Mass Effect: The Forgotten Soul

Chapter Eleven. Five: Aftermath

"Not all that wonder are lost."


After what felt like hours inside Afterlife, Velpia and Martin were finally escorted out, the pounding bass of the club fading behind them as the heavy doors slid shut. Aria had been cold, as usual, but she seemed satisfied with their results. She hadn't offered much in the way of thanks—Aria never did—but at least they were still breathing, and that counted for something on Omega.

Velpia marched ahead without looking back, her posture rigid and purposeful. Martin followed a few steps behind, slower, hands in his pockets, unsure of what to do next. His mind was still spinning from everything that had happened. The mission. Dallas. Madz. It was all tangled in his brain, and the exhaustion was finally starting to settle into his bones.

Velpia reached the cab depot first, her mandibles twitching with mild irritation as she called down one of the skycabs idling at the edge of the platform. The cab door slid open, and she threw her rifle inside before stepping in, but then she paused.

She glanced over her shoulder and noticed that Martin wasn't behind her. Her mandibles clicked quietly in frustration. "Hey!" she shouted. "Are you coming or not?" Martin stopped a few steps away, hesitating. "Didn't think I was still welcome."

Velpia sighed audibly and climbed back out of the cab, letting the door hang open. She closed the distance between them with quick strides, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. "You seriously think I'm just gonna let you run off and get Aria pissed at us all over again?"

Martin blinked, unsure whether she was joking or not. Velpia was hard to read, half the time, she acted like she didn't care if he lived or died, and the other half, it felt like she was the only one keeping him tethered to reality.

"I... I just don't know what's going on anymore," Martin admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Everything's been a mess since I got out of that damn pod. I can't tell if I'm coming or going."

For a moment, Velpia's stern expression softened, just enough for someone who knew how to look for it. For all his bravado and stubbornness, he looked like a lost kid, someone who didn't know where he was supposed to be or where he even belonged anymore.

She let out a short, exasperated breath, but there was no real anger in it. "Come on," she said, jerking her head toward the cab. "We've got things to talk about. Like the credits you still owe me."  Martin groaned, rubbing his temples. "Shit... right. The credits."

Velpia smirked, a rare glimpse of amusement crossing her face. "Yeah. And don't think I forgot about interest." Martin gave a chuckle, though he wasn't sure if she was joking. With Velpia, it was always hard to tell.  She turned back toward the cab, this time waiting for him to catch up. He hesitated for another second, then sighed and followed her, his steps slow and heavy.

As they climbed into the cab, Velpia tossed her rifle across her lap and leaned back, crossing her arms. Martin settled into the seat next to her, the door sliding shut with a soft click. The cab lifted off the platform smoothly, the hum of its engines vibrating through the seats.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The lights of Omega blurred past the windows, neon signs casting streaks of color across their faces. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, but it was heavy, like the end of a long battle, when all that's left is to catch your breath and take stock of the damage.

They returned to the apartment, immediately Martin slumped onto the couch, looking like he'd been through hell and back—his elbows on his knees, hands pressed against his face. His head tilted back as he exhaled heavily, as if the exhaustion in his body ran all the way to his bones.  Velpia tossed her rifle onto the bed with a dull thud, sighing as she sat down at the edge.