Cyril woke up to a deafening drumming and screeching noise.
It took him a moment to figure out that it was, in fact, only the sound of his own heartbeat and the blood rushing through his body. There was a sickening taste of bile on his tongue, which felt as if he had been licking sand paper. A colossal headache had taken up residence inside his skull, one of the kind he hadn't experienced in years – he had a hangover.
He opened his eyes tentatively, half-expecting to be greeted by the harsh lights in his practice, but he was at home. He was grateful that the room was bathed in nothing more than the bluish twilight of early morning. It was just as much as he could tolerate.
He recalled that he had been in the clinic last night drowning in work, but when he tried to recall how he had gotten back here, his mind was blank. His head felt empty, except for the leaden feeling and heavy pounding of his headache.
With a groan of pain he tried to sit up, but he couldn't move his left arm. As he turned his head to look to the side, he spotted the reason why, and froze up completely.
Somebody's head was resting on his arm. A head with distinct black-and-white hair.
Feeling a sense of utter terror creep up inside of him, Cyril let his gaze wander down along her body. Amy was lying with her back to him, huddled into the blanket that she had pulled up all the way to her face. But to his relief, he could spot the straps of a top and bra over her shoulders from this angle. So at least she wasn't naked. Neither was he, he noted next. At least not completely. He had no idea what had happened last night, but at least he was fairly certain now about what had not happened.
He was raking his brain in an attempt to remember, as Amy suddenly heaved a soft sigh and moved. He tried to extract his arm out from under her, but stopped as he could feel an ice cold hand grab hold of it, keeping it in place.
"Harper, I swear to god, If you get up and leave now you will have exactly thirty seconds of a head start until I am fully awake and will come after you to end you," she growled in a low voice.
He winced, and both her words and her icy touch caused him to tremble. She sighed again, and let go of his arm, but he didn't dare to move now. She turned around slowly, and met his gaze.
"Just kidding," she said with a smirk. "I've been fully awake for an hour. I'd just give you a head start because I'm a good-hearted person."
He stared at her, dumbfounded and horrified, while she seemed to revel in the terrified look on his face.
"What... what happened last night?" he croaked weakly.
"Hm. You don't remember?" she asked. She turned on her back and looked up at the ceiling. His arm was still under her and was beginning to feel numb, but he still didn't dare to move it.
"From what I recall, my doctor told me not to drink because of my liver," she said, "And then he proceeded to get totally smashed himself."
He remembered some of that now. It had been a rather spontaneous get together. A small group of people from the hospital and the docks. Somebody had brought the heaviest liquor he had ever tasted, some crazy moonshine the guys from the docks had produced right here on New Elysium. Most other people in the group had been augments, one way or another, and had a much higher tolerance for alcohol than him, thanks to their systems. That hadn't kept Cyril from trying to keep up with them.
But it still didn't explain her presence in his bed.
"My ship's in the hangar for repairs overnight, so I'd just have taken one of the spare rooms in the barracks for tonight, but you offered me to come over to your place," she explained as if she had read his thoughts. "...said something about ensuring that I get a good night's rest being part of your responsibility as my doctor."
"Uh... And you..."
Fell for that? He finished his sentence in his thoughts incredulously.
She sat up without answering and stretched. The blanket fell away from her body and for a moment he watched the muscles on her back move under her clothes, mesmerized. She still wore her top alright, but no pants. He gulped as he began to remember fragments of the previous night.
"Wait... but I... took the couch, didn't I?" he asked her.
"At first. But... I was cold, and you said you don't have more blankets."
"So I just... crept into bed next to you?" he asked sheepishly and slowly inched away from her. Not being able to see the expression on her face as she talked made him very wary.
"You did," she replied.
"And you didn't stop me?!"
"I didn't."
"Why?" he asked hoarsely.
She cast him a strange look over her shoulder, then shrugged.
"Because you were warm."
He stared after her in disbelief as she got out of bed and went looking for the rest of her clothes. Goosebumps still covered her naked arms, and the memory came back to him now. He hadn't even asked her. He had just noticed that she was shivering, and had slipped under the sheets next to her. He considered himself lucky that she hadn't outright murdered him for that. In fact, she hadn't even said anything.
"Why is this place cold like a cryopod, anyways?" she asked.
"I... don't spend much time here," he replied, rubbing a hand over his face, "Too much work at the clinic."
Having a place to stay outside the clinic had been one of only few requests when Jack had asked him to give up his old life to come to New Elysium. Cyril had wanted a place away from work, somewhere he could take his mind of it all. The studio apartment was small, but just the right size for him. It reminded him of his first place he had gotten as a student, but with much nicer furniture. He usually didn't get much opportunity to enjoy his little luxury though.
He looked up at Amy as she was pacing through his single room apartment.
"Dammit Cyril, did you hide my pants or something? Where are they?" she mumbled and bent down to look underneath the couch.
He felt blood rush to his cheeks, not just because of the sight, but also because he now recalled how he had been the one to suggest she take them off. He had given her some bullshit reason about heat exchange with some thrown-in medical jargon. The thought that he wasn't dead already amazed him. The thought that she had actually followed his 'advice' even more.
His pounding headache seemed like a small price to pay now. The more he remembered about his alcohol induced bravado, and the longer he watched her move around his apartment half undressed, the more appealing the idea of another sip of that horrific concoction from last night became.
"Ah, there!"
To his chagrin, Amy had found her pants and slipped them back on.
"Well, thanks for everything," she said impassively and moved toward the door, "I'll see you around-"
"Wait!" he snapped out of his paralysis and scrambled out of the bed and to his feet. "P-please, stay! I-"
She stopped in her tracks and turned around, and watched him with one eye brow raised as he searched for the right words to continue. Her gaze wandered up and down his own half-naked body now, causing his face to flush with heat.
"Uhm... I... I could make us some breakfast?" he suggested the first thing that came to his hungover mind.
She narrowed her eyes at him and he felt a shiver run down his spine. He had to remind himself that somehow, he had been able to convince her to come here, and stay for the night. He had snuck into bed next to her, and she had not murdered him for it. All the while she had been perfectly sober. So he tried to channel his overconfident, drunken self and swallowed his fear.
"Eggs and bacon?" he suggested.
Her eyes lit up and she stepped away from the door.
"I'm in," she said with a grin. "But... perhaps you should get dressed first."
~ ~ ~
Admiral Jenkins leaned back in his chair, eying his guest with a mixture of fascination and suspicion. The pale, blonde man before him looked perfectly impassive, almost bored, as he sat before his desk with crossed legs and leaning against one of the arm rests. His suit was of the same color as his employees' uniforms. Even his PA had worn a matching pantsuit when they had arrived here together. From the moment he had stepped off his shuttle, his guest had been adamant on upholding his image of a successful entrepreneur on a business trip, even if their meeting was concerned with something rather different from his usual trade.
The man before him shifted slightly under the Admiral's gaze, his dark blue suit stretching at his shoulders. Underneath the prim and proper attire, he was anything but a meek paper-pusher. That was precisely why he had been called – he had served as advisor to the military in the past, and even had some military history himself. But given the recent events, Jenkins was somewhat reluctant to trust anyone, or anything.
"Mister Andersson," Jenkins addressed him, "I understand that your cooperation has maintained certain ties to Orion's Reach over the years."
Andersson's eye brow seemed to twitch for a split second, but otherwise, his expression did not change.
"That is correct, Admiral."
"I trust that these connections have nothing to do with the rather... sensitive material that Amy Larsson has uncovered on Astraphos."
The two men looked at each other, and for a moment, neither moved or spoke. Jenkins began to think he would refuse to respond, but then a hint of a smile washed over the man's face.
"Oh, pardon me, that was a question? I had thought the answer is obvious. I had no idea of these occurrence before you contacted me, Admiral." Andersson said.
Admiral Jenkins narrowed his eyes at him, but there was no way to know if he was telling the truth. Yet at the end of the day, it mattered little either way. He had not invited this man to wash the Reach's dirty laundry today.
His guest now directed his gaze back to the data pad lying on the desk between them. He picked it up and looked at the image that Amy Larsson had sent back from the Aphelion.
"Besides... shouldn't you rather be questioning her credibility than my loyalty?" Andersson asked.
"Huh. Don't get me wrong, of course I have my doubts," Jenkins huffed. "But this isn't about what I believe or don't believe. You know how the people out there are... they thirst for information. It's a big galaxy, Mister Andersson. One might think that this makes it easier to keep a secret, in this day and age, but as it turns out, that only makes it more difficult to contain them. We live in an age of real-time quantum communication, rumors spread faster than the speed of light. That's why you're here today, after all."
"Rumors...." Andersson muttered, his gaze fixed on the picture in front of him. "Well, the solution to your little problem is obvious. Fight fire with fire. Rumors with rumors."
"I don't follow," Jenkins admitted.
Andersson looked up at Jenkins now. His eyes were of a curious, almost lilac blue, and seemed to burn with something dark and sinister. For a moment, he looked nothing like the friendly and charitable CEO the outside world took him for.
"You attack her credibility," Andersson explained, "What she has – allegedly – done seems pretty much impossible already. It shouldn't be too hard to discredit her, and all those stories about her. I mean, look at that woman. She looks like a gust of wind could blow her over. And she is supposed to have taken down Orion's Reach? Please."
The man snorted with disdain as he put the data pad down again.
"And the Aphelion?" Jenkins remarked doubtfully. "Word has already made it out that the flagship has disappeared, despite the fact that Essandrie Station has been on under a total lockdown since the incident. People are whispering her name, in a tone that I don't like. And my superiors in Neo-Tokyo like it even less."
"It is still unclear how she did it, correct?" Andersson asked.
"Yes. That is our only consolation at the moment – there simply isn't all that much information to leak in the first place," Jenkins confirmed.
Andersson stared down at the image of the woman again, then he picked up the datapad once more and began to type on it rapidly.
"Actually, that makes it even easier. With no other information to go on, people will readily believe whatever you chose to tell them. They are hungry for information, not facts," he explained.
"So what, are we supposed to let the Essandriens spread their story that the Aphelion is possessed by the ghosts of purged AIs?" Jenkins asked drily.
"Of course not," Andersson said with an amused smile, "No, what you need..."
He turned the data pad around, so that Jenkins could see the picture he had brought up, and the his eyes widened in surprise. It showed the face of a man that Jenkins had never thought he'd get to see again. He probably wouldn't even have recognized him, if his title and name hadn't been displayed right next to it.
"...is an appropriate scape goat."
~ ~ ~
Amy was sitting on the kitchen counter with her legs dangling, and watched him prepare their breakfast. The silence between them was strange, just as strange as his feelings for her. She made him severely uncomfortable as she watched his every move with her mismatched eyes like a predator. But at the same time, Cyril still enjoyed simply having her around.
Once in a while, he found his thoughts trail off again to what her legs looked like underneath those pants. He almost burnt the food twice because of it. It was ridiculous, because he knew perfectly well what she looked like completely naked, after all he had put a lot of hardware into her body over these past couple of months. But that had been different. He was a different person when he was at work, when he was her doctor and she was his patient.
"Amy..." he started.
She reached for the plate he had loaded with food for her, but he pulled it back again to keep her attention. Her gaze snapped up at him, and he saw a deadly look in her eyes. But he had to speak his mind now that he felt a sudden surge of courage, or never.
"What is this?" he asked her.
"Bacon and eggs?" she replied, looking at him with a raised eye brow as if he was a lunatic.
"No," he sighed, "I mean... this... with us."
He put the plate back down on the counter out of her reach. She eyed it hungrily for a moment, but then she focused on him again with a quizzical expression on her face.
"We're... friends," she said blankly.
"Friends don't kiss like that," he said in a low voice, recalling that day in his practice three weeks ago. It had been the last time he had seen her and really talked to her before the previous night.
Now her eyes widened for a moment, then she averted them. To his surprise, there was a hint of a blush on her cheeks.
"I'm... sorry about that," she mumbled.
"Well, I'm not," he stated.
Silence descended between them, and all he could hear was the deafening sound of his own heartbeat, somewhere around his throat. Thinking about that kiss made him very badly want to kiss her again. But with a block of kitchen knives just within her reach, he didn't like his odds of survival here.
"I want..." his voice trailed off, and he realized that he was unsure what exactly he wanted, aside from kissing her.
"I want you to stay. Here. With me."
For a day, for another night, for a lifetime, he wasn't certain. But even if she would never kiss him again, that much was true. He hated the way she always ran off and put herself in danger, he hated having to watch how she destroyed herself, and how she came back battered and beaten. How he had to fix her up, every damn time, just for her to run off again and start it all over.
"You know that I can't," she replied without looking at him.
"You can't, or you don't want to? There's an important difference there."
His words seemed to surprise her – and to an extent, they surprised him, too. Apparently, he had found the confidence of his drunken self again.
"I.... won't," she answered evasively.
"Why not?" he asked.
She sighed. "You're a doctor, Cyril. An NC, an artist. Your work is life and creation. And I, on the other hand, am a pirate. A killer. A terrorist. I deal in death and destruction."
She spoke those cold words with an unfamiliar and ill-matched softness in her voice.
"....and?" he asked.
She looked up and met his gaze, and the strange look in her eyes caused a shiver to run down his spine.
"You fix things, I break things," she said in a low voice. "I don't want to... break you."
He clenched his teeth in frustration at her words. And he realized that after all this time, he still hadn't seen every side of her. As much as she terrified him most of the time, this vulnerable, melodramatic version of herself that he caught a glimpse of right now made him irrationally angry. Part of him had thought she really just hated him, and part of her irate actions were just her sadistic way of toying with him. Heck, he would have preferred if she had just shut him down once and for all and crushed his last hopes. But this was the stupidest reason he could have imagined.
"And why do you think you're the only one who gets make this choice?" he growled.
His anger gave him confidence. He moved closer to her, and put his hands on the counter next to her hips, looking straight into her mismatched eyes. A strangely distraught look appeared on her face, but she didn't shy back. She didn't push him away, and she didn't kick him in the groin. And she didn't reach for one of the knives next to plunge it into his heart, which was thumping in his chest heavily. That seemed good enough to him.
She stared back at him, wide-eyed but unmoving as he leaned in closer. His face was mere inches from hers, when suddenly, her gaze darted past him.
"You've got a call, Cyril," she said flatly.
He thought that she was playing a prank on him, but he turned around nonetheless. He could feel his heart sink, his ego deflate and his confidence and bravado drain away as he stared at flashing video screen on his wall. The signature was Mad Jack's. He had to take that call. But he really didn't want to.
He could feel her move behind his back, and then her breath tickle across the skin of his cheek as she whispered close to his ear.
"Huh. Seems like you just got a taste of your own medicine, Doctor Harper."
He groaned inwardly. The event she was referring to was the last thing he wanted to think about right now. And Mad Jack was the second last thing. But he really had to take that call.
With a frustrated sigh, he went over to the screen to open the comm channel and Mad Jack's image appeared. Without a word greeting, the leader of New Elysium just leaned back in his chair and eyed him up and down with cold blue eyes. Then his gaze went past him toward the kitchen counter, where Amy was still sitting, and Cyril froze up. He wondered what Jack was thinking right now. Cyril was glad that he had at least heeded Amy's suggestion and put on clothes again.
"I was looking for you," Jack said.
"Me?" Amy asked in surprise.
"Her?" Cyril asked at the same time.
"Yes," Jack just replied.
"Wha- how did you even know she was here?" Cyril asked in disbelief.
Jack didn't answer, but he didn't have to. It really had been more of a reflexive, rhetorical question. Jack probably knew everything that happened on New Elysium. Nobody could expect to so much as take a breath without the man knowing about it.
Behind Cyril, Amy sighed and slipped from the kitchen counter. She moved next to him and faced the image of Jack with crossed arms.
"Whaddya want?" she asked, rolling her eyes.
"I need you in the fleet," Jack explained, retaining an admirable amount of composure at her blatant disrespect for him. "There is a ship out in the belt and they need an escort."
"Someone's coming through the belt?" Amy asked, raising an eye brow.
Although he had not left the colony ever since he had been brought here years ago, Cyril knew that there were several nav points that led to New Elysium. The others were more easily accessible. The one near the belt was used to shake off pursuers.
"What kind of ship? Did you expect someone?" Amy asked.
"They... they've come a long way. They might need help, and medical supplies," he cast a look at Cyril as he mentioned that.
"They're from Helion 7."
Jack's words descended on the room like a guillotine. Helion 7, the impenetrable fortress. The clockwork prison that even Amy Larsson had never been able to get into. Cyril could sense her tense up next to him. She had probably seen the broadcasts, and heard the news about the escaped prisoners. One of them was apparently a dangerous individual who was responsible for a massacre on New Caledonia. Cyril didn't know what he liked less about all of this: that Jack had allowed them to find New Elysium, or that he sent Amy out to meet them.
"I'm sending you the meeting point coordinates and-"
"Jack, I brought you the fucking flagship of Neo Tokyo and you talk to me like I owe you something," Amy cut him off angrily, "I owe you shit. Any debt I had is paid. In iron and blood, fucking fivefold."
"I didn't exactly ask you to drag that thing back here where the bastards might come to get it back," Jack snapped back at her.
For a moment, Amy and Jack just stared at each other. The tension between them was palpable, and Cyril was reminded of his own last conversation with her via vid comm. He was glad that he wasn't the one she was looking at right now, with that expression as if she was about to jump through the screen to strangle her conversation partner.
Jack backed down first. He sighed and leaned back again in his chair.
"Well... this is not an order," he said. "It is a request. I'm asking you... for a favor."
"What?" she exclaimed in surprise. "Why? Why me?"
"Cause you're one hell of a pilot with that ship of yours and you know the belt like no one else. And those people coming... we can't be certain of their intentions towards New Elysium. I don't know what to expect of them."
Cyril didn't like what he heard one bit, and the pensive look on Jack's face worried him. But he remained silent.
"They're dangerous?" she asked.
"I don't know..." Jack replied. "But... they might be trouble."
Amy cracked a devious grin that made Cyril think that he could probably get his surgical tools ready in advance.
"I'm in."
"Thank you, Commander Larsson. Welcome back in the flee-"
She winced at the title, and stepped forward to cut the connection.
"Sorry Cyril, breakfast will have to wait," she said.
Her eagerness to dive headfirst into the unknown scared him. Gone was any resemblance to the sensitive woman who had sat on his kitchen counter. Gone, too, was any trace of his confidence that had almost made him kiss her.
We're friends.
Her words echoed through his mind again all of a sudden, crushing him like heavy weights. But he wasn't ready to give up yet. She had kissed him, after all. He had spent a night sleeping next to her. Nothing had happened between them, but neither had she killed him for it. She had even wanted to stay for breakfast.
As she moved to the door, he grabbed her wrist and held her back for a moment. She looked back at him in surprise, and he once again had to search for words.
"Amy... Please be careful," he whispered.
He wanted to add that he would always be there for her, even if it only meant that he would fix her up every damn time she came back battered and broken. There was a certain irony in what she had said about herself breaking things. After all, the one thing she kept breaking over and over was her own body.
But the wicked grin that appeared on Amy Larsson's face now made him wonder what kind of terrors of the galaxy she had faced in the past, that they could possibly break someone like her.
"Don't worry so much," she said.
"You're... you're not alone in all of this," he finally put forth, "You know that, right?"
A different kind of smile began to tug at the corner of her lips at his words. A stifled laugh, Cyril realized.
"Oh, you don't know the half of it. Literally," she snickered, and softly removed his hand from her wrist.
"Good bye, Cyril," she said and patted his cheek. Then she turned around and walked through the door.
"Amy, you'll come back after this mission, right? Right??" he called after her. "For breakfast?"
She didn't answer and didn't turn around, but raised one hand to a mock salute as she walked away.
~ ~ ~
Null, why are you torturing the poor man like that?
Torturing?
They were on their way back to the docks to get the Blackstar, walking through the quiet streets of New Elysium in the crisp early morning air. At Lars' question, she stopped in her tracks.
What do you mean?
You know exactly what I mean, he remarked drily.
Well, last night you suggested we go and have some fun. So I had some fun, she shrugged slightly. And now here we are.
You lectured me on hurting Cyril's feelings by kissing him. And now you're the one who keeps teasing him like that, he remarked.
I'm not teasing him... on purpose, she huffed, sounding offended at the thought. Not my fault if he got the wrong idea of the nature of our relationship. Perhaps that's because you kissed him, she pointed out.
We both kissed him, he retorted. And you know it. I know you like him, and you like being close to him. So I don't understand why you act so... evasively.
She didn't answer right away. She was squirming behind the veil uneasily, and he could catch a flickering glimpse of the conflicting feelings as she tried to sort them out.
No one can get everything they want all the time, she answered cryptically after a while.
Do you mean yourself or Cyril now? he asked, but then it dawned on him. Or... Nova?
Her silence spoke volumes, even without the dark shadows that Lars watched stirring behind the veil.
He tried to make sense of her emotions, even as she tried to quickly bury them somewhere in the depth of their mind. All that he could gather was that sending Nova away had been about protecting him just as much as about punishing herself, for a reason he could not quite understand.
Is that why you don't want to be close to anybody? Because you feel... like you don't deserve it? he asked her softly.
I... I have someone close to me, she whispered.
Her words sounded bittersweet as they tore through his intangible heart. Nothing in the world would have made him happier than to give her everything she needed, and everything she wanted, to be the only thing she needed. But he knew that she needed something that he could never give her, even if she didn't want to admit it. And the thought that his presence in her body might be keeping her from all of that, or even to make her feel guilty for asking, weighed heavy on him.
Clearly it was important to her that Nova was aware of who Amy Larsson really was. And she had enjoyed being close to him. Purely objectively, Lars had no problem with Nova whatsoever. In fact, he found his persistence quite impressive, and admired his tenacity to pursue them even in face of suffering physical pain whenever he came too close.
But Lars' priority was Null's happiness. And Nova's pain hurt Null, in more ways than one. So she could not be close to him, but she still longed for someone's touch and warmth. Cyril was the obvious solution to this problem, and many others as well.
Because Nova could save her, but Cyril could fix her.
And Lars himself couldn't do anything for her, so he decided to keep all of these thoughts safely tucked away on his side of the veil. The only thing he could do was to make sure that she would not spend her life in self-inflicted solitude due to some misguided sense of guilt, over his presence in her body, or anything else.
I mean, admittedly, Nova is good-looking, Lars put forth to break the silence, but Cyril is cuter. And he's dependable.
Shut up, she grumbled.
He has a home and a job and he-
Will you shut up now? she snapped at him.
And it doesn't hurt when he touches us.
Stop it! she cried out.
He chuckled, sensing her presence squirm behind the veil as she tried to keep all of her emotions in check. It reminded him a lot of himself in the earlier days of their time together, when he had tried to keep his binary thoughts tidy and organized in the beautiful chaos of her organic mind.
I'll stop if you admit that you-
No! she cut him off gruffly. Now please just... let it go, for fuck's sake. We've got a mission to focus on.
For a brief moment, the veil between them wavered, and over her agitation and annoyance he sensed something else, something he didn't quite understand.
You're... scared? He noticed in surprise.
Fucking terrified, she admitted. And that's why I'd rather head out and confront the big bad evil that waits beyond the asteroid belt, than continue this conversation.
~ ~ ~
Amy Larsson was many things. A pirate. A spy. A terrorist. A thief. And now she was once again a Commander in the fleet of New Elysium.
Null thought of the long way they'd come, only to end up in the service of Mad Jack again. Waiting for the Blackstar to be readied for departure, they lingered outside of the space port of New Elysium and looked up at the twilight sky.
Orbiting high above the settlement, the Aphelion was a brilliantly glowing light in the sky, visible even as the horizon began to brighten with the colors of the rising sun. The Legion had remained aboard, maintaining the ship autonomously as a defense system for the planet for now. Over the past weeks, everybody had worked fervently on re-retrofitting her, so she would soon be piloted through interface systems again. Null and Lars had spent most of their time 'acquiring' more of the necessary hardware. Now Null couldn't help but feel a certain sense of self-satisfaction that Jack finally seemed willing to take the fight to Neo-Tokyo.
She thought about the other surprise gift she had brought Jack – Enigma had turned out to be valuable prisoner over the past weeks, spilling his secrets like a tapped mountain spring. For some reason, she now recalled the strange words the man with the many faces had spoken during their first meeting. Ever since Heisenberg had tortured him with Alonian Opera music, Enigma had kept repeating them over and over in his sleep: Salvation is coming. Now as she looked up at the Leviathan vessel, she thought that salvation might as well be coming for them, whatever that meant, because if it dared to approach, they'd just blast it to hell.
Hey Null. We have brought back a star, Lars realized as they watched the Aphelion trace across the twilight sky. A new star for New Elysium's sky.
She smiled at the notion. They continued to watch their star, until the warm orange glow of the rising sun outshone her, and they set off to board the Blackstar. Neither of them regretted handing over the Aphelion to Jack, because while Amy Larsson was many things, she was, first and foremost, a pirate. They had their own ship, and their own crew. And a whole galaxy worth of trouble left to get into.
The Aphelion was still the greatest Leviathan class vessel there ever was. Not just because of her technical specifications, upgraded technology or devastating armaments, but because she was a symbol of power and control. And Amy Larsson had stolen her from right underneath the stuck-up noses of the Neo-Tokyan navy in the greatest heist there ever was. Just one crazy, five feet three woman.
With a military grade AI in her head.
And a crew of three thousand and three androids.
And a cat.
And a little help from some friends.
It was an insane story. Some would say lunatic. Most would consider it impossible. And yet they had pulled it off. Either way, they had left a clear message for Neo-Tokyo: Don't fucking underestimate Amy Larsson.
But they both had a feeling that they still would. And it would only be to their advantage.
_______________
A.N.
So we've finally reached the end of this great and fantastic and quite insane journey. That means it is time for words of thanks and appreciation.
First of all, even if you've never actually played any of the songs I linked to, I would really recommend you check out at least the one video here at the end. Because if this was a movie, that song would be playing when the credits roll, and it perfectly captures all my emotions about bringing this story to and end 💔
Second of all - of course it's not really over! This story has been originally inspired by Red_Leasia 's "New Eysium" which you can currently read on her profile in its first draft, while she is continuously editing it. ATT is for the most part a kind of prequel to her story, so if you haven't read it already, now would be the perfect time to head over and find out what happens next (who so you think they'll be picking up from the Astroid belt..?) And then, in a collaborative effort, we've started to work on "New Elysium 2" which you can find on our shared profile New_Elysium. My next project already in planning is a spinoff that will tell some of Nova's backstory – for those of you who are dying to know where he learned all of his 'trade secrets'...
Now on to individual thanks....
Red_Leasia for allowing me to hijack her character Lars and giving me the creative freedom to turn him into the person you meet in this story. For her continuous feedback and support, the awesome brainstorming sessions, epic lines, and being a catalyst for my finding happiness through writing again. I don't think words can properly convey how much I appreciate the opportunity to be part of the "NEverse". Thank you 🖤
cosmogyral-delirium for being her amazingly creative, insanely talented and overall supportive self. I don't know if you're even aware of how much you taught me about storytelling, character development, world building, writing and the English language in general in the short time we've known each other 💜
AuthorJMColes for all her hilarious comments and helpful feedback, it makes me smile whenever I get a notification from you! Thank you so much! ❤🐉
z4k4ri4 crankyreader123 and KTreaties because you were my first readers aside from Red herself, and I think you voted on every single chapter from start to finish and I appreciate it A LOT. It really motivated me to keep going to know that there is somebody out there, probably waiting to see what happens next. Thank you!
And of course thank you everyone else who voted, commented, or just silently read this story ❤