Outside, the rain had nearly surrendered to silence.
The asphalt still glistened, holding the neon glow of the Three Tits sign as if it were afraid to let it go—its reflection trembling, fading, like a memory that hadn’t yet decided whether it wanted to stay or disappear. Somewhere far above, Federation carriers pulsed with their distant, indifferent light, cold and mechanical… but down here, the panic had drained from the streets.
The city was exhaling. Settling back into itself. Bad. Loud. Alive.
They walked without speaking, their steps unhurried, almost weightless now. No one stopped them. No one tried. The space marines they passed offered only brief glances—acknowledgment without intrusion. A few of them gave Airi quiet nods, subtle and wordless, as if recognizing not just her… but what had just passed through the city.
Street after street slipped behind them, dissolving into the rhythm of movement and memory. By the time the spaceport rose ahead, vast and skeletal against the dim sky, everything that had happened already felt distant—blurred at the edges, like something lived by someone else.
The hangar opened before them. And there it was. Waiting.
The ship rested in stillness, its engines humming low and steady, as if it had never doubted—not for a second—that they would return.
At the ramp stood Shiori, composed as ever, hands folded, posture unbroken by time or chaos. She inclined her head in a small, perfect bow.
“Okaeri nasai.”
Airi’s face lit up, the weight of everything slipping from her in an instant as she hopped lightly onto the ramp.
“Everyone’s here!”
Jackie followed without a word. Dick lingered. Just for a moment.
He turned back.
Dumsta stretched behind him—its burning lights, its fractured streets… and somewhere, hidden in that maze of neon and ruin, a small bar with a flickering sign that refused to die.
He let out a slow breath, something between exhaustion and quiet respect.
“Well… hell of a hole.”
And then—he stepped aboard.
Inside, the ship welcomed them with silence.
Not emptiness—no. Something softer. The kind of quiet that follows after noise has done its damage and finally retreats. Instrument panels glowed faintly in the dim interior, casting gentle light across metal and glass, while the systems beneath it all hummed—low, steady, alive.
Jackie sank into her seat, shoulders easing as she slipped off her smart glasses. The holo-screen still flickered in front of her, alive with motion—comments streaming past faster than thought, faster than meaning.
The galaxy was still arguing… Illuminati. Triangles. Wi-Fi.
Dick dropped into the seat beside her, dragging a hand slowly across his face before exhaling, the tension leaving him piece by piece.
“Alright, baby… kill the stream. Time to wrap it up.”
Jackie smiled—small, tired, but real—and looked straight into the camera, as if she could see every chaotic voice behind it.
“Well then…”
She lifted the AR glasses slightly.
“Goodbye… and see you next time, dear gremlins.”
Click. And just like that—the noise was gone.
Outside, the ship rose. Gently. Almost reluctantly.
The engines deepened, their quiet hum turning into something fuller, more certain, as the ground began to slip away beneath them. Dumsta unfolded below—its lights fracturing into scattered constellations, its streets stretching thin into glowing veins of gold.
Somewhere within that shimmering web—the Three Tits bar vanished.
Swallowed whole.
Just another flicker lost inside the living body of the city. Higher. Into orbit.
Mülldeponie turned slowly beneath them, vast and scarred. Patches of light marked its surface like old wounds that refused to heal, while the dark ocean stretched endlessly into nothing. Clouds drifted without purpose, without urgency—unaware, uncaring.
For a few quiet seconds, the ship simply remained there. Suspended.
Between what had been… and what had not yet begun.
The moment stretched thin, fragile, weightless—like it might break if anyone dared to speak.
Then—the engines flared. The navigation system chimed, soft and precise. And the ship slipped into HYPERSPACE. The stars stretched into endless lines—and then, without warning, they were gone.
Although this story has come to its end, it does not truly disappear.
Somewhere beyond this moment, life continues—
messy, unpredictable, and very much alive.
New choices will be made.
New mistakes will follow.
And perhaps… new stories will begin. Whether we hear them or not—
the universe goes on.