#multichapter fics

Ah, but soon, she would taste riches, and sometimes, it enraptured her in a way that only art came close to.

But the richest of the rich didn’t know either. They couldn’t until that food was taken from them. No doubt many of those old blood capitalists and tyrants craved now, now that the old system was gone. 

She enjoyed taking samples when she crashed dinner parties, flirting with the idea of being among their elite and making people guess how and where they had seen her before. It was part of the fun. She learned the differences and specifics of turian, asari, quarian cuisine-- the history of different cuts and fishes that once passed alien hands in their own celebrations. She would say it was for research, to keep the guessing game going, but well.

Nothing compared to her grandmother’s cooking.

They only knew each other for about a month or so before she passed, when Kasumi was trying to figure out how to be human in the deepest dark of her despair. At times, she thought on the time and wished she’d been kinder. Spoke more, shared love and affection with her grandmother and aunt more freely. But she hadn’t known how to do it, not after losing someone so tremendous so recently. 

But every day, her grandmother would pull her from the reaches and into their tiny apartment kitchen, the thick smell of salty broth and noodles pulling her back into reality. The mere reminder of it could make Kasumi’s mouth water-- rich, melting in her mouth, leaving a soft warmth behind in her chest.

She would find out over time more specifics of what she made. It was a style of miso ramen, made specifically for the harsh winters in Japan’s northern region. Her grandmother had a restaurant for a time on Earth before moving her family to the Citadel after humanity discovered the Mass Relays and made contact with the rest of the galaxy. She had tried running a few shops there in the Wards, but had retired early to help the family adjust to life in space. 

Her grandmother served them ramen in two large, expensive bowls, chopsticks and spoon-- as was traditional back home. Kasumi would get a fork the first week until she learned how to move the chopsticks with ease (it wasn’t much different than any other work she did honestly; a little practice and a little deft work and it was done). The broth-- a thick combination of miso and fish-- easily overtook the small space between them as it soaked rich wheat noodles. Her grandmother claimed the sliced pork inside was fresh, even if that was probably impossible, topped with sweet corn, sprouts, and plenty of garlic. If she was really lucky, there would be a sliced boiled egg floating on top.

It was divine. A true labor of love each and every day. 

“You’re starting to get some meat on your bones.” Her grandmother had a sharp eye too. She could see the resemblance between them. Thick brown eyes that had been hers once, the same nose and round jaw. Her hair had lengthened well past her shoulders after decades, though Kasumi rarely saw it free from the loose bun she wrapped it in. Much the same reason she had kept her own short-- easy and out of the way of work.

She had carried her age with grace, and in her most optimistic moods, she had imagined herself looking much the same, perhaps with a grandchild of her own lingering in the kitchen, waiting for the ramen to soak like she so often did. 

30 short days, and yet they seemed to have known each other for years.

“Nanami?”

She had looked over the bowl of steam, mirroring a smile that she knew now was a family trait. “Sorry, I just--”

“What were the colonies like?”

Kasumi hadn’t known. What specks of memories she still had about her first home weren’t concrete enough to give. There was similar thick aromas in her father’s kitchen, late nights where her mother returned home covered in oil and grime. Fights and games shared with her sister. A bundle of blankets tightly wrapping around a baby boy, keeping him warm and secured. 

The mines and fields she worked after weren’t colonies. Not the romanticized ones so often advertised over the vids. Sometimes it sickened her so badly that she had to switch the channel-- something that hadn’t been lost by the other two occupants in the home.

“Mom and Dad were happy,” she said instead.

“I don’t doubt it. They would be happy to see us all here again.”

She could’ve asked a million things. What were they like? Why did they go out into the colonies in the first place? Had she kept contact? Questions that another day, another season, Kasumi would have been happy to be occupied in finding out, but as it stood, she was hurting, and as it stood, they never asked her how she came to be there.

She’d been afraid then. Unfortunately for her grandmother, the geth would find her before Kasumi had the strength to ask.

--

Dark fell quickly over their campsite-- clear as the day had been with leftover spring warmth that made it easy for her group members to stay out longer than usually. Many of them mingled awkwardly with their salarian counterparts, though fewer in number as the day wore on. If Kasumi had to guess, they were moving their camp closer. Strength in numbers. Their preoccupation would make it easy to get out, though increased her chances in running into a member or two later on in her venture.

The sea of stars above was stunning with constellations and lights that likely hadn’t been seen on London soil in decades, freed of manmade pollution and electricity. If she had time, it wouldn’t be so bad to make her way to a mostly intact building or two to stargaze. How much time she would actually have though entirely depended on how urgent someone would be to find her though. How much Major Kirrahe actually trusted her to behave.

Considering she was in her catsuit already, the lack of trust was right, however irritating it might have been. It wasn’t as if she trusted any of the STG either. Still, the catsuit felt nice after so long, fitted perfectly and adjusted for whatever tumbles and climbs she would need to make throughout her trip. 

No one was keeping a close eye to her tent. Big mistake. She activated her cloaking immediately and kept her steps quiet as she made her exit. The heavy darkness and night that blanketed the rest of the empty streets was felt immediately as soon as she crossed the perimeter, but the stars and moon were perfect for the occasion. Just enough light to help guide her way. 

There were lots of little signs of life along the way. Nests of different finch birds, a quick sonata of crickets somewhere in the distance-- out of sight and out of mind. She could see holes dug in on old gods where animals tried to make them home. Plants, grass, weeds worming their way through the cracks of broken concrete. The art that would be inspired by this wonderful rejuvenation would be wonderful to see.

The smoke that permeated so much of the asphalt seemed to fade just a bit once she did reach the graffiti wall again, as if the world was also calming down the further she left her little pocket of civilization. There weren’t any more names left on the wall, though the fact hadn’t surprised her. From here, her and Sha’ira had gone about a half-block down, over the fallen reaper. It would be a tight squeeze still, but she could move faster without someone trailing behind. She really should get something to thank the consort. Though Kasumi wasn’t sure what all could be found that was… luxurious in the ruins, there may have been a nook or cranny or two that the Alliance hadn’t touched yet--

And oh. Her omni-tool was beeping. She let the cloak fall for now as she recognized the name on the other end. Just the girl she wanted to talk to.

“Evening!” Kasumi answered into her ear piece, eyes keeping watch of the area around her. Just in case. “I thought you might be asleep already.”

“Bullshit. You wouldn’t have called at all if you thought that.” Khalisah’s voice was groggy. She felt sort of honored that she would wake up just for little ol’ Kasumi. “If this is about the murders, I already planned on moving my camp in the morning. But you know if I get close, STG will be on my ass within minutes.”

Kasumi ignored it. “Do you know about the other groups around here?”

The hissing sigh on the other end was long and exasperated, but she heard her rustling through her belongings, grumbling the entire time. “My notes are around here, hold on… Couldn’t you just ask for this when it’s not in the middle of the night?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“You fucking suck,” but there wasn’t as much bite as there was usually. Kasumi smiled. She heard pages (paper? Oh how old-school) being quickly flipped through before Khalisah finally spoke again. “There’s another volunteer group southwest from you guys? Pretty much the same. Only thing that stood out was an older guy with half his face scarred to shit.”

“Yellow armor? Real terminus system vibe to it?” Not ideal, but if Zaeed was close, he might be bored enough to lend a hand. Security detail for a volunteer group seemed a bit low energy for him, but maybe their benefactor had about as much credit as theirs did. 

“Yeah. Figures you’d know the only other shady person in the area.”

“Be nice. He’s just cranky, usually.” And had a lot of guns and explosives on hand. He also was real handy with booby traps. If she could get her hands on another proximity mine, he could tell her something that she wouldn’t know already. Especially if their batarian neighbors were more mercenary than refugee. “Could you do me a favor?”

“I’m starting to think you don’t know what blackmail means, Ms. Goto.”

“I could’ve just let the batarians kill you, you know,” she teased. Good-naturedly. Promise.

Khalisah sighed. “Fine, fine. Whatever. What do you want?”

“Be happy. I was going to keep you up for the night before you told me that,” and suppressed a snort when she heard the snarl. “Make sure it’s Zaeed Massani, of course. And if you would, ask him to come by my camp tomorrow… morning is probably good. Before the others wake up.”

“What? You want me to wake up an angry mercenary now? I’m sure he’ll love the camera light in his face.”

“I have his channel. Assuming he hasn’t changed it anyway.”

“Then call him yourself!”

And risk him getting worked up without confirming anything? Clearly the woman hadn’t worked with many mercenaries before. Kasumi tsked. “I’m busy--”

“So was I. Sleeping!”

“Just send a nice, friendly email saying… ah.” Hmm. What should it say actually? If he was early, she wouldn’t exactly want him asking for her directly. Sure, it was about a 50-50 shot on finding someone that knew who she was at camp at this point, but Zaeed wasn’t exactly quiet. “Tell him Ms. Goto’s looking for him at camp, and if he doesn’t see me, just ask for Sha’ira or Kirrahe. Then wait til I get there.”

“And he’ll just go?”

“If you’re that worried, you’re welcomed to toss 500 credits down for me. Money does talk.”

She hung up on her instead. Rude. Kasumi was going to offer to pay her back, but maybe the message came off a bit strongly. She still sent a quick message off with his channel information, in case the reporter did decide to follow through on the request. If not, he probably wouldn’t be hard to find. Guess she couldn’t fault her for getting antsy though. Since their deal was made, Kasumi hadn’t actually followed through with anything, though in her defense, she was spending that time warning her instead. 

It could and would wait for now though. She reactivated her cloaking device and continued her trek toward the murder scene, mentally wording whatever apology email she’d need to make to Khalisah later along the way. The hushed landscape made it easy to concentrate on it, disappointingly absent of any tracks or evidence of others that may have passed through in the meantime. 

If this was newly staked batarian territory, they weren’t using obvious wider paths. Either they didn’t want to be found, or were acutely aware of the possibility of someone tracking them. Could be both, or neither. 

She shimmied around the dead god’s head, and found little had changed in the last few days. It was still a clearing, shadowed by crumbled buildings, half-shapened concrete blocks-- debris of either the buildings around them or elsewhere. She had spent plenty of days memorizing the reach of reaper lasers and various weaponry for the many, many runs she did for the Alliance. Sometimes, the fact that they had won at all still seemed utterly surreal. They were creatures perfectly suited for Lovecraftian lore, hulking, massive creatures  that extended and did things beyond human imagination.

And yet… they were like any other piece of machinery. Artificial, metal, wires. A very scary thought, that over the years, they wouldn’t just dispose of the pieces, but reuse them. Shape something new out of it. With any luck, Kasumi would be dead before that bit humanity in the ass.

She shook those thoughts away and located the alleyway from before. There was still a blackened spot from where the proximity mine had gone off, stretching out like tendrils toward the slab that Kasumi landed on. Noticeably, however, was that any shrapnel had been picked up. The slab looked clean and dusted off. Someone was trying to cover their tracks.

Just at her feet, another red light stretched across the width of the alleyway. It was so easy to spot now that there was evidence of a previous detonation. It wasn’t meant as a trap then. More like a security measure. The sound would be picked up by any guards in the area, allowing them to retaliate to whoever wasn’t hurt by the mine, or move the group before they were found. Their camp may be close by then, if they hadn’t been spooked by their visitation from the other day.  

Nothing special. Kasumi had disabled hundreds of mines in her lifetime. A quick scan of her omni-tool and it short-circuited, allowing her to pick up the mine safely and quietly. Initial look and it seemed… simple. Looked to be scrapped together with various shrapnel from old signs if she had to guess. The circuitry of the actual proximity program would be hard to see without opening it up, but she doubted there was anything unique about it. The maker was experienced, that much Kasumi was sure. If they had any resources from outside Earth however, it was probably gone by now.

She kept it for now, and made sure to study the alley closely for anymore. None on this side. Rationing carefully then, or just that confident in whatever guards they had in the area to act quickly. 

The alley opened up to an even larger clearing than the one before, in what Kasumi could only figure was a rather nice square before. There was still remnants of old cobblestone, ones that had been there centuries and lived through more wars than she could count. Street ways that had been there once, brushed over by dirt and grime, cracked into pieces where weeds and grass sprouted in between. The fountain in the middle was in about the same shape, once wondrous and calming, spouting water from a jar a… cherub perhaps? Was holding into a pool that had been empty for some time. Much of the smaller details were lost by the throes of time and war. The curvature of marble surrounding it still stood enough to be a tempting seat for weary walkers.

Likely why she found the spatter of dried blue blood on its rim. Sura mentioned Thyra wasn’t much for walking for long periods. Yet she managed to dodge the proximity mine…?

The east entrance was blocked by a section of broken highway, but the west was clear enough to come through it looked like. She doubted their killer would cover the alleyway and not such a wide berth of area. Too wide for a simple proximity trip though. Perhaps more traditional mines? Kasumi would have to check as she investigated then. A good thing Major gave her mods back.

Well, presumably she died there, unless there was another turian victim in the interim. That narrowed the scope a bit. A sniper would want the highest building they could get. Probably wasn’t any building on the other side of the fountain. Then…

Ah. A parking deck about a 60 degree angle. It was a good place to start, though maybe not the easiest to climb. It was structurally sound, and compared to most parking decks found in say the Citadels or Illium, wasn’t too high. Most parking decks on Earth had been converted to top level access only once skycars became commonplace. Valets would take over parking once an individual skycar landed on the roof, and would be retrieved by the valet when the visitor returned. 

However, employees and visitors still needed an entrance on the ground level. That would be the place to start. She brought up her omni-tool once again to scan the area between the fountain and the parking deck, but kept her eyes on the rooftops and upper levels just in case. No obvious red lights, and a glint of armor would be difficult to spot in the moonlight. She couldn’t see any signs of smoke ventilation or fire, but toward the very top, it looked like there was… haphazard plating maybe? Someone covering holes that were left from various skirmishes. The metal didn’t fit the rest of the building. Where she’d find her camp then.

And no mines based on the scan. Made sense if they have kids or just regular people with them. That lended credence to what Darshan had told them before about it being a settlement. Mines were also extensive to maintain and keep from dumb mercenaries from accidentally killing themselves though. They could just have them installed along the openings. If they had a shuttle or skycar handy, they wouldn’t have to walk out of the clearing ever, though to rely on enough clearance to land was risky in a ruined city. 

The actual entrance facing the square looked caved in sadly, but after a few minutes circling the building, she noticed a discreet sheet of metal ever so slightly askewed. A very small crack in the corner. Peeking inside only showed a thick blanket of darkness within. Could be wearing night vision goggles, but more than likely, the lower level here was unguarded. No obvious signs of tampering for a trap or bomb of some kind. With careful hands, Kasumi peeled the metal back.

Sure enough, no guns suddenly pointed in her direction. Risky to leave their entrance unmanned. If they had a sniper on the roof though, they may have noticed the metal moving. So long as she was careful though, they wouldn’t find her. Any explosive trap was unlikely at this point, unless they wanted to risk blowing the support beams with it. They were left mostly intact, but if Kasumi studied close enough, she’d see the beginning cracks of wear and tear. 

Most of the skycars inside were gutted and cut open, eviscerated of their wiring and circuitry. Where they were getting the shrapnel to make the bombs then. Smart. They had enough there to last them a good while. There was a ramp further back, though it took some climbing to get to it. 

Mostly climbing over corpses. Not human, at least… not anymore. The wiring that stuck out of rotting flesh told her exactly what sort of things that were littering this parking deck. … It looked like they were being gutted too. She hoped just for the wires and not… anything else. Husks and cannibals mostly, one brute that she nearly tripped over as she navigated the darkness, it’s jawless turian skull another of plenty of images that she really, really wished wouldn’t be haunting her to her grave.

She had dreams about it sometimes. Sometimes of being forced onto one of many pikes, feeling it rip through her chest and continue to breathe and survive until she was more metal than bone, more wire than flesh. Other times, it wasn’t the reapers. Other times, it was Cerberus. Finding her again, trying to entice her with a contract, only to--

Oh. Hm. Rudimentary, but effective when electricity wasn’t always available. A simple wire strewn across the bottom of the ramp. Likely went up further to the higher levels. Properly paranoid, then. Kasumi could respect it. She had been fortunate to keep several back up generators for her various security systems at both locations that survived the invasion. She stepped over the wire easily, and then noticed the lone light further up the ramp, stretching long and lonely on the asphalt.

Though the cloak would keep her from being spotted, Kasumi still kept to the outer wall, eying the ground carefully for any scattered rocks or pebbles-- anything that might give away her presence to the guard above. The catsuit wasn’t just for style, fortunately, equipped with various sound dampeners from the padding to her shoulders to the soles of her shoes. A listless guard or two would have a hard time picking up muffled steps.

Just one it seemed. Batarian, as Darshan said. He looked younger, fuller face on him with scuffed up navy armor. The vindicator loose in his hands was in good shape, a couple of mods that focused on power and increased ammo in the thermal clip. Trying to make the best out of every shot it seemed. He sat on an old lawn chair with a flashlight by his feet, the harsh shadows making him seem more intimidating than he actually was. Even from her distance though, Kasumi could see those dark eyes drooping, just a minute or so from dozing off. She slipped past him easily.

Fewer corpses on this level, and she doubted she’d seen any on the next. They were making it a home for themselves clearly. Two more batarians sat on crates around a campfire west from their sleepy friend, conversing to themselves. No tents, but sleeping bags it looked like. She ducked behind a gutted car and tried to listen in.

“Dinner was rough tonight.”

“We’re running low on rations. It’d be nice to go out and actually hunt soon, but…”

“Yeah, I get it. At least the salarian had some nice shit on him--”

“Dumbass, that’s precisely why. You saw the datapads in there yourself!”

Sounded like the STG murder was an accident then. They had plenty of resources as far as scrap metal and wiring went here, so why were they bothering with that? Medical and food supplies maybe? Information would’ve been an obvious decision if it’d been on purpose, but.

“... What are we going to do…?”

“... Just let boss work it out. Everything will be fine, Sakul... alright?”

“Guess we don’t have much choice.”

Didn’t seem worse than the run-of-the-mill mercenary group then. Inconsistent armors, so not likely to be from any major organization or anything. She would be reluctant to just kill a bunch of dumb people for the whole mess, but STG would likely disagree. And they weren’t exactly innocent. They hadn’t regretted Thyra’s death. Not yet anyway. 

They would soon enough though. She crept past their campfire with as much ease and stepped over another wire alarm as she continued her trek up. All too quickly, the dim light that was swallowed by the darkness above. Quiet, too temptingly so. She made sure to wait long enough for her vision to adjust to the change in light. As Kasumi suspected, there weren’t any reaper remnants on this floor. The batarians were doing some clean up, at least. With as much work as they’ve done with their security systems, it wouldn’t surprise her if they planned to stay for a while.

She spotted a glint in the darkness though, off in the corner. A quick flash of her omni-tool and she recognized the turret installed there. Seemed to be turned off though. After a few minutes of menial work, taking and pocketing a wire or two, and Kasumi made sure it would stay that way. 

The fourth and fifth floor were set up much the same, blanketed completely in darkness with a few turrets stationed in various corners and hiding spots. It confirmed that the group was small at least, and the area was too large to cover with manual resources. Sneaking past was hardly a challenge, but she hadn’t had one in a while. Not in the technical aspects anyway. Still, it felt… nice going back to normal for her. She really wasn’t suited for civilian life. Too much monotony and people were just strange. Or hurt to see them.

She wasn’t sure how Sha’ira thought she would be okay with it. Being a consort wasn’t nearly as violent or illegal as her job, but it wasn’t normal either. It wasn’t the 9-5, or just trying to pick up the pieces with family and friends. She was meant for something. 

Maybe they could talk about it later. Maybe it would get the consort from prying too much about the greybox. 

She finally found the camp on the sixth level, just one floor short from the roof. Kasumi could understand the choice. The enclosed space protected them from exposure and the higher elevation kept them from running into vermin species that likely still scurried around London streets. Any lights had long since been extinguished by the time she arrived, save for the campfire that was still glowing brightly, right in the center of the halo of tents. They were close together-- any sound from one would obviously carry to others. 

More batarian guards sitting at the actual fire, too quiet to hear as she watched on the outskirts of the camp. While tempting to listen in on their conversation, it was probably too risky with the amount of tents that were around. By her estimate, there were about 20 or so located in the tents themselves-- a rather large camp for as decimated the hegemony had been by the war. 

She crept along the edge of the camp, hugging the makeshift walls facing the square and the outer walls of the tents. No one would likely pick up any movement at this late from within, but Kasumi wasn’t one to overstay her welcome. The firelight danced lazily against the white, offering brief flickers of shadows inside. Most didn’t have cots or personal effects, it looked like-- sleeping on simple bags or pallets made out of well worn blankets and pillows.

Smaller shapes, others a more feminine contour. Women, children. Not many, but enough. Their tents were closer to the fire, to keep the little ones from getting cold at night. 

… Darshan’s story checked out then. That was going to make this a lot more complicated. STG specialized in extraction though, missions especially like this. While she would have trouble kidnapping someone tonight, perhaps they had a few suggestions that wouldn’t end in unnecessary bloodshed. Or they wouldn’t care-- though Major Kirrahe didn’t strike her as cold. 

The other option of course, would be to take care of the sniper herself. She knew how to make it clean and efficient enough-- perhaps frame the scene as an accident to avoid backlash from the batarians. They were already a bit flighty, considering they murdered one person for just going into their territory. … They might put the blame on STG if she did do it though. If they kept them busy for a while,  it would give her the opportunity to get the logs they had on her and destroy them. Hmm. Didn’t exactly avoid the whole bloodshed thing, but, ah shit. Samara knew she was coming out here tonight.

She would have to meet this sniper and go from there, she supposed. 

Kasumi slipped past the camp, it’s final tent about ten feet or so from the ramp that led up to the roof. She was surprised to see that it was in as good of shape as it was. There was some crumbling along the edges, faded lane paint, but it had little in way of debris. If not for her dampeners, her steps would probably echo on such an empty expanse. The moonlight was bright and clear in the sky above, crescent with all the stars and constellations she had admired before. The view of the city alone must be spectacular. It wouldn’t be so bad as a dating spot, honestly. 

One last wire alarm at the top of the ramp, easily stepped over. The roof had been cleaned up about as well as the lower floors it looked like. A skycar or two that had yet been cleaned of materials. A decrepit alcove where steps were before, now resembling more like a jagged spike sprouting on the pavement. 

Her target was laying on their belly, the concrete rim cleared away to allow the sniper rifle freedom of movement. They had a pale lavender sheet over them to stave off the cold. As Kasumi approached, more personal touches became clearer. They had a flashlight off to the side, keeping them illuminated for any other snipers that could be stationed on neighboring buildings. Stench of overcooked varren meat from a plate left abandoned on the hood of a skycar cleaved in two from a reaper beam. Canteen by the front fender. Yellow tulips beside it. Cute.

By their feet, she recognized the model of the sniper rifle. Standard M-98 Mantis, though the scope looked modded for extended range. Whoever was handling their weapons was very familiar with the modding process. Taking it might have some advantages, but she would need to distract the actual gunman holding it. 

She retreated back, and careful not to alert the guard, picked up the canteen. With a quick under-handed toss, she chucked the canteen closer to the ramp, clinking against the hard ground and denting the well-worn equipment further. She ducked around the other side of the cleaved car, just as the sniper’s head shot up.

“What the fuck?!” 

He looked young too. Small. Smaller than the first guard she ran into on the way up the deck. He had plenty of fat left on his cheeks, not quite developing the small hairs and thick folds that signified adulthood in a batarian. The armor, a deep olive green, barely fit him as he stood to his feet and approached the canteen cautiously. His steps were heavy on the pavement, but he stumbled on every third. 

Just the rifle then. Kasumi moved quickly and quietly to his nest. The rifle was easy to swipe from underneath the sheets, same weight as a typical mantis. She folded it to its resting position, ready to holster it to her back.

Then she heard ringing. Her eyes snapped to the ramp, where the boy had bent over and tugged at the wire with two fingers. Then his eyes caught on hers-- or more likely-- the sniper rifle that appeared to be floating in the air. 

She was too greedy for her own good sometimes.

The young batarian kicked off in a sprint toward her position, fast, but only fists raised. Should be easy enough to incapacitate him and split, but now the batarians would know someone came by. She would have to make this quick. She snapped the sniper rifle to her back and stood, quickly reaching for a flashbang grenade in her back pocket. It’d disorient him and hurt, but--

She thought it was a lunge at first, clearly on a fight response already, but as she saw the sheer panic in his eyes as the momentum took him past her, Kasumi realized he tripped over his own shoes. On his own shoes toward the edge. Without thinking, she snapped a hand out, tightly gripping onto the back of his chest armor, one foot dangling in the open air of the square below. 

“I’ve got you,” she hushed as she noticed his slacked jaw as he stared down. His panicked panting, just at the edge of a scream, wasn’t helping matters any. He looked to the empty space holding him up, already too big eyes comically larger in his panic. Just a kid. Any other time, he may not have even known how to use the rifle she’d stolen from him. 

She released the cloak as she brought him closer, back onto safer ground, just as his ear piece crackled to life.

“Hey. We heard the cans from the roof. Everything alright?” much older voice on the other end. Either one of the more veteran guards on the lower floors or maybe Mr. Boss himself.

She pressed a finger to her own lips, “Just want to talk. Don’t do anything that’ll hurt someone. Especially you.”

The boy looked behind him, to the open air he had been just a split second from tumbling into, and just to emphasize her point, she tightened the grip on his collar, locking it tightly in her fingers. He gulped, visibly. “... Everything’s fine. Just accidentally tripped it dropping my canteen.”

“Be more careful, will you? Had about half the building in a panic.”

“S-sorry.”

The communication cut off, and Kasumi released him. His shoulders sagged immediately, though looked a bit lost now without the rifle in his hands. He kept looking at it on her back, as if trying to decide how to pry it off. “... What-- who are you?” though he kept his voice quiet. Smart.

She shrugged. “Oh, I was just in the neighborhood. How old are you?”

The boy hesitated before sitting down on the lavender sheet, rubbing the back of his neck. It looked a bit too warm for spring, with wool like texture. Maybe they nabbed it in the city somewhere. Kasumi was half-tempted to ask where they got it. “... 13.” His eyes wouldn’t meet her, even under the shade of her hood.

“Bit young to be killing people, isn’t it?” Still, she sat down across from him, trying to keep him calmed down, keep him from alerting those below. “How long have you been using this rifle?”

“What’s it to you?” He pressed on his ear piece, but Kasumi quickly held a finger up, tsking.

“Let’s not do that,” and she flashed her omni-tool, just enough to illustrate her point. “Overloading comms can knock out your hearing for a long time.” The boy deflated, arm loosely dropping, knuckles slightly scraping against the concrete. “I appreciate it. And really, I’m not trying to cause trouble. Just need to get a few details before I go.”

“About what?”

“Oh, just a couple things, really. Are you always the one manning this roof?”

“... Me or my dad. We take turns.”

“Do you remember a turian girl that came by a few days ago? Was it your dad that shot her?”

“... Oh…” He turned away from her, stretching out on the blanket as he peered over the edge. Back to her-- one of the worst things anyone could do in the terminus systems. He hadn’t been raised in the worst of it then. “... Figures you’d come for that.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not the worst of it, but I can keep your dad out of trouble,” she tilted her head, trying to catch his gaze. “You don’t have to protect him, and if you can convince him to--”

“I shot her.”

She was afraid he’d say that. On the bright side, STG would handle it better than the Alliance would, she’d imagine. They were a calculating bunch, but they didn’t have as much history as humanity did with them. It churned her stomach to even consider putting some teen in handcuffs though, not when he was just trying to protect his family. “I’m sorry. That’s a lot to put on you. Was that your first time?”

He finally looked at her, and the fragility behind his heavy gaze broke her heart. “... The wind’s different here than back home. I just meant to scare her off…”

“No one’s perfect.”

“... You’re weird for a human.” Still, he seemed pretty calm, and no one else had noticed her yet. Kasumi had located her suspect, but the others didn’t have to know, did they? “Dad said I need to be more careful. Batarians always get the bad rap, so we have to assume the worst and behave the best.”

“He sounds like a smart man,” ah but the fact that he was still alive, “Was he… well, you know.”

The boy’s brow furrowed. “He learned his lesson, if that’s what you’re asking. Said a-- a miskha -- a monster, I think is what you guys say? … Roughed him up real badly. He can’t really move much anymore, so we use sniper rifles instead.”

She’d heard that word before, though from where Kasumi couldn’t quite place. Legends from her old masters perhaps, horror stories they’d share with one another around the campfire as the varrens nipped at her heels and the whispers tugged and pulled at her. It wasn’t a kind word. Heavier than monster. Like a beast, beyond comprehension. 

“... Thank you,” Kasumi said and stood. She had plenty enough to think in any case. Easier to target the dad then. Easier to spin a former slaver back in the business, or… just trying to survive. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t nice. But she would take a former slaver’s blood over a kid’s any day. 

“Ma’am?” He called after a moment, just before she could really make the move to leave. “... What are you going to do now?”

Talk with Zaeed. See if he had any experience framing someone for murder. It wouldn’t do him any comfort. Telling him the truth, or even bringing up the STG would just hurt him. “Couple more passes around the neighborhood, I guess~. Night’s still young.” She stretched her arms, ready to switch the cloak back on, then heard the click of a heavy pistol behind her.

Oh, kid. Don’t do this. She offered a placid smile as she glanced to his hands. Carnifex, standard model. It was a favorite of hers back on the Normandy. Unfortunately for him, she had assembled and disassembled, modded, and overloaded far too many to be worried about it pointed at her face. 

“You’re gonna tell those salarians right? … I’m gonna die.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. Don’t.”

Finger too close to the trigger. She sighed and swiped her omni-tool quickly, efficiently. Kasumi had done it hundreds of times at this point. Just a second delay, almost where the boy was squeezing the trigger, before the carnifex sparked and exploded in his hands. 

The jolt of electricity and fire was quick and immediate. The boy screamed out in pain as he threw the pistol aside. The charred, burning flesh nauseated her, a stench that had permeated constantly throughout the war. Please. Let it be enough. 

He dug his heel and charged her. Kasumi braced for the weight against her, but she wasn’t a heavy woman. Her head hit the ground hard as he toppled them both over, burned hands fumbling between strangling her or reaching for the sniper rifle behind her back. She curled her fists tight and threw it as hard as she could against the boy’s jaw, but he just wouldn’t get off. Instead he matched blow for blow, cracking a burnt knuckle against her eye socket.

She gritted her teeth and squirmed best she could for her back pocket for a flashbang, but suddenly felt one of those hands on sleek metal around her waist. The locust!

The omni-blade barely registered before it sank into the side of his chest, sliding perfectly between plates of armor and rib bones. His hands froze immediately, and he slumped against her, blood gurgling from his mouth. Kasumi sucked in a deep breath, trying to soothe the heavy pounding her heart. Let the adrenaline wash out of her. Eyes closed. Counted a few seconds. 

He was still alive, but not for long. Where the omni-blade landed would’ve punctured his lungs. While quick, it would be very painful. Numbly, she took the boy’s shoulders and pushed him off. He flopped like deadweight onto his back. Not much longer. She was sorry. So, so sorry.

She replaced her carnifex when she had left. Swiped a suppressor from a drunk soldier on Illium. That man was probably dead now too. She placed the muzzle on his temple and squeezed the trigger once. Any gasps, gurgles, halted movements of his chest-- they stopped immediately. 

Sloppy. So, so sloppy. So messy.

She took the earpiece.

“Korem?! What’s going on up there?! The guys on sixth said they heard screaming.”

What the fuck was wrong with her?

They would be up there any minute. It would be tricky to get out without a distraction splitting some of the forces. She peered over at the corpse beside her and sighed. 

Korem’s body crunched on impact, red and flesh mingling with the white pavement as it spattered in wild directions. 

“What the hell was that?! Someone go check that! Sixth floor, roof ASAP!”

“Oh, god, I’m sorry--”

Kasumi spared one last glance to memorize the shape of the broken body, his face frozen in horror as he stared unblinking to the starry sky, and tossed the ear piece over the roof with him. By the time the guards arrived to scope out the horror Kasumi left behind, her cloak was already activated, and she walked past-- letting the unfolding chaos and anguish distract from her exit.

--

Someone was calling again.

Somewhere, somehow in her hazy mind, Kasumi found herself sitting atop the graffiti wall, legs dangling over and staring upward. The air had cooled, and her right eye kept tearing. Bruising probably. Maybe some irritation from dirt and grime on that child’s hands. Child. She killed a child. What was she--

“Kasumi?”

Her hand clasped over her mouth as she felt the bile rise in her throat and swallowed, ignoring how the acid burned in her throat. No. Not right now. Deep breath. “Hey…” and she hated how steady her voice sounded. “I thought you’d be asleep already.”

Sha’ira sounded unsteady, as if unsure how to broach the topic. Her voice had more air to it than usual too-- still tired probably. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, “I was worried, but wasn’t sure you would answer a call right now.”

 “I… I was lonely, I guess. I usually don’t.” 

“Are you okay?”

 No. She was going to have to spend the rest of the night trying to find a canal or something to scrub the catsuit while trying not to vomit. She would have to explain her black eye in the morning to everyone, and she would have to explain that one of their big scary killers was a child, and she had just used his body to escape a hellfire of bullets. She wanted to scream. She wanted to go home and hold Keiji, or his image, or just feel something, anything else right now. 

“... Where are you right now?”

“I’ll be back soon. I don’t want you to get hurt. It’s kinda hard to see right now.”

“Kasumi.”

She didn’t want to be alone. But then Sha’ira would see this, and -- “Do you know where the nearest river is? Or like… a body of water?”

No hesitation, no pauses. Kasumi could even hear the smile on the other side. “I’ll bring a change of clothes. Whatever happened… we’ll get through it. Together.”

At least, it’d give her a chance to plan. They would be coming back for her, and she sure as hell wouldn’t fault them for it. 

--

As it turned out, an actual, functioning canal wasn’t super far from there. It was hardly clean, and absolutely guaranteed, she would smell like sewage or worse if she even tried. The canal’s water was moving though, which meant it had a better chance of being sterile than any other body of water that wasn’t an actual fucking river. It was water. It was flowing in a canal that was only holding itself together by the seams. Bridges connecting one side to another completely fallen apart, edges and sidewalks broken, husk corpses-- some of which were not-so pleasantly floating in the water.

It didn’t matter, because the blood was coming off. She had found a spot where the sidewalk had partially caved, providing a perfect ramp to the water. She had stripped off her catsuit with frightening efficiency and submerged the whole thing-- allowing her balled fists to stretch against the leather. The pads would take longer to dry, but fuck it. She didn’t care right now. She just wanted the blood off.

The first time it happened was on Omega, and she was a lot fresher faced and a lot more stupid. Eclipse merc used a hostage. Thought she wouldn’t go that far. Had, and wished she hadn’t. Kiera lectured her for days for how sick she felt. Kids didn’t know better. They couldn’t know better. They were just put in places by dumb adults and then dumber adults killed them. The recovery should have made them more important, but it didn’t and now a thirteen year old was dead. 

She couldn’t blame his father for it. He should have been safe on the roof with six floors of batarians with more experience between. Korem was old enough to want to contribute, and so he did. 

What could, should she tell the others? There wasn’t any framing to do now, but with how she left the place, the batarians would be going after STG next. Convenient for the shit she needed to get back, but it wasn’t their fault. They didn’t tell her to go. They didn’t tell her to kill a kid. And the truth… she wasn’t sure she could admit it. She never needed to the few times it had to happen. It’d been so long. It hurt. It hurt so bad. She didn’t even realize how badly until she was sitting on that stupid wall and that stupid call came in.

She shouldn’t care. It should be easy to just walk away. Take the shuttle, let them deal with the mess, and forget this ever happened. But she did care. She cared before those stupid batarians took her, before she met Keiji, before he died, before the fucking normandy. She wasn’t a monster that could just remove those thoughts and feelings aside. She wasn’t--

“Kasumi, I brought-- oh!”

And to Sha’ira, she probably looked a bit crazy at the moment. It’s not like she had a change of clothes with her when she stripped. So here was the consort, coming to help her friend in the middle of the night and finding her hunched over by a canal in her underwear, scrubbing at a catsuit and mumbling to herself. This was not a great look. Yeoman Chambers would’ve had a field day with that psych write-up. She wondered how she was doing. Probably not great. Few former Cerberus operatives were these days.

“Apologies. I imagine someone in your occupation would prefer some courtesy. I can turn around if you’d like. … I just thought you would be in the water already.”

The stench in her catsuit was going to be hard enough to get rid of. She didn’t need her whole body smelling like it. Did the consort seem a bit flustered? That surprised her. She peered over her shoulder, making out the curvature of Sha’ira back as she faced away and poised as gracefully as ever, and tried not to smile so wide. “The sewage smell isn’t the most appealing,” Kasumi remarked and pulled her catsuit from the water. Most of the blood was off, but a few spots were staining the pads. Ugh. “You can look by the way~. Just no cameras, of course.”

“Promise.” Though the offer was made, Kasumi didn’t really expect her to take it. The turn was quiet, barely discernible, but curious eyes studying her was obvious enough. It seemed fair after dragging her out of camp in the early morning hours, even though the offer had been reluctantly accepted on her part. She kept at her work however, this time finally separating the padding from the rest of the leather. The dried blood and stench nearly made her gag. 

Sha’ira stepped closer, less subtle steps, until standing just above her and studying the fabric that Kasumi was so desperately trying to get the stains out of. “... You’re injured.”

“Oh, it’s just bruising. It’ll be gone in a day or so.”

“Not a scratched cornea?” Probably not. Fists usually didn’t do that… she didn’t think. In any case, she could see fine, even if it was just a little blurry sometimes. What cybernetic work she had usually covered any surface hurt that could come out of a fight. Though the black eye would be hard to explain away once she did make it back to camp. Zaeed wouldn’t give a shit at least. “... I really am glad you’re alright.” 

She was never really in danger in the first place. It’s what she hated about thinking on her feet. Sometimes, Kasumi would come back and find about ten different plans that would’ve been plenty better than whatever stupidity adrenaline put her in. That ability to act, to not be paralyzed by fear or the unexpected, kept her alive for so long. But a great thief would never be in that situation in the first place. 

Sha’ira gripped her shoulder, squeezing once. The touch on her bare skin was temptingly warm, and distinctly, Kasumi remembered how much she craved.

Then she heard clothing shift as Sha’ira stood, and she turned her head back to her companion just in time to spot bare blue skin. Kasumi bit the urge to bawk as Sha’ira tossed her dress aside. “What are you doing?”

“It’s not ideal. I would agree with that. However, I do have perfumes to help mitigate the smell,” she offered casually, and Kasumi tried, very hard, to remember that nudity was more a human issue of decency than an asari one. This was fine. As if to emphasize its casualness and not a continuing symptom of Kasumi’s spiralling madness, Sha’ira stepped to the water’s edge, and without so much as a toe dip to test the temperature, submerged herself in murky depths. 

It was only a second later that she re-emerged by Kasumi’s hands, taking the soft padding between her own fingers and eying the fabric with a critical eye. The water was about chest-level, though Sha’ira hardly paid any mind to how odd the situation looked as she squeezed the fabric, letting the water it held to drip back into the canal. “I may have stain remover back in my tent. Though for blood, I would recommend bleach. I suppose if I had an idea on the material, I could make do with a combination of agents...”

The plain black bra was already soaked through. Kasumi was a bit surprised the fabric wasn’t sheer enough to be translucent from the water. Her freckles extended down to her shoulders, only becoming a lighter dusting as they approached the valley of her breasts. She… wasn’t in shape. It was actually sort of nice to see. She clearly took care of her body, but it wasn’t hardlined of muscle, of scars nicking her skin, and old war stories that never really went away in a person’s head. Her eyes curved easily with her smile, even as it looked odd examining bloodied material. Her hands weren’t calloused, long fingers that didn’t know strain as well as she did. 

Her smile widened just a little as Sha’ira spoke. “You must have a lot on your mind.”

She considered the padding between them and shrugged before tossing it back on the concrete shore. It landed in a rather unimpressive thump, joining the rest of the leather of her catsuit. Then, Kasumi eyed her with a half-hearted skepticism. “If I still stink after your dosing when we get back, I’m going to be pissed at you.”

“In my defense, your hands have already been in the water for a while, but I promise. You won’t leave my tent until you smell like roses, Kasumi.” And she waded herself a few feet back, giving Kasumi enough space to join her in the water. 

She slid in the water feet first and drew in a hiss as the chills ran up her spine. It wasn’t like ice, which she counted her blessings for, but cold water on an even colder evening was not pleasant. And Sha’ira had to have a damn good poker face not let that show when she dipped in.

The consort chuckled as she came closer, though refused to address Kasumi’s discomfort directly. “When was the last time anyone had seen you completely?”

An odd way to phrase nearly naked. “... Not since my partner? I’m sure Cerberus was a bit displeased with me disabling their cameras to ensure that.”

Sha’ira looked taken aback. “I… I can’t imagine you working for them for very long.”

“Oh! Oh no. That was with Shepard. And it was very much in the contract that it was a one-time deal. I just needed some extra help getting the…” Kasumi hesitated, though there was little point in it. “... Getting the greybox.”

“... Your partner was killed then?”

“Yeah. For the greybox.”

Sha’ira seemed pensive for a long moment, clearly different thoughts and suggestions coming together. Some being disregarded, others entertained more. She settled on one eventually though as she reached out, thumb lightly grazing against her bruised cheek before reaching the back of her skull, tracing the horizontal scar gnarled and aged in her olive skin. “... Is that how you got this?”

“No,” Kasumi admitted. “... That one’s been there for a while.”

“It’s deep. How old?”

“Ten.”

There was understanding there, sad but not pitying. It hadn’t surprised her that up close, Sha’ira recognized the scar for what it was. In her worst days, she thought she still heard the whispers and threats to her life if she didn’t obey. Sometimes, it felt like the plate was still there-- burning and itchy. But it wasn’t, and truly, it did make getting the greybox surgery much easier. The pain and recovery was nothing compared to that plate burning into her skin. Nothing compared to that. 

Her hand brushed through the shaved underside, through the short wisp of hair that had grown long enough in the front to brush into her eyes sometimes, and found the long, thin scar across her temple. “And this?”

“Sniper just barely missed. You know you’ll be at this for a while if you do this for everything?”

Sha’ira pulled her hand away, though the hum in her voice hadn’t completely left. “I hadn’t known until…”

“Yeah. My back tends to scare a lot of people. That’s what the tattoos are for.”

“This may surprise you, but you are remarkably well put together for someone that has gone through as much as you have.” She hesitated again, and she could feel her eyes following the path and lines of her skin-- what was undoubtedly a stark contrast to her own. Not just in the color either. Her olive skin had paled even further over the years of being in the shadows, and her skin had toned. Light enough to carry herself through the smallest nooks and crannies, but muscled just enough to get her from point A to point Z without taking the sidewalk. However, learning how to be a thief was hardly an easy walk in the park.

Some were from varren bites, lashes and beatings from old masters. She had the bullet holes and burns to prove her disastrous run-in in Illium, more from small incidents like tonight, others…

The tattoos were meant for covering others. She wasn’t the full body treatment like Jack, but she had a few. It was nice when she was younger and hated the skin she had been left with after so long. Abstract paintings were needled in mostly, splashes of color and whims that an old Omega roommate had illustrated beautifully. They dotted from the back of her neck to her shoulder blades, and even now when she would get the chance to look, she would admire the handiwork. There were other, smaller touches. Rose and thorns-- cliched but sentimental along her other hip, and her most recent addition, ‘SR-2’ on her right bicep. It took a lot of haggling to keep that artist quiet.

Her haircut was something more impressive once, but it wasn’t as if she had access to a hairdresser at the moment. The undercut did enough of a job, no matter how much Khalisah wanted to tease her about it. She used to have it longer, tied up in a bun like her grandmother had done before-- but it was so impractical. A few untimely somersaults and she would have wild black strands getting everywhere. It was a liability more than anything.

It was also very strange being studied like she was. There hadn’t been as much pressure as it was back when Kasumi had enough clothes to cover the most identifying parts of herself. Yet, there was something so inherently benign in the way Sha’ira observed her-- as if natural, as if there wasn’t anything else to do or worry about. 

She tried to lighten the mood. At least a little. “You make me feel like I should be posing or something~”

“It’s not necessary.” And Sha’ira smiled, and oh, there were only a few inches between them. She saw the water droplets slip lazily along the curvatures of her skin, separating in one valley and joining at another. Her hand fit easily along the lining of her jaw, nails lightly scratching as she held her. “... I want to memorize this. Like a rare flower found in the depths of a forest. I know how unique this is.”

So. Kasumi was being pampered. She knew this game too well to be bashful. She held her gaze, letting the smile ease onto her lips.

“Your arms were shaking before,” Sha’ira observed. “This is much better, isn’t it?”

It was hard to say. 

“Tell me what happened?”

“I killed a kid today.” The confession came out without a thought.

She felt the other hand fit around the other side, this time more careful, deliberate. “What happened?” she asked again. Maybe too close. It didn’t matter. The very look dared her to try and pull away. 

“I told him not to, but I freaked him out. … He killed Thyra. He just wanted to live.”

“Was he trying to--”

“I stabbed him and dumped his body over the parking deck.” Didn’t matter what he was doing. Samara would kill her for that alone, and the batarians would assume it was the STG. They didn’t know who she was. No matter how that conflict ended, more people would die and it would be her fault. The boy’s body was a broken jigsaw by the time it crunched against the pavement. If she studied close enough, pulled it from the depths of her own greybox, she could see every detail, down to those empty eyes starring above and how his arms and legs weren’t supposed to bend like that-- wondered how long Thyra’s death had stuck inside him, like every first kill did to someone. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if she didn’t remember every detail, fully knowing she always would. She always would remember the exact shape his body made on the pavement, the way he gurgled and suffocated from the puncture in his lungs, from the beginnings of rot and blood overtaking the overcooked varren still left on his plate. She remembered everything because she had to. 

Sha’ira wrapped her arms around her neck and pulled her tight against her. She barely registered her head resting against the crook of her shoulder, but as she felt those same uncalloused hands comb through black hair, soothing and gentle, she let her eyes flutter closed.

Kasumi had seen no reason to report the initial incident to the STG exactly for this reason. She didn’t want them crawling over the place, rifling through things better left private. They’d done enough already, enough so that she was half-tempted to play up her injuries, appeal to their humanity as a wounded gazelle. 

It was probably Sha’ira. She couldn’t blame her for her due diligence. While no doubt she knew there were more secrets to uncover, one of their group members had been killed. She was going to do her own investigation this morning, though mostly to make sure there weren’t any other trip mines in the area they needed to worry about. From there, she could likely figure out some information based on the mine alone. They were a common enough accessory in both various militaries and the terminus systems, but rarely were the models of the same caliber. Most mercenaries had to make do with whatever and whoever would be willing to deal outside of the Citadel, so they were usually handmade or modded in some fashion. Military, naturally, were usually more manufactured, less prone to misfires.

However, a really well paid mercenary could get what they want, especially if they’d been working for a long time. Not many survived in their line of work without knowing how to make their own shit.

Her alibi checked out if there was trouble, at least. Despite what verbal spat (? if it could be called that) her and the consort had the evening before, there was little denying the fact that she had been laid up from her injury, and as far as they were aware, unarmed. Rolling over just confirmed what she knew already. Sha’ira had left early that morning. Her hands still felt warm from when they touched. She admired how freely the consort gave her affection, a small gift with every passing brush and squeeze. While Kasumi affirmed what she could with what ways she could afford, she hadn’t remembered anything beyond a smile or a pat on the shoulder recently. Hugs were even foreign after Shepard’s passing. 

Their conversation wasn’t really done, was it? She could admire Sha’ira’s stubborn passion if she wasn’t on the receiving end of it. Maybe it was just a common feature for people like them. It was the only reason she could think of as to why she still hadn’t stirred from her cot.

The tent flap zipped open, and Kasumi met the Major’s exasperated gaze with a placidly affable smile. “You should know better than to spoil me with all this attention,” she greeted, and decided the joke could last a little longer. “I have nothing to do with what’s going on.”

He sighed and pitched his voice lower, just in case there were any prying ears. Based on what little she heard beyond more salarians, he didn’t need to worry. “I’m well aware. Can we discuss this outside?”

“In my condition, Major?”

“The mine didn’t kill you, and it clearly didn’t leave you deaf. Outside.”

He seemed more hurried than last time. If it’d just been the turian’s death, they would’ve swung by sooner. Maybe they had. Though the recovery was quick, Kasumi had been left to her own devices for the most part yesterday. She had her visitors, but beyond a few awkward conversations, the last 24 hours had been a hazy doze-- likely thanks to whatever medigel and drugs Sal had tossed together. 

Maybe she could get a change of clothes first. The t-shirt and sweatpants was even more bare compared to their last meeting. Despite a little soreness in her knees, a little bit of heaviness in her chest, it was still easy to stand. What work Sal had done did its job. 

A small contingent awaited her as she finally emerged. Major Kirrahe waited just a few feet away, flanked by two members that she vaguely recognized from her run-in. The camp was deserted beyond the rest of the unit, soldiers listlessly flitting from tent to tent, though never staying for longer than a minute or so. They weren’t searching through belongings. Not yet anyway. Clearing the area then? The others were probably secured in a smaller perimeter then, maybe the building where their tower had been installed. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but the interior was gutted enough to house all of them. 

Something had happened. She doubted Sha’ira would be considered among the suspects, but Kasumi realized to the STG-- she was the only one accounted for yesterday. 

“Nothing in your tent was touched,” Kirrahe offered as he approached. His brow was furrowed and he looked tired, more than anything. Though salarians rarely needed to sleep for long, the major looked overdue for at least an hour or so. 

“Not that we’re on the best of terms right now but--”

“One of our men went missing yesterday.”

Ah, another victim then. That narrowed the scope considerably. An average mercenary or soldier wouldn’t easily get the best of an STG member, not without some considerable knowledge of the area. However, that didn’t make much sense. Their group had been there a week, tops, and as far as she was aware, only herself and Sha’ira knew about the other camp in the old university section. “You think one of us did it?”

“... Not necessarily…” he scratched at one of his scales, a nervous habit. She would have to remember that. “We’re simply narrowing down our suspects, Ms. G-- Maeda. Your camp is the only other known party in the area.”

Not the only, but a tabloid reporter didn’t strike her as a murdering type.

“We found him dead earlier this morning. How did the turian die?”

“I never actually saw the body, so.”

Kirrahe hummed in response. “Justicar Samara has offered her expertise with interrogations, but considering you’re the least suspicious person here…”

Oh. This was a nice position. The plan right now had been just to sneak in at some point and take her mods back, but this was a much better and less risky solution to that problem. The major didn’t need her, and Kasumi wasn’t thrilled over the prospect of interrogating people that barely knew her-- people that likely had their own ideas as to why she hadn’t really socialized with anyone else. However, it beat trying to aggravate what good grace that had been left from their first encounter. “How about a deal then?”

“Absolutely not.”

“If there’s a murderer around, I’d like my pistol at least.”

His saucer eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you have another elsewhere, Ms. Maeda. The mods are staying in our possession.”

Sore loser. “You’re making it very hard to do my job, Major. I don’t mind the challenge, but can you really afford it?” She had copies back home, at worst blueprints in case she had to make any necessary repairs or replacements. However, “home” was currently Illium, and wasn’t really easy to access at the moment. She could have Urch or Tianna dig through her workroom, but that wasn’t really time that they could afford. Not with dear Kiera breathing down their necks and Urch’s own research on Khalisah. 

“Based on your little save the other day, your observational skills are fine without them.” He sighed and seemed just a little bit less like a military man and more salarian. More like they hadn’t just gotten out of war, hadn’t just pulled himself out of the front lines. “I’m not asking for your help for free. Consort Sha’ira had made very specific… requests on your behalf.”

“She isn’t a suspect then?”

“While technically not cleared, she doesn’t really have means or motive. Her and Sura will likely be released shortly.”

That was nice to hear. “I guess I’ll ask her when I see her.” Clothes came first though. She wasn’t exactly intimidating in her pajamas. The soldiers by Kirrahe stiffened at first as she moved to leave, hands just a tad too secure to their guns for comfort. Right. Just because she had been cleared of one crime didn’t mean they weren’t aware of plenty others. Hopefully they had the sense not to panic the rest of her camp even further with the behavior. They weren’t really known for their panic, but there didn’t always need to be a lot of change for people to start noticing. Sometimes all they needed to see was them with a bit more unease around her than usual. 

Still, Kasumi smiled in return and was relieved to see them leave her alone as she began retreating back to her actual tent.

“Ms. Maeda?”

Though she guessed they weren’t done yet. She showed nothing as she turned back, waiting for Kirrahe to continue.

“Do you have any suspects?”

Katul was a thought. He went missing first, but no one had actually mentioned if he was still alive or not. If he had returned after the one person he seemed to have tension with had died, that didn’t look good. However, nothing could shake the ghastly visage he carried and how much it resonated inside of her. She doubted little could shake him from his deep, pervasive grief. It took her months to even want her life again, much less act out against those that took Keiji. Whatever problems the two turians had, it wasn’t like revenge. They would’ve seen something happen far before this. She would’ve acted much faster than this. 

Dharshan was also… strange, though she doubted her suspicions on him were anything more of shades from her own past. Though she tried desperately to not let that inhibit her work, she could count what few positive interactions she had with other batarians on one hand. The man was a source of ire recently, but that wasn’t out of any murderous intent on his part. He just couldn’t take the hint that she wanted nothing to do with him. 

“If I’m honest? I don’t think it’s anyone from here,” she answered after a moment. “No one really strikes me as the serial murderer and poke the bear type.”

“Poke the bear?”

“... You know. Big, scary, and a bit silly to go after?” Maybe the bear thing was the problem? She wasn’t sure if the major was familiar with Earth biology. “Lot of the people have military experience, but none of them would be dumb enough to go after the STG is all I’m saying.”

“True. I have to ask--”

“Sha’ira and I haven’t mentioned you all were here, no. They either had to have stowed away in the shuttle without us noticing somehow, or had access to the channel like I did.”

“Right. … Thank you anyway.”

She hadn’t blamed the Major for the thought. It would be easier for it to be someone from the group. Someone that they could get today, and not be left digging in the ruins for some phantom. A phantom that was laying traps for everyone. Kasumi knew she had plenty enough to ask still, but unfortunately for them both, a phantom seemed far more likely than anything else at this point.

About all they could hope for was someone close by, and that it was just that. One. 

However, Kasumi knew better, and Kirrahe did too.

--

Her tent was well kept, despite the knowledge that Sha’ira had been in at some point. She knew to grab the QEC, knew to bring it to her when she needed it. It hadn’t surprised her. It was the same reason that Sha’ira was one of the last to leave her tent in the mornings, but one of the first to have movement inside its confines. She didn’t know what all went into being a half-retired consort, but any job worth its credit had its fair network of associates to make it all work. 

Maybe that was why it was easy for her to pick Kasumi at her seams. She learned as much as the consort gave away, and yet she couldn’t help thinking that she was just at the surface of what was there. It wasn’t an alluring darkness that drew her in, that much Kasumi was certain. She knew enough to recognize the shades of someone with blood on their hands, how they looked onto the world and regarded the value of life around them.

Like Kirrahe. She didn’t doubt that an unexpected loss of someone from his command affected him, but he made sure not to show it as he talked, as he observed the world around him. He knew enough. Knew that letting that side show meant it was a vulnerability for someone to pick at later, and maybe then another man would die under his watch.

But Sha’ira was different. Her hands had trembled when she spoke of Nelyna, even as she knew enough to try to obscure the incident from Kasumi’s questions at first. She still worried and fussed over Kasumi after her injury, even though someone as close as Shepard would’ve stayed, but she wouldn’t have--

What would she do here? The Major had known her from the war, so perhaps he would’ve approached the situation entirely different either way. She couldn’t recall meeting the man on the Crucible project, but that didn’t really mean much.

The grey-box was still safely tucked in her duffle bag. She ran her fingers against the cool metal and allowed a brief rush of comfort before she finished getting dressed. She could peer into the contents later, maybe to glean some advice from his past experiences-- ones that she hadn’t been afforded on her own.

She spotted a shadow looming over her tent from the corner of her eye and tucked the keepsake back in the confines of her clothes. It was only a second of hesitation before she took the locust instead. Kirrahe already mentioned her having another weapon on her. It shouldn’t spook him too much, and now that there was someone actually making moves against them, she sure as hell wasn’t going to go unarmed. 

“Just a second!” she called out as she holstered the gun on her hip. In one fluid motion, she unzipped her tent and emerged-- and froze, half smile at the flash of red and gold in front of her. Well. Maybe should’ve gone without the gun then.

Samara regarded her with a tad more warmth than before, though it really wasn’t much. Her eyes didn’t have the glean of murderous biotics, which was comforting. She found the pistol at her side immediately. “... I see the Major was correct.” Was that relief in her voice…? “I had brought an extra pistol in case you were left without.”

“It’s an old habit.” She stepped beside her as Samara turned back to the main road and halo of buildings. Their target was in the middle, close enough to camp for anyone to pick up the signal of the comm tower from the comfort of their cot. Unless Sal spilled on her work on the Crucible project, this would probably lead to some questions. She just hoped any lies that came up before were believable enough, or so outrageous that they were easily disproven if needed.

Kasumi glanced to her companion, noting idly how quiet her steps were beside her. Her skills were as sharp as ever. “... Can I ask you something?” she chanced. 

Samara regarded her with cold eyes, but still she nodded. 

“What are you doing here?”

“... I could ask the same, Ms. Goto.”

That was fair. Sha’ira mentioned some grand plan that fell into place with everything, that their intentions and choices would always have meaning. If she thought more, she would know. If she was truly, deeply honest with herself. She wanted to see that red hair in the wreckage and a beating heart. She wanted to find herself again, for once building instead of taking. It wasn’t that simple. It never was. Here she stood, walking with a justicar to solve a murder. Sure, a different sort of thing, but it wasn’t the sort of closure that Sha’ira had been talking about before. 

Still, the fact that Samara was talking to her was a good sign. A good chance that Samara would try to murder her by the end of it, but… Shepard still connected them all somehow. 

It wouldn’t hurt to give. Just a little. “The crucible plans are gone, if it helps.”

“We had suspected, but it is good to hear confirmation from you directly.”

“Did you know it was me?”

Samara hesitated, stopping just shy of earshot from the salarians guarding the building entrance. It surprised her to see some sort of softness in the way she regarded her, nurturing and motherly. “... I had believed it, though you left no proof,” she said, voice startling serious for how she regarded Kasumi. “... My code may dictate your fate; however, I am allowed… discretion in regards to your heart. It’s rarely necessary, nor is it a train of thought a justicar should explore often. Yet…”

She hadn’t needed to say it, but it still felt nice.

“Commander Shepard trusted you. Whatever reasons you have to be who you are, there is some righteousness in how you regard the world. I am simply grateful that assessment had been correct the first time.”

It was the closest she would get to a compliment. A strange feeling settled inside her at receiving it, undeserved… or maybe just as weird for the justicar to give. Kasumi gave a taut smile in return. “That’s sweet… I think.”

“Do what you will with it. It saved your life this time. It may later.”

Ah. That feeling was gone now. What a surprise. 

“We have more important matters to attend to. I would focus on that for now.”

“Right. How do you want to go about this?”

Samara hesitated. “... You are aware I’m afforded little gentleness in my work.”

And neither was Kasumi. However, she didn’t have the same weight dictating her every move. “Right. I’ll lead then… uh, if that’s fine?”

She nodded in agreement, giving away nothing as to how she actually felt about the matter. Probably for the best. They had enough of a heart to heart to last a lifetime. Samara was rarely afforded an unique voice on matters, one that wasn’t dictated by law or code. It was nice to see underneath that she seemed… almost normal. Kasumi was aware she had one daughter still, back in Thessia last she heard. It was strange that they weren’t together, but no doubt she was safe from any remaining trouble left in the galaxy. She still had something pushing her forward to each new day. 

Kasumi felt a pang of jealousy at the thought, one quickly buried for later. There was little to envy from Samara. She hadn’t needed to murder Keiji. She hadn’t needed to murder any family for being monsters. There was nothing to envy of that pain no doubt buried inside. And if she was healing, allowed herself the thought? … It was good for Samara. Something that she probably never let happen before. She deserved that chance.

Then Sha’ira’s eye met hers. They must have finished their interrogation with her, just stepping out of the gutted building with a new weight of exhaustion sagging her shoulders. She remembered, albeit vaguely, that she seemed to struggle sleeping the night before. Either not adjusted to the uneven ground, or their conversation still hanging over her head. She wished there had been a better way. 

Still, the smile was warm, even tinged by the lack of sleep clear in her heavy gaze. “How are you feeling?” she asked as she bounded the broken steps to where her and Samara stood. 

“Better, thanks to you and Sal,” Kasumi said, just as the consort’s finger tips found her again, grazing over the bandage against her temple. She ducked her eyes out of courtesy to the attention and tried to ignore the curious eyes boring into her back. 

Sha’ira remained undeterred as she pulled the bandage back, studying the healed over gash. Whatever she saw was to her satisfaction it seemed, as she peeled the bandage completely off this time and folded it neatly between her fingers. “I would have preferred you in bed longer, but I understand these are extenuating circumstances. I trust you two will clear up matters quickly.”

“What’s the next step for yourself, Consort?”

She smiled just a bit wider. “Not wise for any of us to have idle hands right now, Ms. Maeda. Come by my tent later?”

“You bet.”

Satisfied with the response, Sha’ira slipped between them, hand briefly brushing one of her shoulders as she left.

Kasumi sighed in relief, happy to know that she could put off that awkward conversation just a bit longer. Then felt those curious eyes on her again. She looked to the justicar, and noted the bemusement sent her way. “What?”

“... How long have you two known each other, exactly?”

“Does it matter?” She kept the defensive edge out of her voice. It wasn’t like Samara to be curious, and while not welcomed, it wasn’t for malicious purposes. God, she hoped not anyway. 

“Simply…” Then Samara caught herself and shook her head. “No, that’s true. Let us continue then.”

“I didn’t think you were much for gossip either way.”

If she didn’t know better, she would almost say there was a blush on the justicar’s cheeks. Honestly, she appreciated signs of something beyond the stern warrior bravado she put up. Even if that figure was so morose underneath. 

She let Samara lead the way into the gutted structure, following about a half step behind and naturally falling into what habits she knew and felt comfortable in. Interrogations weren’t new to her, though rarely did they involve people that already knew her in some capacity. She usually didn’t have her face out in the open either. And there wasn’t an obligation to keep those people alive afterward-- usually. Sometimes she had if the person was freaked out enough, but that was as rare as innocence in the Terminus Systems. 

Ten of them total? Nine, if they disregarded the victim’s widow. No one looked surprised to see her as she crossed the threshold. There were four more salarian guards positioned around the large ruined lobby, ones that didn’t directly look at either her or Samara as they came in. The ramp leading to the roof was installed in the back, and through its make-shift stairway, she noticed another soldier casually squatted on one of the remaining pieces of stone, idly checking the sniper rifle secured in his hands. They had a skeleton crew back at their own camp then. Made sense.

Katul and Sura sat furthest from the entrance, talking quietly amongst themselves. Though the turian looked haggard, he didn’t appear injured, which made his disappearance odder in her eyes. What had he been doing to be gone so long? Sura seemed… better than yesterday. Maybe her words meant something after all, even if it barely covered everything. 

Darshan was, predictably, praying by the ramp, robes trailing on the dirt and dust as he paced. She smelled a hint of rosemary in the air. Though it wasn’t typical for the few rituals that Kasumi knew of, perhaps he was making do with what resources were still around. Sal sat on his knees against the left wall, another cigarette planted between his odd litt lips. He waved as soon as he saw her, but for once didn’t seem to be in the mood to follow that up with any remarks or questions. Mostly normal then.

Elcor and Krogan on the other side. Neither of them were up for talking, it looked like, but she wasn’t sure if that was how they actually felt or a natural disposition of the species. Meeran… Maron? The pilot was absent once again. Either speaking with their benefactor or had already been cleared to leave. The volus was sat on a broken piece of concrete, short suited legs dangling over the ledge as he observed the space around them passively. Maybe Nora helped him up it. The drell appeared to be asleep next to the broken piece, using the cool concrete as a backrest as she slept.

No panic. They had been stuck inside here for a while then, but not quite long enough for anyone to start complaining. Likely the structure and how very armed their guards were kept any aggression to a minimum. 

Frankly, Kasumi didn’t know enough to really exonerate them, but nothing from the dossiers she read stood out either. Military backgrounds, but so did everyone in some capacity or another at that point. They just got out of war. Near extinction. She was surprised anyone had the energy right now to go on a killing spree.

“I will let you lead,” Samara reiterated as she observed the crowd herself, just as passively. If she had any suspicions, she kept it to herself. 

The only thing they could do was just… start. With any luck, Kasumi would get more answers along the way. She scanned the field of faces in front of her and chose the first name that came to mind. “Sura?”

The asari stopped her conversation short and turned her head to them, obvious relief shown in soft eyes. Kasumi only hoped that relief wouldn’t be misinformed.

--

There were a few theories.

The happiest would be that the murders were coincidental. Sure, that would mean that there were two separate murderers out there that Kasumi no doubt would be involved in, but separately? They wouldn’t be so competent as to make two people from two separate camps to disappear and then murder them. It would just be one-- one which may have been some crime of passion or whatever, and another competent enough to take out an STG member. Two people not working together, weren’t collaborating together and now were more likely to make sloppy mistakes.

Or they weren’t coincidental. Then… why a group anyway? It just seemed natural. A hunch, it would be called on any popular media. Really it was just recognizing the signs from personal experience. Sure, one person could’ve killed the turian Thyra then placed mines all over the place, but that was a pretty short time window from them starting to search for Katul, to finding and killing Thyra, and then placing the traps. Guy would have some pretty decent cardio. 

Then the next day killing someone from the STG? Something that would give Kasumi trouble even on home turf? Just having another body somewhere facilitated every single step.

 Exactly who and why were harder questions. If it was just STG targeted, she could maybe suspect another government organization, like the Alliance or one of the few surviving spectres in the galaxy. Maybe to protect what few secrets could be found in the remnants of the Crucible. However, it wasn’t just one of their members dead, and whatever secrets could be found weren’t very much and would require a shit load of resources to make. Those few organizations left also, almost certainly, had better things to do with their time than just blanket killing other groups in the area. If there were other ones here, no doubt STG had or were investigating them as well.

The other option was either mercenaries or just a couple of crazies, though they weren’t mutually exclusive categories. People like them tended to be shorter-sighted, and usually, they didn’t need a lot of resources to sell information to the highest bidder. If Liara was still alive, she might have even expressed interest in something like that. It was a thought, briefly in the haze and chaos of everything happening, to keep the plans for herself, sell them when things calmed down, and go about her merry little way. Maybe Shepard had improved her a little. 

So mercenaries were her strongest theory, but it hadn’t exactly explained Thyra’s death. Their camp was stationed near derelict reaper carcasses, something that would pique Kasumi’s interest if it hadn’t reminded her of nightmares-- screaming, melting colonists, the screams of banshees ringing in her ears, the metallic taste in her mouth turning everything to ash--. Perhaps others were able to stomach looking into the jungle of wires of old gods. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

(They also weren’t close enough to the old university to be a bother, but maybe, just maybe, there was a scrap here or there near their position to grab someone’s attention. Either way, they’d need everything to know how it worked. Kasumi made sure of that.)

So it really wasn’t interrogation perse. Just… asking questions. Knocking herself out had left her without crucial information. She would go out in the night later, find the graffiti wall and the spot where Thyra died. She wouldn’t leave without more information though, and preferably not without her mods. She did have a spare cloaking unit, tucked between the pages of one of her books. If she was really that desperate--

“Um.”

Ah. Sura first, she guessed. There weren’t many spots left that would be considered private in the vicinity of the camp. Sura’s steps were expectantly careful on the plywood, practiced like a commando should be. They weren’t quiet-- commanding the building to heed to every step. In another time and place, Kasumi would imagine her head hanging just a bit higher, not lost on grieving her lover. 

“I’m sorry. I was just getting my thoughts together.” Kasumi provided a bit lamely as they all stood somewhat listlessly in the open expanse of the roof. The sky was clear today, sun a bit harsh on the high point of the roof. Neither Sura or Samara seemed bothered by the heat, even though she couldn’t recall Thessia being particularly tropical-- especially when compared to the likes of the Salarian homeworld. Her stops at both planets were brief affairs.

“I know this is…” Sura half-started, then seemed to think better on her approach. “What did you do again?”

“Consulting.”

The asari looked awkwardly between them, but knew better than to question the answer given.

Kasumi scratched at the healing scar and sighed. “... I don’t think you did it for the record. You both seemed, well, happy with each other. And we talked before.”

Sura sagged at the very thought, and Kasumi was reminded how little she wanted to do this. She hadn’t even wanted the conversation yesterday, and now? Now she was expected to pick apart a story she didn’t have. What a dumb string of events.

And despite it, she mustered what voice she had and continued. “I assume you went with Thyra that day? Did you two get separated later on?”

Sura nodded. “We were just trying to cover more ground. She-- Thyra was never much for trekking. Small for a turian, you know?” She knew that look. Sura was already on that stage of ‘what if’. The very thing she warned her against. “... She promised she’d stay on the main roads. I… I guess she heard something.”

“I’m sorry,” and Kasumi truly meant it. “No one could’ve known this would happen. Just… don’t think on it too much. It just makes it worse.” Like how she could’ve stayed with him. She could’ve called off the plan. All sort of things. It didn’t, wouldn’t bring him back. “... How did she die? I was uh, out of commision before the body was actually found.”

And why did Sura look surprised by that. She didn’t say, but it was enough to get Kasumi’s mind to wander. “... She was shot. Sal suggested a sniper, I think? I’m sorry, I- I don’t really have much more than that. The shot looked clean? I’m not really--”

“It’s fine,” she wasn’t expecting her to memorize every detail. Not everyone had a morbid recollection like that. “Tell the guards you’re free to go.”

“... Thank you.”

--

Samara hummed behind her, just as she had bid Sura on her way. “... I am surprised,” she noted, though her tone indicated nothing on that actual feeling. “I would expect you to be much harder on your associates.”

“If I thought she had more to say, I would’ve asked. You said it yourself. I’m not heartless.”

“What brought you on the Normandy to start with, if I may ask?”

That was… fair. Kasumi knew her story, even if Samara didn’t know that she knew. Maybe she had. While she wasn’t part of that initial trip into Illium, she had listened in on everything that happened on the Normandy. It kept her safe, and it kept her from being too bored when she was relegated to support. That became less so once Shepard and her had developed their odd sort of friendship, but well, it still didn’t hurt to listen. 

Would it benefit Samara at all to know more than she did? … Probably not, but that didn’t mean it was worth sharing the sordid details. If anything, she was glad to hear that Shepard respected her privacy. “Cerberus offered a good deal at the time. I didn’t have a reason to stay once that was done.” Not technically a lie, but Samara could guess that there was more to the story if she really wanted.

“You don’t work for credits.”

“Presumptuous, but you’re right. Again--- does it really matter?”

“If you have personal matters that might affect your reasoning--”

“Noted, Samara. The concern is touching though.”

The small hiss of breath on her end was interesting, but Samara didn’t press further.

---

Sal came up next, though that wasn’t who she asked for. He was smart enough to put out the cigarette in the lobby and left his smile there too. If anything, he just seemed annoyed about the whole situation. Kasumi could understand it on some level; he likely knew some of the people currently holding him there. It probably didn’t feel great to be under their scrutiny for once. 

His steps were quick up the roof, not subtle at all and lacking the grace she would expect from someone in his rank. Maybe he had been forced into the Crucible project early, and hadn’t been on the front lines in some time. Either way, he bursted through the door to the roof and was immediately on her, grabbing her arms and lifting her jacket up.

“Hey!” Kasumi called out and tried to push her jacket down through his grabbiness. Sal was undeterred as he snatched one of her wrists, twisting it out of the way.

“I can’t believe you just walked out of that tent without clearance first! You’re my patient first of all and--”

The warp immediately knocked him off his feet. He crashed onto the hard concrete and screeched several feet away, nearly off the roof completely. He looked kind of sad crumpled like that. The only indication that he was alive after the assault was a meek and pained cough.

Samara breezed past Kasumi, the aura of biotics surrounding her frightening and sudden. 

“Hold on!” she called after the justicar. The cry was ignored.

Latching onto Sal’s collar, Samara dragged the poor salarian back to the center of the roof. He was only given a moment of reprieve before being dropped back onto the ground once he was at a position that seemed satisfactory to her. “Explain. Now!” she snarled.

Sal groaned, pathetic as he curled into himself.

“... He’s a medic,” Kasumi supplied for him. 

--

And she was fine, for the record. Sal? A quick once over from Kirrahe after, and he was sent on his way. It was little consolation at that point.

--

Nora came up next. The drell was a strange sticking point for everyone at that point, she assumed. Between the birds, how she often wandered alone-- and as far as she could tell, she had been just as reclusive as Kasumi herself. All things considered, she was the most suspicious person among them, but it was all the more reason she hadn’t considered her at all.

Frankly, it was too obvious an answer. What she remembered from the dossier was that she was like most drell-- she served the hanar until the war, and then went from company to company, doing what she could for the war effort. Her specialization as a sniper was a point against her, but beyond maybe a bit of post-indoctrination crazy (or something), she was about as normal as what she expected from anyone that spent most of their life fighting. Especially for folks like the hanar.

As an aside, she hadn’t heard much from the hanar since the war finished. She wasn’t sure if the insular nature of its society kept it that way, or if perhaps, enkindler proselytizing at the moment would be in… poor taste. 

Nora didn’t stand out much as a drell. Her blue skin and spots were something Kasumi had seen in plenty of others, though the way her eyes constantly observed her surroundings, using the drell’s photographic memory to its full advantage, spoke of someone with experience. Compared to the previous two, she stood very nonchalantly and seemed unconcerned by the turn of events. 

“It must be nice to have friends in high places,” Nora said, observing the concrete and brokenness below them. 

“It’s not as cozy as it looks,” Kasumi responded in kind and sat at the edge of the building, letting her legs dangle over the asphalt. Nora plopped down beside her and it was like any other morning.

“They must like you. No chaperones… well, one chaperone, I guess.” And she blinked and twisted her body around to peer at the justicar, head tilted at an odd angle. “You must have a lot of work to do, Justicar. Lots of bad people left in the galaxy, I would imagine. Though you folks stay in asari space, don’t you? And lots of you died when...”

Whatever look Samara gave Nora shut her up pretty fast. She turned back around, huffing.

“You don’t keep good company.”

Kasumi snorted.

“Am I a suspect?”

She shrugged. “Who did you go with?”

“The batarian. He’s the only one that likes me enough. Except for you, maybe.” She tapped on the concrete space between them, and seemed to wince at the temperature underneath. “Are you familiar with drell physiolo-- no. Of course you are.” Kasumi wasn’t sure why she would think that, but plenty of time with Thane taught her enough. “It’s cold here. And wet. If I did more than I’d need to, I’d kiss my sorry ass goodbye. I’m already going to have to for coming here at all.”

That was an interesting point, actually. “Why are you here?”

“Simple. I don’t want to go back to Kahje. At this point? I’m gonna die somewhere. Might as well be at a place I like. Picking fights with STG and people just trying to live aren’t on my to do list in the meantime.”

“Do you have your rifle with you?” Samara remarked from behind them.

“Nope! Feel free to check. Make it this girl that does it though? She gets me.”

Kasumi paused. “Do you even know my name?”

Nora threw her arms up. “It’s probably fake. Mine is. Who gives that shit for free these days?”

--

“Izumi Maeda.” Samara practiced the words with careful fluidity, as if testing the strength when spoken out loud. Admittedly, it sounded strange coming from someone that had long known better. Like it was too thick in the justicar’s mouth, too careless and too big. It would spill over any second.

“Did Sha’ira tell you all?”

“Among other requests,” she replied, a bit more thoughtful than before. Maybe she felt bad after nearly cleaving Sal in half. “... She is… unexpectedly shrewd.”

“Surprised me too.”

“Are you close with her?”

Kasumi wasn’t sure what she meant. That they talked? That they were friends? Had she slept with her? That was always the problem with being too tactful. Sometimes that ambiguity hung in the air, and she was left wondering if one answer or another would give away too much. Deflection it was then. “You met her before?”

Samara sighed through her nose, glancing only once or twice to the door. Perhaps to make sure they would stay alone for the moment. She hadn’t heard any footsteps. Krogans especially were loud, no matter how hard they tried to be sneaky. “... Our paths have crossed a few times. It seems it always ends the same.”

“Yeah?”

“It is the nature of politics to fall into a realm of grey, Ms. Goto. I’m sure you’ve seen that enough.”

That she did, but where was she going with it, exactly?

“A word of advice as friends,” and her voice was grave, graver than usual. “I would be careful with her. A knowledge like the consort’s... at so young an age? It is rarely gained through clean hands.”

…

Why couldn’t she just have nice things?

--

The krogan, it turned out, was named Belak, and was one of many that joined Urdnot after Grunt’s infamous joining. She was surprised to hear it-- considering the age that clearly showed on his scaly skin and the worn scars that gnarled deep into his plate. He looked happy to see her alive, and a little gentle prodding kept him from trying to headbutt her in greeting. She didn’t need a more severe concussion as congratulations on her speedy recovery.

Still, they talked for a while. He had gone with the volus, figuring that he needed someone big to keep the scrawny thing from rupturing his suit somewhere. They had been on the other side of the perimeter when the call came in, not nearly enough time to set up something so elaborate and then book it. 

“Wasn’t long after we found Katul, actually. Guy was banged up from a nasty fall,” and he laughed, a deep bravado and gruffness that was so, so krogan. “They’re just all bones and so, so tiny. Surprised he didn’t break his back.”

“It was the other turian that died, remember?” Kasumi remarked, but couldn’t help feeling a bit nostalgic honestly. She wondered how Grunt was doing with all this mess. No doubt he was back at Urdnot helping to clean up. Though she didn’t really know what a normal Tuchanka was supposed to look like.

“Yeah, I guess that’s sad, or whatever. At least you got hit doing something nice.” He perked up then, as if remembering something. “Hey, is Sal going to be alright? Squishy bastard owes me a few hundred credits.”

A lack of empathy didn’t mean a guilty conscience, so after checking in with the volus, both were let go to continue their business. 

“Should we get the elcor next?” Samara asked as the volus left, bumbling down the stairs with a heavy sigh.

Kasumi looked at the width of the planks and shook her head. “He won’t make it up. We’ll talk to him once everyone else is done.”

“That leaves… the batarian and the turian, correct?”

Neither of which Kasumi really wanted to talk to. However, no one would let her procrastinate further. She would keep her words as neutral as possible and hoped the threat she left the priest with yesterday was enough to keep his mouth shut. The last thing she wanted was Samara to know.

To push off that particular issue a bit longer, she chose Katul first. It would be good to start with something simple maybe. A cursory check of his injuries? Maybe a lighthearted joke about him being her errand boy? Neither of them seemed appropriate. Perhaps a simple ‘how’s he feeling’ would do to ease an already skittish man into talking.

His steps were heavier and slower than usual. A surprise with how haunted he was ordinarily.

He came to the roof, and Kasumi’s voice died in her throat.

Something was wrong. She hadn’t noticed in the crowd before, but now that it was just three of them, she had much fewer distractions. The shiftlessness, the way his eyes seemed to drag as he flitted his gaze from her, to Samara, to the expanse beyond them, to the sky above. He… he was ghastly. And the pain inside was so open for the world to see, so much more raw and visceral than before. 

She saw a man a moment away from wailing, and she felt that brewing inside her, always ready to claw itself to the surface. It just needed the right trigger-- a smell, a tugging thought, sometimes just a certain shadow that would creep in at night, tricking her just long enough to think it was Keiji in her sleep-addled mind. 

She stared and dug right into Katul’s soul, and found something even worse inside.

Samara’s touch on her arm startled her, and at once she was back in reality. She wasn’t alone, and too quickly she would have to put herself back together. Kasumi brushed the touch away with as kind a hand as she could muster and found her voice again. “... What happened?”

“Sura hadn’t told you?” his voice was even, but he stayed rooted just past the door that he came from. “Thyra is-- was my daughter.”

No.

No, she wasn’t doing this.

It didn’t matter that he was gone for too long. That his movement and time was the most unaccounted for. It didn’t matter. The STG could work that out for all she cared.

“Leave,” couldn’t come out quick enough. 

--

“Ms. Goto?”

She didn’t know she was staring. 

“Would a break help you?”

How come it didn’t bother Samara? Maybe she wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Maybe it shouldn’t take a new piece of her every time, leaving her with holes and broken parts that no amount of wiring and tinkering could fix. She wanted to stop remembering, but it-- it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to him. It wasn’t fair to her. The emotions, the passion, the love and inspiration that carried her forward. 

Samara had lost more. Lost worse. It was one thing to lose a lover. It was another to lose a child. To lose children. Her daughters. And she did it by her hand. Her hand with the same biotics and skill that terrified her. Who was Morinth? How could she put so much inside herself that she was okay again? Kasumi wanted it. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t--

She felt cool fingers curled against her temples, and suddenly she found two passive eyes looking back, except they were warm, motherly. She saw a gentleness there, of a person buried underneath. Someone that saw her daughters before her, trembling and vulnerable.

Sympathy. Understanding. “... I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Kasumi closed her eyes and breathed.

--

She didn’t ask for Darshan, but he found them just the same. Kasumi had slumped against the wall next to the door at that point, already more exhausted than she had ever been. Samara was messing with her omni-tool not far, back to the cool demeanor she was used to. The silence had been comfortable, but it didn’t take much to pick up Darshan’s heavy gait, weighed down by the robes he had on him. 

“Company,” she called out to Samara, who quickly shut the omni-tool down and turned to greet their visitor. By the time Kasumi stood, the door had creaked open.

There he stood, and already she felt herself stiffen.

“You weren’t requested,” Samara greeted coolly. “I understand this is a process, but you must exercise patience, priest.”

She rubbed her temples. “It’s fine. We’ll get this done quick.”

Samara looked ready to disagree, but the priest interjected quickly, sweeping into the roof. “I appreciate your accommodation, Ms. Maeda. I… I must confess something.”

Not this again. Kasumi rolled her eyes and crept closer to the man, ready to throw him off the building if even a single word came out about her time in slavery. She was not going to be this man’s redemption arc, no matter how badly he wanted it. “If this is about what we--”

“There is another group here.”

What?

Samara seemed less than impressed. “We’re aware of several actually.” What?! “But please elaborate, priest.”

“... I had tried telling you yesterday,” he was not going to blame her for this. Fuck that. “It’s a band of batarians. I’m not sure where they are exactly, but one of their members reached out when we first landed.”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” She tried to keep the irritation down. Certainly, certainly he had his reasons. They could be refugees. Could be another dead end. It’s not like slavers had the resources or the market to start culling again. 

“I…” Darshan glanced to Samara, and thought better on his initial response. Fortunately. “... I am aware of our reputation right now. I assumed they were just trying to survive. It didn’t make sense to incite panic at the time.”

“But if they have been here for some time…” Samara found her mark.

“Please. They might have their reasons. We didn’t all just die when the reapers came, and if there are some life left--”

“It’s okay,” she found herself saying, even if she wasn’t sure she really meant it. It would do better than to panic the priest further anyway. “Did they say where they were when you talked with them? How did they make contact before I had the tower up?”

“I ran into a scout while we were setting up camp. He… he didn’t mention where the rest were.”

That was a lie, but that was fine. If his story checked out, they were likely between the two camps. Still a lot of ground to cover, but if they had a settlement, there would be signs before she saw it. Pathways, landmarks for strays. She had a lot of work to do this evening. After all of this, she wasn’t sure how much sleep she would be getting anyway. Though they had a sizable unit at the camp, Kasumi knew enough about STG habits to sneak out. A quick chat with Sha’ira, a stop by her tent, and she would be out as soon as the sun set. 

But what to do with him? It would be easier to let STG do what they liked, took out a potential liability before he had the chance to spill further information and awkward conversations. He didn’t really deserve it though. Despite hiding this for as long as he did, he had… reasons. Understandable reasons. He didn’t know she recognized her own biases. As far as he knew, she was just an angry woman that wanted nothing to do with him. 

But even beyond that, she doubted the STG would let him roam freely around the camp. She looked to Samara, who remained carefully stoic. “... I’m sure the major will have his own ideas, but don’t kill him?”

She nodded. “They will be upset if you leave.”

Kasumi offered a smile in apology. “I’ll bring good news back. Promise~.”

---

The elcor was still waiting patiently by the time she bounded down the last few steps. Oh. She forgot about him. 

He craned his neck and looked at her. Sometimes, if she looked hard enough, Kasumi would say that the elcor were a species that was constantly smiling. Still, he had clearly behaved, and she had enough information to go about her business. It’s not like an elcor could hold a sniper rifle. … Or could they?

“You’re free to go,” she still offered.

“With relief: I am happy to hear that this matter will be resolved shortly. Exasperated: I have much to do, then. Please, excuse me…” and off he went, lumbering and squeezing through the entrance of the gutted building with some effort.

She would have to brush up on her elcor biology later.

---

The QEC felt good in her hands. It was modded of course, like most any piece of tech Kasumi carried around with her. Multiple encryption channels, decryption keys for whenever she was ever curious, voice modulator and screen distortion if she ever felt like being super spooky. Amazing how many people still fell for simple tricks like that. 

“I’m glad I could keep it safe for you.” Sha’ira’s eyes wrinkled when she smiled. The one just wide enough to show perfect teeth. It was nice to see such warmth easily given after spending all day with a justicar. 

“I hope you didn’t just guard it all day. You certainly had better things to do.”

“Something more difficult, I’m afraid.” Sha’ira brushed her shoulders, dusting off what soot and dust that may have collected clamoring up and down the building all day. “Did we find anything?”

She grinned. “A crumb trail. Don’t wait up for me.”

Sha’ira’s smile waned, eyes deadly serious. “... Alone?”

What other choice was there? Samara was good at what she did, but what she did wasn’t subtle. Major Kirrahe would be doing his own investigation, and following up with whatever parties were out there. If she asked, sure, she could probably get a guard or two to keep her company, but that was if he let her out of the confines of the camp in the first place. “Sneaking around is kind of what I do. I’ll be fine.”

“What about you friend?” Her brow furrowed. “... Do the others know about them?”

Khalisah? The idea of seeing her in a catsuit was hilarious honestly, but she had a better use for that camera this evening. Maybe a bit of bargaining and she could be a security camera. Make sure no one was looking for her back at camp. Though she wouldn’t really expect someone so… normal to make a habit of staying up all night. “I’m sure she’d like to keep the others from finding out. Do you mind?”

“If you trust her, then I shall as well. Hopefully she’s able to defend herself.”

Oh, most definitely not. The reporter seemed smart enough to have a security system in place at her campsite though. She wouldn’t be taken out easily. 

Still, Sha’ira didn’t look pleased. Her eyes flickered to the rest of the campsite, careful-- always careful of who was watching or listening. “... If I can’t dissuade you, at least stay long enough for me to apologize.”

There they were again. How often they danced like this? Sha’ira was an adept one, Kasumi admitted. She tangled herself in her words and slipped through where each opening laid. She didn’t think the consort meant an actual apology, but more an olive branch, ensuring the conversation continued in a way that Kasumi wouldn’t shrink away again. It was being offered with an open hand again.

To Sha’ira, was she a ghoul looking back? An empty face, staring unblinking into her well of grief, just as Katul had before her?

“... You don’t need to,” Kasumi chanced, awkwardly given between half-starts and half-finished thoughts she didn’t want to voice. “... I… I would like to continue that talk, actually. Maybe when I get back?”

The relief that washed over Sha’ira made the concession alone worth it. “I believe it would be good for us both.” She found her left hand, threading it between her own and squeezing gently. “... It won’t be without its rewards, Kasumi. I promise you that.”

She still wasn’t sure. But maybe she would find something in it, or make something new out of the little bits of herself she had left. If she could be better, was it wrong to reach for it? Samara had. Katul would, in time. She saw the earnestness in the way Sha’ira looked on her, so open. The only thing she could think to do was tuck herself further away. “... I like chamomile?”

“Done. Oh!” The smile was back as she stepped away, back toward the entrance of her tent. “... I left a surprise for you at your tent. Though you feel it unnecessary, I think you’ll find it apology enough for the trouble.”

As if talking about her problems was a burden to anyone but the listener. “All day for me? You spoil me, Consort.”

And there was pride in the way she smirked. A look that wasn’t so unfamiliar on herself. “I do my best.”

--

Please don’t ask for anything else.

- Kirrahe

She stared at the assortment of mods, having been packaged neatly in its own dark bag-- secured safely inside her tent and out of sight. She began sorting through the collection, knowing the order with automatic, fluid grace and motion. Though she rarely disassembled her omni-tool completely, it never hurt to know how each one connected to one another.

Her hand brushed against another datapad, buried deep within the bag.

Be safe.

- Sha’ira

…

Of course. Of course she knew Kasumi would. Maybe the woman was dangerous.

She didn't think she was dead. Probably not anyway. Kasumi had taken far worse hits in her life, ones that promised much more damage and much more deathy. Whatever light she could see through her eyelids was low and out of the way, the corner of the tent she thought. Two quiet voices above her, and though she couldn't make out what they were saying, they were morose and depressing-- deep. Whatever she missed in the mean time hadn't ended well.

The blanket was snugged tightly against her body. Mm. Warm. Pleasant too, like a home comfort when home was so very far away as a concept. She was used to that. Packed light, but brought the things that reminded her what she had to leave behind. Usually small things, like old novels that Keiji had surprised her with over the years they had been together. Others were... simpler. Blankets were always good for that, especially on the harder nights when the ship was far too cold and empty. A blanket brought more of something familiar, and perhaps make a portrait of a place that wasn't home but more, paradise. A vacation that's farther away from the worst.

But eventually, eventually reality would call back to her. Kasumi flickered her eyes open to see the canopy of a tent that wasn't hers, but similar. White, low-ceiling. There was a candle burning in the corner she thought, lavender and a mix of chamomile. Calming agents. Oh. So this was Sha'ira's. Suddenly, the paradise felt more like an intrusion.

She twisted her head and found Sha'ira kneeling next to her, in a heavy conversation with the red salarian. There were tools behind them, doctor ones, and a few medi gel applicators. Her head ached, and even the low light seemed too much. So maybe she had been hit harder than she thought. Her hearing seemed to be coming back at least.

“Ms. Maeda?” Sha'ira's voice was soft, remorseful. The harsh shadows that danced along her face made it seem all that more morose, but relieved. She could see that too with the way her eyes softened, and that. That made it easier to smile in return.

“Proximity mines are a favorite in the Terminus Systems.”

She breathed a small laugh. “You'd know about that, wouldn't you?”

The red salarian sighed, and turned to the doctor's bag. “Then I'm sure you've heard the whole 'another angle and that would've killed you' lecture, so I'm gonna save it. I kinda figured that anyway. Any discomfort in your chest?”

“A lot.”

“Cracked ribs. Ache in your head?”

“Concussion?”

“Yep. Though to be sure have you had any memory loss, disorientation, mild confusion?”

“Just over how long you've been a medic.”

“Long enough. It's mild then.” He snapped the bag closed, and seemed satisfied with the diagnosis. “I'll leave you two then. I'm sure Sha'ira can give you the news.” Then he eyed her critically, a scowl clear on his face. “You're off your feet for today. That medigel needs to work its magic and all that.” Not surprising, but she kinda missed that awkward, scarred smile on his face.

“Okay. But why am I in Sha'ira's tent?”

He ignored her, much to her annoyance, and instead slipped out of the tent flap. The silence was uncomfortable to say the least, and for once, neither of them seemed to be up for breaking it. Sha'ira's frown and furrowed brow easily killed any voice that would've risen in her throat, and the way she focused on the slow rise and fall of her chest told her there was plenty on her mind to keep herself occupied. She wanted to ask a hundred different things that could come to her, but looking at her, it was almost like she didn't have the right.

Still, she had to break it. “So... why am I in your tent?”

“I was closer than yours,” her mouth twitched, “We wanted to get you... situated as soon as possible.”

“Was it bad?”

“... No. The dirt made it seem worse. We couldn't really tell until...” She took a deep breath before finally looking her in the eye. There was an unsteady gaze. “I apologize. Are you okay?”

“You didn't get hurt any, right?”

“Thanks to you, yes.” She blinked once slowly, sucking in a deep breath. This had shaken her, and how she tried to loosen her shoulders out. How long had she been unconscious? Enough time to be dragged back to camp, and whatever medical practice needed to be done and not feel it. It had been more like a pleasant afternoon nap with a side dose of a headache and a little bit of heartburn-- not unlike post-food coma after a particularly noisy holiday dinner. She'd only ever been to three in her lifetime, once as an uninvited guest to Kiera's.

Her bedroom window had been left a crack, and Kasumi had simply slipped in, and greeted the downstairs family as if she was an expected guest. Her mother, an old willowy matriarch with just as much fear as there was wisdom with those that had followed her, had roared at the mere sight of her and rose from her seat as a tall, brightly gleamed with biotics, tower. That matriarch never cared for her too much. She was much like Kiera, a creature of selfish control and careful planning, but couldn't see her pats the initial threat she had posed.

Everyone was a little fragile once or twice to people you didn't want to be. It didn't matter if it was her mother, Shepard, herself, or even Sha'ira. Especially Sha'ira now.

“You ever had this happen to you before?” Kasumi chanced to ask with the fact that neither of them seemed ready to move-- Kasumi unable to move. It was worth asking, to know, and perhaps give what little comfort she knew to give.

“Once.” The consort glanced away, fingers curling against the fabric of her dress. It still was grimed with dirt and what seemed to be a little metal shrapnel stuck in between. “The Geth had not been known to discriminate in their targets. Everyone lost something in that first takeover.”

“I saw what happened to your office.” It was an ugly, twisted mess. Entrance caved in, bullet holes all over the walls. Furniture turned over, and again that scent of gun smoke and metal-- blood. She could've lost more, but still. “Were you there?”

Sha'ira sighed. “At the start, yes. Nelyna and I...” And then just as suddenly, she shook her head. The tension vanished as if it never existed, and Sha'ira's face remained just as placid as ever. “It's well passed in any case, and I have made steps to... adjust.” It didn't surprise her that Sha'ira knew how to guard herself as well. To keep things tightly locked and key. Still, very disappointing. It'd be nice to pry open and see what was inside, not just have her under scrutiny from watchful, careful eyes.

“Lost an aunt from it too.”

At the mention, Sha'ira immediately perked up. “So you do have a family.”

“Little, but I did.”

“I imagine not quite so eccentric.”

She didn't know. Not as much as she would've liked. From what she remembered, her mother was a quiet figure, gently chiding, and working hard. Did a lot of... pipe work for the colony, she thought. There were wonderful, tempting aromas of spices and something sweet whenever she would walk into her kitchen, and her burly bear of a father would be standing behind the counter, occasionally with a cigar in his mouth. Shipments from the Alliance. Always took one out on a good day. Her sister... she was an elusive image. One replaced by blood and fragments of bone. Long hair. She had longer hair.

“They were pretty normal, I guess.”

Sha'ira studied her for a moment, and she could feel how naturally her gaze traveled to that well-worn scar at the back of her skull. “That is surprising, considering where you ended up.”

“Normal families don't birth consorts either, Sha'ira.”

A long, thin smile formed, then a delicate hand against her forehead as she brushed the bandages just barely back to see the healing wound. “... I'm glad you're okay, Ms. Goto. It would have been a shame to see our arrangement end so early.”

“Arrangement sounds so formal. You have other friends, right?”

“Of course. Some of my clients can be worth knowing outside of work.”

“That sounds really boring.”

Sha'ira laughed before applying the bandage back against her temple, gentle as she did so. “Not everyone can lead a life so exciting, Ms. Goto. Though, I get the feeling I may last longer than you will.”

She hmphed. “Or have already.” Kasumi would do the math every now and then, when the days seemed to grow and twisted into a crazy, niggling wounds and betrayals. It was hard to see the old wounds and the new ones eventually, though she never looked too hard at her skin. The lessons stuck well enough on their own, and the catsuit, it was already like her skin. Stuck to her close enough to be. But now? Now she can look at her hands freely. See all the little lines that sunk into her palm. Little callouses too that built up closer to her fingers. The skin was smoother than she expected though.

“Does it bother you?”

She didn't know. It was more like a pale hand that followed her, every now and then taking something else away, just to remind her that it was there. And eventually her luck would and her time would start wilting, and she would feel that cold brush against the back of her neck. Days where she begged it. Days where she questioned it.

A shudder and Keiji's old touch seemed so far away from her. Death always led to him, one way or another. And another part, gone. But it felt... necessary to keep him in mind, that little note in her head that no matter who it was or what was happening, no one was invincible. Sha'ira wasn't either.

…. What was she doing?

“Kasumi?”

She looked back, saw the concern glazing over her clear blue eyes. It wasn't unattractive to think of her the same as she did Keiji and Shepard. To think nothing could take them, especially if she was there to do something about it. But Kasumi had looked away long enough, and both of them were rotting somewhere. Shepard in the city, Keiji back in Bekenstein. Sha'ira would have something more dignified with the luck of not being a soldier like so many others that she knew. Maybe quiet. Maybe a disgruntled customer getting too emotional.

That sudden intruding thought told her to run. Run. But she swallowed it down this time and refused to look away. “My death is inevitable,” she said, ignored the bile sticking to her throat, “I already made peace with that.”

“And others?”

That was a question she knew was coming. The silence gave her away, and Kasumi knew the flow of the game by now. It was simply a matter of moving the game forward, another little piece and twist. “Tell me something,” she ducked the question, but no, she wouldn't give Sha'ira the benefit of looking away. “For folks that live for so long, you see plenty of death yourself, don't you?” She didn't respond, but Kasumi barely gave her the time to. Just kept pushing. Push, pry. Who was that woman underneath? “Does it ever get easier every time? You have centuries to recover, but when it matters, doesn't it always...”

“Yes.” She broke the gaze, and saw the small switch inside of her, reverting to the scared, small thoughts that crept inside her when Kasumi had first woken up. “... Death is an awful, wonderful fact. It will come before you are ready, and it will take what you love. But that, in itself, creates some of the most wonderful memories I have had the pleasure to hold.”

And she was locked out. Still though, she felt amazed by the response, unexpected, pleasurable. She could want more of that. “Why?”

Sha'ira chuckled, even if there was still a fragility in the air. “Because when we have learned, we take each moment, each greeting with someone for what it is, and we cherish it. How many times did it take you to watch someone die to realize that?”

She was just a small girl quivering away from beady eyes looking for them. “Once.”

“Once.” And those blue eyes were like fire. “Nelyna took the shot for me. Kept them away from me, and... she died.” Oh. … Oh. The archives she dug through had never mentioned that. Whatever had happened that morning, Sha'ira had kept it tightly locked. “I will have to live with the last memory of her... her dying. And her blood. That is something that will never be removed. In those instances, recovery may seem simply a relative concept.”

May? The possibility was still there, but in the depths of it all, she couldn't stop how much it hurt.

“But we must, Kasumi. Not just for their memory, but for our sakes as well.” It was gentle, but noticeable with the way she shook as she brushed Kasumi's hair back. “I have to ask this... I am sorry.” No. She knew where this was going. “I saw what was in your bag the other night. Just enough to know what it was.”

“Sha'ira. No.” Not when she couldn't run. Not when she couldn't hide. “I'm the one whose supposed to cheat.”

The smile was more of a taut grimace. “I only do when I feel it is important.”

“It's not.”

She laughed. “They may have worked on everyone else, Kasumi. I am positive that Shepard, and you for at least a time, have disagreed.”

Kasumi still did. It was just easier to dismiss its presence when others noticed. Keiji was with her in a way that he promised, though never really, fully intended. It was a gift that comforted her when she needed it, and drove the knife inside when she wished for the reminder. That was not a place for anyone else to bring up, not without her making the first move. “Perhaps another day then, my friend. He's...”

That look. Sympathetic, but still, sad. “I understand.” She gave a moment's pause before standing up and brushing off the edges of her dress. It still had dirt, grime, and blood. She hadn't changed yet? “If you would, offer some condolences to Sura. … She might appreciate whatever advice you could give.”

“Uh--”

“Her wife is who we found. Thyra.”

Oh. Oh. “Sha'ira---”

She was gone before she could finish, in what Kasumi could imagine with almost a self-satisfied look on her face. Kasumi sighed, defeated.

It was fair, wasn't it?

–

The priest came by to see her first, QEC with hand. Before she could have the gall to reject, he raised a placating hand. “The consort asked me to pass it along to you. She is... preoccupied with other matters.”

“I suppose she said yes to letting you come in here,” Kasumi huffed. But she never said yes to Sha'ira walking into her tent either. If she hadn't known better, she'd think the consort just took her grey-box and destroyed it herself. That would be a little beyond her though. At least, she hoped so. If not, this friendship would be ending very shortly. She extended her hand out for it, and felt a small bit of relief with the cold metal against her bare skin.

The priest lingered though. Again. “Ms. Maeda?”

“Hm?”

“Do you, er, did you happen to see the body?”

“On the count of being nearly blown up? Not really.”

“Oh... Yes, that would stop you from seeing the sights, I suppose.” He fiddled with his hands for a moment, only making them both uncomfortable before sighing. “... I'm happy to see you remained mostly intact. A former--”

“Stop.”

“It's a compliment to your resilience, Ms. Maeda,” offering a small smile in reconciliation. “Though I regret that it ever happened in the first place. You---”

“I know I can't forcibly throw you out, but I will try, and when I fall and start screaming, they're going to blame you.” He didn't bother to respond, instead bowing politely and tucking his tail to go. She gave the courtesy of a, “If you tell anyone, you're dead, priest!” just as the flap closed.

She unwound in a long sigh and tried to settle herself in a way that still made it easy to breathe through the unsettling pressure on her chest. A quick couple of boots and she was greeted to the familiar sight of static before Khalisah's face showed on the screen. The smile was smug initially before she got a good look at her appearance, she thought.

“Uh.”

“So there's a guy setting mines in the city. And that girl was definitely dead... or so I've been told.”

“You're taking this well. … You were hurt?”

“A little.”

She eyed the bandages with a well-worn scowl that paled her cheeks. “Right. Try not to do that again, I guess? Erm...”

The way it made her squirm was funny. “So, maybe you should think about telling the others you're here? Just in case they find you a particularly helpful lone ransom.”

“I'm sure you'll take care of it just fine, thanks.”

Kasumi laughed. “See, that's the sort of thought that gets you killed, dear.”

“If you call me dear again, I swear I'll scream your name to the nearest person.”

“Stay alive, dear.” And with that, she switched off the QEC for now. Khalisah was making a mistake, but if she managed to be caught in one of those trip mines somewhere down the line, it'd save her some of the trouble. She didn't like to drag people that didn't know how to fight in shit like that though. It was her biggest dividing factor when it came to the Terminus Systems. Whether a poor choice or not, others simply tried to live in those neon lights. And just as well, even underneath the veil of blackmail, Khalisah was trying to do the same.

Death. Death was a heavy hand to deal. Maybe one she could finally break and leave behind.

–

The asari came in later when the sun began to sink from the darkening of the folds in the tent. The candle had long since burned out, leaving a fragrant, slightly ashy scent behind. She had dozed somewhere in the early afternoon, tired of the uncomfortable unsettling movement of her ribs and out of sheer boredom. In a way, she was thankful that Sha'ira hadn't dug enough to grab one of her books out of the bag, but it would've been far better company than the QEC-- which she would only connect to a few friends anyway, subordinates not withstanding. So, instead, she slept.

Someone had come in beforehand. This, she knew. Delicate fingers had peeled back the bandages, an unsteady breath before a sigh of relief. It had been warm, and the quiet study had been enough to lull her back to sleep, but she remembered it. She remembered feeling the smile that had been left behind.

That wasn't the asari wife though. The tension settled in with her entrance, just the quick snap of the tent flap. Her eyes were brimmed with something red, and her eyes still looked glossy. A quivering bottom lip, and that lost, listless gape in her expression. Maybe Sha'ira was actively trying to draw those buried down thoughts and feelings, and this was her plan. Expose, and maybe, eventually, that mask would break. Instead, she just wanted to go home.

“The consort...”

“I know. Sit down for me?”

She hadn't wanted to be there either. Her legs dragged to the side of the cot, and she knelt down into something almost prim and proper, only broken by the curvature of her spine, sagging with the weight of her grief. She watched her with the expectation of answers, but that. That wasn't anything anyone could give.

Kasumi sighed. “I'm sorry first of all. If we knew from the start, we may have been able to save her.”

She nodded.

“But those what ifs will always be there. You can hold onto them, or accept that what happened did.” She spent weeks wondering the scenarios. Maybe she could've turned away when Keiji had second-guessed the heist. Maybe she could've stayed with him. Maybe there had been a way to stop the bleeding. Maybe... But none of them brought him back now. Nothing ever would. Not without dying maybe, and if there was a place for the soul, she'd find him there. “And whatever I say here won't change what happens now. It's horrible. That love is.”

The asari furrowed her brow, and the gaze turned into stone. “The consort said you'd know. How--?”

No. She didn't want to talk about it. “That's not important. It... It happened a while ago.” She tried to grab what little advice and comforts she remembered those first few weeks, but she remembered feeling a torn, empty void that swallowed so much of her. Told her it was all for nothing if it didn't mean him. And it was such a scary thought, to remember how much she had put herself in him.

Kiera's hands were warm as she tried to bring her back from it, but it took stripping herself down to just a woman, and putting herself at her aunt's doorstep that she realized no matter how deeply she dug, she wasn't completely human either.

That wouldn't help the newly-made widow. She had no real comfort to give her. Why was she put in this position again? Keiji.... he would've been so much better at this. “I can't say it gets easier either, but... it's manageable. Remember whose with you now--- the kind of people that reach out to you. It may not seem much, but when it's at its worst, you'll remember them.”

“It... it gets worse?”

She grimaced. “You'll be alone. Eventually.” Then the cold would creep in, subtle at first but almost frigid with its loneliness. Then she would remember the steady pattern of his heartbeat against her ear, and the way he seemed to sigh with every second breath. And she would crave it. She would crave it more than anything, and the hurt was so indescribable. Some nights, it'd still sweep her, and today, it just seemed to be waiting. Just when she would close her eyes.

The woman stayed for a time, though for how long, Kasumi couldn't say. Just that with every moment, she could feel how the widow tried to pick up the pieces that were left behind. There wasn't any comfort to give, but hopefully, as she left the briefest of smiles with her departure, she left something to think about.

Kasumi wasn't good at it, and everything hurt so much more and seemed so much more raw now, but maybe, it would be worth it to see someone else step closer to better.

–

“You must hate me.”

Sha'ira only smiled.

“Why did you send her here?”

She unfurled her sleeping bag beside the cot, shoulders loose and free from stress despite what Kasumi was willing to guess was a long day. “It worked, I believe. She seemed in better spirits at dinner. Thank you.”

“You could've done it better.”

She settled herself with her legs tucked underneath her, amusement clear in her eyes. It was a better look on her. “You sell yourself short, Kasumi. The pain of a loved one lost is better described by those that have experienced it. Shut yourself all you like, but you have compassion for those that feel it.”

“You hate me.”

Sha'ira sighed, an amused smile forming on her face as she turned on her heel and scrounged an electric kettle in between what seemed to be a pair of dresses. It didn't take long for steam to begin to form around the spout, and the heat brought some small measure of comfort. “Does it alarm you to be able to relate to someone?”

“More that they could relate to me.”

“And why is that?”

She wasn't sure if that was a serious question or not. There was that whole being a thief thing, and she was... Oh. That was a thought she didn't need to get into. The day had been depressing enough, and all of the reminders had been so unavoidable. It was her fault, clearly. Whether good intentioned or not. They were her thoughts, and from the start, had never been meant to be shared with anyone else on this trip. She still remembered the look the asari widow gave her. How did anyone help heal that? No one could fix her problems, much less herself.

But a warm cup was being passed to her, and the smile that was given made it easy to return, even if a little strained and tired. “Some pains you would never wish on your worst enemy, Consort. That should be reason enough.”

She situated herself beside Kasumi, and the smile waned into content as she breathed into the steam. “... I suppose so. From what little I could gather, I assume this hasn't been an easy road for you.”

“Oh, never.” She grinned. “But we reap what we sow, right? You don't rise up to your status as consort without a little backlash.”

The chuckle died into something more contemplative, the silence creating a thin line for her mouth. Had she said the wrong thing? It wasn't for her to think about, but that was part of making friendships right? Come up with something exciting, try not to piss each other off. But still, there was a gentleness with the way she looked at her. “And you have to consider the damages, don't you?”

“Not when I can count them.”

“Some scars don't show on the skin.”

And the circle came around again. She blew against the hot liquid, ignoring the underlying question, and hoping perhaps that the burning on her tongue would numb the rest of her too. It was a shame that almost never worked. It was a nice little thought to distract her, as if it was ever really possible to absolve all emotional limitation with the sip of something hot. There was the comforting edge of it, a reminder of younger times when magic seemed real enough and her mother's-- She was getting off topic. Sha'ira looked at her expectantly, either for rejection or explanation. Kasumi wasn't sure which one to give.

“You've serviced... that sort of thing before?”

“In a manner of speaking. The side-effects were discovered rather quickly after release. … It has been some time since I have seen a functioning one.” She took a chance in inching a little close to her, just enough for their knees to touch. “Do you have a grey-box installed as well?”

“Of course.”

It didn't seem to be the answer she wanted, because Sha'ira hesitated, noted how little her own expression had changed-- as if afraid at how natural her decision had been. “Did anyone speak to you about the issues that it can pose?”

Enough so. There had been a long, drilling lecture by Kiera, then a series of private hired doctors that had been paid just enough to install it but not enough to not be nervous about doing the procedure. She had joked that Kiera had done that in the hopes that Keiji would die during the installation, a joke that had been briskly brushed off. The both found the idea tempting. The ability to remember every secret, every memory whether on the job or between them. Every little bit of gossip and every detail of a person's face and mannerisms. If anything was forgotten, it was out of willfulness, but oh, if she dug hard enough, it would be there. “I have good doctors, promise,” she decided waving it away would be better than anything else, “You'll be the first to know if anything weird happens.”

“And the other one?”

“No protection plans for assholes splitting your skull open.”

Neither of them laughed, but Kasumi was fine with it. She was fine joking about it because it was easier that way. Coping mechanism, whatever. It kept people from digging too much, but it didn't surprise her to see that Sha'ira wasn't impressed with it. “They must've been important to you.”

“Partner. He was my partner.” And the humor died with it, if it had been there at all.

“I'm sorry.”

The sorry had already been repeated to her countless times before, and it had become almost as sickening as the mere thought of him could be. Revenge was a nice driving force for a while, using that anger and regret to one singular goal, to be thrilled to have that man's blood on her hands. Sometimes, she still relished in the memory of his face sinking and glowering as she removed the shield off the gunship. The evening would come though, and even with the comfort of the grey-box, the lack of direction had been stifling. She never really knew what she wanted after that, and that, she was convinced, was why she went on the crucible project in the first place. “You knew already though,” she said plainly, “Or you wouldn't have sent her in there.”

“I had a hunch that it had been personal.”

She felt tempted by it still, even as the hurt settled in. “So. Tell me, Sha'ira,” she began, “You let yourself fall in love once, and in an instant, it's all gone-- just imagine that briefly.” And still, Kasumi watched her carefully, noted how her eyes briefly flickered away, to a far-off corner of personal affects-- one she could see as an old photo of a younger, livelier her, standing side by side with a gentle matriarch. “You think you could throw something like that away? That's every piece of his life. As it will be mine when I die.”

“It's unlike you to simplify a situation, Kasumi.”

What? She had gotten plenty of responses about that thing, mostly from Shepard after a few drinks, and she had felt the need to say something to save herself from the guilt of letting her keep it. Shepard was perhaps the only person that had the power and her respect to take it from her, but even that, still, didn't start with something so off the rails. “... Why?”

“I can't speak for your partner, of course, but just looking at your history, to say that is all of you is...” And she seemed to think better of her wording, paused with a furrowed, thoughtful look. “... It's irresponsible. We all leave traces behind, and that on its own, can bring comfort where we need it. We leave our memories behind in others. That...”

She didn't want to hear the rest of it.

“That destroys every person that touches it,” and her voice shook as Sha'ira said it. “I have never seen anyone come out of that attachment unscathed. To recover would take even longer.”

“I'm going to sleep.” The silence that followed was nothing like Kasumi had felt in so very long. It was those clear blue eyes staring into her back as she leaned back into the cot, and feeling the concern cut through her. To be asked was nothing. But to have the sympathy? She wasn't sure if it was a thought that scared her or insulted her.

Sha'ira hid a low sigh, and she heard the cot briefly whine and give as she slipped to the small pallet she had made for herself. The only thing that was left behind was a small graze at her calloused finger-tips. Whether out of apology or another small gesture to reach out to her, Kasumi didn't know. For the evening, it was too much for her to think about.

The party in Shepard's apartment hadn't been so different, though Kasumi had never been accustomed in sharing in the festivities. 'Sharing' being a very loose term for it, if her own observations in how parties were supposed to be were any indication. When she was still a little foolish, still more green than master, she had been more open with her enjoyment, letting herself get thrown in the music and the drinking, and the dark, slippery temptation with it. But mistakes were easily sown in that, so even with a few drinks in her stomach, it was easier to watch from... afar. Sorta afar. Mostly just the cloak.

Now though, her stomach was starting to churn into an ugly build-up of acid and god knows what else, and there was something sour burning the back of her throat, promising a more restless night once a bit too many drinks were passed, and people were a little too dead to the world to be entertaining.

She laid on her stomach against the soft sheets and mattress of Shepard's bed, trying to absorb its warmth so it could embrace her tightly and perhaps then, sleep would come to her. Another roll of her stomach promised little in that endeavor, though perhaps, Shepard wouldn't be pressed to move her either.

In fact, there was a small patter of footsteps, haphazardly followed by a thump against the doorframe. The stench of alcohol and whatever Vega was cooking in the kitchen was thick enough to taste-- bitter, spicy? something else with it, but nothing appetizing. Something else had been mixed in her drink. Dairy? Why now?

She didn't bother to look at the visitor with the new turning of her stomach.

"Kas~, don't tell me you're the first out tonight," Shepard whined, drawn out before she slumped on the mattress beside her, just an inch or so away. She wiggled a moment before setting her chin on her palms and presenting a stern pout to Kasumi. "I know you're better than that."

She shut her eyes tightly and groaned meekly into the sheets.

"Don't give me that!"

"Get a better bartender next time."

"What? Like you? Your drinks were too weak."

Kasumi huffed. "I could've given you ryncol, and you would've complained, Shep."

"Okay, well, maybe." A brief pause then, introspective if Shepard had the capacity for it at the moment. She was a little doubtful of it, but still, her face had drawn into itself, something frustrated and pensive before she sank fully in the mattress with a long, drawn out sigh. "There is one thing you have over Vega."

"The ability to break into a casino without some double-agent bumbling through it?"

"You tell better stories," she gave her a silly smile, even though the hushed voice gave away all the exhaustion that seemed to just come with the act of laying down-- traces of a yawn being pushed back. "You're not afraid to talk yourself down a little bit for the sake of a good time-- or to admit when you lost."

"I think I told you a little too much honestly."

She laughed and turned her head to face her, excitement brimming in her eyes. "Can you tell me one now? Just for old times."

"How long has it been?"

"Mmm. Seven mo-- no eight. Or was it nine?"

"The war seems to stretch forever, huh?"

She waved a finger, tsking with a stern frown. It looked even more ridiculous with the flush on her cheeks. "No, no, we're not talking about that. This is my one night. One. Night. That I don't have to think about that fucking work. So tell me a story."

There were a hundred ones that they shared between each other, some with excitement and thrill, laughter between each other, other days more with grief. A lot of grief. Maybe for tonight, they could go with something in between.

"You wanna know how my eyes got so messed up?"

"They're messed up?" Shepard glanced back with the bright scarlet eyes, the glow something weird and unfamiliar, but still familiar with the way she looked in the mirror sometimes to see the glint of something amber. The laughter was so joyous that followed though, removing some tension that had came with the question. "So. I'm guessing a ship didn't blow up you and you didn't die first?"

"No. Not nearly as dramatic. Sorry about that."

"But interesting?"

She chuckled. "Please, Shepard. I'm one of the best storytellers in this galaxy."

--

The rain had cleared, but the clouds remained grey, misty and dreary. Still, Kasumi felt... well. It wasn't often when she slept so well, felt a peace and quiet settle inside of her from the moment she woke up. Usually there was an odor of ash and metallic, something that triggers just enough to chase sleep away-- or a thought that would possess her, only leaving when it reached its end, usually in the form of an invention or a modification. Always something to do, to work.

But no. A good memory instead-- one of the last she had before Earth. She didn't know what having a family really meant, but the Normandy. The Normandy had been close, still is. Some of them were still out there. As distant as she felt, Shepard wasn't the only person she could trust on board. It would be harder to reach out, but she-- she was in control of that. They had no way to reach her, but she can. It was the nice thing about it all. Control.

She stepped out, lazy and still a little groggy, black hair brushed back. Maybe the drinks between them had facilitated it all, or the ease of the conversation from the night before had been enough to distract her.

The streets felt cool on her bare feet, still a little damp from the night before and the morning dew, but it was really the best feeling. Even as a little girl, more servant than human, the earth against her feet was always a welcome comfort. Back then though, it had been in caverns that held the promise of fortune. Which meant hard, sharp stones and the bits of metals from tools that were left behind in their broken state. She still had little nicks and scars, though far too many and far too faded to count now at 28.

The streets of London weren't so different, though at least, they had made some attempt to clear away the glass and debris around their campsite, making it slightly less hazardous to do so. Slightly. She doubted that if a shard of glass had been stuck at the bottom of her foot, she would feel it until hours later. On her feet too much.

There was a street corner not far from her tent, still with a little sign on it-- though the metal was so charred and nearly off the pole that reading it was impossible. Just barely a hint of green left. It wasn't a bad place to sit down and watch the streets for a little while, just before everyone would meander their way through the morning routine, and sometimes, eventually, to breakfast. It was still always easier to watch rather than actively participate, but her presence was there, maybe felt, and if they wanted her, they likely knew how to find her at this point.

The red salarian was relaxed, seated with his back against the street sign with a cigarette between his lips. His eyelids had drooped, still showed the sleep in his eyes if whatever little she could study with the amphibious glare in it. Now that she got a good look at him, he did look a little familiar. The web of scars across his face was certainly unique and he red tinge of his smooth skin was all too reminiscent of old rivals. He glanced over with her arrival though, and gave the best grin he could with it still in his mouth.

"So the recluse reaches out, huh?"

"I remember you. Sorta."

The salarian laughed before offering the pack of cigarettes to her, something she very quickly declined with the wave of her hand. Kinda needed her lungs. Good for cardio and all that. "We were on different parts of the project, I think. But I saw you. Even helped me out a couple of times."

"Did I?"

"Don't tell me you don't remember meeting the STG at some point."

Sure, openly once or twice. Usually in whatever clothes that had convinced the Alliance to allow her near all of the expensive and valuable stuff. "... You don't seem the type. No offense."

He took another drag before shrugging. "I was a medic."

"Then...," she struggled for a second before waving to the cigarette. "… Is that really a, uh, wise choice?”

“Eh. It's that whole cycle thing. I'll just make it up the next life. Your folks have that too right?”

“Sorry?”

“You know,” he waved in some direction, eyes far off to the distance. “Way over there. Where your name comes from?”

“The Japanese?”

“That's the word! Them.”

Why did she think socializing was a good idea? The heritage was a nice cover if anything else, or a set up for a flirty remark or two, but the culture was far removed from her mind, and by the state of the country, most everyone else's. Get the buildings back up first, and maybe then, she wouldn't have to be the only person worried about the cultural side of it. “I'd have no idea,” she said simply. “I'm not from there.”

“Oh.” He flushed slightly, a first for him. Guilt wasn't something that came across his mind often, she thought. “When you came with us, most of us just sorta assumed-- where are you from then? Here?”

“You like telling stories, Sal?”

“Sure.”

She smiled. “Make up a good one for me. We'll see after that.”

He scowled, and to her disappointment, wasn't so easily dissuaded. “No fair. I get that the Consort has her... talents, but--”

“You're gonna stop there.”

“Believe me, we've noticed,” his voice dipped low, mischievous, only sparing her a moment as he put out his cigarette. “You humans always have very tell-tale signs when... the night before was nice.” He grinned and stuck a tongue out. It took far too much self-control for Kasumi not to yank him with it. “How is she? You hear the rumors, but that. Well, I'm sure you know your basic salarian biology.”

“I think you've demonstrated your point well enough.” The voice came from behind her, but Kasumi didn't bother to look back, only tried to hide the satisfaction that came in Sal being caught, and fortunately, the conversation's interruption. Sha'ira weaved between them with grace and a well manner that was near regal in quality-- standing straight, shoulders back, hands folded between her. This was a steely demeanor that wasn't so familiar to her, and that in itself was a welcome treat. “Before anymore rumors start up, perhaps you can explain to the group that my intentions here are and will remain platonic.”

“Uh, Consort...”

“Please.”

He gave a small nod before retreating closer to the circle of tents, rubbing one of his horns in furrowed though. Kasumi sighed, slumping into the spot that was now vacant. “Thank you.”

Sha'ira's smile was thin, expression laden with heavier thoughts than she seemed to be willing to share. “Those rumors are just as damaging for me as they are for you,” she glanced back carefully, possibly to ensure their privacy in the matter before seating herself beside her. “I have had plenty enough with slander to last me, I think.”

She probed. Just a little. “Is that why you want to quit?”

“Among other things.”

“Like what?”

She stayed quiet for a long moment, refusing to meet her eye. It stretched out, tension rising the longer it stayed between them. Just as she had given up on an answer though, Sha'ira's jaw clenched. “Tell me. Have you ever thought of stopping?”

“Once.” There wasn't any sense in lying about it. Whatever consequences that would come from the situation had with Khalisah's blackmail. No details, but the skeleton. The skeleton always worked. “I forgot who I was, so I tried looking elsewhere. … That sorta life's not really for me.” It was boring. She was boring. And empty. The mystique and fun that came with being a thief was all she really knew, if it ever came down to it. Even now, she wouldn't even know where to start in trying to be something else and having it stick.

Sha'ira chuckled dryly. “I suppose in your position, it would be difficult even if you wanted to.”

“Honestly, could you do anything else?”

“I don't know.” Kasumi wasn't expecting the honest answer, but the way she seemed to withdraw as it escaped; she knew it couldn't be any less than the truth. “But I would like to give it a try, at least once. … If we become so wrapped up in what we do, I am not so sure we know who we are without it. Something tells me you already knew that though.”

She did. In other ways, some of it taken from her, other parts just cut away because it was inconvenient. However, she didn't know if this was the same sort of thing. Whatever reputation she gained that could be damaging, well that. That was good for her. It kept people from from following when they felt like it. “... Do we really need to be anything more than what we do?”

“If we weren't, you would be dead, Ms. Goto.”

That had been true enough. Their conversation from the night before was still fresh in her mind, and in a way, she ha been sorta honored by the idea of someone trying to get to know her underneath, but that was a rarely touched part of her, something that she had chosen to give little thought to herself. It was better that way for everyone, had been. Maybe this wasn't something she could answer for-- but lying always worked too.

She could see the way she looked at her always so very often. It should've been patronizing, thoughts and opinions that not long before would've been bitterly fought against. Just that idea that someone could look at her with a knowing, yet gentle gaze. Promise was rarely held in someone that thought they knew their answers already, but the moment Sha'ira spoke, she couldn't discern the truth from the lies. Khalisah would call her a snake, but Kasumi couldn't help seeing opportunity in it. She did always like her games.

She was about to come up with a response, something cool and to keep the banter going, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see the priest shambling up to them, a hollowed expression adorning his face. Well, more despaired than usual. Sha'ira had followed her glance, and with a well-hidden sigh, stood to greet him. “I suppose we'll have to postpone this for later, Ms. Maeda.”

“It wasn't a conversation you wanted anyway.”

She looked back with a well-worn smile, one that did nothing to hide the exhaustion that she knew had been buried since they first touched down to London. It seemed so odd to feel for her in that moment, enough so where she almost had to wonder that the brief flash of honesty had been more for Kasumi's benefit than hers. It vanished quickly though, just as soon as the priest was within earshot. “Priest Darshan, I wasn't expecting a visit from you today. I would've waited closer to camp.”

“Ah...” He glanced Kasumi's way before ducking his eyes and giving a quick bow to both of them. A sign of humility from a priest? Those that she met would've never humbled themselves so quickly. There was a story behind him. She could look into it later maybe, if she could stomach speaking to him again longer than five minutes. “I had other plans today myself, but it seems we have a … a problem.”

“Really?”

He gulped. “Katul has yet to return to camp.”

“What? From last night?”

The priest nodded.

That was odd. That was the turian widow, eh, probably. That wasn't really in his nature, not when they worked together. Usually, he was the last one to come home during the day, and at times, she was long already secluded in her tent by the time he would return, listening to his heavy footsteps against the mud and asphalt as he made a pass around the campsite before finally retreating to his own cot in the dark hours of the early morning. He was one of the first to wake up as well, and usually, far out of sight before Kasumi could even become aware of him. … Well. After they finished the communications tower anyway.

“Are you sure you just didn't miss him or something?” Kasumi spoke up, though she wouldn't stand, not yet.

“He usually checks in with Marin when he comes back. He hasn't yet.” The... pilot maybe? Maybe she should've learned a couple of names before this whole mess started. She could see the taut lines of his frown though, and the way he seemed to fumble with his hands. Sha'ira as well seemed perturbed, but their conversation wasn't too optimistic in itself.

“Have the rest of the group been informed?” Sha'ira asked.

“You two and Sal were the last to be told.”

“Split the group up and search around the campsite. We don't need to assume the worst yet, so please, try to make sure that the rest don't panic in the meantime.” She looked back to Kasumi for just a brief second. “I will search with Ms. Maeda. If you get the chance, ask Marin to take the shuttle to search as well.”

“Yes, ma'am.” And off he went, scurrying back to the circle of tents. They let the silence sink in for a moment before it was finally broke with a long low sigh that escaped Sha'ira.

“Sounds like you're boss now.”

She shrugged, shoulders heavy. “I am not sure this is a better role or worse.”

“No one gets better being boss, believe me. When something goes wrong, they're going to be looking at you.” She'd seen it plenty of times with Shepard, perhaps too many times. All of those expected and hopeful looks given to her, the idea of her just fixing everything without any problems or anything. And here they were, sitting among trash and dirt, and their hero was very dead somewhere in the trash and dirt.

Sha'ira laughed before turning on her heel and offering her hand to Kasumi. “Either way, my actions will always be judged. Perhaps it suits me after all.”

“Bitterness rarely suits you, Consort.”

“That rarely suits anyone, Ms. Goto.” Still, something about it eased both of them, she thought-- just that change in the name. Their earlier conversations were far from being finished, but for now, it was easier to simply set aside. Kasumi had never been one to dig too far in personal wounds anyway, because it invited others to do the same to her, and that, that was never fun. “I'll leave you to finish getting ready. Could you meet me by my tent?”

“Just need to make a call.”

“The turian again?”

She paused. “I was wondering if you heard that. He's a... a good man. Promise.”

“I wouldn't worry,” the smile she gave was quiet, soft around the edges. “I covered because I trust you. Though I believe you are intelligent enough to avoid instigating STG again.”

Sometimes she didn't think so. In any case, she was having second thoughts about having those programs run automatically like that, but the STG was always fun to use, whether as a source of information or a challenge. There weren't many places for her to learn still, not when she rested so far at the top. She kept her thoughts quiet though. Sha'ira had been too much of a gifted horse for her to look it in the mouth for the sake of it. Instead, they parted ways.

Her tent wasn't a bad sight, sure, but her mornings were hers. It was one of the few things that remained from her old introverted habits. As cheesy and corny as it was, the way her morning shaped up could change how the rest of the day went. Her mind, emotions, ideas ready for her, and the time she had for herself to simply... be. As alone as she was in most days, she still needed to act a certain way, be a certain person, or death would be calling her faster than she would have to time to change it. That was mostly her, yes, but to have the morning to be and recognize all of her was something to be cherished.

She didn't have that here. It wasn't unlike having 11 other roommates, or hm, dorm-mates perhaps? Even Sha'ira was more of a stranger than the few friends she had made over the years. A cover for a few months, and that thought made it easier. Still though... it would be nice to have a little more space.

She ducked inside the tent, breathing a heavy sigh, and resisted the urge to fall flat on the cot, as tempting as napping the rest of the morning could be. The QEC was easy to find underneath her pillowcase. It just sucked to make the call at all. If there was someone that could reach out farther than they could, solve this little issue a little faster, then she supposed approaching Khalisah wasn't the worst idea to have. Disguise it as a friendly warning and perhaps, she wouldn't try to use it against her. That would be nice.

Khalisah answered faster than she thought. Her demeanor was relaxed, but occupied with a pensive frown. It didn't surprise her to see that she was already primed and dressed like any other time they had met. She stayed professional at least. “Morning,” Kasumi greeted with a sideways smile.

“I didn't think you'd miss me so fast, Ms. Goto. I could spare five minutes to insult you.”

“Are you doing anything other than sitting on your ass all day and looking at that camera?”

“If you had my spot, you wouldn't move either. Spying is always better in style.” That she would have to agree with, but still Kasumi stuffed down her snort. She wasn't about to give Khalisah the satisfaction of it, not yet. “So seeing as there isn't a bullet hole in your head, I can guess the rest of yesterday went fine?”

“Excluding the whole blackmail business? Sure.” She waved it off. Deflection was a manner that was habitual for her. “Not why I'm calling though.”

“I'm sure it's important.”

“One of our group has gone missing.”

“So the idiot got lost.”

“It could be a tad more complicated. If it is, I thought you'd might like the heads up. Just in case they notice a particularly bitchy journalist hanging around.” Humor. Always a good tool to keep people from thinking too much about it. She was smart enough to know that it was more than the warning for her call, but the warning painted the real question a little better. As laughably false it really was.

“The backhanded insults really show you care, you know.”

“I try.”

“And?”

She sighed. “The camera might be a little useful.”

“I'm surprised you don't have something similar already.”

“Confiscated, remember? You recorded the whole damn thing.”

“... I suppose I can keep a look out.” Oh finally. She was a little surprised by how easily Khalisah caved in to the request, but there was a heart in there somewhere, she guessed. It was just going to take a little digging to find. “You think he reached this far?”

“I have no idea, but you know, just in case.”

Khalisah sighed, and massaged a temple before abruptly switching the QEC off. Whether it was to do what she wanted hadn't mattered too much, she guessed, but the gesture had been made. It still... it wasn't like the turian widow. It wasn't like they talked every day, but something kept him chained to their group, and there was the debt they all shared. If something had happened to him... now that would make the trip interesting, but nowhere near what she wanted for it. Murder investigations were more like Omega's deal, and there wasn't much use, killing some worker out in the middle of nowhere like this.

The sky was clearing up too. The sun would greet them later in the day, and perhaps with luck, an easier way to spot those dark plates among the rubble. She hoped for the voice that would return their greetings.

---

“You forgot who you were once?”

She kept an eye on the ring of clouds above them, white and fluffy-- as if the earlier dreariness never existed in the first place. The concrete had a wet, dew smell stuck to it, leaving darkened stains against the brick. She caught Sha'ira stumbling once or twice through their walking, unused to the changes in elevation through their path. If she looked hard enough, she could argue easily that those flats were hardly appropriate for a trip like this, but there was something to admire about her adamant professionalism. It's not like she could say anything though. Traversing difficult ground was just as natural as walking by itself. She would slip through the shadows, no matter how high or low, no matter how comfortable it could or would be.

The sun was harsher than she remembered. Each one felt different depending on the system, but Earth's sun seemed so harsh. Perhaps she was just a little sensitive to it. Working in the mines had always been rough with little water for comfort, but it was so worse when she was working outside. She had passed out once, back when she was... 11 years? 12? It was hard to say. Had some kind of fever too. Someone had prayed for her, poured water. The voice was heavy and gruff like a batarian's, but not green boots. Kasumi wondered who that was.

“Ms. Goto?”

“Once, yeah.”

“Are you worried?”

She wasn't sure if she wanted to answer at first. It was easy to shrug things off if Kasumi thought of better things, like the weather, and the way there were blades of grass growing between blocks. Life was easier to see in the small corners. “A little,” she admitted. “It doesn't seem right.”

“Out of everyone I thought that would do this, he was on the bottom of the list,” she hummed in thought before another misstep. She barely caught herself that time.

“And me at the top?”

“Nora.”

“Uh?”

She chuckled. “The drell. You should make a habit of learning their names, you know. It'll give you less trouble.” The smile she passed over to her was sweet, and made her seem younger than she really was. Maybe both of them in a way. “She has a certain... eeriness to her. I trust your self-control. I'm not sure I trust hers.”

“So she's offered you a bird?”

Sha'ira blanched. “Every morning... where is she getting those?”

She shrugged. “I imagine she was in ops back during the war. They're all a little weird like that.” Those from the Terminus Systems anyway. They all developed little habits that helped them survive their careers, and if not, they were dead long before Kasumi could ever be aware of them. And she always kept an eye for that sort of thing, see who could compete with her, who could become an issue. Not much trouble since Quarn though.

“So do you put yourself in that category?”

“Might as well. I might get less approval, but it's all the same in principal.”

“I imagine it'd be nice to get the government funding though.”

“You find investors.”

“With someone at your rank, I'm surprised you would need one.”

She studied her. “Oh, so you're looking for the person behind this? You're in for a disappointment: I'm single.” Good deflection, one to make things awkward if pursued. Kiera wasn't a fun topic, not something she wanted to talk about on a clear day like this, or to focus on finding their missing member. Thinking about it only brought anger, and questions about why she was really on Earth in the first place.

“Quite a shame.”

“What makes you say that?”

Sha'ira looked away, quickly and quietly. “When you have to hide so much of yourself every day, it can help to have someone you can be honest with.”

“You don't exactly either, you know.”

She laughed quietly. “That's true. But when you forgot who you were, do you think you were more honest or less?”

“Dunno.” There was less pressure there to seem bigger than who she was, but in a way, it was just another role that she had to play with. An escaped slave, or someone that seemed a tad more normal, put together than she really was. The pavement crunched under the sole of her shoes as the path sloped upward, a reaper-made hill in the middle of the small neighborhood street. The buildings were more intact than she thought they would be around here, only hollowed out by the wear and tear of war. She hadn't gone past the crest of the hill yet, but she had focused on repairing the communications tower for most of the week. It would be nice to explore a little, but another day, when there wasn't much else to think about. “I did bartend for a while,” she admitted after a moment.

“I bet you'd be a great one.”

“I hated it honestly.” Well, only a little. “I don't think I could ever do what you're doing. Just listening to customers there drove me nuts.” Now small parties? That was different. When she was with Shepard, that was easy, because if anything else, Shepard was easy. Give her a few ryncols, and she was just happy as a clam. Just needed to tell a few stories in between was all.

“Oh, I think you could do better than you know.” She raised a brow with a small, almost cheeky smile. “Silence can speak better than any word. Just need the right mood.”

“I usually stumble on those. If I'm not trying to get what I want anyway.”

“You have far less chances than I do, I suppose.”

There wasn't much point behind it. It was easier to observe and let people talk for her, but... she got it in a way. Someone was going to react differently in a high-class party than they would be meeting in a back-end alley within the depths of Omega. She looked for people in different places for different sorts of information. But to involve herself personally in the conversation meant giving information that she wasn't willing to let go. Lying helped with that certainly, but she never found a verbal game as helpful as just sitting and waiting. Someone else almost always saved her the trouble.

Now this was... Verbal sparring was a bit too serious of a phrase, as if she was looking to win a game-- though she sorta was with Khalisah, but Sha'ira had been different. Not quite socializing, but something close to it. The idea of a friendship wasn't undesirable, but there was a slow-moving waltz between them between the little gives and deflections. She just wasn't sure who was leading. Though sometimes, and only sometimes, it wasn't so bad just swaying along with the rhythm.

Over the hill wasn't so different from the blocks that they had wandered through before, except Kasumi could at least note that it seemed more put together than the other streets. A reaper corpse blocked the street from across, nearly completely demolishing the buildings that served as its bed. While the left building was impossible to slip inside, the right... there was something oddly colorful about it, over by an outstretched claw.

“What is that?”

Sha'ira squinted for a moment. “I admit, I haven't been this far out myself. … Who knows? Maybe he'll be over there.”

She laughed. “I don't think we need an excuse for it, sweet as it is.” Anything colorful that stood out in a city like this was well worth checking out. And truly there was a marvelous series of colors against the walls, reds, blues, oranges, yellows. She wasn't so idealistic as to think that some street art survived this whole mess, but still maybe something intimate-- something to remind her that life was there. In that sense, Kasumi couldn't help how her pace quickened to the sight, to so quickly want to see something that was familiar to her, more akin to her nature.

What awaited them was so much more intimate than she expected. The lines of colors were names, dates that followed one another. The first, at the top of the wall was from an Alliance soldier, sergeant, dated two weeks after the reapers touched down London, and then it followed afterward of different names, different races of not just humans, but every sort in the galaxy. She traced a delicate finger against the lettering as it went down the wall, mouthing each new name that she copied. A sign of life here-- just as she had been hoping for, but not just life, but their survival through the impossible. Was it a checkpoint for others? Just a small thought left behind to let people know they weren't alone? The latter seemed likely as the names continued past the actual war.

A name stopped her, about midway through. Nobuo Kurosawa. It didn't seem likely, but there it was, sometime back in February. Ah, for another day perhaps. She felt the eyes watching her, and could imagine the easy, slow content look that would spread on Sha'ira's face.

“Find something you like?”

She stood, brushing off her pants. She could still smell the chalk, and just that small simple reminder could almost make her forget what surrounded it, and what she was actually doing out there. “If only I could take it with me, but no... it should stay here.”

“So the rumors didn't exaggerate your sentimentality with art.” She stepped up beside her, arms behind her back with a pleased look in her eyes. “I'm a little relieved to know this.”

If she had the dignity, she probably would've blushed. Probably. Instead, she grinned. “Do you mind taking a picture with it? Ah... Souvenir.”

She laughed before standing by the edge of the graffiti wall. “You don't need to make excuses, Ms. Goto. I'm honored.” Almost immediately she straightened into the image of professionalism with her hands folded in front of her and a thin stoic smile replaced the earlier teasing. She took a few steps back, making sure that all of the names were in frame but still legible, while Sha'ira was still visible in it too. She was dressed plainly for today, but that in itself was fitting for the image. She couldn't ask for it any other way, though even as the photo was finished, it was easy to say that there was just a way that Sha'ira carried herself that made it apparent that she was... different. Perhaps she stood a little straighter, or the way she looked in the camera. When it came down to it, there were parts of themselves they could never fully hush away.

Her hips swayed just slightly as she walked over, the smile returned in full force. “I suppose it would be too much to return the favor later?”

“Maybe not. You'll have to charm me a little first~”

She laughed breathlessly, eyes wide. “That's quite the challenge, but... I think I could manage it. I know it'll be worth it.”

“All this over a photo? I'm impressed.”

“And how many of those exists, hm?”

“Blackmail seems unlike you.” Static filled her ear, and Kasumi quickly held a finger up to her before pressing against the earpiece. She could make a few good guesses on who it was. “Tell me it's good news.”

“I don't know about good.” Khalisah. Immediately, she glanced up to see if she could spot the camera. “But I found someone.”

“Turian?”

“Yeah. She's not moving any.”

Her brow furrowed briefly. “She?”

“Oh, well. Have another surprise, I guess. Look up?”

She spotted it, maybe about five or so blocks away. It hovered there aimlessly circling one particular area behind the crushed building. “How the hell did they get over there?”

“I'm sure you can figure it out, but if you don't mind--” There was a brief pause, then a shudder, one that she could tell the journalist was doing her best to hide. Oh, so there was a weakness in there, somewhere. “... This... This is not really my thing.” If she wasn't moving, Kasumi could guess easily what she was referring to. It wasn't good news, and it wasn't their guy, but she wasn't bad enough to just leave someone lying there. Who knows. Maybe one of their group members got trapped hunting for the other missing guy. It wasn't impossible, though she hoped the crushed building in front of them wasn't a precursor to more that surrounded the place. There were a few old skyscrapers that she thought would be impossible to rebuild in this mess.

She turned off the mic and looked back to Sha'ira, who had waited patiently during the exchange, the earlier light mood gone. She looked heavy, unmasked and showing troubles that likely awaited both of them for whatever was in store. “A friend of yours?”

“Something like that.”

“They found something then?”

With a sigh, Kasumi began to lead both of them. Too much like business, and she had been hoping to get away from that for a while. This on its own made it difficult to leave the graffiti wall, as if saying farewell to a good, old friend. At least she could hold onto the reminder that the small signs like those were what made the trip so worth it. She couldn't blame gems being left behind, but the personal touches and stories-- those were the ones that needed to be kept and cherished. Not stupidity. Not being lost in a goddamn city and having the entire group go looking for you.

They rounded the corner of the crushed building, shimmying between a decrepit alley and the head of the reaper. As cold as the metal about it had been, just being near those things stung, and reminded her of old voices and recordings, and how even a dead god could still change the mind so gradually, so unassumingly that no one would notice until it was far too late to do anything about it. She hated those things, and perhaps she would for the rest of her life.

Once they reached the tip of the reaper, the buildings hollowed out, only leaving shambles of concrete for them to stumble over. It reminded her more of junkyard piles she'd see on old Earth vids sometimes with the way it seemed so haphazardly put together, but buried in the slabs, there might be a treasure in there. Certainly damaged by the disuse, but she wasn't unfamiliar with restoration-- a skill she had picked up through the early years of her career. Art wasn't always with responsible owners, and more often than it should, she spent time grieving for a masterpiece that was beyond saving. That was the true need for investors. Where her arm ended, another could reach out and take up where she left off.

“You seem tense.” Sha'ira's voice was distant, but after a good mental shake, she steeled herself.

“Just wondering why they came over here.”

“... It would be a dangerous place for someone accident-prone. Perhaps that was their train of thought.”

No. She still didn't like it. This was a trap waiting to happen, but no one had seemed like the type from their group. Kasumi wasn't stupid, and neither was Sha'ira. If she hadn't done some kind of background check before joining this thing, the consort sure as hell would've. A lot of them were weird, a little creepy, but not the randomly mass kill-y sort of way. So that left someone stupid to get themselves hurt and the salarian seemed like the only one dumb enough for that.

The silence was suffocating, but that could've been more smoke somewhere, making London a permanent home for its stench. She hated fire. It was a niggling stupid thing to latch onto, but god it drove her nuts to see how other people-- the vorcha mercenaries in particular!-- seem to think it was the best solution to their problems. Fire was stubborn, nigh uncontrollable, and engulfed anything and everything. Not suitable for a delicate job like being a thief-- explosives included. Sure, there was a personal bitterness involved in it, but just, ugh.

Eventually they made it past the large clearing to a small row of more rectangular buildings (housing projects maybe, old ones; far too outdated), and she noted, just barely, a red light stretching from one end of the alleyway to the other. She slowed to a stop, scowl forming on her face. Sha'ira hadn't. She couldn't blame her. It was very close to the ground, designed as some sort of trip wire.

It was done without thinking. Just a step too close in those fine heels, and she heard the clicking of a proximity mine. She didn't say anything, just lunged forward and yanked Sha'ira's dress sleeve. She saw just enough of Sha'ira being thrown against the concrete behind her before the beeping stopped, and her vision had been filled with dirt. It was enough to blow her back hard against another discarded slab. There was a sharp pain, not unfamiliar in the back of her head and chest with all she could smell and taste was just dirt and metal and smoke. Through the ringing in her ears, she could hear the calling, heels digging into the upturned soil.

Sha'ira cradled her face, but the crying of her name was too far away to reach her.

–

“So was it from some Robin Hood deed?”

She wasn't a hero. “Hardly.”

“Oh. I like those stories.” Shepard studied the ceiling above her, one that likely seemed a little unfamiliar to her too. “It reminds me that you hate titles sometimes too.”

“You like it when I seem bigger than I am.”

“So what happened?”

Chotha happened. He was an icy color with this strong, calculating look in his eyes. It was one of the first times she ever acted like someone she wasn't to get what she wanted. Be the friendliest bunch and the contacts and intel would naturally follow, or so she was told. It wasn't wrong, true, in that by the time she was caught, his organization had been more hers than his, but that too, like now, had been a collection of mistakes catching up to her. Show a little mercy and it always bit her in the ass somehow.

At least it had been easy to see it coming. As soon as she answered the dinner invitation and walked in, saw that turian sitting all chummy with him at the table, she knew she had been caught. It had been one of her favorite restaurants in Illium too, a swanky ritzy place that never asked too many questions and kept their head down. It maintained a very nice power structure that too often Kasumi wasn't on the top. Decadent with an emphasis on white décor and flora that was reminiscent of her few trips to Thessia, it had been cold comfort during the year she spent under Chotha's heel.

Out of the things she regretted inadvertently destroying, that was probably on the top, next to the prizes she had been forced to let go to survive. As soon as she sat down, the guns and the commandos came down. No one wanted to be alone in that sort of situation, not with all the guns pointing at them and just them.

Blowing the gas tank wasn't a bad idea, not when she had about five shots in her side already, and goddamnit if she was going to die so was it going to be that cloaca bastard. It was not accounting about the five other tanks that had been near it. And then, it wasn't so different-- that ringing in her ears and the sound of someone screaming, but there too came the intensity and the heat of the worst sun she could imagine. How it took so long to realize the screaming wasn't just them, but her too, and how even as the fire died down, everything was far too bright to see.

And of course, Chotha was still alive. Barely, but she had been told that he had managed to drag himself to safe company after the explosion hit both of them. And her eyes looked a little different now. And how that was how Kiera and Keiji met.

There were still creases around her almond eyes, which told Kasumi that she was older than her, though the years that were between them seemed so insignificant. No. That conversation had never been about truth, the nature and reality of her reappearance.

She was two people. A thief. A woman. A woman that sometimes still seemed like a small, scared child that still rebelled when given the chance. Still tried to fight a master that wasn't there. Grief had something to do with that. It wound her up so tightly, left her with shreds of a stilted idea of herself-- something that was easily covered with the thief. But she hadn't been the thief then.

She'd been lied to. When she was picked up from the mud and the blood that had been casing her ankles, a promise had been made. They'd search for traces of her family, and after months, she was told there had been nothing left. Whatever her parents had left the colonies for no longer existed.

Kasumi had always been very curious, and never had really trusted the words anyone had told her. The batarians, Kiera, and dear, sweet Keiji had always taught her one thing: if promises were made, sooner or later, they would be broken. Everyone knew how to lie, everyone had something to gain or lose. Fear drove her as a woman.

"I don't want to be here either, believe me. Whatever you had been through is something no one needs thrown back in your face."

She didn't, not really, but even still, it wasn't Khalisah's fault, and really, it wasn't her aunt's either. They'd been told there weren't any survivors in the raid, perhaps to ease the mind on where their children, siblings, friends could've gone. The tears that fell so freely from her aunt had moved her, and though, perhaps, it was too much to hope for, she couldn't help the excitement inside of her at her aunt's promises. She would be taken care of. She wouldn't need to worry about anything.

A relaxing, retired life had been appealing, but weeks have passed now. And Kasumi was bored. Very bored. The hurt and grief had burned into an anger that wasn't being quenched by time. His death needed action, answers that weren't going to be here. But she hadn't been ready to walk away yet, and that day, all she could think about was how irritating this woman was, coming into a place she was trying to make a home, and asking questions that no one wanted answered.

They were happy that she had simply made it home, so it made sense when her aunt started talking to the neighbors about her niece's miraculous return.

"You have to admit there are a lot of holes here. You didn't just leave the batarians," she pointed out. Like there was something righteous about it. "I've talked to other former slaves. You're too educated, too... put together."

Oh, she had always known how to hide that.

"Why did you come back now? Why not earlier?"

She looked down, noted the rich purples and oranges in the journalist's dress. She'd seen plenty like it in high-class parties that she would wade through, silently or sometimes, playing along just to make the theft that much harder on the gracious hosts. It always drove them crazy when Kasumi would play guest. Khalisah had been to many that Kasumi raided, and she had always enjoyed the articles that would follow the morning. She had flair, and though she seemed to enjoy the living, was never so sympathetic with her targets.

She had planned to never see her again, so instead, Kasumi had remained silent. Eventually, Khalisah would get tired, and eventually, her grandmother came to escort her out of the home-- already a silent, brooding watcher by the doorway to ensure no damage happened during the interview.

Thinking about it, her and Sha'ira would've gotten along. They were both that strange, almost awe-inspiring sort of person that knew when to speak and how to sway minds with words. Even with age, her grandmother commanded the room with wisdom and a presence of mind. Even from those short, few weeks they had known each other before she died, she learned plenty enough.

But now, her memory soured with the sheer confidence that was plain on Khalisah's face.

"You think I wouldn't recognize you?"

It'd been too much to hope for, on what was already one of the worst days of her life.

"It'd make a great story: the greatest thief in this galaxy coming out of slavery?" And the jeer was almost too much. "Maybe I should contact Mr. Kitt. He could make a nice, long boring play about it. Might actually be good."

"You've made your point. ... Please tell me it took a minute at least."

"Not really. Other than that stupid haircut you haven't changed much. It's hard to rebel against dead parents, isn't it?"

She tried to cover the grimace that formed on her face, but without her hood, it was next to pointless. "It's practical."

"Uh-huh."

They weren't getting anywhere like this, and this was a whole lot less funny and a whole lot less advantageous on her side. Damnit. Playing hard to get never really suited Kasumi anyway, not when it backfired so much. "Blackmail doesn't seem you."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Ms. Goto. All I need to know is whether or not we have a deal."

"With conditions, I imagine."

"Of course. You get Intel from the ground, maybe cozy up to STG, and hell, maybe the consort while you're at it, and I'll keep you out of the footage. Maybe even paint you as an innocent refugee being falsely accused by the Citadel's puppets."

She shrugged. "That sounds fun. Why Sha'ira though?"

Khalisah quieted for a moment, her brow furrowing. Maybe to distract herself from the question, she stoked her fire a little. "... I don't think she's all she says she is."

It sounded familiar, maybe not recently, but whispers she heard sometimes when she simply watched. Some of them were bitter ex-customers, but others, it was as if they knew better, and were right to be cautious. All of them pushing the idea that there was something more about the consort, a dangerous aspect beneath the facade. Whatever truth was involved in that was beyond her, maybe one she didn't really need to know.

"You'd know better than most anyone, I think," Khalisah mumbled, almost to herself, "When someone's hiding something. I'd be careful around her, Ms. Goto. ... Just a thought."

"That's cute. My blackmailer's showing concern for me."

She shrugged. "No information if you're dead."

--

Why did it have to be murder?

Kasumi had met plenty in her life, maybe more murderers than well... regular people. You present a death to them, and unless it's someone they know, it's always treated as business-as-usual. That's how it worked with the batarians, omega, illium, and even the Normandy. After 27 years, she could recognize when someone's hands were bloody.

Sha'ira? Not so much, and the fact that Khalisah had implied otherwise before she left had nearly been laughable to her. That was a weight to be carried, and while she believed the consort kept plenty of burdens to herself, the death of another was hardly one of them. It occupied her mind more than it should have as she made her way back to STG camp. She had been gone long enough to cause alarm, that much Kasumi was certain.

However, the reaction was... underwhelming save for one exception. The camp was quiet, peaceful in its stillness, only broken by the distant roll of thunder. They'd want to make it back before the rain started. She wasn't looking to get drenched, and by now, the others would've wondered about where the shuttle had disappeared to. Dinner wouldn't be anything spectacular, but the reminder that she would live long enough to taste it was tempting enough.

The squishing footsteps behind her interrupted her thoughts. "If you had a death wish, Ms. Goto, I would have provided the gun for you."

She turned her heel to greet the major, playfully smirking back. "I'm sure Samara mentioned where I was going?"

"Half hour's a long time for the restroom."

"And you're going to deny my basic needs too?"

He sighed, clearly frustrated.

"If you really thought I was doing something wrong, I would be in cuffs already. Or dead. Depends on how trigger happy your group is."

"I have enough authority to arrest you on the spot. Please don't make that a tempting offer."

So there was another reason they were refraining from it. Something told her history with Shepard had little to do with it. "Well. Sha'ira has a way with words, doesn't she?" It was a nice diversion, one the Major seemed eager to take. "How long have you known her?"

"I'd hardly call it that," he coughed into his hand weakly before glancing back to one of the tents, likely where she would find her escort. "... We all get a little tired of death, and a few of my men-- she seems to help them forget for a while."

"You sound almost jealous."

"It takes a certain sort of person to do what we do, Ms. Goto. You shouldn't forget that."

She hadn't, but this was a world that beckoned her. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that wasn't always the case. But he was good enough to be there, even to stand leader of some of the best operatives the salarians had to offer.

Kasumi laughed before roughly patting his shoulder. He immediately jumped and hunched his shoulders, looking back with a wild glance. She only returned it with a grin. "No one gets to the top of the food chain without a few scars, you know. Be happy it didn't kill you first."

He blinked once, twice before he sighed. "The same applies to you, I suppose?"

"You've already seen a few."

"I really should show this to Bau."

"Is he still around?" Now that was a name she hadn't heard in a while. Reapers tended to distract everyone, and faking death stopped most pursuits in their tracks. When she finished with Earth, she might have the time again to humor him. Maybe.

"Oh yes, you seem very concerned about that."

"A salarian spectre would have access to your database, wouldn't he?" Or she could just delete it later. The damage with Khalisah was irreparable at the moment, but that little trace, if it was left behind in a server somewhere, she could find it. One person figuring out the whole story was enough.

"Communication has been less than optimal for that right now." He pinched the bridge of his... nose? (Was it a nose? There were two holes there, not unlike a snake, she thought), and seemed ready to brush her off. "I want nothing to do with you right now, so stay out of trouble. You've said what I needed."

"About the crucible?"

He stopped, scowling deeply. "... Shepard may have mistrusted you, but I realize that you using those blueprints was beyond you, so to speak."

"If it helps, you put on a good show." She saw a flap move and the sound of laughter as Sha'ira exited, a look of relief washed over her face. "What's going on here then?"

Kirrahe shrugged. "If you really wanted to know, I'm sure you know where to start digging. Not that we'll make it easy."

It's why she liked them so much. Another day, and Kasumi wouldn't have minded staying, maybe with a nicer meeting, less cameras, less aggression. But the line had been drawn, and the clash of thunder was drawing closer. Kasumi could already feel the warmth of her sleep roll; taste the dying embers of their fire, ashy, gritty. It wasn't home, but it was much closer to it than it was here.

And the longer she waited, the more she knew lightning striking down Khalisah's campsite was extremely unlikely-- no matter how much she wished that destructive force of nature was driven by vain wish fulfillment.

--

By the time they actually reached their own campsite, dinner seemed like the most unappealing event in the entire galaxy. The ride back had been quiet, but the tension of the interrogation and her own lies lingered between them with that sense of dread and foreboding that she always felt about big conversations. Big conversations meant confronting her actions, and usually, stuff being thrown at her, or tears. Ugh, she hated crying.

She hated people crying around her. Talk to her about your problems all day, fine, but as soon as the blubbering started, she'd just grow uncomfortable. It wasn't so much unwelcomed, but a lack of really knowing what to do really curbed the enthusiasm.

Talking was fun, fine, but social situations weren't... really her thing. So to be dragged into a tight spot about her own history and nearly being killed for it? Not fun. Not fine. She skipped dinner, quickly and quietly retreating to her tent for the evening, just as the first few rain drops began.

Finding and starting the QEC had been done without thinking, but it'd been long enough she thought. Not since she contacted the others. She turned it on, made the right numbers, and waited for the static to clear up.

A turian greeted her, ashen white plate and recognizable charcoal armor. A smile eased on Kasumi's face, now more relaxed just at the sight of one of her students, and perhaps the rain too swallowing everything outside her tent.

"Urch."

"Hey, Boss."

"How are you two settling in?"

He stretched his talons out, and could briefly see a clawed finger or two out from the screen. The chair he was seated in looked much more comfortable than the cot she had planted herself on. The apartment seemed so much better right now, but no, she was stubborn about this-- for no real reason.

"Well enough," he shrugged. "Neighbors haven't looked twice with us moving in. The volus next door? He mentioned you taking stragglers sometimes..."

"That's a long story."

"Uh. Okay." He tapped on the table in front of him, and hopefully, just took it as one of her many 'eccentricities.' That's what they called it, right? Being a boss, being a teacher was too often a role that seemed too big to fill, like an outfit most perfectly designed for someone that was like her, but still, still someone else. "Tianna's may have gotten a little carried away with it. You know she likes that Robin Hood idea."

"That's what you're there for."

"And what, exactly, are we doing, Boss? I didn't sign up to sit on my ass, while you go play charity."

"For all you know, this could be my home your shit-talking, Urch~"

He chuckled. "A dump like that? You wouldn't have last this long."

"Shepard did."

"Except not."

She was 29 when the reaper war started, still two-three years her senior. Instead of London, she hailed from New York, and tore her way through gangs and poverty to the Alliance, and then to the spectre that often was hailed as a martyred hero. The official history excised three quarters of her actual history and personality-- and even still, the gang part had to be dug out through weeks of searching through extranet files.

When the Cerberus contract was offered to her, of a promise that she still kept in the duffle bag, tucked off to an unviewed corner, she wanted to know everything there was to know about Commander Shepard. It was natural for her own safety, and to know that the promise that she wouldn't be followed after the job was done would be one fully kept. The legend only told so much-- a quarter just shit that people liked to hear.

Talking did help. She couldn't count the days she would find Shepard waiting in her bedroom with a drink between them and a story to share. They were similar, except not, and the differences were enough to keep them entertained. She didn't make friends. It just wasn't something that came up often taking, but Shepard. Shepard had been a wonderful surprise.

She should be mad for how quickly Urch dismissed Shepard, but instead, Kasumi simply smiled. "Don't be surprised if she turns out alive a few weeks from now."

"A crashing space station would stop most people."

"Some parts of the official story is true, you know."

Urch shook his head. "I'm sure your sense of humor entertains everyone else, Boss, but it doesn't me. How's your sight?"

Sometimes the sunlight still burned, making her tear on the brighter days. Luckily London was a murky, dreary, sorry state of a ruin, and the rain had been a more present companion than the sun. "It's holding up."

He sighed in relief. "With you so close to where it all happened, I couldn't be sure."

"The wonder of a good doctor, huh?"

"And a good investor?"

Her frown was taut. There was only but so long before the asari would've been brought up. Before Kiera would be brought up. The name still felt stained in her tongue, enough to spit out the poison. "Has she been by yet?"

"So you expect her to?" He jeered, mandibles flickering. "That sorta honesty would've been nice before you went off, huh?" But then he unbristled and seemed to relax with each bit of the sigh that escaped. "The answer is no by the way."

"Then we're fine, aren't we?"

"Hardly!" Still, he laughed, the double-tone of a typical turian making it almost vibrate in the air. "Might I suggest not throwing away our one source of money and cover that doesn't rely on us getting it from work?"

"If you're good enough, it doesn't matter." Personal business was just that, and truly, she hadn't wanted any of them to get involved either. There was no avoiding it though, and the inch of her influence was drawing closer and closer to them the longer she stayed. Kasumi could bide time, but how much more could she really afford?

"That--"

There was a tap on the side of her tent, feathery-light, just barely heard above the steady downpour. "Ms. Maeda?"

"Oh. Company, hm? Should I leave you to it?"

Kasumi glanced over and could just make out the silhouette of Sha'ira along its side, stretched out to something almost monstrous, like old nightmares that haunted her as a child. "Yes, but one last thing," she glanced back to the screen with an eased smile. "Check on Khalisah Bint Sinan Al-Jilani. Anything that seems incriminating, I don't care what's going on, send it over."

He blinked. "... The tabloid reporter?"

She turned the QEC off, just as Sha'ira zipped the tent flap down. "Am I interrupting anything?" she asked as she poked her head inside. The crown of tentacles remained dry.

"You're fine."

The snap of an umbrella closing and Sha'ira slipped inside, gown trailing at her ankles and a smile that had suggested nothing from earlier that day. She turned with fluidity, zipping the tent back closed. "Somehow I'm not surprised your tent is rather... sparse."

"I like to pack light."

She chuckled and with a small nod, swept down to her cot, sitting poised at the corner. Enough to have distance but situate herself comfortably. "It's a common trend with you, I've noticed. You'll give a little, then leave plenty of questions behind."

"And you're so different?"

Sha'ira leaned back on her palms, staring holes into the tent wall in thought. Her lips curled again. "... Very well. My last name is Dantius."

That. That made her pause. "You mean that--?"

"Yes." The smile on her face was thin, veiled with thoughts that weren't privy to her. "I can't be surprised you would have been familiar with my sisters. You're different, certainly, but... they made a name for themselves."

"How can you be sure?" It came out before she could realize, and looked back at her questioning gaze with mental loops, trying to reach for the question again and take it back. "This could be some trick in the end. I could turn around the very next morning and take everything here at the camp." You could've saved someone who didn't need it, and make the biggest mistake imaginable. It wasn't so much that she would, given the chance, but Sha'ira. Sha'ira didn't know better, shouldn't have known better. She didn't like people helping her for the sake of it. It always came back later as something they could dig up, use as a receipt for a debt that hadn't been repaid.

She may not have been a killer, but the motives that were kept tightly against Sha'ira's chest were too beyond her reach to be comfortable.

"You didn't keep the crucible documents." There was that familiar smile again, almost aching and too much. "If you were motivated by greed alone, you would have known how much people would pay for those blueprints. Though, rest assured, knowing your limit is about all I know about you."

But a limit was just as good as anything. It meant the fingers weren't going to be pointed at her first, and every little action wouldn't be scrutinized by the people that knew better. She wouldn't be thrown back to the STG camp at every little impulse that drove her. It was enough of a realization to relax Kasumi, and to alleviate some of the pressure, she offered a teasing remark. "You mean knowing that I'm a notorious criminal isn't good enough for you? You're a tough one to please, Consort."

"You will just have to look a little harder, I'm sure." And what a pleasant surprise to get a tease in response. "Recognizing a point on a spider web doesn't stop you from being trapped by it... though it helps sooner or later."

"I thought you didn't see me as a danger."

She chuckled again, though this time it sounded rather dark as she tapped Kasumi's chin. "You've read too much into my words. You're an unique wonder, certainly, but to ignore your reputation would be suicide... as made up it may or may not be."

"You flirt."

"Now, now. You were the one insisted in coming into my home on first meeting."

"Workplace."

"Still an invasion of privacy."

Kasumi laughed. "Ohhh. So you're here for an apology?"

She picked at the sheets on the cot idly, furrowing at the color she thought. It was just a plain blue, nothing special. Perhaps that was why. "Reasoning," she answered. "Now that I know more, your actions then prove less..."

"Sensible?"

"Not quite..."

She was stalling too. Kasumi didn't know the reason, or couldn't quite explain it out loud-- not in a way that Sha'ira would be satisfied with, she thought. Still, there were only so many ways she could duck from those prying eyes, especially when they stayed in her tent. Maybe Sha'ira recognized that in some form, and that's why she wasn't pushing it. In the silence, she could see her looking elsewhere at what little was left in the confines of her tent, save for the occasional glint of metal in her duffle bag. Was her gun or the grey-box? Either weren't very good, but it was buried enough by clothes and a duvet for colder nights to stave away prying eyes.

And really, what would be the point in saying anything at all? To anyone else, her actions would've been regarded as creepy and almost possessive, someone who could be seen as fanatical at best and malicious at worst. Yet an invitation had been made to her, one with an open hand and an open ear, and still now, Kasumi wasn't really sure what to do with it. Until her reveal as herself came, she should've been nothing to her, and yet--

"Tell me something," Kasumi began. "Did you even have time for me?"

"Then?" Sha'ira shrugged. "It's usually not a matter of if I have it, but can I make the time. To me, it was more important that I understood the motives of an apparent benign onlooker."

"And you knew I was?"

"Of course." She pointedly stared at her, a knowing look in her eyes. "The nice thing about being a public figure is that you learn that feeling when someone is watching you. Eyes boring into your back." Kasumi knew where this was going. "I will give you, having nothing to reinforce the feeling hid you for a few days, but that office is my sanctuary as well. When something is different, I will notice it."

She shouldn't, but still, Kasumi smiled.

"After I realized I had a watcher, I kept an eye on the items in the room, oversaw the accounts personally too. Nothing was touched." The smile bloomed and she saw it-- the mysticism there, the sort that trapped people in, but it was the sort that excited her instead. Indeed, indeed, there was something more to the consort. "To think, a thief wanted nothing to do with my items? You had stopped being a thief in that room. You were simply a woman instead."

Two people, and yet, still one identity in it with a hundred names in between. There was something true about her words, in the way she could stay in the presence of others and feel small, feel nothing, as she would blindly watch. She learned so much becoming part of the room, and no one, save for that one glaring exception in front of her never looked hard enough.

"What I propose here, Ms. Goto, is not knowing the reputation-- it's you." Her hand fell to her knee, squeezing gently. "... If you are comfortable, of course."

Her breath hitched and the sigh that followed came out more as a breathy laugh. "I have a deal then." The interest that sparked in her blue eyes was enough to push her forward. "Let's just... fucking forget the titles here. At the very least, those people out there don't know mine." Her foot tapped restlessly against the tent floor. "And you-- you need a connection here in this rotten place."

"Putting words in my mouth?"

"Am I wrong here?" She continued without thinking. "Even if I am, whatever. It's not important. You and I hardly that different from each other. So. I want to see how deep those similarities go."

The smile that was returned to her was at ease.

"So humor me. Please."

Sha'ira squeezed the knee tightly, relieving a sigh-- perhaps at a thought that she would ask for more. Truth was a difficult word though, and it seeped out every day that she still lived with bigger and bigger lies to fill. "Friends then?"