“Good. I expect better treatment in a place like this.” There wasn’t going to be a next time, but Groto wasn’t going to tell her that.

“We have a wide variety of services available,” Helanda explained, smoothly glossing over the doorman’s indiscretion and moving on to the business at hand. “The Sanctuary aims to satisfy the

desires of all our clientele, no matter how… esoteric. If you tell me what you are interested in, I will personally help you select an appropriate consort — or consorts — for the evening.”

“I’m interested in you,” he said, leaning forward on the counter, responding to the unspoken invitation. “That is not my role here,” she said curtly, taking a half step back, the lids of her inner eyes flicking

quickly in distaste. He realized her charm was nothing but an act; a game she was playing with him. Her

involuntary reaction exposed the truth: she felt the same revulsion he’d seen in the other employees.

From the corner of his eyes Groto noticed one of the krogan guards casually moving closer to them, and he decided now was not the time for retribution.

He forced a laugh, as if he found her stinging rejection amusing. “Actually, I’m interested in a human female.”

“A human female?” Helanda asked, as if she wasn’t sure she had heard him properly. “I’m curious,” he replied coldly.

“Very well, Mr. Ib-ba,” she said, touching a button behind the counter that brought up a small screen in front of her. “I should advise you that there is a premium charged for all interspecies requests. The appropriate fees are listed beside each consort.”

She spun the screen to face him. The display showed several prospects, along with the allotted price for each. Groto had to check himself to keep from choking in shock when he saw the amounts. Unlike the whorehouses he usually frequented, hourly rates weren’t an option here. A full night at the Sanctuary was going to cost several hundred credits more than his entire bonus. For a brief second he considered turning around and just walking out, but if he did, the four hundred credits he’d paid at the door were gone for good.

“Her,” he said, pointing at one of the pictures. There were less expensive options, but he was damned if he was going to let them bully him with their prices. He was never coming back here, so he was determined to get exactly what he wanted. Truthfully, he didn’t know all that much about humans. But something about this individual appealed to him. She seemed fragile. Vulnerable.

“An excellent choice, Mr. Ib-ba. I will have someone escort you to your room for the evening. Your consort will be up shortly.”

A few minutes later Groto was alone in one of the soundproofed private rooms, pacing back and forth and slamming his fist into his hand. He was thinking back on all the humiliations he had suffered since arriving at this place, working himself up into a fever, determined to take it out on the unfortunate human girl who was about to become his victim for the evening.

He wasn’t physically attracted to humans, female or otherwise. But this night wasn’t going to be about sex. Groto simply didn’t like humans. They bred and spread like vermin, swarming out across the Verge, gobbling up colony worlds and forcing other species out — like the batarians. The humans he worked

with in the Blue Suns knew how to handle themselves in a fight, but like all of their kind they were arrogant and self-important. Tonight he would take one of that proud species and make her suffer. He would humiliate, degrade, and punish her. He would break her!

There was a knock; soft and timid. He pulled open the door, reaching out to grab the woman’s wrist and yank her into the room. But he froze when he saw a male turian standing there.

“Who are — urk.”

His words were cut off as the turian punched him hard in the throat. Choking and gagging, Groto staggered back and fell onto the bed in the center of the room. The turian calmly stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Groto heard the lock click into place, sealing the pair of them in together.

Somehow scrambling to his feet, Groto struggled to catch his breath as he brought his fists up, waiting for the turian to move in and try to finish him off. After locking the door, however, the turian just stood there.

“Who are you?” Groto finally gasped. “Saren” was the one-word reply.

Groto shook his head; he didn’t recognize the name. “How’d you get past the guards?” he demanded.

“They didn’t try to stop me,” Saren replied, his voice relaxed. “I think they actually wanted me to come in here and take care of you.”

“What… what do you mean?” Groto’s voice was shaky; the unnatural calm of the turian was unsettling. He kept his hands up, poised in case the intruder made a move.

“Are you really that stupid? Don’t you realize they knew exactly what you had planned for tonight? They knew what you were after the moment you asked for a human consort.”

“What… what are you talking about?”

The turian took a single step forward. Groto scuttled two steps back, his fists raised and ready. He would have retreated further but he had reached the wall on the far end of the room — there was nowhere left to go.

“The Sanctuary does not allow its consorts to be harmed or injured,” Saren explained calmly. As he spoke he began to slowly advance, one deliberate step at a time. “They were monitoring the room.” Step. “The moment you laid a hand on that woman, an angry krogan would have burst in and ripped your head off.” Step.

“I wasn’t… I didn’t even do anything!” the batarian protested, finally dropping his fists. He felt like a fool waving them around when the other man seemed so calm.

Step. “I convinced them to let me handle it instead,” Saren continued, ignoring him. “They were concerned about bothering the other guests.” Step. “Then I reminded them that the walls are completely soundproof.” Step. “And you’ve already paid for the room.” Step.

The turian was directly in front of him now, though he still appeared completely relaxed. Groto brought his fists up again. “Back up or I’ll — ”

He never had a chance to finish the sentence as Saren delivered a solid kick to his nether regions. Blinding bolts of furious pain shot up through Groto’s bowels and stomach. He collapsed to the ground, the agony so great he could only whimper.

Saren grabbed him by the material of his newly purchased suit and yanked him back to his feet, then jabbed his thumb into one of Groto’s inner eyes, rupturing the orb and blinding him with a single blow. The batarian fainted, lapsing into unconsciousness from the sudden shock and pain.

Seconds later he woke screaming as Saren broke his right elbow. Howling in agony, he curled up into a ball, rolling back and forth as his body experienced physical suffering beyond anything he had ever imagined.

“You disgust me,” Saren whispered, kneeling down to grab Groto’s left wrist. He extended the batarian’s good arm, locking out the joints, and began to apply pressure. “You wanted to torture an innocent victim for your own pleasure. You sick bastard.

“Torture is only useful if it has a purpose,” Saren added, though his words were drowned out by the crack of Groto’s left elbow and the subsequent shrieks.

Saren stepped back from the convulsing man, letting the waves of pain rack his body. It took nearly a minute for shock to set in, numbing his mangled limbs to the point where Groto could finally speak.

“You’ll pay for this,” Groto wailed up at him from the ground, sobbing freely. Tears and mucus mixed with ocular fluid from his blind eye, dribbling down into his mouth and slurring his words into a blubbery parody of a threat. “Do you know who I am? I’m with the Blue Suns!”

“Why do you think I followed you here?”

A look of horror spread across Groto’s face as he finally understood. “You’re a Spectre,” he mumbled. “Please,” he begged, “tell me what you want. Anything. I’ll give it to you.”