Chapter Nine: From Heaven to Afterlife
Martin and Velpia exited the Dockyard and headed back to the room. Martin was quiet the entire way back, refusing any question given to him; he asked for silence. Velpia didn't like his stressed response. Something was wrong with himself, but he couldn't tell what. He didn't remember anything that happened during the firefight. He remembered a loud ringing sound, then nothing. It shook him to his core; what if he wasn't in control? What if this was all a dream? He was fidgeting around in his seat, trying to get the feeling of anxiety to go away. His mind even drowned out Velpia's objections.
They returned to the room, and Martin dashed into the bathroom, still unable to shake off the feeling completely. He took a shower and put his hard suit and clothes into the cleaning machine. Ever since he had woken up at this... time, he didn't feel the same as he did prior. He was convinced it was his body, but he felt different as if things ran differently now. He felt more robust and faster, could react to situations more quickly, and was more aware, clear-minded, and even more intelligent. These things frightened him; if he was different, how did it happen, and how much has he changed?
Velpia was in the room, pacing back and forth. She was furious. She was tired of his games, the secrecy, the half statements, the dodgy explanations, and answers with no context. She had half a mind to shoot him for leaving her on the dockyard floor. She was done with feeling sorry for him. She wanted every answer she could get. She would confront him, even if she had to put a gun to his head.
He stepped out of the bathroom and was immediately greeted by the six-foot-tall angry Turian standing just a few feet away, holding a pistol in her hand. Martin's anxiety quickly dissipated, expecting trouble. He looked up at her face and looked her in the eyes.
"You are going to tell me what is going on, or so help me." Velpia scorned as she stepped closer. Martin standing in the doorway, tied his towel tighter. "What the hell happened at the Dock? One minute you were fine. The next, you lost your shit and left me to fend for myself?" She inched closer yet again. "You are going to explain who you really are!"
Velpia was now mere inches away from him, standing face to face. "I don't know what happened," He replied calmly. "I don't remember anything about the fight."
She grabbed his throat with her unoccupied hand and ferociously shoved him against the bathroom wall. Martin was jolted by the impact but kept his cool; he didn't want to hurt her by retaliating. He figured she just needed to blow off some steam. "Fucking Liar!" She raised her pistol to the side of Martin's head while applying more pressure to his throat.
"Really?" Martin replied while trying to talk through the choking. He felt the barrel of the pistol pressed against the side of his head, then heard the distinct *click* of the safety disengaging. Martin's demeanor changed; he started feeling his adrenaline pumping, forcing his heart to beat faster, and he began to feel warmer. Velpia seemed to notice the change. She saw it in his face. "Make a move, and I'll do it."
Martin felt her hand shake behind the gun; If she were human, he thought, he would say she was starting to get scared.
"Put the gun down; I won't ask again," Martin demanded, now furious.
Velpia pressed the gun harder into the side of his head, forcing him to cock his head to the side. "Or you'll do what?"
Martin's thoughts escaped him; his mind was empty; this was it.
In a blink, Martin lifted up his arms, the first making contact with her inner elbow of the arm at his throat. With his left hand, he grabbed the upper arm that held the gun. He then pushed himself off the wall with his back, grabbed her armor by the collar, and forced it towards him. He headbutted and tripped her, the gun barking off as she shot into the wall behind them. They both crashed to the floor; Martin lying on top of her had managed to grab her gun-armed wrist. He then placed his forearm on her throat but didn't apply much weight.
"Stop! What the hell is wrong with you?!" Martin yelled, enraged. She didn't respond and fired off another round with the pistol. He tried sliding his hand down to the gun, but she pulled away, and he had to quickly reach for it with both hands to secure his grip. She then rolled over, managed to get an arm around his neck, and wrapped her legs around his waist. The pair, now on their side, was struggling to maintain hold of the weapon. He pried it from her hand and tossed it aside as she tried to secure her choke hold.
Martin rolled over on the floor with her on his back carrying as he attempted to stand. She had a firm grip on his neck and squeezed as hard as she could. As he stood up, he grabbed her forearm that was tightly locked around his neck; her other arm locked the chokehold and pushed his head forward. He knew he didn't have much time before losing consciousness; he ran backward with all his might and weight into the wall.
Velpia made an impact, He could hear the air violently forced out of her lungs, and her grip loosened. He saw his chance and pushed his arm through her grasp and threw her to the ground. She quickly crawled to the main room and stood up again. Her anger now turned to fear and desperation. Martin stepped out of the bathroom and stopped just on the other side of the bathroom doorway; he could see she was afraid, "The. Fuck." he stated while gritting his teeth.
She realized she may have made a mistake, and it may be too late to back down now. A few moments passed, and he didn't move to her surprise.
"Are you done?" He asked. She nodded fearfully in agreement. He looked down and noticed he had misplaced his towel, so he turned around to find it. Velpia stood there unmoving; she saw all the scars etched into his body, front and back, as he wrapped his lower half in the towel. He stepped out of the bathroom and approached her; she backed away, bumping into the nightstand behind her.
"I'm telling you the truth. I don't know what happened at the Dock; I don't know why I'm here; I barely know who the hell I am!" Martin said forcefully. She watched him angrily get dressed, grab his gear, and leave the hotel room.
Martin stormed out of the building; he felt betrayed and angry that his only 'friend' had attacked him. Was he worth nothing? His past just seemed to be repeating. Every struggle forward was undone by something out of his control, and he was growing tired of it all.
He walked to the end of the walkway and put his hands on the railing. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply. He listened to the station's hum and sky cars buzzing by. The air wasn't the freshest he wanted off this rock. His sense of wonderment for this place had long faded, "Fuck the future, fuck everything about this place." he thought to himself. "I don't want to be here anymore!" He yelled into the air.
Velpia stood some distance away, watching him hunch over the railing. She waited a few moments before approaching from the side. Martin looked over towards her, still feeling betrayed.
"I'm sorry." She quietly apologized.
Martin began laughing while shaking his head. "I bet you are." He paused for a few moments, then turned towards her. He couldn't believe she had the gall to even speak to him.
"Is it normal for your kind to pull weapons on their friends? Is that how it's done here? You're nuts if you think that a 'Sorry' is going to make up for trying to kill me."
Velpia quickly angrily cut him off, "I will not be talked down to by some bargain bin science experiment! I apologized because I was wrong, jerkass!"
Martin walked past Velpia shaking his head in disapproval, "I'm out." he said while putting up his hands. "I'm done; it's over. Whatever this was, it's done." Velpia stood by the railing and watched as he walked away.
He headed for the sky cab depot and returned to the old apartment for the night. It was the only place he could think of where he could sleep without getting robbed or worse. When he arrived, he was surprised that the fire that they had set didn't destroy the couch. He pushed all the burned junk to the back of the room and lay down. He was still angry and restless from the fight, and laying down gave him little comfort. The room smelled of ash and stagnant air, the balcony windows funneled a ray of dark white light in the middle of the room, and it illuminated the ash he kicked up. He stared at the dust as it hovered in the light, hoping to fall asleep.
It was ironic to him that this was where he would end up, back to somewhere he had previously burned, having to make something out of the ashes of his past. He was a poet when he wanted to be.
Nothing about the room comforted him; he was alone, maybe rightly deserved.
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The following day he awoke to find that the credits from the last job were put into a temporary account for him by Dallas, all two hundred thousand. He headed to the market district to buy himself better armor and anything else that tickled his fancy. He returned to the apartment with his new gear and cleared a space for a weapons parts bin he found at one of the junk vendors.
He disposed of his old torn armor and was very impressed with the new Colossus Armor he had purchased. He thought the black suit with the red highlights suited his situation. Martin cleared off a table and dumped out the parts he had. Pistol frames, barrels of several lengths, and all the other components needed to assemble a weapon. He had pistol frames of several different styles, a bit worn but still usable. One, in particular, stood out to him; it reminded him of a large old revolver, just much bulkier.
He spent the next two days tinkering with the parts. Eventually, he had to enlist the help of someone that actually knew what he was doing. Asking around, he managed to get the name of an old man who might be willing to help.
Martin arrived at the dingy underbelly of Omega, down an old corridor. The hallway was covered in the dust that had been settling there, with a clear path in the middle. It was at least traveled, he thought. As he traveled down the dusty path, it widened to a large roll-up door. He slowly walked up to the unsure how to get the attention of anyone on the other side as he didn't see an intercom or any other mechanism. He raised his fist and readied a knock, and the door began to open from the bottom, slowly rising.
He began to walk backward, not sure what manner of person would be there to greet him. As the door revealed more of the room behind it, a figure in the center began to form. The form was humanoid in shape but not human. No big surprise, he thought. It wore a helmet with wires or tubes out the back and some fabric covering part of the helmet and over some of its suit.
They both stood still in an awkward and tense moment. Neither moved, Martin out of ignorance and the figure out of patience. "Well, boy, are you going to speak up?" The figure's strange accent broke Martin's awkwardness.
"Uh, yeah, I'm going to guess you're the fabricator?" Martin stumbled over his words like a child looking for an adult.
The figure slowly and stiffly walked toward him. Although he could not see the man's face through the helmet, by the way, he walked, Martin surmised that the man was in the latter half of his life.
"I like to think of myself as a gunsmith, but I do general fabrications from time to time." The man said as he stopped a short distance from him. "So what brings you to see old man Rilo?"
"I'd like to hire you for some custom work. I'm finding what's available on his rock a bit lacking for my line of work." Martin explained.
"Well then, I hope you have the credits for such ambition." Martin cracked a grin with no hesitation. "Damn right, I do."
Old Rilo guided Martin inside the shop as the large door began to close behind him. He walked him behind and followed the man to a chair behind the desk. Martin took a moment and glanced at all the machinery spread out across the shop. The Rilo creaked and groaned as he took his seat behind the desk. He let out an airy breath as he settled in.
"So, what exactly are we dealing with here?" Rilo asked.
Martin embarrassingly pulled out his scrambled mess of a prototype and laid it down on the desk as the old man began to chuckle. After a few disappointed seconds, the man's laughter died down as he grabbed for the pile of junk. "It's more of a proof of concept than anything working."
"More like a fever dream held together by prayers to a dead god." Rilo joked, and he studied the "prototype." Rilo turned it around several times in his hands with serious intent. "So what is the point of all of this? What were you aiming for... no pun intended."
"Large caliber, high muzzle velocity stopping power," Martin explained.
Rilo looked up from the prototype, "What's wrong with the Carnifex pistol? Wouldn't that be cheaper than anything I'd be able to build you?"
"Not good enough, I need one-shot capability at close range. Something to tear a limb off through barriers and armor."
Rilo looked back down at the prototype, "Something with that much firepower would be heavy, bulky, and tear anything short of Krogan's wrist apart unless they were holding it with two hands. And don't get me started about follow-up accuracy."
"Follow-up shots don't matter if I can put the target down with the first shot." Rilo sat the prototype down and stared at the rudimentary mess. Either the human wasn't listening, or his Ego was having a field day. After a few moments, he lifted his head to the smiling human. "What are you so afraid of that you would need such a weapon for?"
Martin sat back in his seat, away from his once jittery excitable position. The old man's question bounced around his head for a few moments as flashes from the events that had transpired earlier popped into his vision. The feeling of the previous night, the empty insecurity, returned to him. Rilo noticed his change in appearance as if someone had flipped a switch.
"Everything."
Rilo caught the seriousness of his single word as if it pained him to say it. He breathed in deeply and looked over at his console on his right. "A weapon to kill everything won't be cheap."
"I didn't expect it to be," Martin's face was locked into his serious state of being.
"Good."
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Martin had been making his way around the station to pass the time and look for work. He had also been looking into ways of making it off this rock. The situation wasn't getting any better than it had earlier; jobs from Omega off-world were few and required access to a ship. Something that was out of his reach to obtain. He left his name with a few potential scouts and then headed back to the half-burnt apartment. Hoping something would come his way.
A few days later, he was back at the Quarian's workshop. The Quarian was in the back of the shop, cleaning his workstation as Martin walked through the roll-up door.
"Rilo, I came as soon as I got the call; good news, I take it?" Martin said while rubbing his hands in excitement. The old Quarian turned around and greeted him, shaking his hand.
"It's finished, my friend," The old man replied in his broad accent. He turned around, picked up the weapon, and presented it to Martin. It was all a sleek dark gray and looked like a futuristic revolver.
Martin picked up the weapon and felt the weight in his hand. The pistol was massive and heavy for a handgun. He admired it like a child on Christmas, and the old Quarian noticed the enjoyment in his eyes.
"Everything you wanted, twenty-one-centimeter barrel, 2mm barrel bore diameter. 1.99 kilograms, break open for reloading thermal clips. Muzzle velocity of forty-seven hundred meters per second. Eight rounds before swapping out the Thermal clip."
Martin held the weapon out towards the wall with one arm. It was surprisingly balanced for such a heavy weapon. He brought the weapon back close to him to inspect the gun further. "Thermal Clips?" Martin asked.
"Yes, they are slowly becoming popular; waiting for a weapon to cool leaves you vulnerable; a new cylinder and you are back to shooting."
Martin looked at the old man, confused. "Wouldn't running out of thermal clips also do the same?"
The old man shrugged, "it was easier." Martin holstered the weapon on his thigh. "So how much do I owe you?"'
The Old Quarian didn't hesitate, "Seventy-thousand credits." Martin looked up, and that number got his attention. He reached over to his Omni-tool and transferred the funds; a small amount of buyer's remorse washed over him. Then again, he could be dead tomorrow; he might as well enjoy it. He said his goodbyes, and the old Quarian gave him several thermal clips as he left the workshop.
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As he was returning to the sky cab area when his Omni-tool quickly blinked. He quickly opened it and saw he had a message from a potential client. This client needed one more member for a security team to escort him to and from Afterlife; the pay was fifty thousand credits. The VIP would be meeting them at a shop in the Tuhi District. He figured, at worst, it would be a tedious job. At best, he could test out the new hardware. He rushed off because he didn't have much time.
Martin rushed to the district and arrived at the destination. He waited on the corner of the walkway for some time. The area was busy with activity, people, and aliens coming and going, and it was a bit loud for his liking. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, scanning his surroundings. Around the corner, he heard a familiar voice. Martin immediately rolled his eyes in annoyance.
"Well, look who it is," Velpia said, annoyed. She shifted herself and crossed her arms, appearing to be waiting for his response.
"Don't tell me you took the same mission too?" Martin asked while trying to avoid eye contact. She started walking around in front of him as if inspecting him.
"Nice gear; how much was it?" She said in a very suspiciously civil voice. Martin proudly smiled with defiance, and she continued to walk to his other side. "I see you haven't yet abandoned your taste for wearing clothing over your hard suit." Once she got onto his right side, she stopped. "Nice Gun, never seen one like it."
Martin knew what she was trying to get at. "Oh, that? Martin playfully said while looking down at his new pistol. "One of a kind."
She dropped her playful attitude, "How much?" Martin began to laugh lightly at her question, which further enraged her. However, before the conversation could continue, the VIP showed up. Martin wasn't familiar with this alien; it looked like a mix of a stereotypical 'Gray man' and a frog. It freaked him out. He pushed himself off the wall and stood at attention.
"I see you two are familiar with each other." Martin and Velpia glanced at each other. "Good," The alien continued. The green and gray alien stood slightly taller than himself and was very thin. He also had a scar that ran from the base of one of his curved horns, between his large black eye and stopped in the middle of his face. "You two will be escorting me to Afterlife to meet with Aria, I have a very important meeting with her, so I cannot be late."
Velpia took the lead as they headed toward the cab depot. Martin followed behind the two; he felt unsure about his instructions. "Why would he need an escort over such a short distance?" Other than the cab ride, it was a short walk to Afterlife. The VIP entered the cab, and Martin and Velpia were about to climb in when he tried to get her attention by making a face at her as she climbed in, but to his surprise, she ignored him.
As the cab took off, he tried to again get her attention by side-eyeing her and clearing his throat. She again ignored him. He soon gave up and hoped they weren't falling into a trap.
Velpia soon spoke up.
"If you don't mind me asking, are we expecting trouble?" The VIP looked at Velpia through the mirrored portion of the top of the windshield. "I would hope not; I am simply having a business discussion; you will stand there and act as bodyguards. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Easy credits," Martin added.
"Exactly." The VIP response.
The cab landed a short distance from Afterlife, and the three exited the vehicle and headed into Afterlife. They were given access through the front without much hassle and past the crowd. They walked through the second set of doors to the main floor. Overtop of the circular bar, topped with dancers and circular hologram projection, he could see that blueish alien with a short white coat looking down at them. He made defiant eye contact with her from a distance; he had a feeling that was who they were going to talk to.
The VIP took the lead and walked toward the rear of the area. The three were allowed access to the stairs leading to the VIP area and took a left to another set of stairs to the balcony. The perimeter was lined with a couch that stretched from wall to wall. There were about 10 guards that covered every inch of the accent up to the VIP area. The Blue alien woman was standing in front of them; her back turned toward them.
She slowly turned toward them, and without saying a word, she nodded to dismiss the supposed VIP. He gave a slight bow and left the balcony leaving Velpia and Martin alone with the Guards and the Blue woman. Velpia looked surprised by the sudden exit of the Salarian, but Martin looked over and gave a half smile, absolutely expecting some kind of shenanigans.
She noticed his smile and dismissive look, "Are you kidding me? You set me up with Aria?" She moved towards Martin, and he lowered his hand over his revolver.
"If I did, do you think I'd still be standing here?" He replied while taking a step back. Aria looked at the two, seemingly annoyed.
Aria laughed. "This is cute, a pair of mercs who don't even trust each other. How typical."
"You," She pointed to Velpia, "You owe me my credits." Velpia looked at her, confused.
"For what?" she replied.
"You must think I'm stupid." Aria paused briefly, waiting for the answer to dawn on her. Velpia looked down at the floor in a panic to think, desperately searching for an answer.
"No." She said, now in a panic. "No, no, that debt was paid for by Drake-" Aria cut her off as she stepped closer. "-I never got paid."
"But how? He made a big deal out of it and everything; he had to have paid for it." Velpia's body was flowing with emotion for everyone to see. Feeling like a bystander, Martin started to chuckle and shook his head.
"Vee... Drake didn't pay her. That's why they took you. That is assuming she's telling the truth." He explained.
Aria turned her attention to Martin, "Are you calling me a Liar?" Martin shrugged his shoulders; "I know absolutely nothing about you, ma'am, and I've barely been here for three weeks. So you'll have to excuse my ignorance."
"Well, you should wipe that smug look off your face; you aren't in any better position." Aria turned back around, overlooking Afterlife. "You've destroyed a Dock of mine. I loaned it out to the Blue Suns. I don't appreciate someone breaking my station."
Velpia and Martin glanced at each other, realizing the trouble they were in. Martin then began looking around him, noticing the guards surrounding them. He figured he wouldn't survive if this conversation became physical. He started running through his options in his head. He crossed his arms and could secretly grab a flash-bang grenade on his chest rig in preparation.
Aria turned back around; she had a very serious look on her face. "The two of you work for me until your debts have been paid, and it so happens I have a job for you two."