Mackie turned the heavy gold coin over in his fingers. "Wow. I heard lots of stories about these. I always thought they were bullshit. And now I'm holding one." He looked at one side, which showed a lady holding a shield. At the top was a Latin phrase. "Ex Unitate Vires," he said aloud. Living in Barcelona had exposed him to enough culture to have picked up a smattering of Latin. If nothing else, it was useful for impressing the lads. "From Unity, Strength." The other side showed a lion and another little bit of Latin. "Ens Causa Sui. Something holding itself? No, that's not it."

"Being Its Own Cause," said John from the bathroom. The bathroom door was open, and Mackie looked over and saw that the assassin had taken his shirt off. He was carefully shaving around his beard. It was apparently Latin phrase day, because there was another bit of Latin tattooed on John's back along with an image of folded hands and a cross.

"Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat," said Mackie. "That one I've heard before. Fortune Favors the Bold. Is that your people's motto?"

"Not exactly," replied John. "That's the motto of a group I started out with a long time ago."

Mackie watched John through the door. Ordinarily, the sight of a man's well-muscled back would have given him all sorts of exciting thoughts. If that had been anybody else, he would have gone into the bathroom to 'get a tissue' or use some other pretext. He would make sure to 'accidentally' brush one hand over that lovely back. And if there was a friendly reception to such a friendly touch, maybe fun times would result.

But not this time. This was not some cute older guy whom he'd met at random. This was John Wick, one of them. Mackie still wasn't over what had happened in the alley. The violence wasn't what bothered him. He'd seen his share of pain and blood. What ate at him was the casual and robotic way that John had gone through it. It had been so automatic, and afterward he'd acted as if it was no big deal. It was like he had been checking his email. Mackie had been sleeping on the suite's couch since his arrival, and he was just fine with that. He wasn't about to try romancing the Angel of Death.

Mackie rolled the coin over his knuckles, which was another little trick he'd learned to impress the lads. "So why did you give me one of these? Am I a part of your exclusive club now?"

John came out of the bathroom as he dried his face with a towel. The front view of his bare torso made Mackie groan inside. Angel of Death or not, teasing him like that was just plain cruel.

"We need to make a modification of that coin," said John. "I got the go-ahead from Management for our approach. Actually, it's not so much a modification as...let me start at the beginning."

----------------------------------------

John was pretty pleased with how Mackie had turned out, although he was getting a little annoyed with his fidgeting. "Do you not like it?"

"It's fine," said the young fixer. After a whirlwind fitting and makeover session, Mackie now had a nice new suit. His blond hair was still spiked but much shorter, and the eyeliner was now a little less liberally applied. He'd put up with all of that without complaint. Where Mackie had put his foot down was in the choice of suit color. He was not, he said, going to look like some sort of goddamn funeral director. Black was right out. After much consideration, Mackie had eventually found a soft burgundy shade that he liked. He'd even gotten a vest in the same color.

John looked up from the sofa. He was going back over the layouts of the two clubs. "Yeah, as long as you don't mind being mistaken for the Joker in the right light."

"Who the fuck is the Joker? Nevermind, I'm sure it's some kind of old guy reference. The suit's great. I like how it looks, its just...why am I wearing this now? The shindig's a day from now." He plucked at the suit's fabric. "I'm just not used to wearing something that's this layered, you know?"

"That's why you're wearing it now. You have to get used to it. By the time the auction rolls around, I need you to be walking through that club like you've worn a suit your whole life. Now stop twitching around and let's go over the plan again."

----------------------------------------

Club Lethe wound up being the location of the auction. Mackie had narrowed it down to between that or The Pantheon Lounge, and his sources had finally gotten it completely figured out with less than twelve hours to go. Fortunately, Lethe was the better of the two locations for their needs. It was closer to the sewers, for one thing.

Mackie was now very glad that he was wearing a coverall. He just wished he had a mask as well to keep out the smells. He sloshed up to John, who was putting together a map of the underground tunnels in his omni-tool. "That's it, man. I got all the stuff in place and we're ready to roll."

"You're sure?"

"Hey, my shapely ass is gonna be on the line too. Don't worry, it's all set."

----------------------------------------

The ground floor of Club Lethe was filled with strobing amber lights which gave John brief glimpses of writhing patrons. He slipped himself through the dancers and could feel Mackie close on his heels. Fortunately the fixer seemed to be just as adept at navigating crowded spaces, and had no problems in keeping up. He could also see Mackie surreptitiously leaving little packages behind as they moved. John had to admit that the young man was really good; the only reason John caught him was because he knew that Mackie was doing it.

The door to Club Lethe's basement was flanked by two large men in ill-fitting tuxedos. They eyed John and Mackie as they came strolling up. One of them held up a hand, and the other dropped one hand to his side a little too casually. John was sure they both had concealed weapons.

"Sorry, gentlemen," said the one holding up his hand. He had to practially yell to be heard over the thumping music that filled the club. "The basement bar is closed. Private function tonight."

"We know," Mackie replied. He was somehow able to sound casual even though he was yelling. "We're part of it."

The man gave him an exasperated look. "Sir, neither of you are on the guest list."

Mackie smiled. "We're not, but we're sure they'll want us to join." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at John. Slowly, so as not to spook the man or his partner, John brought up his hand and showed them the gold coin that he held in his palm. The two guards visibly paled.

Mackie folded his hands in front of him and waited while John stood behind him. The two guards looked at each other, clearly out of their element. Finally Mackie crossed his arms and looked mildly peeved. "So? Can we at least go in and talk to them?"

"Talk?" echoed one of the guards. He was staring at John like he'd just seen Bigfoot. John gave him Smile Number Twelve, which was his Hey, I'm just a harmless fella smile.

Mackie waved a languid arm. "Yeah, talk. Don't worry, gentlemen. If they don't want to have us join in the festivities, we'll just turn around and head back out. Sound good?"

"Um, yeah. Good." One of the guards opened the door to let them through. As soon as the door shut behind them, the music was instantly muffled into near silence. Benton must have had some really good sound insulation installed, which John was glad for. It would keep the patrons upstairs from panicking once the gunfire started.

There was a steep set of stairs beyond the door, which led down to a small square room. An officious-looking woman sat at a desk in its center. Her hair was pulled back in a severely tight bun. Flanking her were two more guards. At least these two seemed to have better dress sense; their tuxedos actually fit well. John also noted that they clearly wore pistols under their armpits.

The woman frowned. "My apologies, gentlemen. I don't recognize either of you, and this event is not for the general public."

John stepped forward. "We only found out about this event at the last minute. We were hoping your boss would make an exception for us."

The woman leaned back. "There is a substantial deposit required to join. Are you willing to put one down?"

In response, John carefully laid the gold coin on her desk. The woman regarded it for a long moment and steepled her fingers. She looked at the two of them for another long moment. To their credit, the two guards seemed unperturbed by the appearance of the coin.

Finally she spoke. "I have to clear this with my superior. I hope you understand. Would you gentlemen mind waiting here?" She stood and picked up the coin.

"We don't mind at all," replied Mackie. He gave her a winning smile. "Take your time."

----------------------------------------

Benton regarded the coin as if somebody had taken a messy shit on his table. "Really? They just walked up and plonked this in front of you?"

"Yes, sir," replied the woman. She stood in front of his booth with her hands folded. "I know we were not planning on anybody else joining, but I thought you should know of this."

"Yeah, yeah." Benton shrugged off the blonde woman leaning against his shoulder and wheezed as he leaned forward. He plucked the coin off of the table and regarded it with a half-frown. This auction was his chance to break out into the big leagues. He was going to be finally noticed by fucking governments. And now this had turned up. The chance to interact with the Organization would be another big win. But if they lost the auction, it could turn into a big pain in the ass depending on how pissed off they were.

He turned the coin over and looked at the its back, then hefted it in his palm. Something stunk about this. These guys were big fans of hiding the shadows and pulling strings behind the scenes. For two of them to just waltz in like it was no big deal? Benton knew he had to be careful.

"Let 'em in. But give 'em a really good frisk and scan, you got it? Get a few photos of 'em and do a face image search. I wanna make sure they're who they say they are. Once they get in here, keep a double-sharp eye on 'em." He threw the coin back on the table and pointed at it with a sausage-like finger. "And have a good look at that, too."

----------------------------------------

John was pretty impressed with the frisking. He had gone through it enough times to have become a connoisseur. This particular one was thorough and professional, with minimal groping. The woman stood nearby, clearly ready to sound the alarm if something went wrong. He almost expected Mackie to make some kind of quip like 'buy me a drink first' while being searched, but he followed John's lead and didn't say a word.

"We also have to do a scan for weapons and personal shielding devices," she said. "I hope you understand. We have to ensure your protection as well as that of the other patrons."

"Of course," replied John. The scanner looked more or less like a metal detector from his time, although John was sure it was a lot more sophisticated than that. Mackie went through first without any incident. Then John through it and waited. This was the tricky part of the plan. If his particular weapon was detected, then it would turn bloody more quickly than he'd planned.

But the woman nodded and seemed satisfied. "There will be a brief speech by Mr. Benton in thirty minutes," she said. "The auction proper will begin ten minutes after that. Feel free to talk with the others, but we recommend that you do not supply any personal information or discuss the auction in any way."

"I agree," replied John. "We must all be careful, right?"

The main room was large and had several tiers that dropped progressively lower. Each tier was separated by low railings. There was a stage at the far end, currently occupied by a beautiful asian woman who was singing in a odd, ululating style that John couldn't place. Along the left wall of the room was a little alcove containing a large semicircular booth. The booth was currently occupied with a large pile of flesh in a suit that looked like Benton, along with two blonde women in slinky black dresses who looked like they would really rather not be there. The right side of the room was occupied with a large and ornate bar made out of what looked like marble. There was not much in the way of cover. That would make this harder, but not impossible.

John looked back towards the singer. The melody was not what he was used to, but it was somehow captivating. "What is that?" he asked Mackie, pointing at the stage.

"That's what we call a 'woman'. Don't they have those where you come from?" Mackie's eyes twinkled as John gave an exasperated snort. "It's asari opera," he continued. "Don't ask me which particular one, though. I don't go in for that highbrow music stuff." Mackie looked around the space. "It's less crowded than I expected. What do we do until Benton's speech?"

"We mingle. Just small talk, like the lady said. Count guards and note if they are patrolling or have set locations. Meet over by the bar in fifteen."

Mackie nodded and moved off. Apart from the multiple tuxedo-clad guards, the room had several small clumps of people in formal wear. Presumably they were the various factions here to bid. Five women in short skirts and black halter tops moved through the room, each balancing a tray on their hands and offering drinks to the clientele. John nodded and smiled at one of them as she walked past. Inside, however, he was groaning. Having civilians around always made these things more complicated.

John also took note of the posture and location of the guards. They all appeared to carry their weapon in the same location. That was good, it would make his plan that much easier.

He wanted to get a drink, but also knew he had to be careful. He had to keep sharp for the upcoming unpleasantness. John would never admit it to Mackie, but he was a little worried about himself. The killing of Karl and his goon in the alley had been a simple matter of eight shots, not a prolonged gun battle. His instincts had been ingrained while using gunpowder-based weaponry. If he paused in the middle of a firefight to reload a magazine that wasn't actually there, then he would get himself shot in the head. John had come up with a mantra that he kept repeating to himself. Treat the thermal clip like a magazine, treat the thermal clip like a magazine...

"Sir?" It was the officious-looking woman who had overseen their search. "Mr. Benton sends his compliments and would like to speak with you briefly, if you have a moment."

"Of course," replied John. He followed her over to the little alcove.

----------------------------------------

"A gin and tonic please, love," said Mackie as he smiled at the bartender. She smiled back and quickly made his drink. He turned and leaned on the bar. Mackie hoped he looked casual enough. He took a little sip and was suitably impressed with the drink's quality. But he didn't dare drink a lot. John had been really, really insistent that he be careful about alcohol consumption. This whole thing would require good timing, and he couldn't afford to be even slightly buzzed.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

He felt rather than saw somebody else settle on the bar next to him and mimic his casual posture. "Hey there." The newcomer's voice was low and casual. It sounded almost like a stage whisper.

Mackie turned his head. The man was about his height and clean shaven, with long black hair that reminded him a little of John's haircut. His body was lean, and even through the dark blue suit that he wore Mackie could see the hint of wiry muscles. It was just the type of physique that really got Mackie's motor running. But any pleasant thoughts of seduction died when Mackie finally looked at the man's eyes. Mackie had heard the term 'shark-like eyes' before and dismissed it as dramatic nonsense. But not now. This man had dark eyes with literally no depth to them. They may as well have made of glass, for all that Mackie could see in them.

The man smiled, but his eyes never changed. "My name's Leng. Kai Leng. What's yours?"

Mackie nodded cordially. "I'm Charon. Just Charon."

"I see. You and your friend have become the talk of the auction, you know."

"We just got here five minutes ago."

"Gossip is the fastest known force in the universe. Is it true that you're with a certain organization which shall remain nameless?"

Mackie took a larger slug of his drink, and didn't say anything. He tried to relax, but feeling those empty eyes on him made it difficult.

Leng gave a soft hum. "You know, silence implies consent in a court of law. I have to say I'm surprised. Your organization isn't known for participating in things like this. At least not directly."

Mackie decided to at least respond a bit. "Times change, Mr. Leng."

"They do. Indeed they do."

----------------------------------------

"Heya!" said Benton to John in a cheerful voice. Then he dropped his voice and growled at one of the blondes sitting next to him. "Scram, Alice. Give the man a place to sit. Don't go too far." The woman eased herself out of the circular booth and gave John a little bit of an eyeroll as she walked past. He smiled back in sympathy and settled himself in her place.

"So whattya drinking?" Benton snapped his fingers, and one of the waitresses appeared. "The man is dry!" he said as if she was personally at fault. "Get him a..."

"Just a bourbon with no ice, thanks."

"Yeah, and make it top shelf stuff!" added Benton as she walked off. He turned and regarded John with eyes that were almost hidden behind his jowls. "I gotta confess, you two gave me a real shock when you turned up. So your, ah, people are interested in getting in on this?"

"They are." John's drink arrived. He could feel Benton's eyes on him as he picked it up.

Benton leaned forward a little. "This is kinda unusual for you guys, ain't it? I mean, you'd be more likely to be arranging something like this auction rather than bidding in it."

"Management doesn't tell us everything. But they do always talk about diversifying."

"Gotcha. Hope you don't mind me asking. We're all friends here, right?" The man seemed far too jovial. John was sure the gangster was at least suspicious.

His drink arrived, and he took a sip to keep his hands from fidgeting. "I think we certainly can be," he said to Benton. "No matter how this particular auction turns out I believe we can do business in the future."

Benton nodded, and the action caused several rolls of flesh on his neck to wobble in time with the nod. "Hey, I'm always on the lookout for more business partners. Like you said, always gotta diversify."

----------------------------------------

Mackie was really glad to see John again. Leng had apparently decided to be his shadow, and had installed himself on the bar next to him. Ordinarily, Mackie would be flattered but he was pretty sure Leng was trying to rattle him. Leng had also been joined by somebody else, a much bigger guy who hadn't said anything to Mackie even when spoken to. He'd just given Mackie a look like the fixer was a bug he couldn't be bothered to step on.

"Hi, Winston," he said to John. "This is Mr. Leng."

He watched John shake hands with Leng. It almost looked like they were going to throw down right there, but the handshake stayed cordial as they regarded each other. Leng pointed next to him with his thumb. "This is Mr. Kelso, he's an associate of mine." Kelso did a very brief head movement that might be generously called a nod, but again said nothing.

"So," continued Leng in an oddly bright tone, "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours."

"Beg pardon?" John looked amused rather than confused.

"We're with Cerberus," replied Leng. "You know that, or you will within five minutes after leaving here. And you're with the Organization. I always thought that was a rather pedestrian name. Even if people pronounce it with a capital letter."

John regarded his drink and didn't look at Leng. "We've been around a long time. It's kind of like registering a domain name on the Internet, right? We were the first to claim it."

Leng tilted his head. "What a charmingly archaic way to put it. I do have to admit, I always liked your group's style. Your use of those coins is inspired."

"How so?" asked Mackie. He suddenly realized he'd somehow gone through half his drink. It was some very good gin that they'd used, and he could feel a little buzz in the back of his head from it.

Leng indicated a group of humans nearer the stage. "See them? They're the Batarian representatives." His eyes narrowed with hate, and it was the first real emotion Mackie had seen from the man. "Humans, representing a species that would quite cheerfully enslave the lot of humanity if given half a chance. They are traitors to their own kind. And for what? For credits."

"They're not the first," continued Mackie. "Money does make the world go 'round, after all."

Leng seemed more animated now. "I'm not talking about money, I'm talking about credits. They're just electronic abstractions. The closest you can get to a physical representation of credits is when you hold a chit, and that's just a little wafer of electronics." He looked at both of them in turn. "But your group? You use something with proper weight and substance. If you're going to sell your soul, you may as well do it for something that you can touch, right?"

John gave Leng a long look. "I'm glad you approve." John nodded at Leng and walked off without saying anything further. Kelso peeled off of the bar, apparently to follow John. Leng was left alone with Mackie, who downed the rest of his drink and signaled the bartender. If he had to deal with this dead-eyed bastard, he decided that he would need a lot more alcohol.

"I'll have another one, love. Oh, and...if you'd be so kind as to leave the bottle." He slipped her a credit chit and winked at her.

----------------------------------------

"Good evenin', ladies and gentlemen," said Benton. He'd shooed the singer off of the stage, which John thought was a pity. He would much rather have looked at her than at Benton. The gangster looked like a pile of guts in a suit.

"I appreciate your interest," continued Benton. "There is only one item we are bidding on this evening, and here it is." He stepped to one side and made a grand sweeping gesture towards the middle of the stage.

A transparent cylinder rose out of the floor. Inside it was Nathan Prasad. He was dressed in simple clothes which had streaks of blood here and there on them. His face was bruised and cut. He was curled up on the floor of the cylinder. As it came to a stop he looked up and out at the club with hopeless eyes.

John felt a little click in his brain, then he relaxed. Their intel had been faulty. The auction was not for Prasad's secrets, it was for Prasad himself. The man was a prisoner. While that made this all cleaner from a moral standpoint, it also made it harder because they now had to break him out of that cell. He glanced over at Mackie, who was still leaning against the bar. John frowned a little when he saw the bottle between him and Leng.

He crossed his arms and gently tapped three fingers on the bicep that faced Mackie. The young man rubbed his chin, which meant that he'd caught the signal to go to option three. At least he wasn't blind drunk. John shifted his attention back to the stage.

"Now," said Benton, "this here is one Mr. Prasad. He's worked with Synthetic Insights for a while, but his real job is with Alliance intelligence as a data analyst. We got that much out of him, at least. Coulda got more, but I didn't want to damage the merchandise too much." Benton slapped the side of the cylinder and Prasad flinched from the impact. "The real beauty of it is, this guy's got a graybox. A perfect computer-enhanced memory, chock full of aaaall the stuff that he's worked on over the years."

John could see the rest of the bidders become very interested at that last part.

Benton smiled at the increased buzz in the room and grasped his lapels. "Let's go over the rules. Bidding starts in ten minutes. Miss Herndon will act as auctioneer." He nodded at the officious-looking woman, who stood at the far left side of the stage. "You all paid a deposit to get in here, and we assume you're good for your bids. We expect an instant transfer of funds after the auction concludes. Once we've got the money in hand, the winning bidder gets the package." He gave the tube another slap, and Prasad gave another twitch. "After that, what you do to get the info out of him is up to you." He gave a little bow and waddled back off of the stage.

John took a deep breath and began to think very quickly through his actions over the next few minutes. He glanced around and realized he didn't see Kelso, the other Cerberus operative.

----------------------------------------

As Benton settled his bulk back into his booth, Miss Herndon approached. She had a slight frown on her face. "Yeah?" he snapped at her. In spite of his confidence on stage, Benton was going to be glad to get this whole thing over with.

"It concerns Mr. Winston and Mr. Charon." She glanced at the woman sitting next to him. Benton sighed and pointed, not even bothering to tell her to scram. The woman eased herself out of the booth, and Miss Herndon took her place.

"Yeah. Whaddya got?"

"Mr. Winston's face has no match with any known operatives with the Organization. Mr. Charon, on the other hand, does have a face match with one Mackenzie Smith. He's known to be a fixer and broker of sorts in the city. Competent, but he tends to be more street-level than the average information broker. The most damning part is...that coin they gave us? It's counterfeit. A gold coating over lead."

Benton ground his teeth as he looked across the room at the young man leaning on the bar. He definitely looked drunk and was even swaying a bit. The smaller Cerberus guy was parked at his elbow.

"That little fucker," said Benton. "I bet he's trying to break into the big leagues. Trying to scam me. Did you get ahold of anybody in the Organization?"

Miss Herndon shook her head. "Not directly. But I do know one person who's worked with them. They didn't recognize either Winston or Smith. And they said there's no way an Organization representative would try using a fake coin."

Benton blew a little breath out of his nose, like a bull getting ready to charge. "So we can skin 'em alive, no problem. That little shit looks half-wasted. Probably pissing himself already. He's no threat. Just get one of our guys near him and tell him to wait for my signal."

"Of course sir. And what about Mr. Winston?"

"I want you to get Mr. Winston or whoever the hell he is over here. With four guys on him. I wanna interview that shithead and find out what they're up to."

Miss Herndon nodded and left. Benton checked under his jacket to make sure that his gun and his favorite knife was there. He'd used the knife a little on Prasad while softening him up, and he was looking forward to going even further on 'Winston'. The bastard was going to have a beautiful new face by the time he was done.

----------------------------------------

John saw Miss Herndon talking with the mob boss and then saw Benton's face darken as he looked over at Mackie. He looked away and felt himself relax. He scratched at his temple and hoped that Mackie wasn't too drunk to catch the signal. That little gesture indicated that it was all going to kick off in the next few moments.

"Mr. Winston?" said a guard. The man stood close to his elbow. John nodded. The guard gestured towards Benton's alcove. "If you would come this way, sir?" He almost made it sound like a request, but the three other guards that then surrounded John in a semicircle made it obvious that it wasn't. John was sure that his fake coin been found out, just as he had hoped.

John turned to more fully face the first guard and relaxed further. Time seemed to slow. All of his fears and second-guessing fell away to be replaced with a determination. It was time to find out if he was still worthy of the name the Russians had given him, back in the days when he'd been contracted to Viggo.

The whispered name, the name of the dark figure from the forest. The child stealer.

The flesh eater.

Baba Yaga.

He nodded at the guard who had spoken as if he was going to obey, and then with a casual air punched up with his left hand towards the man's head. His omni-tool activated just as his fist connected with the guard's throat, and the man froze stiff as if he'd touched a live wire. John used the opportunity to reach into the man's jacket and pluck the gun from his holster.

He didn't look as he shot at the guard to his left. John spun and kept firing at anything with a tuxedo. John felt rather than saw the first guard topple away from him. His next shot hit the guard to his right in the throat, rather than the head as he intended. The screaming began.

----------------------------------------

Mackie had indeed caught John's signal, so he was looking right at the little clump of guards when it all happened. He watched the first guard fall back and hit the ground. The guard's head slid right off of his shoulders like a broken doll. The head rolled away and was followed by an impressive gout of blood. John somehow had a gun now, and inside of two seconds the other three guards were down. As the firing began, Mackie saw Leng push off of the bar. He decided it was time to drop the drunk act and snatched at the gin bottle. He smashed it as hard and as fast as he could at the back of Leng's head. The solid shock of connection traveled up his arm, and he felt a brief sense of satisfaction as the Cerberus man went face-first into the carpet.

Mackie didn't even look to see if he was out of commission before reaching for his omni-tool and triggering the proper sequence of charges. There had been four different scenarios that he and John had worked out in advance, and John had opted for option number three. Number three was the messy option. The signal from his omni-tool sped through all of the signal repeaters that he'd left through the club and down the stairs. Mackie felt a vague tremble beneath his feet.

He ran towards one of the downed guards, trying to dodge the general stampede for the exit. The wait staff and the other brokers were not sticking around. Mackie did see that the Batarian reps were huddled against the far wall. He reached the guard and took the dead man's gun. Mackie sprinted for one of the nearby railings and crouched behind it. He took aim at the doorway and braced his arms on the railing. He hoped that he wouldn't have to actually shoot. Right now, the panicked crush of people at the door meant that no more guards could get down here.

He saw John vault over one of the railings and continue firing. The man held his gun oddly, with his hands clasped together and his right elbow held high. But as odd as the stance looked, John wasn't missing any of his shots.

----------------------------------------

Benton hit the panic switch with his foot the moment he'd seen the first guard fall. Faster than he could take another breath, the guards that were supposed to be taking Mr. Winston into custody were down. Mr. Winston himself was vaulting over the closest railing. There was a muted snap as a mass effect shield snapped into place over the front of his alcove.

"Larson? What do we do?" asked the blonde next to him.

"Shut up," he snarled. Then, a little more softly. "Just get under the table. Don't get in my way." She vanished like something had yanked her under.

He pulled his gun and his knife out, more as a security blanket than anything else. The panic switch should have also alerted his security staff upstairs. He just had to hold out until they got here.

----------------------------------------

Treat the thermal clip like a magazine, treat the thermal clip like a magazine...

John continued to silently chant the mantra to himself as he knelt behind one of the railings and took down the last guard. He ejected a blazing hot thermal clip and took mental inventory of his ammunition. He should have at least twenty shots left in this pistol, plus another gun in his belt that he'd taken from another guard. it should be plenty for the moment. He saw Leng stretched out by the bar and Mackie aiming a gun at the door. John nodded to himself in satisfaction. The Batarian reps had apparently decided it was safer to stay than flee; the three men were huddled off to one side. One of them saw John's glance, and held his hands out in front of him to show they were unarmed.

John briefly considered just shooting the three of them right now. From what little he'd read, Leng had been perfectly right to call them traitors to humanity. But they were unarmed. He gave a little internal snort of annoyance. The old him, the one before Helen, would have done it.

He took a step towards the stage and Prasad. The Alliance man was pressed back against the rear of the cylinder and looking in disbelief at the carnage. John started to call out to him just as two strong arms clamped down around him from behind.

John stomped down on his attacker's instep, and the bear hug faltered just enough for him to drive an elbow behind him and break the hold. He felt a punch at the back of his head, a good one that rattled him and sent him forward onto his knees. He rolled onto his back just as Kelso leaped at him.

He felt a little spark of panic. The Cerberus operative had literally come out of nowhere. John got two shots off into Kelso's center of mass before the larger man fell on him. He kept control of his gun as Kelso snarled into his face and tried to wrap two long-fingered hands around John's neck. John snapped his forehead up and into Kelso's nose and felt a satisfying crunch. He put two more bullets into the bastard's torso as well. He must have hit something vital, because the Cerberus man stopped moving.

John shoved the corpse off of him with some effort and got to his feet. The front of his suit was now thoroughly covered with Kelso's blood. He heard a crack of gunfire behind him, and saw that more guards had finally arrived at the door. The other civilians were gone, and Mackie was firing into the door to keep them bottled up.

He ran forward and felt a little pull at his side. Kelso falling on him had probably given him a lovely set of bruises. He reached Prasad's cell and met the Alliance man's scared eyes.

"We're getting you out, okay?" John called out, and hoped the tube wasn't soundproof. He was glad to see Prasad nod, and John motioned for him to get on the floor. He also hoped that whatever this tube was made out of wasn't some sort of impossible-to-cut substance. John placed his fist near the middle of the tube and activated his omni-tool again.

The tool's blade cut into the cylinder just as easily as it had gone into that first guards' neck. John carefully moved around the cell, dragging his blade through the cylinder's wall as he did so. He felt no real drag as he cut, which made it feel slightly surreal. He finished a complete circuit and shoved the top off with a heave of his shoulders. It was easier than he'd expected. Ether the material was lighter than it looked, or his enhancements were really starting to take effect.

Prasad unfolded himself from the floor and stood. He had a slightly wild, uncertain expression. "Who are you?" he asked John.

John didn't have time for twenty questions. "Can you move?"

The other man nodded and high-stepped out of his former prison. "To get out of here, I'll fucking well sprint!"

"Good. Let's go." He turned and yelled. "Mackie! Last call!"