"Standard recovery time for a human of your approximate BMI and age is roughly twelve minutes," Lazerlot buzzed, his voice echoing off the metallic walls with a terrifying lack of empathy. "Please refrain from leaking sweat onto the floor. I just calibrated the traction sensors, and human salt-water is remarkably corrosive to the finish."

  ?"I’ll... pay for... the buffing," Drake wheezed, his head lolling back against the headrest. "Just let me die in peace."

  ?"Die further to the left," Relena groaned from the floor. She was currently a heap of black fabric and tangled hair, having slid down the bulkhead like a discarded marionette. "You’re occupying the only part of the floor that isn't vibrating."

  ?"My everything is vibrating," Drake countered, his voice sounding like it was being filtered through a rock crusher. "I think my skeleton is trying to file for divorce."

  ?The moment the simulation’s stabilization fields had cut out, the bus’s internal gravity seemed to triple. Drake slumped further onto the bench with a metallic clack of tactical gear, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches.

  ?Noko tried to laugh, but it came out as a pained wet cough. "Welcome to the big leagues, kids," she managed to squeeze out. She was leaning her forehead against a cool metal grab-bar, closing her eyes as the room did a slow, dizzying tilt.

  ?The "Ghost" suit was supposed to regulate her body temperature, but Noko could feel the heat radiating off her skin in waves. Her hands, usually steady enough to clear a jammed chamber in a gale-force wind, were shaking. It wasn't fear—it was total muscular failure.

  ?"Everyone... breathe," she managed to wheeze, though even the act of speaking felt like a core workout.

  ?Sweat didn't just bead on Noko’s forehead; it saturated the gel-lining of her suit, making the high-tech fabric feel like a cold, wet second skin. I’m too old for four-hour marathons, she thought, a grimace flickering across her face. In the Coast Guard, she could have pulled a double shift on a boarding team and still grabbed a beer afterward. Now, every muscle fiber in her thighs was vibrating with a low-grade tremor she couldn't stop.

  ?She looked at Drake and Relena—both looking like they’d been run over by the very bus they were riding in—and realized that while the armor was bulletproof, it didn't do a damn thing for a heart that had been out of the game for years.

  ?Noko stood in the center of the aisle, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She tried to roll her shoulders, but her trapezoids felt like they had been replaced with hot lead. During the drill, she’d felt like a twenty-two-year-old lead Petty Officer again, but now, the silence of the bus brought the truth: she wasn't that girl anymore. Her knees popped with a sickening crunch as she shifted her weight, a sharp reminder that while her mind still had the "sea legs," her joints had been out of the service long enough to grow brittle.

  ?"Lazerlot," Noko panted, squinting at the robot’s glowing optics. "Tell me you have a first-aid kit. Or a coffin or something really really stiff "I’m not picky."

  ?"I have a pressurized hydration canister and a localized muscle stimulant," Lazerlot replied, his metallic fingers dancing over a console. "However, the stimulant was designed for knights of the High Table. There is a forty percent chance it will cause your hair to fall out. Or your heart to invert."

  ?"I'll take those odds," Drake muttered, reaching out a trembling hand. ?"What about some painkillers? And some really, really good spirits?" Noko wheezed.

  ?Lazerlot didn't argue. He simply waved a metallic hand over a concealed panel. A drawer slid open with a smooth, hydraulic hiss, revealing an impossible collection: rows of glass bottles of every vintage imaginable, nestled next to sterile white packets of industrial-strength pills.

  ?Noko limped over, her legs shaking so violently she had to throw her entire weight onto the edge of the drawer just to keep from collapsing. She scanned the labels, her eyes lighting up as she grabbed a bottle of Eagle Rare.

  ?She cracked the seal and took a long, burning swallow, feeling the warmth bloom in her chest and dull the ache in her knees. "Fuck the VA," she rasped, wiping her mouth with the back of a trembling hand. "This shit is better."

  "Any rum in there?" Drake chimed in from his slumped position on the bench.

  ?Noko rummaged through the back of the drawer and pulled out a bottle of Pusser’s Rum. She paused, noticing the container wasn't glass. "It’s plastic, Drake. Classy."

  ?She rolled the bottle across the floor. Drake let out a low, guttural groan as he forced his tortured obliques to bend, snatching the bottle before it could roll past. He didn't bother with a glass; he just cracked the seal and took a massive, desperate swig.

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

  ?Relena, meanwhile, didn't even try to stand. She dragged herself across the floor like a survivor reaching an oasis. She reached into the drawer and pulled out a bottle of Jameson. Her eyes widened as she read the label—it was a ninety-year-old vintage. She popped the cork, the scent of oak and peat filling the air, and took a long, unrefined pull straight from the neck.

  ?The three of them sat there in the dim light of the bus, eyes bloodshot and muscles twitching. They looked at one another, held their bottles up in a silent, pathetic toast, and took another synchronized swig.

  ?As they exhaled in a chorus of satisfying, alcoholic relief, they started to laugh. It wasn't a laugh of victory or being in sync; it was the delirious, hysterical laughter of three people whose nervous systems were currently screaming in a language only top-shelf liquor could translate.

  ?One by one, they began unhooking their tactical gear. As the buckles snapped open and the heavy plates fell away, the fabric didn't just sit there—it dissolved, the black gel liquefying and trickling across the floor like retreating mercury, flowing back toward the gear lockers to await the next nightmare. The three of them sat slumped on the floor in a daze. Noko reached up with trembling fingers and unclipped her combat collar; the moment the connection broke, her tactical outfit lost its form, melting away into a heavy, viscous blob of black gel. The civilian clothes beneath were a disaster—soaked in sweat and streaked with holographic carbon scoring and floor dirt.

  ?Drake and Relena followed suit, the wet shlick of the dissolving suits echoing through the bus as the gear retreated into the floor vents.

  ?As the alcohol started to work its magic, the jagged, white-hot pain radiating through their muscles began to soften, melting into a dull, manageable throb. They were finally beginning to drift into that strange, post-combat haze where the world feels a little further away.

  ?Relena leaned her head back against the cool metal of the bulkhead, her eyes half-closed as she took a slow, methodical sip from her bottle.

  ?"So," she rasped, her voice tiny in the vast quiet of the bus. "I'm guessing this is what boot camp feels like?"

  ?Noko let out a dry, breathy chuckle and took another pull of her whiskey. "Sweetie, in boot camp, they don't give you ninety-year-old Jameson when you're finished. They give you a lecture and a protein bar that tastes like wet drywall." Lazerlot walked back into the room and sat down. He tapped a panel beside him, revealing silver containers filled with a glowing green liquid.

  ?"So, you're drinking too?" Relena asked.

  ?"You okay, brother?" Drake added, raising his bottle. "That was hard. I’m sorry, everyone. I didn’t mean to call you those names."

  ?"I recognized your grandfather’s name, Noko," Lazerlot said, his voice steady. "But who are the other two? Who were they?"

  ?Lazerlot took a deep swig of his drink and pulled a long, brass-colored tube from his gear. He unscrewed the top, slid out a rich brown cigar, and placed it in the corner of his mouth, inhaling the scent of sweet oak.

  ?"Is that a cigar?" Relena asked.

  ?Lazerlot smiled faintly. "Yes. But it’s more than that. It’s the last one ever given to me by Arthur."

  ?The room finally felt normal again. The gravity had stabilized, and though Drake’s muscles still ached, he felt centered. He walked over to the robot. "Where’s the lighter?"

  ?Lazerlot turned the brass tube over and handed it to him. Drake pressed his thumb to the edge; the tip ignited into a steady flame, lighting the cigar. As the smoke rose, the roof slid open and the walls transitioned into two-way glass. The apartment buildings towered around them, but the stars tonight seemed brighter than usual.

  ?The four of them sat in the quiet, the only sounds being the soft crackle of the cigar and their rhythmic breathing.

  ?"Three gay babies were just born," Relena blurted out suddenly.

  ?The absurdity of it broke the tension. Drake and Noko immediately started wailing in mock-sobbing, clutching their chests and laughing until they couldn't breathe. The heaviness of the day dissolved into pure, exhausted hysterics.

  ?As the night grew later, the laughter faded into a comfortable exhaustion. The ladies curled up next to Drake, their heads resting on his lap. Only he and Lazerlot remained awake.

  ?Drake looked at the robot. "So... who is Judas? I’ve heard you cry out his name in your sleep."

  ?"He is my husband. My forever love," Lazerlot answered. He knew the alcohol was making the truth come out a little too easily, but he didn't pull the words back.

  ?"We will find him for you," Drake promised. He looked down at Relena and Noko sleeping on his lap, feeling a sudden, crushing weight of what it would mean to lose them.

  ?Lazerlot saw the look. From beneath his shoulder plate, he pulled out a small, green velvet box and handed it over. "Here. I think this belongs to you."

  ?Drake took the box, confused. "What is—"

  ?"When we retrieved your suit from the shop, I saw this on a shelf in your locker," Lazerlot explained. "I saw the names engraved on them."

  ?Drake opened the box. Tucked into the velvet were two rings. He took them out and carefully slid them onto the fingers of the sleeping women. Lazerlot leaned in, his optical sensors whirring as he looked at the handiwork.

  ?First, he looked at Noko’s ring. It was a delicate web of silver, so thin it looked like it might break, yet it held a soft opal that glowed like a trapped star. Inside the band, Lazerlot saw her name etched in fine script—a tribute to a side of her she never let the world see, a piece of hidden grace.

  ?Beside it, Drake had slid the second ring onto Relena’s hand. It was a heavy, dark band of hammered metal, scarred and solid, holding a raw black stone. Lazerlot saw the name Relena engraved deep into the iron-like surface. It looked like a piece of armor, a testament to the iron will she kept hidden behind her smiles.

  ?Drake leaned back, watching the light from the stars catch the stones. He had made them by hand to show them who they really were to him. Lazerlot sat in silence, watching the man protect his family, while the smell of sweet oak and old whiskey filled the quiet air of the bus.