Friday, February 4, 2411
Dantius Towers
Nos Astra, Illium

Nobody in the security force knew why the Chief of the International Police had sent one of his top-level operatives to the Dantius Towers, but on the other hand, nobody could really be said to care, either. It was their job to prevent such people from harassing the building's owner, and that was an end of it as far as the men and women of the local Eclipse branch office were concerned.

"Sector 14," the asari Vanguard in command of that sector reported on the all-facility tactical band. "We've got her cornered. Request backup for elimination."

"Roger, en route," the building's security coordinator replied. "Be advised, we have reports of a second SPECTRE agent in the vicinity. No confirmation, no ID at this time."

"Great. Keep me posted. And tighten the cordon on Level 70, this one might just be a diversion."

"Use a Spectre as a diversion?" the salarian engineer running next to her remarked. "Who would do something that wasteful?"

"Maybe this one's not really who we thought she was," the asari replied. "I mean, running down a dead-end corridor isn't really in keeping with their image, is it?" she added with a smirk.

The salarian nodded, conceding the point. The black-armored woman was, indeed, fleeing down a hallway from which there was no exit. At its end there was only a floor-to-ceiling window, providing a spectacular view of downtown Nos Astra from 30 floors up but no exit route for anyone unable to fly. As he considered the point, though, he noticed something and grabbed at his asari colleague's arm.

"Dasava, she's not stopping!" he cried, pointing.

Dasava slowed in her headlong pursuit, gesturing her squad to do likewise, and watched. The Spectre was, indeed, not giving any indication that she planned to stop before reaching the window. In fact, as she approached it - still moving like a freight train in spite of her heavy armor, Dasava had to admit she was certainly in good shape - she drew her sidearm and opened fire. Armor-piercing rounds cratered the duracrys in a precisely calculated pattern.

Still running flat-out, the Spectre holstered her weapon, crossed her forearms in front of her face, and plowed straight into the window, which - weakened by her gunfire - shattered like ordinary glass. Her momentum was barely checked at all as she crashed through it and straight out into space, plummeting from sight in an instant.

"... Rodik, what did we just see?" Dasava wondered as she and the squad coasted to a halt a pace or so from the broken window.

The salarian keyed his com. "Level 1, do you have her? Uh, what's left of her?"

No reply came for a moment, and when it finally did, it consisted only of a high, panicky cry of, "My God! Run! Run!"

Rodik frowned. "Say again? Level 1, come in! What's going on down there?"

A second later Dasava caught his shoulder and shook him out of his focus on the com, gesturing with her blaster carbine toward the window.

Commander Virginia Shepard rose smoothly into view from below the window frame, unharmed and with a distinct smirk on her face, a dozen yards or so from the side of the building. For a moment Dasava wondered how she could have done that, then realized she must be standing on something that had been in position to catch her - a skycar, perhaps, maybe piloted by that second operative that was supposed to be around.

"Cute," she growled, popping out her carbine's collapsible shoulder stock. "But there's still only one of you, bitch. Take her d - "

Her bark of command was cut off by plain shock as the item Shepard was standing on rose into view beneath the Spectre's armored boots. It wasn't a skycar. It wasn't a machine of any kind. And suddenly the panicked transmission from the team on Level 1 made all the sense in the world.

Gojira Nakajima narrowed his huge eyes at the Eclipse squad, then opened his jaws and issued a deafening roar that nearly bowled some of the more lightly built members, such as Rodik, over. As Dasava reeled a half-step back, trying her best to cover her ears without losing her weapon, a glowing autotranslator caption suddenly sprang into view in her holographic HUD:

SURRENDER. OR DON'T. THAT WOULD BE MORE FUN.

Well, so much for this job, she thought, and dropped her carbine.

"Spectres" - a Future Imperfect Micro-Story by Benjamin D. Hutchins
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