[Undisclosed Location] A pleasant conversation.

Tick, tick, tick went the sound of his finger as it tapped the desk. Rom Anbel wasn't impatient, he wasn't angry or irate, and his victory was near complete. Yet he was dissatisfied. That was what made him tap his finger on the desk. One of his many pursuers, perhaps the second deadliest, was soon to join the ranks of the dead. He'd tricked her thoroughly into revealing herself, and yet he failed to have the excitement of victory.

Perhaps it was because she was but a child still, crushing a child, no matter how petulant, only had the satisfaction of silencing them. At least with this out of the way he could move on to more serious problems, namely, finding a way to engineer himself a pardon, or else carving himself a new niche in the terminus. Even his considerable savings would not last forever.

Ah, but before that, there was the dirty work of arranging the burial.

"Computer. The information broker, if you would."

The desk before him sprung to life, spirals of lights morphed into holographic shapes. The screen flickered as the computer reached out to connect the call.

Somewhere out there in the galaxy existed an apartment that had been born a void of light, with bulbs having been removed from their sockets, metal shades drawn tightly across the few windowpanes that there were. To say that it was "dark" would have been a grave understatement; a stranger might have estimated that its occupant must have found his way around by memory and touch alone, and probably was generally a very unpleasant person outside of that. It wouldn't have been an unwarranted guess.

When the various consoles in the living room sprung to life abruptly in the middle of the night, it was as though a divine force had exploded into the shadows. Blue light cast a silhouette on a hunched figure in the kitchen; a pair of red eyes illuminated and darted towards the screens with interest. After setting down a bowl of breakfast, the figure calmly made its way towards the mess of monitors and motherboards that lined the other room.

"Accept transmission," rasped Cerastes. The flashing screens simultaneously displayed the image of a volus on the other line; eidetic memory immediately placed the caller as the poster from the forums he frequented for Revenant Corp. His pupils seized at the sudden burst of white.

"Mr. Anbel, a pleasure to see you. How may I be of service?"

Anbel seemed impassive the drell's use of his name, but the volus envirosuit always did have the unique advantage of stunting body and facial language. His breath echoed in steady bursts through his rebreather. The broker was well informed. It was time to tread lightly. Rom Anbel himself was worth several times the bounty he'd put on Suri'Neyvi. The Hierarchy wouldn't chase him to the terminus, but that wouldn't stop others from trying to bring him to them. If the broker was dishonorable, this could get messy very fast.

Ah, the perils of desperate times, such a shame he couldn't afford the prices of a proper shadow broker agent anymore.

"Good day, Kahje-Clan," the Volus said, then paused to take a breath from his breathing apparatus, "I see you already know my moniker, perhaps you would *ksst* deign to honor me with your own."

The sound of Rom's breathing filtered through the sound system and into the apartment, filling it with a rhyhmic and dependable hsst every few seconds. From the drell's end, there was a distinct lack of any background noise; whether this was because he was standing in silence or had some sort of omitter active at present was left to the imagination. He stood perfectly still in front of the monitors, hands clasped behind his back.

Upon hearing Rom's reply, Cerastes' pale lips coiled into a smile that failed to reach his eyes. "I already have," he answered. "I am a very forthcoming drell, sir."

"Really? *ksst* How curious," Rom said, uncertain if the Drell was truthful or not. "I suppose I'm used to deep-earth dealings. Not the sort of thing one uses their own name for very often."


"Cerastes," He said, trying the name out, "of the Kahje-Clan. It has a nice ring to it, I must admit."


The Volus leaned back in his chair. The dim light of the other's view did not fill him with confidence, but information brokers were always the eccentric type. All of them caught up in the romance of backroom deals and dark secrets. It was too much to hope for one that wore a business envirosuit and kept detailed, proper records.

The Drell showed no reaction to the use of Kahje over Rahkanna either. This meant one of three things, he either was loyal to the hanar, had little loyalty at all, or had strong patience for offensiveness. This was a useful tidbit of information, worth testing later down the line in the conversation if possible. "How long, might I ask, have you been in this business, *ksst* Cerastes of the Kahje-Clan?"

"Mm. Well, I'm quite a ways from Earth."

Whether or not this was true was up for debate. Little to nothing could be gleamed from the apartment behind him, which, on the other line, looked more like a series of blackened shapes than anything. Cerastes paused, listening to the volus.

"The better part of twenty years," he answered when Rom had finished. "I can forward you a formal resume, if you so desire. I assure you, I have nothing to hide."

The spines tipping the edges of his frill relaxed slightly. "There exists a gap of approximately four months in-between 2174 and 2175, but it is a verifiable circumstance, as references will ascertain."

His casual delivery implied that the drell had done this many times before, but his upfront nature was unusual for an information broker. The typical eccentricities, as Rom had noticed, still applied all the same, and perhaps swallowed some of the abnormality in his behavior.

"Would you like to discuss business, Mr. Anbel?"

"Business... would be good." The snap-hiss of his rebreather echoed through the empty room. Ages ago, he would have had numerous attendants and guards with him, but that was back before the war. Back before he'd stopped being an asset for the hierarchy and become a liability.

Now there was only himself and his wit. It was almost like his days back when he first came to the citadel, penniless and with nothing to his advantage besides unbridled ambition. It was almost nostalgic. It was different though, he was older and a little slower, but he also still had some resources left to him.

"The offer stands," Rom Anbel said, "Five thousand for the location of the girl. *ksst* I'd be curious about her records since her disappearance, but they are only worth a little *ksst* to me. Only her location is truly relevant."

... Hrn. He wanted the girl.

The broker was careful to guard his expression, but a flurry of thoughts were running through his mind as he listened to the volus's demands. The stakes at hand had changed; while dealing with dangerous clientele was a habit of the Cerastes's, he was well aware of the threat posed upon his person by the likes of the Embodiment. The Eclipse he could evade - high-ranking, well-equipped assassins with a penchant for removing body parts one-at-time, less so.

"Five thousand," he began after a moment's silence, "is remarkably low, considering the target at hand. You may not be asking me to kill the Ms. Suri'Neyvi myself, but I am well-versed in the company she keeps and has kept in the past."

A pause ensued, in which the drell disappeared off screen for a few seconds. He re-emerged with a mug in hand, and took a sip before continuing. "If you would like to make a serious offer, I am still listening."

There was a sharp intake from the breathing apparatus. So much for getting cheap by going to a less well known broker. Ah well, he wasn't unfamiliar with the art of the bargain, and the sum he quoted was low. Alas, he didn't want to strain his resources. There was no income coming anytime soon, no loans, nothing. Every singular credit he spent put him further and further in the red.

Getting rid of Neyvi would be worth it though, even if she couldn't end him, she would put potholes in his new organization no matter where he set up shop. The cost of clearing out pest before starting to farm. An unfortunate expense, but an unavoidable one.

"I would quote you seven thousand five hundred, but I will *ksst* not insult your intelligence," Rom Anbel said. He tapped the table, and stroked his ceremonial face guard. "Ten thousand. *ksst* Low, perhaps, but let us say that soon currying my favor *ksst* will be worth the mild loss."

There was no smile this time, not even a slight indication of emotion. Cerastes's poker-face was about as good as they came, and he was utilizing his abilities in deception to the fullest as the negotiation began. After hearing Rom's renewed proposal, he took his sweet time in taking a long, quiet sip from his mug. Its contents were unknown, but given the shadows that threatened to envelop the drell, one could safely assume it was caffeinated.

"Twelve," he insinuated, "with travel expenses paid in advance."

At this point, he looked up, red eyes gleaming in the dark as he stared through the monitor at the volus. If it were possible, he might have crept through the screen himself at that instant.

Twelve, plus travel expenses. Considering the expense of discrete movement, that was probably another two or three thousand on top. Fifteen. If he had connections, the deal might have been worth it. They could have provided the travel without the price tag. His Citadel connections were severed in his flight, and his Omega connections had been purged by Cerberus back during the war.

Fifteen. About what the information was worth. It would cut into his merc fund though, and he needed those to start carving his new empire. His finger tapped the desk. No, fifteen was too steep. Time to play a card that would be worthless elsewhere. Something the Shadow Broker would already know, and be collecting his bribes for the price of the secret, but would be likely outside the knowledge base of this lower echelon broker.

"Five, and some data you may find *ksst* quite valuable. Well beyond your asking price."

Ahh, the little alien knew how to play. It was the second time that week that Cerastes had had the opportunity to negoatiate with an educated "opponent," and he wasn't about to waste the experience. He took another pull from his mug, his free hand buried in his pants pocket.

"Seven, plus travel. You're offering me data, but you forget, you're dealing with a drell." The smile came back once more, cold as it ever was. "I already have an accumulation of sources that could reveal information regarding your inquiry, meaning I am also the fastest route you can afford to obtain the information what you require. You will find no freelance broker who would accept such a low price - the favor is on my end."

The scales on his forehead shifted subtly.

"The fact that I am backed by an established corporation and have willingly provided resources in an otherwise vague business is an additive to your considerations."

They were getting close to a deal. Good. This was in his asking range, any further he bargained down was just additional savings. He shifted in his chair, crossing his arms together to indicate that he might be ready to walk.

"Five plus travel," Rom Anbel said, "I am not impressed by promises of expediency and the tooting of your horn. The data I am offering is worth twice your high quote to the right parties. I simply lack the resources to sell it. Consider it a show of good will."

It was almost cute. Cerastes snapped a finger to one of the holographic monitors, commanding it to follow him as he maneuvered to take a seat at the kitchen island. From there, his omnitool sprung to life above his right arm; Rom would have been able to see the drell's fingers moving rapidly over a transparent keyboard.

"Bravado is unnecessary, truth is requisite," said Cerastes. "You consider me an inferior source, but you, yourself, are in no position to promise favors. Five and travel expenses will suffice."

His eyes flicked back to the monitor floating a few feet away. "What is your estimated frame of delivery?"

Rom Anbel relaxed. He did not move as the drell did. The room was empty beyond the desk. None of his precious art decorations or astounding trinkets had come with him. There was him, the chair, and the desk. That was all. "The sum can be wired within twenty hours."

He allowed himself the pleasure of cracking a small smile beneath his envirosuit. Everything was going according to plan. "Travel expenses can be managed through a flat sum of two thousand *ksst* that can also be delivered within twenty hours or *ksst* a credit line that I will monitor and pay *ksst* which can be issued immediately. *ksst* Cousins in banking, you know."

The large amount of his spiel finished, he turned the chair away, and began tinkering with one of the data streams that sprung from the desk. "The data can be delivered now, but will remain encrypted. *ksst* A passcode will be provided once you provide me with the location of the girl."

On the other end of the line, the drell took his time in examining the sparse environment displayed to him on the holovid. Mm. Rom and he were alike in that neither of them had maintained contact through their primary base of operations, he assumed; it was the safest way to conduct business. It was refreshing to deal with a professional, no matter how disparate.

"Mr. Anbel, I do believe you have yourself a deal."

The drell ran a hand over the scales that lined his scalp. A series of windows - indecipherable to his company - were launching on his omnitool as he spoke.

"I will provide the associated accounts as soon as this transmission ends. Do you have any further inquiries or requests regarding my services?"

"No, no questions," Rom Anbel said. He paused in his process of manipulating screen, then turned once more to face the camera. He simply stared at the drell as he worked. The glowing light of his false eyes lay heavy on the other. There was one last thing to say in this matter. "Just one final thing, Cerastes of the Kahje-clan.*ksst* Something to keep fresh in mind as you work. *ksst* I fucked Abattoir, and you don't even measure to a tenth of the drell he was."

With that, he closed the connection.

The room was empty, and the lights dimmed. The atmosphere was entirely safe for him, of course. He pulled the latches of his envirosuit helmet and pulled it off. It was nice to get out of the stuffy suit every once and awhile.

He let himself breathe easy.

It was the mark of a weaker man to cling so desperately to the last word.

Cerastes remained in a silent stillness after the feed cut off, his attention focused entirely on establishing a connection on the closest contact he could think of. Perhaps it was the curse of men of his nature, from hereon out, to be compared to their predecessors.

That, he surmised, would fail in comparison to the woman he was about to meet.

Fin