The Lucifer Effect
Author's Note: Thanks a bunch for your feedback and follows, everyone! I'm honored and humbled :) Hope you all continue to enjoy!
Intrigued, Sa'mosa watches the human work on her legs, tuning in to every expression made. Most—if not all—of them are grimaces with a healthy dose of curses.
"You need help, whelp?"
"No," Remy seethes through gritted teeth, fumbling with a wrench as she tries to tighten a bolt at an awkward angle.
"I'll be dead by the time you finish this," Sa'mosa teases, grinning when the stubborn human shoots her most menacing glare. "Oh~ so scary."
Yeah, no. There's no way anyone will take Remy seriously with gaudy gauze slapped over her eye, a bandage-baton for a hand, and still no pants.
"Just so you know, I have a fucking missile in my knee." Remy growls, diving back in to try to secure another part. "And we both know I have a history with fucking up and blowing shit up."
"Namely yourself." Sa'mosa smiles sweetly when Remy scoffs. "All I have to do is crush you with my mind before your baby missile shows itself, whelp." Sa'mosa hops off the crate and kneels in front of Remy, stealing the wrench and slapping the human's hand away. "Just let me help, we ain't got all day. The boss ain't payin' ya to sit on your ass."
"He's not paying, period. I didn't get a job from him. Guess he figured I'm outta commission for a while."
"I got one, but it's definitely a two person job—which is his roundabout way of giving it to both of us. Well, I could ask someone else in the crew, but... Wanna be my plus one?" Sa'mosa shrugs, tilting her head to look behind the knee. She's never seen prosthetics up this close; best not to let the human catch wind of that. She looks up, her curiosity piqued by how Remy seems adamant to stare at other patients instead. Is she not worried about herself, or is her concussion killing what little's left of her brain?
Sa'mosa decides not to draw attention it, electing to take this opportunity to study the mechanical legs; not that she has a freaking clue what this technology does, but any scrap of knowledge is an advantage on the battlefield—especially in their line of work.
Silence falls as she works on tightening all the nuts and bolts, stealing glances and frowning whenever vivid agony strikes across Remy's features. What's happening to this idiot now? She's clutching the crate with white knuckles. Her body looks like it's crying through it's sweat.
"What the hell's wrong with you, whelp? You don't feel this, do you?"
"Yeah," Remy wheezes quickly, gulping air. "Feels like you're drilling a nail in me."
Duly noted. No wonder she was so bitchy after the rescue from the shuttle, with burned 'legs' too.
Sa'mosa bites her tongue to keep her wise-cracks to herself for once. She needs a partner to fly the shuttle on this next job, after all... And a partner in a different sense. Out of everybody else in the crew, she'd rather work with this reckless fireball than some uptight turian or arrogant krogan. At least the human makes things extra interesting.
"Hurry up," Remy rasps in pain. Sa'mosa almost chews her out for it, but backs down at the quiet: "please."
"Workin' as fast as I can here, just hold on a little bit longer." Sa'mosa crouches lower and dips her head, running her fingers along the calf to feel for anything that doesn't feel screwed in. Her eyes snap up, alarmed by the shuddering breath Remy takes. Her face—the half Sa'mosa can see, anyways—is nearly crimson. "Oh for the love of the Goddess... If you're about to blow up, warn me first. I don't want to end up as collateral damage."
"N-no," Remy coughs, "I'm good." She fidgets on the crate; she's too anxious for Sa'mosa's liking. She watches keenly, alarmed when Remy chuckles nervously. She usually puffs up and blows hot air out her ass, what gives this time? "Any chance you've got a spare pair of pants stashed somewhere? I'll take anything."
Uh...
"You just looked like you were gonna rip my crest off, and now you're worried about pants?" Sa'mosa frowns, double checking to ensure everything looks good on the human's legs before she stands, crossing her arms to intimidate the truth out of Remy. "That concussion of yours messin' with you or what?"
"I wonder," Remy mutters, brushing Sa'mosa off with a dismissive wave. "I'm just cold, okay? Do you have something or not?"
Sa'mosa bites the inside of her lip to try to keep a straight face, but she can't. The moment the corner of her mouth quirks up in a smirk, the gig is up and Remy's eye narrows in suspicion. It's now or never. "Sure do, whelp, somethin' that'll warm ya right up." She takes off her backpack and eagerly opens it, a grin splitting her face at the sight of the tacky tracks.
She made sure to pack them on top.
"Here ya go, darling." she drawls sarcastically, throwing the pants at Remy. She turns around and leaves, whistling innocently. "When you've made yourself half-decent, meet me at the Warden's gate. I promise we're gonna have tons of fun on this next job." She knows she will, anyway.
After a precise countdown, she looks back in perfect time to see the human passionately execute the flipping of the bird.
Sa'mosa laughs, lilting to ruffle the pup's feathers. "You're welcome, by the way~"
"Fuck you, food!"
-—-—-—-—-—-
A hazy fog grips Remy and she can't shake it off. She groans when her guts clench, bile crawling up her throat as slow as molasses. She's hunched over in her seat, her middle finger on standby for every time Sa'mosa's laughter pierces the fog, hugging her knees and praying for this nauseating dizzy spell to end.
"Let me out," she wheezes pathetically, "I'm gonna die."
"Oh, quit being a baby. You literally survived worse yesterday." Sa'mosa reaches over to pat Remy's knee. "You're just fine, darling."
Remy's cheeks warm. "Fuck you." Ugh. That loses it's bite when she croaks like a fucking frog, and this asshole's amused by it too.
"Hey, how's my driving?!" Sa'mosa yells as she rolls the fucking shuttle, and Remy's stupid baton-hand punches herself in the mouth. "This is a special asari commando move!"
"Go fu—oh god..." Remy holds on to the dashboard for dear life, trying to ignore the swimming in her head and her stomach. "I promise I'll projectile vomit on you if you keep this up! Quit fucking around, and let me drive if you don't know how to."
"You don't know where we're going." Sa'mosa retorts nonchalantly, stabilizing the flight. Eventually. "You're in for a galaxy of hurt if motion sickness is a problem."
"Your flying is my problem!" Remy forces herself to sit up straight, glaring at the smug asari. When will karma stop bullying Remy? "Where are you taking me, anyways?"
"You ask that like I'm kidnapping you."
"For all I know, you are kidnapping me!"
"Well." Sa'mosa shrugs. "You're not wrong."
"What?!"
"Relax! It's a set up, and you already look the part of a hostage. A fake-kidnapping. No big deal."
Remy freezes, her eye widening in disbelief. "No big deal...?"
"Yup! No big deal. We'll be back home in time for happy hour if you don't blow this up."
Okay. So she's at the mercy of this asshole, and she's a hostage in a smuggling business, and human—literal—trafficking is... No big deal?
Remy doesn't waste a single second and launches a strike, assaulting the laughing woman with her fucking baton-hand. "This isn't funny, you soulless fucking—ugh!" She huffs as she slams back in her chair, if only to try to stop the hammering in her head and the pounding in her throat. "What the hell is the job this time?" She crosses her arms awkwardly, grumbling. "And if I don't like it, my 'baby missile' is still enough to blow us out this fucking sky."
"Dial down the drama, darling. Just pretend you're selling flesh and we'll be fine. We're here."
"Selling flesh?" Remy's eyebrow arches in confusion. "You mean I'm a pimp, right?" Her eye narrows dangerously. "For your fucking sake, you better mean I'm the pimp."
"You're a genius, aren't you? I'm sure you've already figured out what I actually mean. Isn't this a dream come true for you? We've been getting screwed the moment we came to Andromeda, so this shouldn't be anything new." Sa'mosa reaches over, slapping a hand over Remy's mouth... And stuffing a ball inside. Even when Remy tries to take it out, an invisible force casually keeps her hand away and the ball stuffed in her mouth. She glares at the assari. "Oh, is that a look of worry, darling?"
Remy seriously needs to design a look that literally kills.
"Now now, save the hostility for once we're inside. I'm sure you'll settle in your role naturally, after all the practicing we've been doing by insulting each other all day." Sa'mosa winks, focusing on the controls to land the shuttle. "Reyes promised a bonus with this one. Just let me handle the talking and keep the barking to a minimum, or your hothead will be the reason why we'll be dancing in front of him with stupid looks on our faces. Again."
Remy scoffs. She glances over when Sa'mosa bounces another strip of cloth on her hand. "Tie this and make it look like it's keepin' the ball in your mouth. Oh, and take the hat off. Untie the 'tail, make your hair look wild and messy. Looking the role is half the battle." Sa'mosa grins mischievously. "Good thing you've got the constipated pissy look down perfectly. Get loads of practice there too, huh?"
Ugh. Remy gives a pointed look and makes a point by trying to grab the strip with her bandaged hand. She spits out the gag. "See this? What part of me screams 'hooker'?"
"You did walk all over the place without pants, remember?" Sa'mosa laughs, the heartless harlot. "You'll be fine. Some people are into freaky shit as long as it has breasts."
Remy smacks across the asari's crest with the stupid baton-hand, looking away to hide her smirk. "That bonus better be worth my dignity, T'Lova."
The laughter stops abruptly. Remy doesn't dare look, but her smile grows when she gets a friendly bop across the shoulder.
"Would I lie to you, darling?"
Remy looks over, hoping her face—all half of it, thanks to the damn gauze and gag stuffed back in her mouth—is enough to scream yes.
Sa'mosa grins. "You're right, I would." She leans over to tie the strip around Remy's mouth. "And if you want to stay alive, remember that I'll lie to you when it matters most."
...That's supposed to make sense, how?
-—-—-—-—-—-
Faint music plays behind Suvi. She glances at Sara, who's sleeping away with headphones on, slumped against the email terminal.
How Sara's even comfortable like that transcends comprehension—alcohol may have something to do with that this time, though. Party animal.
Still, this sight never ceases to bring Suvi amusement. It's worth coming back on-duty earlier, stealing peeks at the sleeping beast to recharge her own dwindling motivation.
Sara's ponytail has come partially undone, sticking out in all sorts of angles from the friction of her sliding down the terminal. The mental countdown begins as Sara's back inches closer to the floor. Suvi smiles knowingly as she quietly climbs out of her station, making a fresh cup of coffee. She bites her lip and tries to suppress the laughter bubbling in her chest at the startled snore. Looking over her shoulder, she smiles at the dazed woman on the floor, staring into blank space.
"Welcome back to the living, Pathfinder." Suvi greets pleasantly, even if she can't be heard above the music. She walks over and kneels as she holds the coffee under Sara's nose. Hopefully the rich aroma will help rouse the sleep-muddled soul fully awake.
"Where—" Sara starts loudly, stopping to turn her music off. She shimmies up on her elbows and blinks at Suvi, confused. "How'd I end up here?"
"Same reason you end up sleeping anywhere on this ship. We just don't know the reason yet." Suvi lies, purposefully keeping the rowdy party at the slums' nightclub a secret. She smiles when Sara shrugs her mystery off and sits up to accept the coffee.
"Thanks, Suvi." Sara stands, then looks up at the ceiling with a focused expression. It's most likely due to SAM speaking on a private channel—not that Suvi's been observing that much to have learned such a thing, of course. Sara looks down at Suvi, a suspicious smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
She's got a plan.
"SAM's informed me that Kallo wants a few more hours of rest, and I don't trust our auto-pilot." Sara gestures to the door, lifting her mug to cover her smirk. "At least, that's my excuse. Wanna go out and see what else Kadara has to offer? Great time for you to stretch your legs, see something besides the ship. Or from the ship."
"Excuse, hm?" Suvi's brow arches, intrigued. The puzzle pieces itself together when Sara simply shrugs innocently—a shameless facade. "Ah, yes, I understand. I don't trust our auto-pilot either." Suvi glances over at her station, wondering if she should take her things. Probably not if she doesn't want to get mugged.
They will be safe, right?
Well, nothing horrible has happened so far, and most of the crew is all over Kadara. There have been a surprising amount of nice exiles too, genuine people who are just trying to make do. It gives her hope to know that not all have forgotten that they're pioneers, not pirates. Suvi follows the Pathfinder out the bridge, amused by the bounce in Sara's step as she leads them to the cargo bay.
Suvi smiles, well aware of the bounce in her own step too. Maybe, by some miracle, she'll run into Remedy.
...Hopefully the exile hasn't forgotten that she's a pioneer too.
-—-—-—-—-—-
Sara takes a deep breath in, even though she's put off by the humid air's horrible stench filling her lungs. Can air even be smelled? Well, it's better than Habitat 7.
Her mood threatens to plummet at the memory.
Laying down—uncaring of the porous rock—she adjusts her headphones so that one is still over her ear. She folds her hands behind her head and looks up at the deceivingly picture-perfect sky, letting music work it's soothing magic as she also listens to the excited muttering nearby.
In a couple hours from now, she's probably going to receive another email attachment about dirt.
Sara chuckles to herself, glancing over in Suvi's direction. The woman's face is illuminated by her omni-tool as she scans fungus growing out a boulder.
"You look like a mad scientist right now," Sara teases, pushing up on an elbow to get a better view of her colleague in action.
Suvi's lips quirk up in a subtle smirk, and she moves around the boulder to scan another set of minerals. "You wouldn't believe the data I'm compiling from this alone. I don't get much hands-on experience anymore, especially with fascinating samples like these. The Nexus science team is going to be ecstatic once I send this analysis to them."
To be honest, Sara has a hard time understanding what could be so exciting about this, but... At least someone is. Without the science team, she wouldn't have her fancy gear. She smiles idly, laying back down and soaking in the sights of a familiar blue sky. It's both comforting and disappointing that some things haven't changed across galaxies—though, it was probably slightly irrational to dream of neon-colored skies. Is a permanent aurora really unreasonable?
Thoughts screech to a halt when Suvi comes up into view, though upside down. "Are you bored, Pathfinder?"
"What?" Sara's eyebrows furrow in confusion. She shakes her head, adjusting her headphones when they slip. "Oh, no, it's okay. I'm doing my thing and you're doing your thing. Just hanging out and relaxing, yeah?" She smiles casually, pondering why Suvi seems to be frowning instead—or is the whole upside-down thing just messing with Sara's head?
Instead of an answer, Suvi sits down beside Sara. Something about the whole atmosphere feels like it's shifting in a direction Sara doesn't like, and she tenses. She hates tension. Her headphones are plucked right off of her.
Nevermind, she hates this more.
"Hey!" A jolt of something surges through Sara, though it's not immediately clear what. Worry? Panic? Whatever it is, it feels even worse when Suvi slides the headphones on, closing her eyes.
"Piano?" Suvi asks, smiling softly. "It sounds authentic instead of the holographic simulated ones. How old is this song?"
Another jolt surges through Sara—this time: anxiety. Has she mentioned she hates tension? She laughs nervously, rubbing her nape when Suvi's eyes open and hone in on her. "It's not old." she blurts, shrugging, looking away... But scooting close enough to hear the music too. She needs something to ground her before this tightening feeling in her chest soars out of control.
"So... Someone had a real piano back in the Milky Way? You? Or someone you know?" Suvi holds one of the muffs against her ear, spinning the frame of the headphone to give the other muff to Sara, who takes it without hesitation. Tension plateaus even when the calming sounds resonate louder, failing to drown out the white noise buzzing in her brain.
Sara says nothing, still uncomfortable that someone else is listening to these songs. At least she's not pressed for an answer, though her curiosity gets the better of her. She steals a sideways glance, relaxing just a little bit more when she sees Suvi's eyes closed.
So Sara does the same, closing her eyes and breathing in tune, becoming immersed in the music. The white noise slowly fades away.
"Whoever is playing this has a gift," Suvi murmurs softly, entranced.
Sara's chest aches, and her lips quiver in a bittersweet smile as she whispers her correction.
"Had."
-—-—-—-—-—-
"What part of let me handle the talking didn't you understand?!" Sa'mosa shouts as she leads them down another corridor, entering an adjacent building littered with crates and shipping containers. A storage room. A dead end.
Not one Remy plans to meet literally.
"I didn't say anything!" she laughs breathlessly, grinning when Sa'mosa shoots a dirty glare. "What? He shouldn't'uv touched my ass if he didn't want his fingers broken."
"Ugh, you're impossible! Worst fuckin' hooker alive."
"Well then next time, you can be the hooker! Everybody has a weird fetish for the asari."
Remy tries to brace her ribs when sharp pain shoots up and down her side, flaring up with every breath taken—and there are a lot of breaths. She's injured seven ways to hell and she's no soldier, she tells herself. It isn't a good enough excuse to comfort her for grumbling how out of shape she is. If only she brought her hoverboard.
...On second thought, that would definitely end up as another one of her worst ideas ever. Sa'mosa would try to ride with her.
Then kick her off.
"Hey, didn't you say you're a commando?!" Remy asks, pushing past the pain as she follows Sa'mosa to take cover behind stacked crates. "I thought asari commandos were the best soldiers ever, or some bullshit like that. Why are you running away if you can throttle them with your mind?"
"Have you seen how many assholes there were back there?" Sa'mosa growls, checking around the corner. "Commandos fight best one-on-one, and I can't stop a hundred bullets coming at us all at once." She unholsters her shotgun and tries to give it to Remy. "Take this. Shoot at anyone who tries to flank us and I'll—"
"Are you insane? I'm an engineer, not a soldier! How the hell am I supposed to use this with my bandaged hand?"
"It's your life, though I doubt you'll care about excuses after you're dead." Sa'mosa shrugs as she dumps the weapon in Remy's arms anyways. "I'm confident you'll learn fast." Sa'mosa makes a show of her hands, wiggling them. "I'm a huntress, not a Goddess. There's only so much my biotics can do; but if we fight smart, we'll survive. Consider this your crash course on guerrilla tactics."
Nearly every word bleeds out to white noise as Remy stares at the shotgun awkwardly cradled in her forearms, her heart pounding in her ears. She's never killed anyone with her own hands. Bile rushes up too fast to stop and she keels over to puke, the ringing growing deafeningly loud, drowning out whatever Sa'mosa says.
"D-dizzy... Gonna faint," she blurts, back hitting the crate before her mechanical legs give out underneath her.
And suddenly, everything is pitch-black. Quiet.
Calm.
Something touches her gently, and in the darkness, a lighthouse appears at the end of a raging storm. The beacon glows brightly, guiding her, comforting her.
"Where am I?" she asks silently, her shapeless mouth moving. She's in a body she can't see. "What the hell is this?"
Wisps of whispers surround her, embracing her, soothing her... Somehow. She still doesn't understand. Instinct welcomes these sensations instead of giving rise to suspicion. She feels every breath in exact increments as her lungs fill and empty, eerie at how clear it is without the hazy fog or the constant agony wracking her mind and body.
Over time, a sense of serenity drapes over her... And shatters. Her eye snaps open, yelping and flinching back, startled by charcoal eyes right up in her face. She blinks in confusion, the world fading in and out as she tries to make sense of it. Then it becomes crystal-clear.
Sa'mosa massages her forehead, groaning lowly. "Goddess, your brain is all kinds of fucked up... Never doing that again. Think I gave myself a fucking concussion."
"W-what...?" Remy stares incredulously, head turning to the sound of gunfire nearing rapidly. Oddly enough, there's no reaction to it; not like before. She's nervous that she's not nervous. This tranquility is nothing she's experienced before. She watches Sa'mosa stumble back to the corner of the crate, and in a blink, her eyes are back to normal.
It clicks.
"Jesus, did you meld with me?" Remy rushes to Sa'mosa's side to catch her before she falls out of cover, completely disoriented. "Hey! What the hell is happening to you?!"
A loud bang screeches in the air, then a series of shrieking. Remy barely hears Sa'mosa cry out in pain above the shots chipping away at their crate. She can pay later for violating Remy's mind without permission... Even if it was to help, but who knows what that help cost?
Another gunshot makes her snap.
"Fuck sake... You assholes are begging for a new asshole!" Remy growls, turning around and picking the shotgun up off the ground. She tears into her bandaged hand and unravels it with her teeth, trying not to look at the disgusting slime of medi-gel coating the mass graveyard of popped blisters. Her hand looks like fucking bubble wrap after it's been in a toddler's hands.
Kneeling, she engages her omni-tool to deactivate the missile's safeties in her leg, then clenches her jaw and slews cusses in a meager effort to tolerate the pain when she pries up the knee cap. It's going to be weird walking like she's got no knee, if she fires; she's only ever tried to without having a loaded missile in the first place.
But no matter what happens, she will walk away intact—intact enough—to deal with whatever consequences may come from her recklessness now.
"T'Lova, how do I fire a shotgun?!" she yells over her shoulder, stealing a quick glance at Sa'mosa. The dazed asari props herself up on the crate, heaving heavily. Sa'mosa collapses on her hands and knees, turning until their backs are pressed together. She blindly hooks a hand on Remy's shoulder and an influx of energy buzzes through her; it almost feels like she's being imbued with an extreme case of being hyper as fuck, and she has no idea how to release this charge. It's like she's one big broken capacitor now.
"Biotics—" Sa'mosa rasps, taking huge gulps of air. "Barrier, absorbs some recoil too."
"What? You're not making sense!" Desperate, Remy pops the shotgun around cover and dares steal a peek. She yelps when a raider immediately opens fire on her... And her jaw drops in fascination when the bullets simply bounce back. She wishes her shields could do that; something to design once she quells this chaos.
Her guts clench and she seizes up when a ricochet kills the raider, and a piece of her shuts down, detaching from reality and treating it like a nightmare. This is a nightmare. It's not because of her that he died. She didn't kill him. He did that to himself. She didn't kill him. It's not her fault. She didn't kill him.
"Brace the gun against your shoulder," Sa'mosa wheezes, clumsily turning and hunching over Remy, repositioning the way the shotgun's held.
"Hey, get your fuckin' breasts off my head!"
Weak laughter graces her, and she almost smirks. Another raider bursts into the room. She freezes, but Sa'mosa's hand smooths over hers and forces her finger to pull the trigger. The jolt kicks against her shoulder and she grunts, her eye rolling back in pain when her burned hand chafes against the hilt. The raider cusses and dives to take cover behind another container.
"Missed," Sa'mosa hisses, "y'gotta aim, whelp. Use the sights."
"You say that like I've had any kind of training with guns!"
Sa'mosa either ignores her, or pretends not to hear her. There's no other option. "We need to pick them off as they come in or they'll all just overwhelm us again, and there's nowhere left to run. This is our last stand." Her tone's strained. Pressure is mounting. "Take a deep breath and focus, my barrier will protect you even if he fires at us."
"I..." Remy grits her teeth, genuinely trying to listen. Pain splits down her skull whenever she concentrates, and her vision is still blurry. The mayhem of emotions that tormented her before are flooding back. "I can't see, though." Excuse after excuse after excuse. She's afraid of turning into her machines—into a machine, just like everybody else. Eat, sleep, kill, repeat. She can't turn into that; let her machine be the monster instead. "I need my turret—"
"Well then set one up!" Sa'mosa snaps, her composure cracking. "My biotics won't work properly if my brain's a scrambled egg. You fucked this up, now fix it!"
But the 'solution' means killing a person, a person that used to be like her; a pioneer that came to Andromeda with high hopes and dreams, with a contribution to make.
The raider used to be like her.
Fear takes over when he hurdles over the container, charging towards them, having learned his rifle's useless against the barrier. He takes out a shiv. Remy panics and pulls the trigger, crying out as even the subtlest recoil makes liquid fire sear down her hand, feeling like it's ripping her fingers right out the sockets. When the smoke clears, her eye widens in shock and her stomach violently churns.
Blood pools around the motionless body not one meter away from her, the stomach cavity shredded open, intestines exposed like some massive fleshy fucking tape worm.
The raider is her now.
"Well," Sa'mosa sighs, "now we know how rotten he is on the inside."
"...Just like me." Remy mutters numbly.