Drew Karpyshyn - Retribution

He kept staring at it. His lip was twitching. He used to dust up. It was obvious.

“And he left the club alone,” Sanak added. “I saw Liselle there by herself.”

“Obviously you think that’s relevant,” she noted, impressed by how much thought he’d given this.

“You have a theory?”

Sanak blinked his uppermost eyes, collecting his thoughts before he spoke.

“Johnson couldn’t resist the sand. Felt that old craving deep inside. So he called some old friends on the station. Invited them over for a party. Liselle showed up to surprise him. He knew he was caught.

Had his friends hide in the bedroom. Invited her inside. Cut her throat. Grabbed the drugs and took off with his friends.”

Aria considered the explanation briefly before discarding it. “It doesn’t make sense. Why was Liselle naked?”

“Humans are sick, twisted animals. Probably raped her before they killed her. Or maybe after.”

“You said the neighbors heard gunfire,” Aria countered quickly, eager to push away the mental images of her daughter being violated. “Explain that.”

The batarian blinked all four eyes this time, struggling to come up with a plausible answer. Before he could, one of the salarians emerged from the bedroom hall.

“Extranet terminal. Wiped clean,” he reported in the staccato manner of his kind.

Sanak pounced on the new information. “Bastard was covering his tracks. He had to be in on it.”

“Get a trace from the network. I want copies of every message going in or out of this apartment for the past month.”

The salarian shook his head vigorously from side to side. “Human was smart. Scramblers. Encryption. Impossible to rebuild messages.”

“We have nothing?” Aria exclaimed, her anger and frustration seeping into her tone for the first time.

“N-no m-messages,” the suddenly anxious technician stammered. “Identify callers, maybe. Find where messages sent. Best we can hope for.”

“Do it,” Aria snapped. “Find out who he’s been talking to. Understood?”

The salarian swallowed with an audible gulp. Unable to speak, he gave a quick nod.

“Clean up this mess,” Aria added as she turned to go. “And for the sake of the Goddess, somebody cover up Liselle.”

Consciousness came back grudgingly to Grayson. For a long while he floated in the half-world between wakefulness and sleep, until physical sensations began to intrude on the drug-induced blackness.

His mouth was dry. He tried to swallow, resulting in a painful, hacking cough as his parched throat nearly choked on his bloated tongue. His eyes fluttered open, then snapped shut as a searing light burned his pupils.

Even with his eyes closed, he could still see the brightness pressing insistently down on him. He tried to roll over to shield himself against it, only to find he was immobilized.

A jolt of adrenaline washed away the last remnants of the tranquilizer, and awareness came crashing in on him. He was naked and lying on his back atop a cold, hard surface. His arms were held down at his sides by thick straps on the wrists and elbows. His legs were similarly restrained at the knees and ankles.

Three more straps — across his thighs, waist, and chest — completed his bondage.

He opened his eyes again, squinting to block out most of the light. He tried to turn his head from side to side to get a sense of his surroundings, but it, too, was anchored in place. A strap under his chin kept his jaw clamped tightly shut; he couldn’t even open his mouth to cry out for help. Not that he expected any help to come.

There’s no escape this time. Cerberus will do whatever they want to you.

A wave of panic swept over him, and he struggled madly against his bonds, straining and twisting in a futile effort to gain even an inch of play in the straps.

“You’ll only injure yourself,” a voice said, speaking from close by his side.

The brightness dimmed substantially and Grayson opened his eyes fully to see the Illusive Man leaning over him. He was dressed in his typical attire: an expensive black jacket over a white designer shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

“Liselle?” Grayson tried to ask, but with his jaw restrained all that came out was an unintelligible grunt.

“You’ll have answers soon enough,” the Illusive Man assured him as he leaned back, though it wasn’t clear whether he’d actually understood his victim.

With the Illusive Man no longer dominating his field of vision, Grayson could see a large lamp hanging down from the ceiling directly above him, like the kind found in an operating theater. It was off now, but it explained the unbearable brightness from before.

They weren’t alone. He could hear the sounds of other people moving about the room, along with the low electrical hum of machinery.

He cast his eyes from side to side, trying to take in as much as he could before they turned the light on again. At the edges of his peripheral vision he could make out just enough detail to realize he was in some kind of hospital or lab. A man in a long white coat passed by on his right, heading toward a bank of monitors.

The Illusive Man was standing just to his left, blocking out most of his view in that direction. But he did manage to catch a glimpse of what appeared to be several strange and terrifying pieces of medical equipment over his shoulder. And then the blinding light came on again, forcing him to once more close his eyes.

“It’s been a long time,” the Illusive Man said.

With his eyes closed, Grayson had no choice but to focus on his enemy’s voice. The tone was calm, almost nonchalant. But Grayson knew the Illusive Man well enough not to be fooled.

“You’re probably wondering what happened to the asari,” the Illusive Man continued. “She’s dead, of course. Quick and painless, if that makes any difference.”

It doesn’t, you sick son of a bitch!

Grayson concentrated on his breathing, struggling to keep it slow and even. Whatever was going to happen to him, he didn’t want to give the Illusive Man the satisfaction of showing his fear, grief, or impotent rage.

“You might be worried about Kahlee Sanders, too,” the Illusive Man added after a lengthy pause.

The bastard’s watching you. Toying with you. Just stay still. Don’t move. Don’t give him anything to work with.

He could hear the others in the room — doctors or scientists, most likely. He heard footsteps, the flick of switches, and soft beeps emanating from computer consoles. Occasionally he would pick up a snatch of a low, whispered conversation, but the voices were too soft for him to make anything out.

“We haven’t done anything to Kahlee,” the Illusive Man finally admitted, once he realized Grayson wasn’t going to entertain him with a reaction. “And we won’t. She’s irrelevant to our plans, and I won’t kill a fellow human being without a good reason.”

You’re a real prince .

“That’s why we brought you here. Why I wanted you kept alive. It wasn’t so we could torture you. It wasn’t to satisfy my lust for vengeance … though I don’t deny I have those feelings. I’m only human, after all.”

The Illusive Man laughed, and his hand patted Grayson on the shoulder like a father bestowing a lesson on his son.

“Humanity needs a hero — probably a martyr in the end. Not the kind of thing people are eager to volunteer for. But this is something that has to be done.”

The overhead light dimmed again, and Grayson opened his eyes to see one of the scientists looming over him. Her face was utterly neutral; she showed neither pleasure nor remorse as she leaned in and affixed a pair of electrodes to Grayson’s temples.