[Fiasco:Shin Akiba] Dark Deeds in Electric Town.

Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay;
The worst is death, and death will have his day.

Richard II
Act III, scene 2, line 102.

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My name is Domitia Alleux. Proud member of the Turian Hierarchy, one time commander of the PFS Gallant, and now with C-Sec's investigation division, assigned to the Shin Akiba district.

Shin Akiba... What a hell hole. Everywhere you look is the teeming mass of people crowding around stores and stalls, rooting around like pigs and searching for the best deal on some new high-tech product. And all of it, every person, building, and good, is bathed in the same harsh, noxious, neon light.

It should be of no surprise that the Shin Akiba also houses all sorts of smugglers and criminals within its "commercial zone".   Of course it does. What better place to hide than in the shadows behind the brightest light? But it's my job to find those wastes of organic matter and bring them to justice. And I am very, very good at my job.

Have I made some enemies? Sure.  But all I need is one more job, one more successful investigation and I will get the promotion that gets me out of this piss pool.

My name is Domitia Alleux... and this is the story of my last investigation.

Things were bad. A short message had found it's way into Branka's inbox, and when he read it the tupari can he had been holding crunched. A contact on the docks had informed him that an old... acquaintance had been searching for him. Domitia Alleux. Who was apparently getting very close to one of Branka's partners, if the message was to be believed.

He sat down heavily in the pilot's seat, and brought his omni tool up. He punched in the number and waited...for quite a bit.

Branka glowered at the vidscreen before him as he waited for a response, fingers drumming the side of his seat. He needed to get ontop of this situation, fast. Now if only that pyjak would pick up the damn phone...

"No, no, NO." The amber colored salarian pinched the bridge of his "nose" and took a few deep breaths as the hotel staff watched warily. "Okay, okay let's try this again."

He turned to the asari in a maid's uniform next to him. "Heliana! When Mr. Tyrix says he needs so-"

The omnitool rang.

Gistel's eye twitched.

He checked the caller id.

His eye twitched again.

"...Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. Valencia would you please take care of the gala prep. Standard affair for the main hall. Only small fish tonight. I need to see to this."

The salarian stalked away as the staff began busying themselves, the kitchen a hive of activity. It was only when his office door had been sealed and locked behind him, only when the connection had been established that he allowed himself the luxury of venting.

"What. Is. The meaning. Of this?"

"Look, Gistel, we have a problem." Branka growled into his omni tool. He didn't like the salarian. He doubted he was alone in that. But he was a business partner, and if it went tits up for him then Branka would more than likely follow.

"I've gotten some word from a contact of mine. They say that there's been some buzz about our...dealings within C-Sec." He explained, eyes hard as he stared through the vid screen. "You've noticed anything lately?"

"What the shrell is that supposed to mean?" Gistel snapped back "Buzz? What is it 'they're-talking-about-us-around-the-precint-coffee-pot' kind of buzz or is it the 'squad-of-SR-is-about-to-kick-down-my-door'" kind?"

If there was dislike here it was certainly mutual. The salarian didn't care for the krogan, he thought he was crude, rude, and it was entirely possible that he was skimming from the shipments. He really wouldn't put it past the brute. But still, guests had to be satisfied and Branka was one of the best at getting what they wanted onto the station.

But sometimes he needed to be reminded who was the employer in this little relationship.

"Noticed anyone hanging about the place? Notice any of your employees looking a little more nervous every time you look at them? Gistel, look. The C-sec officer on the case is a turian bitch called Domitia. I've had a run in with her before. Nearly got me. If she's got the scent of something, you're gonna need to brace yourself."

The krogan reclined in his chair, taking a deep breath, before continuing.

"Your partner...what was her name again?"

The salarian's expression went still and he slowly ran a shaking hand over his face. The speakers could just pick up a comment about a "shrellingfringeheadbitch" and a "quadlessvarrenfucker" and really just numerous appeals to the "motherforsakenshrellingidiots" he apparently found himself surround with.

"Name. What. Was. It. " The krogan barked into the omni tool, wanting nothing more than to beat some sense into the little shit.

Gistel peered bleakly through orange fingers. "Falne. Falne Hoks. But that bitch couldn�t make a decent waitressmuch less a credible mole."

"Well, a credible mole wouldn't look like a credible mole, would it?" Branka retorted. "Besides, how hard is it to hang a bug up in, say...your office. The meeting room. Your aircar." He rumbled. "Word is that Domitia has a source high up. Someone who would know about your "dealings". She's the only one who can move around that building as much as you can."

He took in another deep breath before he continued.

"And maybe it;s time for that arrangement to change."

The seconds dragged on as Gistel mulled it over. Hoks. The fact that he held his tubby little business partner in contempt was no secret among the staff. But to think her capable of selling him out to C-Sec? When this was their hotel that he was trying to keep afloat? No, not even Hoks could be that stupid.

Right?

Of course.

But still...

Nah.

The salarian gave a short, sharp jerk of his head. "Idiot or no, do you think I'm just going to off my partner on your say so? You work for me Branka, not the other way around. And really, the way I see it? Its your cloaca in the fire right now, not mine."

"And you think that if I go down C-Sec won't be pouring through my records trying to find out who else they can take down?" Branka snapped back. "You're a bigger idiot than I thought. Like it or not, we're in the same boat here. And we don't have time to argue." He growled.

"No, you see you don't have time to argue. This Domitia bitch is closing in on you not me. I've still got time. Plus, there's always the little fact that if you ever want to have work or a Whelldamned reputation left after the dust settles on this, you'll protect your shrelling clients."

Gistel paced towards the hologram and leaned in until he was almost eye to virtual eye with the krogan on the other end.

It was all coming together right now. He had first panicked at the news but really this was just another mess, like the kind he cleaned up all the time.

And if there was one thing the salarian was good at it was turning other people's messes into personal profit. See: the Ashland itself.

Well alright the Ashland before the giant godsquid from darkspace had shown up, but really, like so many other things, this was only a temporary state of affairs. Soon to be rectified.

With Branka's help of course.

"Tell you what Branka. You want me to knock off Hoks, fine. I'll do it. But let me tell you what I want. Twice the usual shipment of sand. Third of the standard cost. Take it or shrelling leave it, I don't care. But that's my price for doing your dirty work."

He could argue. He could tell him that his name would be the first he gave to C-Sec. He could hold out and barter. But he had seen Domitia in action before, and he knew that the more he antagonized Gistel the more likely this would end in tears.

"Fine." He took a deep breath in, and out. Rage wouldn't help here. "It'll be delivered as soon as we're out of the shit. Now, I've got another package that should be getting to you soon. Domitia favors a 9 inch Hierarchy Serrated combat knife...or, she favored it until she lost it chasing down some salarian. They've been out of use for years, since vibroknives and omni blades." Branka gave a shark toothed grin. "So when it shows up in a crime scene with a source of hers, it should make some noise to C-Sec."

Gistel's grin would have put a hungry varren to shame.

"You hold up your end of the deal, I'll hold up mine."

And with that punchy little one liner the salarian terminated the call. Gistel wasn't a bad person, he didn't enjoy killing or anything. But, well, sometimes people just had to be knocked off. And sometimes those people were your (incredibly stupid) business partners and sometimes it was because a krogan smuggler had fucked up and brought the heat down and sometimes, you know, you were also getting paid for it.

But, such was life.

Gistel Dalpan cracked his neck, glanced furtively up at the ceiling for the bugs that were most definitely not there, and quietly stepped out of his office. He had a party to plan and guests to entertain.

The Ashland never slept and neither did he.

The krogan was an idiot. A thug with a bit of base cunning. And an enormous, bombastic, ass. But shrelldammit he couldn't get the idea out of his head. Which was why Gistel was here, in his walk in closet sized "working" office where he did most of his, well, work. Located in the Ashland's lower levels, it was a far cry from the large, sumptuous office he used to meet with the A-listers and other celebrities who passed through the hotel's doors. But, on the upside, at least it wasn't bugged.

Not to say that his actual office was bugged mind you...or that this one wasn't. Gistel eyed the ceiling uneasily and briefly toyed with the idea of just working out of his aircar before the thought occurred to him that that was probably bugged too. If anything actually was at all and the krogan hadn't just been varrenshitting him. Which he probably was, because really, Hoks?

It was patently ridiculous. Impossible. He was stupid for even entertaining the notion.

He dialed a number on his omnitool. "Hoks, coming up to your office. Some numbers that I need to go over with you."

Egg blighted krogan.

"Fine," was all that Falne Hoks replied, before cutting off.

Giving no more thought to the angry salarian that helps with the hotel, Falne resumes her own investigation.

Her own office was cluttered, befitting someone with an intense focus to everything except her immediate surroundings. Bare except for a couple of potted plants and other pieces of art that she only acquired to impress her importance upon her associates and give her a home-field advantage in any complex negotiations that may arise. The desk, terminal, and assorted datapads were all she really needed.

Brushing aside a veritable pile of those datapads, each of them displaying various information about different markets that Falne could use to examine an opportunity, or a threat, to her investment. One datapad she picked up. Collated information from her recent surveillance on the bequest of the C-Sec turian.

The signs are there. Falne could see them as clear as a window in space. The caliber of clientele has shifted over the past few months, a change in demographic that doesn't match the supposed target market. And the bugs planted in the angry salarian's office had relayed to her all she needed to join the dots.

That wasn't enough for Falne, though. She needed one more thing to present to the C-Sec turian. She liked her assertions to be absolutely foolproof and the only way that evidence would be sufficient was to catch the -- ... Krogan? -- in the act.

Maybe the angry salarian would be able to oblige her that.

Fine.

That's it. Just "fine". He was co-owner of the Wheel-damned hotel. And all he merited was a fine, like he was some kind of inconvenience. Like a hatchling underfoot.

Him. The one keeping the shrelling thing afloat.

Well if he wasn't angry before he certainly was now. Outside the door the salarian took a few moments to compose himself, swallow his mounting rage, and put on a mild expression. It wasn't the first time he had been treated like dirt and had to grin and take it and pretend that he...

abruptly the image of driving a combat knife through Hoks's exosuit seemed infinitely more appealing.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Happy place. Happy place.

He tapped the holographic panel next to the door and waited patiently as an electric chime sounded softly through the office.

Falne puts the datapad to one side, and puts another datapad on top of it to cover up the logs from her investigation with data on the Elkoss 100 Index. It only takes her a few seconds to be prepared for the angry salarian’s ‘numbers’ meeting. Perhaps he had forgotten how to cost-budget or something.

Probably figuring that the angry salarian would burst into a rant immediately upon entering, Falne takes a few more seconds before letting him in. Partly, this was to calm herself, but it was to remind the angry salarian that she was the one in charge.

The door opens. Falne remains behind her desk, and allows a pause to encourage the angry salarian to initiate the conversation.