<b>Asad</b>cursed to himself as he dashed down the alley, trying his damnedest to follow the crowd without losing the mark. Whomever had tampered with the kiosks . . . they were good. Very good. He made a mental note to track them down later and execute them for their trouble. The move had been an excellent distraction - it had thrown off his aim, blotted out his line of sight, and allowed the hunted turian to get away. Damn it, but<b>Asad</b>had had him in his crosshairs! If he'd had just a few minutes more, then he would have trimmed the turian's fringe as soon as the man exposed himself, and the mission would have been over just like that. Whatever bosh'tet had planned the distraction, no matter who or where they were,<b>Asad</b>owed them nothing less than a quick, simple death - the same death that they'd denied him the chance to provide.<br/><br/>Shouldering an unarmed human to the side,<b>Asad</b>sprinted down a junction between buildings, the tactical overlay on the inside of his helmet broadcasting possible routes for him, and pinpointing potential threats. This wasn't the place for a sniper rifle . . . if he'd had the credits for a secondary weapon,<b>Asad</b>would have armed himself to the teeth. He gasped softly for air - he was becoming ragged already, damn it all. His body hadn't yet gotten back into the rhythm of frantic, adrenaline-fueled exercise. At least the mark was easy to follow - the turian was fast, very fast, and the howling masses were pursuing him like a horde of banshees. Perfect, at the very least - they covered<b>Asad</b>'s own movements.<br/><br/>"I'm pursuing the target as we speak." He spoke into his mic, broadcasting to the drell -<b>Kyll</b>- and to either of the asari, if they were with him. The channels had been synced up as well, which was a pleasant relief.<b>Asad</b>would have liked to avoid the usual trash-talking that accompanied mob violence, and he gasped a silent prayer to the ancestors that he had been spared. Leaning against the side of a building and protectively cradling his rifle, he took a moment to steal a few deep breaths before setting off - the alleys were coming to a close, and he was looking forward to the chance to get a proper view once again. He wouldn't get a good shot surrounded by metal walls like this - his only option was to find a roost that gave him a good enough line of sight to pick the mark out. Then it was all child's play.<br/><br/>The heads-up display had such a target marked - a transportation warehouse on the far side of the district, its sides visible at a distance as<b>Asad</b>broke free from the alleys and onto a transit hub. The side of the slab-like building was emblazoned with a giant 'XII', marking its place in the layout of shipping and storage spaces on Omega. The building was big, and it was perfect - a smuggler like the mark would want a large space where he could protect himself, and the addition of friends within the city's shipping guilds made the building an enticing target.<b>Asad</b>was willing to bet his life - and his chances - on it, and the direction of the shouts and gunfire didn't hurt - the mark would be headed back to comparatively safe ground, doubling back towards the protection of his associates, and falling right into the trap that<b>Asad</b>was planning out even as he made his way towards the warehouse.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>