Post by Maelstrom on Nov 7, 2014 1:48:58 GMT -6
***This story contains crude language and sexual content. If you would find these offensive, private message me, and I can give you a summary.***
(Concurrent with Chapter 11)
Randolph Wallis Jr. downed another shot of ryncol, matching the hulking krogans to either side of himself. Over his short years of drinking, he'd developed an impressive tolerance for a human. That and secretly secured significant quantities of an experimental anti-intoxicant. It was his opinion that a man of his position should make it clear to his subordinates that he could out-drink, out-smoke, and out-fuck all of them, no contest.
"Sir," one of his turian men said, peaking in and speaking in a deep, gravely voice, "the new batch of girls are here. I thought you might want to inspect them before we send them out to work."
He smiled to himself. "Inspect," was the little euphemism his men chose to use for his tendency to pick a couple out of each group to screw until he grew bored with them and tossed them out onto the streets with the rest of the working girls. His men respected his appetite, and the fact that none of the women ever complained. Rather, they made quite nice music for his men to hear as they stood guard outside his door. And they all understood that if they let slip the fact that he was paying them for their part of the show, he'd let slip a knife across their necks.
Randolph knew many people would have wondered why he continued to keep his hand in the business of prostitution, given the wealth and diversity of businesses he, his father, and grandfather had acquired over their combined lifetimes. After all, what would a man who owned one of the most significant communications systems in the fringes of Citadel space, who had controlling interest in several of the most important developing ports in the galaxy, and who held maintenance contracts with one of the major shipping companies favored by the Council have anything to do with such a gritty and dubiously-legal industries as gambling, drugs, and prostitution? When it came down to it, the reason because everything else was a means for him to acquire what made him truly wealthy. Information.
Over the years, he and his now-deceased father grew to become some of the Shadow Broker's most-utilized information brokers. About a year ago, though, his favored position with the Broker broke down. He was one of the few among his peers who dared whisper what he was downright certain was the truth. The Broker had been replaced. Not that anyone would do anything about it. If it was true and they sought to overthrow him, that would have meant going up against the man who BEAT the Shadow Broker.
As he made his way to the door, the pair of krogan bodyguards following him, his hand fell to the custom pistol that only recently became part of his personal wardrobe, thanks mostly to his most daring business venture. When the Broker started shunning him, he became an independent, cutting some very dangerous threads. While the Broker had not come after him, Cerberus quickly sought out his services. For several months, he found himself in the most lucrative position of his life. His assets doubled, both in the legitimate world and the world unseen by "respectable" people. And then he got his hands on something. Something Cerberus wanted but which he knew would be best make the entire underworld bid for. One of the prototype targeting modules that laid the groundwork for the next generation of weapons-targeting systems for the turian fleet.
That's when they stole from him, and if there was one thing he refused to tolerate, it was people stealing from him. That was when he did something few men would ever have contemplated. He hired a man, a man with no true name, only an alias and a suit of black armor, to get his property back for him. Against all odds, it worked, and he taught Cerberus a lesson. Don't fuck with Randolph Wallis Jr.
He was no fool, though. There would be an attempt at reprisal. As the man in black told him, it took leveling an entire Cerberus base to get the module back. His solution? Buy a space station, manned entirely by men who were too-well-paid to have divided loyalties.
Wallis Jr. smiled to himself as he walked into the room filled with young women from most every species he knew and a couple he did not recognize. His plans always worked out.
Nodding to a krogan female at the head of the line, he turned to the bodyguard on his right. Not trying to be in the least discrete, he asked openly, "Is she hot? I can't tell with you people."
The bodyguard laughed. In a voice like an avalanche, he said, "Just have the handlers tell them she's fertile, and they'll fuck her until they're in so much debt, they're working for you."
He laughed too. "I could use a few more enforcers."
A turian woman was next. He rarely found the aliens attractive, though he had sampled most species at one time or another. "This one your taste, Halynx?"
The turian man nodded, absentmindedly licking his mandibles.
"She's yours for the night. Just don't bloody her up," he offered. He knew how to inspire loyalty.
Most of the women were clothed in nearly nothing. Skintight bodysuits or dresses that looked closer to rags. Their postures were hunched over in shame, standing proud with defiance or delusion, or standing professionally like statues. A couple were appealing, but there was nothing interesting, nothing exotic. Not until he found himself almost at the end of the line.
She was unlike the rest. She wore a sleek black and white dress. Her auburn hair cascaded down onto her shoulders. Refined sexuality radiated from her like exotic particles from an unshielded reactor. Every curve of her body was the embodiment of the feminine form. He was surprised that he found her attractive, given that she was not as well endowed as most of the females he took to his bed. It took him only a moment to place the reason. Her bearing spoke to the fact that she knew she was in control of the room and that everyone in it would dance for her if she were but to ask. It was rare for him to come across such a woman, but they were valuable, the kind he could send into high society to glean the truly valuable secrets.
"Got papers showing you're clean?" he asked.
She flicked her wrist, and her omni-tool automatically displayed the relevant information.
"I've found my girl," Wallis Jr. said. Turning to the krogan on his left, he said, "You can handle the rest."
He offered his hand to the girl, playing the part of the gentleman, and she took it gently, playing the lady to the letter. It was a short walk to his living area, but they filled it with intelligent conversation, Wallis Jr. quickly transforming himself into the sophisticated man he had to be to deal with many of his more refined contacts. As always, the krogan bodyguard accompanying him, Drax, seemed confused to see his boss change so radically, but, as always, he kept such things to himself.
When they reached his penthouse, he left Drax at the door. Pausing once inside, he said, "It just occurred to me, we haven't been formally introduced yet. How boorish of me. My apologies. I'm Randolph Wallis Junior. And you are?"
"I'm Emily," she beamed. "Emily Moore."
"It's nice to meet you, Miss Moore," he said, continuing his little act. He assured himself that pretense would be cast off soon, at least on his part. "Let me show you around."
The tour was quick, despite the size of the place. Before taking her to the bedroom, he stopped by his walk-in safe and opened it to show her the contents. He had no fear of her making off with anything in the middle of the night. It took fingerprint, retinal, voice, and brainwave scans to unlock it. There was no way for her to make off with his treasures without his say so. After the scans, the massive doors clicked several times and then unlocked, followed by two inner doors that comprised a transmission-resistant alloy which prevented hacking. The interior illumination was a light blue, and each of his prizes occupied its own pedestal. Only a few of them were left empty.
"If I'm right about you, and I'm rarely wrong, you won't just be flipping tricks for credits from Johns, my dear," he said. Sweeping his arm around the room, he said, "You'll be retrieving things like these, and I'll be paying you for their retrieval."
"What is all this?" she asked, marveling. She even took several steps ahead of him to better take in the contents.
"Secrets," he replied, walking up behind her. He ran his hands over her shoulders and down her bare arms. "Military, personal, professional, political. The secrets of the galaxy, all for sale, when I feel the time is right."
She turned around, her eyes sparkling with delight. She reached up onto her tip-toes to kiss him, and he took her in his arms. Her body felt lean and muscular even through the dress. He admired her enthusiasm, and despite a moment of temptation, he decided to take her to the bedroom rather than fucking her on-the-spot. Too much of a risk of her sneaking something out if he did that. When she broke the kiss, he found himself surprised to find his breath coming hard.
Mischief written all over her face, she pointed to the pedestal next to them and asked, "Is that a turian targeting module?"
He moved to take a step back, suddenly terrified. His legs betrayed him, collapsing beneath him, and he fell back onto the floor, landing hard. He tried to take in enough of a breath to call Drax for help, but he couldn't get enough air to manage more than a conversational volume, and even that took effort. Wallis tried to activate his omni-tool, but his arms refused to work.
Suddenly, he found her straddling his midsection, her knees pinning his already-useless arms against the ground. She held the targeting module in one hand, marveling at the little device. Her smile sent chills down his spine when she tucked it into a disguised pocket on her dress and turned her gaze back to him.
"My employers will be glad to get this back. Thank you for the gift. I'm afraid, though, that I'm going to have to turn down your offer. I already have a better one," she said, seeming to barely restrain laughter. Seeing his fear, she changed her countenance, becoming suddenly deathly serious. "Oh, calm down. If I wanted you dead, you would be already. I have questions for you."
"What do you want to know?" he barely managed, knowing his only hope was to give her what she wanted.
"I want to know everything you know about the man who calls himself Maelstrom," she demanded.
"The pedestal across from the one the module was on. The chip has all my data on him. It's not much. There was hardly anything to find," he offered.
She bared her teeth with rage. With a quick gesture, her omni-tool formed again, only this time with a blade at the end. She stabbed him in the chest, collapsing one of his lungs. "You have to know more!" she demanded.
"No, I swear," he coughed past the blood. This was more than professional motivation. He had to know. "Why do you care?"
Something changed in her at that instant, her previous persona reasserting itself. Leaning in sensually, she whispered into his ear, "Because he's the man who killed me."
She stood up without any more ceremony. In his peripheral vision, he saw her take the chip containing the knowledge on Maelstrom. A moment later, she appeared armed with a small gun, and he tried to figure out where she had hidden it. His men were very thorough in their searches. Still, a gun that size would do her little good against Drax unless she could hold it firm against the underside of his jaw. As she walked past him, he saw her pulling down one of the straps of her dress. He heard more shuffling of cloth as she walked away from him.
He was starting to get dizzy, to lose consciousness, as he heard the door to the rest of the station open. Drax was his last hope. If the krogan did not find him quickly, he would bleed out on the floor of his own safe.
A bit in the distance, he heard her ask, "Excuse me, but there is something I've always wondered. What do krogan think of tits?"
A confused and distracted grunt was all he heard from Drax. The next thing he heard was the sound of a gunshot and of a very heavy body falling to the floor.
As his eyes grew heavy for the last time, he cursed the bitch who had killed him.
(Concurrent with Chapter 11)
Randolph Wallis Jr. downed another shot of ryncol, matching the hulking krogans to either side of himself. Over his short years of drinking, he'd developed an impressive tolerance for a human. That and secretly secured significant quantities of an experimental anti-intoxicant. It was his opinion that a man of his position should make it clear to his subordinates that he could out-drink, out-smoke, and out-fuck all of them, no contest.
"Sir," one of his turian men said, peaking in and speaking in a deep, gravely voice, "the new batch of girls are here. I thought you might want to inspect them before we send them out to work."
He smiled to himself. "Inspect," was the little euphemism his men chose to use for his tendency to pick a couple out of each group to screw until he grew bored with them and tossed them out onto the streets with the rest of the working girls. His men respected his appetite, and the fact that none of the women ever complained. Rather, they made quite nice music for his men to hear as they stood guard outside his door. And they all understood that if they let slip the fact that he was paying them for their part of the show, he'd let slip a knife across their necks.
Randolph knew many people would have wondered why he continued to keep his hand in the business of prostitution, given the wealth and diversity of businesses he, his father, and grandfather had acquired over their combined lifetimes. After all, what would a man who owned one of the most significant communications systems in the fringes of Citadel space, who had controlling interest in several of the most important developing ports in the galaxy, and who held maintenance contracts with one of the major shipping companies favored by the Council have anything to do with such a gritty and dubiously-legal industries as gambling, drugs, and prostitution? When it came down to it, the reason because everything else was a means for him to acquire what made him truly wealthy. Information.
Over the years, he and his now-deceased father grew to become some of the Shadow Broker's most-utilized information brokers. About a year ago, though, his favored position with the Broker broke down. He was one of the few among his peers who dared whisper what he was downright certain was the truth. The Broker had been replaced. Not that anyone would do anything about it. If it was true and they sought to overthrow him, that would have meant going up against the man who BEAT the Shadow Broker.
As he made his way to the door, the pair of krogan bodyguards following him, his hand fell to the custom pistol that only recently became part of his personal wardrobe, thanks mostly to his most daring business venture. When the Broker started shunning him, he became an independent, cutting some very dangerous threads. While the Broker had not come after him, Cerberus quickly sought out his services. For several months, he found himself in the most lucrative position of his life. His assets doubled, both in the legitimate world and the world unseen by "respectable" people. And then he got his hands on something. Something Cerberus wanted but which he knew would be best make the entire underworld bid for. One of the prototype targeting modules that laid the groundwork for the next generation of weapons-targeting systems for the turian fleet.
That's when they stole from him, and if there was one thing he refused to tolerate, it was people stealing from him. That was when he did something few men would ever have contemplated. He hired a man, a man with no true name, only an alias and a suit of black armor, to get his property back for him. Against all odds, it worked, and he taught Cerberus a lesson. Don't fuck with Randolph Wallis Jr.
He was no fool, though. There would be an attempt at reprisal. As the man in black told him, it took leveling an entire Cerberus base to get the module back. His solution? Buy a space station, manned entirely by men who were too-well-paid to have divided loyalties.
Wallis Jr. smiled to himself as he walked into the room filled with young women from most every species he knew and a couple he did not recognize. His plans always worked out.
Nodding to a krogan female at the head of the line, he turned to the bodyguard on his right. Not trying to be in the least discrete, he asked openly, "Is she hot? I can't tell with you people."
The bodyguard laughed. In a voice like an avalanche, he said, "Just have the handlers tell them she's fertile, and they'll fuck her until they're in so much debt, they're working for you."
He laughed too. "I could use a few more enforcers."
A turian woman was next. He rarely found the aliens attractive, though he had sampled most species at one time or another. "This one your taste, Halynx?"
The turian man nodded, absentmindedly licking his mandibles.
"She's yours for the night. Just don't bloody her up," he offered. He knew how to inspire loyalty.
Most of the women were clothed in nearly nothing. Skintight bodysuits or dresses that looked closer to rags. Their postures were hunched over in shame, standing proud with defiance or delusion, or standing professionally like statues. A couple were appealing, but there was nothing interesting, nothing exotic. Not until he found himself almost at the end of the line.
She was unlike the rest. She wore a sleek black and white dress. Her auburn hair cascaded down onto her shoulders. Refined sexuality radiated from her like exotic particles from an unshielded reactor. Every curve of her body was the embodiment of the feminine form. He was surprised that he found her attractive, given that she was not as well endowed as most of the females he took to his bed. It took him only a moment to place the reason. Her bearing spoke to the fact that she knew she was in control of the room and that everyone in it would dance for her if she were but to ask. It was rare for him to come across such a woman, but they were valuable, the kind he could send into high society to glean the truly valuable secrets.
"Got papers showing you're clean?" he asked.
She flicked her wrist, and her omni-tool automatically displayed the relevant information.
"I've found my girl," Wallis Jr. said. Turning to the krogan on his left, he said, "You can handle the rest."
He offered his hand to the girl, playing the part of the gentleman, and she took it gently, playing the lady to the letter. It was a short walk to his living area, but they filled it with intelligent conversation, Wallis Jr. quickly transforming himself into the sophisticated man he had to be to deal with many of his more refined contacts. As always, the krogan bodyguard accompanying him, Drax, seemed confused to see his boss change so radically, but, as always, he kept such things to himself.
When they reached his penthouse, he left Drax at the door. Pausing once inside, he said, "It just occurred to me, we haven't been formally introduced yet. How boorish of me. My apologies. I'm Randolph Wallis Junior. And you are?"
"I'm Emily," she beamed. "Emily Moore."
"It's nice to meet you, Miss Moore," he said, continuing his little act. He assured himself that pretense would be cast off soon, at least on his part. "Let me show you around."
The tour was quick, despite the size of the place. Before taking her to the bedroom, he stopped by his walk-in safe and opened it to show her the contents. He had no fear of her making off with anything in the middle of the night. It took fingerprint, retinal, voice, and brainwave scans to unlock it. There was no way for her to make off with his treasures without his say so. After the scans, the massive doors clicked several times and then unlocked, followed by two inner doors that comprised a transmission-resistant alloy which prevented hacking. The interior illumination was a light blue, and each of his prizes occupied its own pedestal. Only a few of them were left empty.
"If I'm right about you, and I'm rarely wrong, you won't just be flipping tricks for credits from Johns, my dear," he said. Sweeping his arm around the room, he said, "You'll be retrieving things like these, and I'll be paying you for their retrieval."
"What is all this?" she asked, marveling. She even took several steps ahead of him to better take in the contents.
"Secrets," he replied, walking up behind her. He ran his hands over her shoulders and down her bare arms. "Military, personal, professional, political. The secrets of the galaxy, all for sale, when I feel the time is right."
She turned around, her eyes sparkling with delight. She reached up onto her tip-toes to kiss him, and he took her in his arms. Her body felt lean and muscular even through the dress. He admired her enthusiasm, and despite a moment of temptation, he decided to take her to the bedroom rather than fucking her on-the-spot. Too much of a risk of her sneaking something out if he did that. When she broke the kiss, he found himself surprised to find his breath coming hard.
Mischief written all over her face, she pointed to the pedestal next to them and asked, "Is that a turian targeting module?"
He moved to take a step back, suddenly terrified. His legs betrayed him, collapsing beneath him, and he fell back onto the floor, landing hard. He tried to take in enough of a breath to call Drax for help, but he couldn't get enough air to manage more than a conversational volume, and even that took effort. Wallis tried to activate his omni-tool, but his arms refused to work.
Suddenly, he found her straddling his midsection, her knees pinning his already-useless arms against the ground. She held the targeting module in one hand, marveling at the little device. Her smile sent chills down his spine when she tucked it into a disguised pocket on her dress and turned her gaze back to him.
"My employers will be glad to get this back. Thank you for the gift. I'm afraid, though, that I'm going to have to turn down your offer. I already have a better one," she said, seeming to barely restrain laughter. Seeing his fear, she changed her countenance, becoming suddenly deathly serious. "Oh, calm down. If I wanted you dead, you would be already. I have questions for you."
"What do you want to know?" he barely managed, knowing his only hope was to give her what she wanted.
"I want to know everything you know about the man who calls himself Maelstrom," she demanded.
"The pedestal across from the one the module was on. The chip has all my data on him. It's not much. There was hardly anything to find," he offered.
She bared her teeth with rage. With a quick gesture, her omni-tool formed again, only this time with a blade at the end. She stabbed him in the chest, collapsing one of his lungs. "You have to know more!" she demanded.
"No, I swear," he coughed past the blood. This was more than professional motivation. He had to know. "Why do you care?"
Something changed in her at that instant, her previous persona reasserting itself. Leaning in sensually, she whispered into his ear, "Because he's the man who killed me."
She stood up without any more ceremony. In his peripheral vision, he saw her take the chip containing the knowledge on Maelstrom. A moment later, she appeared armed with a small gun, and he tried to figure out where she had hidden it. His men were very thorough in their searches. Still, a gun that size would do her little good against Drax unless she could hold it firm against the underside of his jaw. As she walked past him, he saw her pulling down one of the straps of her dress. He heard more shuffling of cloth as she walked away from him.
He was starting to get dizzy, to lose consciousness, as he heard the door to the rest of the station open. Drax was his last hope. If the krogan did not find him quickly, he would bleed out on the floor of his own safe.
A bit in the distance, he heard her ask, "Excuse me, but there is something I've always wondered. What do krogan think of tits?"
A confused and distracted grunt was all he heard from Drax. The next thing he heard was the sound of a gunshot and of a very heavy body falling to the floor.
As his eyes grew heavy for the last time, he cursed the bitch who had killed him.