I’m sending Magical Girl Fuzzy Princess and Echo Lynx to help. They’ll give you three some breathing room. And congrats on the new girl surviving her first day.

  ~ Message from Didir to Granny Smith

  The ride back to the FOB was quiet. Not the comfortable quiet that’s shared between friends, but the kind of quiet of shared trauma.

  The kind of quiet that you could feel in your bones.

  The cold of the transport’s metal bench seats seeped through my under-armor; I hadn’t really noticed before. Or maybe I noticed it now that the burning anger had fled.

  The engine’s hum was steady, almost soothing, enough to lull you into a sense of peace. The city slid past the narrow armored window in smears of light and shadow, and for the first time since the incursion started, no one was asking me to move, aim, decide.

  My head tipped back and thudded against the bulkhead.

  Wing’s presence was still there, a constant awareness in my mind, but even he’d gone quiet. Almost like he was waiting. I just didn’t know what for.

  That was when the exhaustion hit me like a lead pipe to the skull. It was like someone had doubled my weight and expected me not to notice.

  My fingers flexed against my thigh, a half-beat late. The left one lagged again, just enough to make my stomach twist.

  “You’re fine,” I told myself. “You’re upright… sorta, you’re breathing, you’re not bleeding.”

  The transport hit a shallow bump. My shoulder knocked the wall. A jolt of pain flared and with it… the echo of recoil, the rainbow spray, the rage at feeling so helpless.

  My pulse jumped.

  I sat up straighter without thinking, spine snapping rigid as if I’d been yanked by the string of a puppeteer. My vision sharpened as my eyes sought out threats as the world slammed back into painful clarity.

  Your heart rate is increasing, Wing noted. And adrenaline is flooding your system.

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “I noticed.”

  Across from me, one of the civilians watched with wide, tired eyes. I forced my shoulders down, unclenched my jaw.

  “Don’t scare them,” I thought. “You’re done for now. This part’s over.”

  The transport slowed before coming to a gentle stop. It felt wrong for it to stop so smoothly.

  The rear door hissed open, letting in harsh flood lights and the layered noise of the FOB. Voices, boots, machinery, generators chewing through the onset of twilight.

  “I’m looking for the Samurai,” someone called out in an official tone.

  There it was. Time for the debrief. The last dregs of exhaustion burned off like paper in flame.

  I stood, movement mostly back to normal as I readied myself mentally for the next battle. I slung the Sprinkle Cannon over my shoulder, checked my sightlines, and tried to ignore the way my arm still felt like it belonged to someone else.

  As I was led through the FOB, it was mostly how I remember. I saw that Bravo Squad had been pulled to the side, next to what I assumed to be the body of Jenkins. One last chance to say goodbye to a comrade in arms.

  A small tent was set near the imposing command tent that dominated the camp. Inside, the space reserved for debriefings was exactly what I expected: a folding table, two chairs, and too many screens. A lieutenant I didn’t recognize nodded at me, already skimming what I assumed was my mission data.

  “This should be a quick turnaround,” he said. “We’ll try and get you out of here as soon as possible.”

  I took the offered seat but didn’t lean back.

  “Can you please confirm the timeline of events,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

  I gave it to him. Clean and precise with no embellishment. Antithesis encountered, loss of squad member, injuries, shelter failure, and civilian extraction. My voice sounded steady in my ears, like it belonged to a version of me that hadn’t almost got lost in her own head on the ride over.

  He nodded along, fingers tapping notes.

  “Your AI flagged infrastructure noncompliance,” he said. “Care to elaborate?”

  Wing didn’t wait for me as his voice came from a set of small speakers on the table. “Structural and contractual deficiencies were confirmed in situ. The shelter did not meet minimum standards for an Antithesis rated shelter.”

  The lieutenant’s eyebrows twitched. Just once.

  “Anything else?”

  I nodded. “If this shelter wasn’t even rated for an incursion, we need to find out how many others aren’t up to code. Someone needs to start asking some very pointed questions.”

  The lieutenant leaned back, studying me now instead of the screens.

  “That’s not going to make you popular with the corporations,” he said carefully.

  “Good,” I said, the word coming out colder than I meant. “People could have died due to some exec’s need for a larger bonus."

  He held my gaze for a second longer, then nodded. “Understood. That’s all I need.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He stood, signaling the end of the conversation.

  As I rose, the room tilted for just a moment. My body reacted instantly, balancing to prevent the potential face-plant.

  You have been active for eighteen hours, Wing said quietly, for my ears alone. Cognitive fatigue is kicking in.

  I swallowed. “After-action?”

  Let them handle that. Your part is done here.

  I stepped back into the noise of the FOB, the adrenaline masking the exhaustion that waited patiently like an ambush predator.

  The day wasn’t done with me yet.

  “Where’s the next hot spot?” I asked my AI as I headed towards the side gate and back out into the city proper.

  There is no hot spot for you to worry about right now. You need rest.

  Rest. That almost sounded like a fantasy, one that I couldn’t allow to dull my senses. “Fine. I’ll start making my way to the bakery.”

  Bringing the Sprinkle Cannon back into my hands, I chambered a new round with a deeply satisfying thunk-thunk.

  I kept my guard up, eyes sweeping every corner as I moved. The streets were eerily quiet, but my new ears traced every hum, scrape, and drip. Eyes colored the world in shades of blue and grey, looking for threats and identifying potential ambush points. My left arm twitched in time with the recoil I’d been learning to trust, but was still too alien to ignore. Every shadow could hide a threat, every alley a mistake.

  You are moving at a slower pace than I expected, Wing said, calm as ever.

  “I know,” I muttered, barely glancing at the overlay. Pace didn’t matter. Awareness did. I scanned windows, doorways, the spaces between cracks in the pavement, counting potential exits and calculating trajectories for my shot if something leapt out.

  Amby, you have been awake for more than eighteen hours. That last eight were a state of continuous alertness. You need to rest. This constant alert isn’t helping.

  I ignored him, instead I focused on the faintest echo of dripping water from a collapsed roof ahead, the subtle scrape of debris under a wind gust, the way the broken neon flickered. Every signal mattered. “I can’t afford to rest. Not yet.”

  There is something you should be aware of, Wing said, after letting me tense every nerve for a long beat. Funds from the parties responsible for the shelter have been redirected. Accounts in your name now hold sufficient resources for immediate needs.

  I stiffened as my pulse caught in my throat. Money. My mind tried to grasp it, but the current situation always won: shadows in the alley, rooflines that could conceal something, uneven debris. Relief couldn’t reach me here. Not yet.

  We’ll talk more about it after you’ve gotten some rest, Wing added softly.

  I tightened my grip on the Sprinkle Cannon and I subconsciously tested the weight as I kept my guard up. Rest could wait until I got somewhere safe. Somewhere secure.

  The quiet started to get to me in a way that almost made me let my shoulders drop, just a fraction. The barricades, the alarms, the distant blasts from earlier, none of it reached this block. My pulse ticked down, as my body started to relax at the familiar surroundings. The world smelled faintly of bread somewhere nearby, but it wasn’t mine. Maybe tomorrow..

  Then I rounded the corner. The sign: Loaf.exe, sat shattered on the ground. Another casualty of the day. The building had been pulverized. Some of the outer walls still stood, but barely. Everywhere there was shattered glass, the mangled remains of Riku’s espresso machine, and a dusting of flour joined the ruined mess.

  My home.

  The one place I could make something good, something safe… destroyed.

  “Oh,” I whispered, the word hollow in my ears. Not no, not fuck, just oh.

  My arm moved before my brain could catch up. The Sprinkle Cannon rose, barrel pointed at the figure that stepped into view, ready to deliver candy-coated death.

  Reflex. Muscle memory. Hyper-vigilance.

  “You…” my voice broke off, chest tight, pulse racing. “Stay… stay there!”

  Clara froze, hands lifted slightly. Not in surrender, just careful. “Easy, Amby,” she said softly, measured. “It’s me. Clara. Granny Smith.”

  Recognition collided with adrenaline. Silver hair in a tight bun. The cardigan, worn just so. Skirts arranged with precision. A faint scent of apples. She’s here. She’s not the enemy.

  My finger twitched on the trigger. My mind raced: No. Can’t trust. Could be a trap. Could be another M-7.

  Another breath. Another step. The weapon lowered slowly, reluctantly. Servos whined faintly as my left arm obeyed again. “Fuck,” I muttered, voice rough. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  Clara’s face didn’t betray anything. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. You did well today. You’re allowed to lower your gun once in a while.”

  My chest tightened, but not in fear this time. Rather, it was everything I’d carried all day finally trying to break free. “…Yeah,” I muttered, voice rough, “once in a while.”

  Clara stepped closer, her eyes swept the wrecked bakery without judgment before they locked onto me. “I’m glad you made it back,” she said calmly, “and that you’re still standing.”

  I let myself take in the devastation before me. Rage, grief, and exhaustion roared through me, each fighting for dominance. They all mixed together, and I barely held them at bay. I could only handle so much at once. My body hadn’t realized I was safe.

  Clara nodded toward what remained of the counter. “We’ll fix this. But for tonight… you don’t have to face it alone.”

  I swallowed. I couldn’t think about what I’d lost yet, let alone try and figure out what happened to my life and how I was going to move forward.

  Clara stepped closer, hands relaxed at her sides. “I’ve got a place for you tonight,” she said quietly. “Somewhere safe. No alarms, no Antithesis, no pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”

  I blinked at her, chest tight, unsure if it was from relief or disbelief. “You mean it?”

  She nodded. “Yes. And, well…” Her lips twitched in a small smile. “Since you made it through your first day… I think it’s time you had a proper name. Something to mark that you’re officially a Samurai, even if it’s just for now.”

  My pulse stuttered. A Samurai name. I had managed to forget about that. All day, I’d been surviving, moving, shooting, and trying to hold myself together. Now I was also ignoring the wreck of the bakery and the way my arm still felt a little off.

  But, even with all of that, this felt… permanent. It was terrifying at what it could potentially mean,but it also helped ground me with the knowledge that I wasn’t alone in this fight.

  She leaned a little closer, eyes steady on mine, voice soft but firm. “Given your love of baking, I think Cinnamon Stick feels appropriate.”

  I froze at the words. Just two simple words that meant so much to me. My favorite baking ingredient, a warm spice on a cold night, the perfect autumnal scent. It couldn’t replace everything that had been lost or even dilute the events of the day. But it was mine. Cinnamon Stick. I felt my pulse slow as a weight was lifted off of my shoulders.

  “Cinnamon Stick,” I whispered, tasting it. It fit in a comforting way, like coming home to a cozy house after a long day spent outside.

  Clara smiled, small and knowing. “Well done, Cinnamon Stick. You’ve earned it.”

  I let myself exhale, a long, shaky breath. My body didn’t loosen completely. I was still aware, still primed. But for the first time in hours, I felt a small thread of something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel all day: safety.

  Discord for that!