Drew Karpyshyn: Retribution

For the Illusive Man, however, smoking represented something else entirely. The taste curling across his tongue and down his throat, the tickle of smoke spreading through his lungs, and the warm rush of nicotine spreading through his system brought both the comfort of familiar routine and the satisfaction of physical craving: two essential elements of the human condition. Smoking was a ritual to be celebrated … especially now that humanity’s continued existence was at risk.

Smoke ’em if you got ’em , he thought, conjuring up an old line from a long-forgotten source. Because none of us is going to see tomorrow .

The Illusive Man took a few more puffs on his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray built into the arm of the chair, then took another sip of his drink.

As grim as things might seem, he wasn’t about to give in to melancholy despair. He was a man who tackled problems head-on, and this one was no different.

Commander Shepard had discovered that human colonists were being abducted by the Collectors, a reclusive alien species that served the will of the Reapers without question. Though trapped in dark space, the massive starships were somehow able to exert control over their hapless minions even across millions of light-years.

Acting on the orders of their machine masters, the Collectors had been gathering humans and taking them to their homeworld in the galactic core. There the abductees were repurposed: transformed, mutated, and finally rendered down into organic sludge as part of a horrific experiment to fuel the creation of a new Reaper.

Shepard — with Cerberus’s help — had destroyed the Collector operations. But the Illusive Man knew the Reapers wouldn’t simply give up. Humanity needed to learn more about this relentless and remorseless foe in preparation for the Reapers’ inevitable return. They had to study their strengths and weaknesses, expose and exploit their vulnerabilities.

Cerberus had salvaged key pieces of technology from the remains of the Collector operation. They were already beginning to set up a facility to undertake the first carefully controlled tests of the strange alien technology. Ultimately, however, there was only one way to gain the knowledge they sought: they would have to resume the Collector experiments on real human subjects.

The Illusive Man knew full well the abhorrence of his plan. But ethics and morality had to be cast aside for the survival of the species. Instead of millions being abducted, a few carefully chosen subjects would be chosen. A handful of victims had to suffer to protect and preserve the entire human race.

The plan to replicate the Collector experiments would progress in secret, without Shepard’s knowledge or involvement. The alliance between Cerberus and humanity’s most famous hero had been uneasy at best; neither side had fully trusted the other. It was possible they might work together again in the future, but for now the Illusive Man was only willing to rely on his own top agents.

A soft overhead chime indicated an incoming message from one of those operatives.

“Viewing window on,” he said, sitting up straight in his seat and focusing his attention on the holo-pad.

The lights dimmed automatically as the wall behind him became transparent. The dying sun to his back cast an orange-red glow over the room.

“Accept,” the Illusive Man muttered, and the image of Kai Leng materialized above the holo-pad.

Like most of humanity, he was a child of a truly global culture. His Chinese heritage was clearly predominant in his dark hair and eyes, but around the jaw and nose were subtle clues pointing to some Slavic or Russian ancestry as well.

“We found him,” Kai Leng reported.

The Illusive Man had no need to ask who he was talking about. A top Cerberus assassin, Kai Leng had for nearly three years been on a mission to track down a single target.

“Where?” the Illusive Man wanted to know.

“Omega.”

The corded muscles of Kai Leng’s neck momentarily tightened with revulsion as he spoke the name — a completely involuntary, but understandable, reaction. The space station represented everything Cerberus despised about alien culture: it was lawless, savage, and brutal. The reflex caused Kai Leng to turn his head, offering a glimpse of the tattoo on the back of his neck: a snake swallowing its tail.

The ouroboros was often used to symbolize eternity, but the Illusive Man knew it had a darker meaning as well: annihilation. Which was, in its own way, also eternal.

Cerberus had discovered Kai Leng a decade ago, liberating him from an Alliance prison camp. The Illusive Man had looked carefully into his past before recruiting him: a marine with N7 special forces training, he had been arrested after killing a krogan in a bar fight on the Citadel while on temporary leave.

The Alliance had come down hard on the former lieutenant, making an example of him. He was stripped of his rank and sentenced to twenty years in military prison. Kai Leng’s long list of documented confrontational and even violent behavior toward aliens had no doubt contributed to the harshness of his sentence. For the Illusive Man, however, his anti-alien leanings were proof of character. That, combined with the fact that he had managed to kill a krogan while armed with nothing more than a standard-issue service blade, had made him a perfect recruit.

In the decade since Cerberus had arranged his escape, Kai Leng had become one of the organization’s top wet-work operatives. But he was more than just a ruthless killer. He understood the need to be discreet; he knew how to plan and implement complex and delicate operations.

Now that he had found his target, the Illusive Man’s first impulse was to give the exterminate order.

But then an idea came to him. He still needed subjects for the upcoming experiments; why not kill two birds with one stone?

“Bring him in,” he said. “Alive. Be sure to cover your tracks.”

“I always do,” Kai Leng replied.

Satisfied, the Illusive Man muttered, “Off,” and the holographic image of the assassin flickered once, then disappeared.

He leaned back in his chair, casually swirling the contents of the glass in his hand before downing the last of his drink in a long, satisfying gulp.

It’s been a long time coming, Grayson , he thought, his mood much more cheerful than it had been only minutes ago. But I’ll make sure the wait was worth it .

Paul Grayson knew the Illusive Man was still looking for him. It had been almost three years since he had betrayed Cerberus for the sake of his daughter, but even if thirty years had passed he knew they wouldn’t give up the hunt.

He had changed his name, of course: Paul Grayson was gone; he went by Paul Johnson now. But creating a new identity for himself was only the first line of defense; it wouldn’t hold up should any of the Illusive Man’s agents come across his credentials. And his agents were everywhere.

Since its inception, Cerberus had seeded operatives throughout nearly every branch of the Alliance government. There was almost no place in Council space he could run where they wouldn’t eventually track him down. So he had fled to Omega.

The Illusive Man had never managed to secure a foothold on the enormous space station that served as the de facto capital of the Terminus Systems. Cerberus was well known for its radical pro-human agenda, making its agents extremely unpopular among the various alien warlords, gang leaders, and despots who held sway on Omega. Even if they suspected that Grayson was hiding here, it wouldn’t be easy for them to get to him.

It was something of an irony to Grayson that the skills he had learned while working for Cerberus — espionage and assassination — were proving so useful in carving out a new life for himself as a mercenary on Omega. He had been trained to kill aliens; now he was working for one.