmly stood and walked over to the assassin.

“Who do you work for?” The drell glanced over the assassin’s armor; there were no identifiable marks or patterns. The armor was clean, fresh, and devoid of battle scars. It was bought precisely for this one job and was then going to be dumped. Not receiving an immediate answer, and to keep him from running, the drell fired his pistol again, this time into the assassin’s knee cap. The screams were far louder this time.

“I asked you a question, assassin.” The drell looked over the man’s pistol and sniper rifle that had been dropped when he tried to leave. Both were freshly bought, or very well maintained. But the drell could see that the scope for the rifle was off; probably why the first shot failed to kill John. Still not receiving an answer, the drell fired again, into the other knee cap.

“Please! Stop!” The assassin cried out, holding out his one good hand to the drell in a plea of mercy. His mask no doubt was hiding the involuntary tears that were streaming down his face from the pain.

“Unfortunately, mercy is a luxury those in our profession do not have.” The drell slowly knelt beside the assassin, human by his speech pattern and body structure. He pressed the barrel of his pistol between the armor plates that was designed to protect his ball joint of his shoulder. “I will ask you again. Who do you work for?”

“Please, he’ll kill me if I tell you.” The human’s head snapped from the drell to the gun at his shoulder, his hands shaking in fear.

“Your fate will be worse if you do not disclose the information I have requested.” The drell pressed the barrel harder into the human’s shoulder. “Tell me your benefactor’s name.”

The human swallowed hard. He leaned his face forward, trying his best to keep his voice down. “His name is Amon Tau. He hired me at Tylium’s Pub.”

“Who is Amon Tau?” The drell pressed the barrel harder, pushing the human back towards the ground.

“I never met him in person.” The human winced in pain as he tried to move his legs. “He sent me a message about earning some money. It was supposed to be a simple kill and I’d be getting thousands for my trouble. That guy was a dirt bag. No one would miss him.”

“There is always someone to miss them.” The drell fought the surging memories that started to revisit his mind. The child on Omega, shortly after he murdered her mother in cold blood; the husband on Eden Prime; the entire crew of the SSV Tornado. “What is his connection with me?”

“I don’t even know who you are!” The human exclaimed, pleading once again. “Please, just let me go! I promise I won’t tell anyone about this, I swear.”

The drell sighed. He had taken all the information from this would be assassin as he could. He was of no more use. “You’re right. I know you won’t tell anyone about me.”

The human sighed in relief as the drell stood. He holstered his pistol and started to walk away. “Then again,” the drell stopped in his tracks. “I do have to be sure.”

In one swift motion, the drell produced the microblade sword he had stashed on the back of his belt. The blade quickly extended and locked into place just in time for the edge to slice through the human’s neck armor, severing the head from the body. Blood began to pool as the drell calmly retrieved the human’s omni-tool from his belt and quietly walked away from another loose end.