The vehicle didn’t look like much.

It was a late-model from a mid-tier manufacturing corporation that had released and built it in order to provide vehicles for its own delivery drivers, but had proved surprisingly popular in the civilian markets, particularly with independent contractors and other corporations that needed vehicles of its type.

It was, in fact, a van-styled aircar, longer, wider and taller than the average. The angled cockpit was set in front of a wider rear area, for cargo or perhaps a small workshop- many contractors carried tools and even omnigel printers in the backs of their vehicles for tackling a wide variety of problems they might encounter on the job. It had the capacity and Eezo core size to handle middling amounts of cargo, making it the workhorse of many smaller to middle scale courier and delivery services. The rusted panels along the sides belied its age, marks and dings telling of a long life of service- and not an easy life, either. The windows were a bit dusty, hinting at landings outside the city, perhaps the delivery of packages to civilians who lived where there were no convenient concrete landing pads capable of handling an aircar such as this.

Of course, Kaynor reflected, examining the thing with a large bag of weaponry clutched in his hand, all of this was a lie.

Underneath the dings, scratches and rust hummed a machine that could outperform some sports models. Lift, speed, acceleration and inertial dampeners more fitted to a military dropship hidden underneath layers of sensor cloaking that disguised the vehicle as a below-average version of its model. Armour plating hid underneath rusted and dented metal, and inside, enough equipment to make your average Quarian holojockey faint in delight. He cast a particularly wary eye to where slightly shinier metal outlined squares, where the weapons of the vehicle could slide out at a moment’s notice.

He was jerked out of his thoughts as Arctus walked by him with his own bag of miscellaneous equipment, clapping Kaynor on the shoulder as he passed by. Kaynor shook off the last of the thread of thoughts regarding their (scarily well armed and armoured) transport, and followed behind the Turian.

“So…” Kaynor began. Arctus dumped the bag into some netting seemingly designed to hold it, then turned back to him with an inquisitive look. “Is it… usual for the Spook to give us a bare briefing?”

Arctus hummed, adjusting the straps of the net. “If we were taking more than a fireteam for this mission, or if there were more complicated steps, there would be a briefing for everyone involved that would go into detail on the plan itself. As it is, the Spirit likes to wait until we’re on-site to walk us through their plan- we don’t need to know it, as such, and Barlg has the theory that they believe we do better with the plan fresh in our minds.” The Turian gave him a friendly mandible-smile. “Don’t worry about it, they’ll have already planned out the entire thing ahead of time based on the details they gave us to study. Even when the Spirit’s plans go wrong, they don’t go wrong in a way we can’t handle with a bit of… percussive maintenance.”

Kaynor grunted as he heaved the weapons bag into Arctus’ talons, where it was taken into the vehicle and opened, the weapons inside removed one by one, carefully inspected, then locked into a weapons rack for easy access. Kaynor leaned against the side of the door, watching with interest- the weapons had some cosmetic damage, but had been obviously well-cared-for, and he imagined that they looked identical to the weaponry of the PMC they were meant to belong to. He blinked and tilted his head to the side as something occurred to him.

“Spirit? So… you don’t know their name?”

“Hah!” Kaynor blinked in surprise at the outright guffawha that came from the Turian’s mandibles. “Spirits, we don’t know their gender, or even their species. There’s a Spirits-damned betting pool going as to what the, ahem, Spirit is. Whatever their name is, they haven’t seen fit to tell us- though I can’t blame them.” The Turian nodded in satisfaction, folding up a weapon and slotting it into the rack. “There’s a lot you can tell from a name.”

“SPECTREs and their secrecy.” Kaynor shook his head. “I knew they were nothing like what the holo’s depict them as, but this is an entire other level.”

Arctus glanced up from another weapon to give him a lopsided Turian grin. “Ah, now, see, you’d be surprised. While it’s rare, we do occasionally work with other SPECTREs and their teams- they always tend to gather an entourage of individuals whose skills and talents they can make good use of. And the SPECTREs themselves, well, they tend to run a gamut of different types of personalities- there are the ones like ours, all mystery, cloak and smoke and mirrors, either an unreadable blank or so draped in falsities that you can’t even tell what’s real about them. On the other end of the spectrum, you have the Pubs- the publics.”

Feeling like he should be doing something, not just sitting there quizzing the Turian about their mysterious superior, Kaynor picked one of the weapons from the bag at random- a sidearm- and unfolded it, inspecting its parts.

“What’s the difference, then?”

He frowned at the little weapon, part of its unfolding a little sticky. He brought up his omnitool and synced it to the pistol’s own systems, running a diagnostic and frowning a little deeper when parts of it returned yellow, beginning to cast about for a tool. After a moment, he found it, and applied it to the fasteners of a plate recessed into the gun, beginning the process of removing it.

“Ah, well, see… Pubs are a far sight different than our own Spirit. Instead of feeling barely real, like something that doesn’t quite belong in this reality, Pubs are…” Arctus paused in his inspection, mandibles twitching as he tried to find the words. “They’re… I suppose you could say they’re almost… too real.”

Kaynor blinked, panel half-open as he stared at the Turian. “TOO real?” Arctus nodded.

“They’re… heroes. People who did great things in service of civilized space, who stepped up in times of trial and snatched improbable victory. They’re larger than life, like they stepped out of some old warrior’s tale, standing head and shoulders above the rest of us.” He folded up the weapon in his talons, but didn’t place it on the rack, gaze far away. “Often, Pubs are bright- as people, as almost forces of nature, arriving on the scene like explosions and leaving everybody dazzled. Of course, that’s often on purpose- Pubs are selected for their personalities and tendency to fill a room all by themselves as much as their performance in the field. Bright lights cast deep shadows, and it makes it all that much easier for SPECTREs like ours to hide, mainly in plain sight, invisible when drowned out by the star-like brightness of the Pubs.” He seemed to finally realize he was still holding the weapon, slotting it into its place in the rack. “When we’re paired with a Pub- which really isn’t often, only when we have to do it, the Spirit prefers not to get that close to them- we’re often folded into the Pub’s own team, and our SPECTRE is treated as if they’re just some sort of spec-ops Citadel soldier.” A wave of his talons. “That is, if they’re mentioned at all.”

“Hrm.”

The panel popped open with a gentle jimmying from a lever tool, and a dense assortment of wires greeted him, filling the open cavity. Kaynor frowned at the bundles of colours, prodding them gently with a pair of tweezers until a solder was revealed- a slapdash repair or manufacturing error, tiny beads allowing a bridge between two contacts, creating a short circuit. Kaynor disconnected the weapon’s primary and backup power packs, ejecting them from their slots, then went to work heating and removing the excess solder and wicking it away.

“You’re pretty handy with those tools.” Kaynor twitched as he realized the Turian was leaning over the weapon, watching his work with intense interest. He swore- an ugly, gravely word he’d learned from a Batarian once- as he splashed a drop of solder across a wire bundle. “Whoops, sorry!” Arctus leaned back, mandibles arranged in what kaynor recognized as an apologetic smile, talons raised. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Ah, no, it’s… it’s fine. I get too much into…” Kaynor glanced to the side, then focused back in on making sure that all of the escaped solder was cleaned away. He chewed his tongue for a few moments, but… he was meant to work with the Turian, yes? Not just on this particular assignment, but long term. Maybe… “... I used to run maintenance. For my sector.”

Arctus blinked, made a… noise, that was somewhere between a chirp and a whistle. “The entire department?”

A grimace crossed Kaynor’s face. “Nothing like a department, mostly in name only. Two people that were only technically under me in the paperwork. They knew what they had to do, they didn’t need me muddling in their business, breathing in their hair… so I just did the paperwork, organized our stocks, and did repairwork with them.” He blinked, looking up, fingers toying with the tweezers. Open, close. Open, close. “It’s… that was a… long time ago.”

Arctus carefully cleared a section of the workbench of components and tools, placing them off to the side, then levered himself up onto the surface to sit. Besides a light creaking, the structure made no complaints.

“So, before all the… well. The work that brought the Spirit’s attention your way?”

Kaynor nodded. “Yes, that… came later.” He felt the edges of his lips twitch upwards. “I found something of a niche, there. I was good at my job- they even started sending me the old surplus weapons we sometimes received from the fleets. I had a reputation for being able to overhaul just about anything, regardless of how damaged it was.”

“... Had?”

In a moment, the wisps of nostalgia Kaynor had shredded like mist before a strong wind. He closed his eyes a moment, then opened them, fingers clenching on the tweezers hard enough to bend them in a way they weren’t supposed to be bent. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Arctus’ talons clench the steel he sat upon.

“Sorry. I should know better…” he cleared his throat. “Among this crowd, you learn not to ask questions when people aren’t precisely forthcoming with answers.”

Kaynor took a breath, then gave Arctus a wry grin. “And I suppose it’s a lesson you never really learned?” He shook his head and waved the Turian off as his mandibles quirked upwards and opened again. “No, I think I can guess pretty well what the answer is.”

The Turian pushed himself off the counter and got back to work, preparing the various pieces of equipment they’d be using in but a few hours. He didn’t bring up the tension that underlay the little jab Kaynor had thrown out, and as the air in the vehicle settled into a more comfortable working silence, Kaynor felt grateful for that.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT​

The aircar rattled slightly as it settled down. Kaynor tightened his grip slightly around the submachine gun he had in his hands, final suit systems checks completing and mass effect field generators kicking on with the slightest hum. He glanced across at Arctus, who nodded to him, a matching SMG clutched in his talons. Something out of the corner of his vision made him twitch his head, but it was merely the Spook, who had stepped out of the cockpit of the aircar and moved into the rear area. He stood at attention best he could in this slightly cramped space, noting that Arctus was already the Turian military ideal as far as standing went.

“Review objectives.” The Spook’s voice was empty as ever. It still sent shivers up Kaynor’s back, especially working up to a mission like this.

“Sir. Disable armoury, clone and lace mainframe with malware, plant explosives in primary work area.”

Spook nodded. “I will be completing my own objectives elsewhere in the building. Barlg will be providing overwatch from nearby, but unless unavoidable, maintain radio silence. Any objectives not completed in twenty five minutes will be abandoned. Rendezvous here at mission clock forty at the latest. Lethal force is authorized at your discretion.”

Their hand pressed itself to a panel next to the exit of the aircar, which slid open silently.

Kaynor nodded. “Understood, sir.”

To his surprise, he received a nod back before the Spook vanished into the night. He glanced at Arctus, who clicked a heat block into his weapon and flicked a switch, powering it on. He checked his line of sight coms, nodding in satisfaction when he received a good indicator in return.

“Coms active, seals good, sound dampening active.”

“Affirmative.”

Arctus made a gesture with his talons that Kaynor vaguely recognized as a non-verbal affirmation. He nodded, then lifted the SMG to his shoulder and stepped out into the darkened city, Arctus but a few steps behind him. Somewhere, it occurred to him that this was technically his first night on the job, and for his sake and Arctus’, he hoped it was a smooth one.