On the twelfth night, Nye leaned over the sleek, long kitchen counter, his elbows pressing into its cold metallic surface as he scrutinized the list of seven names printed on a sheet of old-fashioned paper. His brows furrowed, lips pursed, and his expressive face twisted into a series of childlike confused expressions. It wasn’t just the names that puzzled him, though—his first thought, admittedly, was why physical paper even still existed in this hyper-digitized world. Wasn’t that the whole point of living with an AI assistant? He gave a dismissive shake of his head to rid himself of the irrelevant thought, and refocused.

  The names on the list were marked as “friends.” Friends, Nye mused, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. That word felt foreign, detached, as though it didn’t belong to him anymore—or perhaps never had. He drummed his fingers against the counter, tilting his head as if the names might reveal more if he stared at them long enough. Seven visitors. Seven people had come to see him during his coma. Now, in the days since he’d left the facility and returned to the safety of his minimalistic yet luxurious home, he hadn’t requested a single visitor.

  Not even Lycan. Nye winced at the thought. That meeting had stirred something raw and fragile within him—a mixture of regret, confusion, and something deeper he wasn’t ready to name.

  "Can I help you with that?"

  The calm, familiar voice of Eve echoed softly in the kitchen, pulling Nye from his spiraling thoughts. He grimaced childishly, scratching the back of his head as he turned toward the sleek panel where Eve’s presence was always felt but never seen.

  “I dunno,” Nye shrugged, his voice carrying a tinge of frustration mixed with uncertainty. “I’m just not sure what to do, you know?” He gestured vaguely at the paper as if Eve could see it. “Seven people. They came when I was… you know… out. But now? Now, I don’t even know who to call first. Or if I should call them at all.”

  Eve’s tone remained as measured and soothing as ever. “Why not invite them all at once?” she suggested. “A casual gathering. You could catch up, learn about yourself, and enjoy a pleasant evening together. Perhaps a stay-over with dinner and refreshments.”

  Nye raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a thoughtful smirk. “Hmm. Interesting.” He nodded slowly before his smirk turned mischievous. “Oh, and maybe get some of that Mary... you know…” He trailed off, hoping Eve would catch his drift.

  “Certainly,” Eve responded without missing a beat, to Nye’s mild surprise. “I will order it right away.”

  “Wait, hold on.” Nye’s eyes widened, his curiosity piqued. “Is that even legal? You can just… order it?”

  Eve’s answer was delivered with clinical precision. “If it prevents harm or serves to improve mental and physical well-being, its purchase is within acceptable parameters.”

  Nye tilted his head, intrigued. “Huh. Learning something new today,” he murmured. “Alright then, let’s do it. How about the night after tomorrow night?”

  “Understood,” Eve replied efficiently. Within seconds, it confirmed the purchase. “One kilogram of the highest-quality strain has been ordered. The cost is 30,500 Cryonics.”

  “Whoa!” Nye exclaimed, leaning back against the counter as though the sheer number had physically hit him. “Now that is expensive.”

  Eve’s tone remained calm. “It is, but the price reflects its complexity and quality. The cultivation process is intricate due to its radioactive and potentially hazardous nature of the raw plant that could end up in death. Enhanced humans often have a natural resistance, making the more potent but highly radioactive strains a common indulgence among certain demographics. It is also fairly cheap due to the radioactivity and the hazardous materials.”

  “Oh, yeah, no, that doesn’t sound terrifying at all,” Nye remarked dryly, his sarcastic tone matching his unimpressed expression.

  “Shall I send an invitation to your seven visitors, proposing a gathering at your residence?” Eve inquired.

  Nye considered for a moment before nodding firmly. “Yeah. Tell them I’d like to meet them altogether, get to know them better if they’re okay with it. We'll order food and some fine wine, all on me. Include the time and coordinates.”

  “Messages sent,” Eve confirmed almost instantly.

  Nye let out a nervous laugh, shaking himself as if shrugging off the tension that had built in his shoulders. “Alright, then.” Straightening from his hunched position over the counter, he grabbed the bowl of seafood spaghetti he’d prepared earlier. With deliberately quick steps, he made his way to the plush living room area, where the sprawling glass walls offered a panoramic view of the secluded landscape shimmering in the dark.

  Settling onto the oversized couch, Nye gestured vaguely. “Eve, play me some documentaries. History, nuclear war, evolution… all of it. I need to understand this world better.”

  As the screen flickered to life and the narration began, Nye leaned back, twirling a forkful of spaghetti absentmindedly. He felt a curious mix of anticipation and apprehension. Meeting these people—the ones who had known him, cared enough to visit—would be like stepping into a hall of mirrors. Each reflection would show a different facet of who he once was, and perhaps even illuminate choices he barely understood himself.

  The thought made his stomach twist uneasily, but he pushed the feeling aside. Whatever their perceptions, whatever their truths, Nye resolved to approach the meeting with an open mind and a kind heart. He would be observant, patient, and—above all—ready to accept whatever disclosure awaited him.

  After finishing his seafood spaghetti, Nye leaned back into the comfort of his couch, chugging down a bottle of Nebula wine. The drink had become a staple since his return, a soothing elixir that dulled the tension coiled within him. Its taste—rich, velvety, and tinged with a hint of intergalactic spices—always managed to evoke a sense of calm. By the time he was onto his second bottle, the anxiety of reconnecting with people he didn’t even remember had started to dissolve. Slowly, he felt the weight of the day ebbing away.

  Seven or eight hours of uninterrupted sleep followed, the stretched night outside lending a surreal backdrop to his dreams as the critters and the creatures of the night made their consistent yet soothing natural chirps and noises.

  When he awoke, his body refreshed and his mind more at ease, Nye began his day—or the thirteenth night rather, as usual. Eve had dimmed the lights while he slept and gently stirred him awake with soft ambient sounds that mimicked a natural and noisier morning, though the outside world remained locked in its long, eerie darkness and chirps.

  As he moved about preparing his breakfast—a modest omelet with synthetically grown herbs and toast—the first response to his invitation came in. It was a voice message from Mia. The message, timestamped from when he had been asleep, buzzed to life on a nearby holo-display:

  "Nye?! Oh my gosh, I can't believe it's really you! Yes! Of course yes! I'll be there, and I can't wait to see you, dude. Welcome back!"

  Her enthusiasm was almost palpable through the screen, the tone modern, vibrant, and unabashedly sincere. Nye chuckled, shaking his head as though her words were too loud in his otherwise quiet morning.

  Minutes later, another response arrived real time, this time from Vin. His words carried a distinctly playful vibe:

  "My, my! Look who it is—the man of the hour! About time we meet, buddy. Welcome back. I'll be there."

  Nye couldn’t help but grin at the familiarity in Vin’s tone, even if he didn’t recall the guy. There was something grounding in the warmth of their responses, something that suggested he might still have a piece of his past waiting for him.

  As the hours stretched on, with Nye quietly cleaning the countertops and sitting outside on the patio, the world beyond seemed to stay suspended. He glanced now and then at the list of invitees, wondering if the others would respond or if they’d been less inclined to reconnect. This creeping unease lingered until, several hours later, Liz’s message lit up the holo-display:

  "Is that really you, Nye? Wow! Sweetie, welcome back! I can't wait to meet you! Been so long. I'll be very glad to be there. Thanks for the invitation."

  Her words were warm and affectionate, hinting at a history Nye desperately wished he could recall. By now, the initial nerves of reaching out were mostly replaced by curiosity. Who were these people to him? What would he learn about himself through their eyes?

  It wasn’t until the early evening hour of the thirteenth night that Trent’s response appeared. His excitement radiated through the message:

  "Oh man! I still can't believe this day has arrived for real. So good to have you back home, man. I'll be there. Thanks for the invite!"

  The slow trickle of responses was both comforting and unsettling. The long stretches of silence in between left Nye ruminating on what these interactions would entail, but they also gave him the space to busy himself. He read for a while, lounged in his chair sipping on wine in his small back balcony, and watched the outside world stretch into the thirteenth consecutive sunless night.

  Later, just as Nye began preparing his dinner—a rich, creamy stew with fresh bread—the fifth response arrived. It was from Kiera, and it struck a different tone altogether:

  "Nye. Good to know you're back home. I'm humbled to have been invited with everyone, but unfortunately, I won't be able to make it. Not because I can't, I just don't want to. But I'll visit you alone. Feel free to give me your availability. Best, Kiera."

  Kiera’s words were formal, detached yet genuine. There was no malice, only a quiet reservation that Nye respected, even if it left him pondering what might have caused her hesitance. It made him wonder about the nature of their connection—whether it had been one of trust, conflict, or something more nuanced.

  As he sat down to eat, letting the stew’s warmth chase away his introspective chill, the final response arrived. This one was from Bret, and it was almost comically effusive:

  "Holy moly, is that my boy, Nye? Mannn, I missed you. So glad you're back home now. I'll definitely be there. Thanks for inviting me, man."

  By this time, Nye’s head was already drooping with exhaustion. The wine from earlier in the day had begun to weave a lethargic haze over him. Eve, perceptive as ever, dimmed the holo-display and powered down the lights, wrapping Nye in a cocoon of gentle darkness as he fell asleep on the couch, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He had a big night tomorrow and less than twenty four hours left to meet them.

  Each message had carried a unique flavor of personality, a mosaic of tones and emotions that painted a vivid picture of these six individuals. And as Eve silently queued Bret’s response for Nye to hear when he wakes up, the AI seemed almost pleased with the progress. The night outside stretched on, but for the first time in a while, Nye felt a flicker of light within himself over the course of the last couple of nights.

  On the fourteenth day, the sun finally graced the sky after nearly two weeks of its absence, painting the horizon with streaks of golden light. Eve, the ever-vigilant AI assistant, unfogged the massive glass walls of Nye’s home, allowing the sunlight to spill in like a gentle cascade of warmth.

  “Rise and shine, Nye. The sun is out today,” Eve announced in her usual cheerful tone, her synthetic voice carrying a hint of encouragement.

  Nye stirred on the couch, his preferred spot to sleep ever since he returned home. He found solace in its embrace, the sprawling emptiness of his bedroom feeling far too formal for his unmoored state. He didn’t mind it; there was no one to judge his habits.

  As Eve’s words registered, a faint grin stretched across his face. He rubbed his eyes, feeling a stir of energy at the thought of sunlight flooding his home. “If that’s the case,” he muttered to himself, “I’ll cook for my friends today. Maybe order some snacks too, just in case.”

  Eve, ever-pragmatic, interjected, “It might be too many chores for you without the assistance of your humanoid unit, Nye. It was disposed of during your absence when it began malfunctioning due to the lack of consistent use.”

  Nye snorted dismissively. “Eve, I cleaned this entire house by myself when I came back. Or have you forgotten already?”

  “Indeed, Nye,” Eve replied patiently, “but it took you eleven nights to complete that task, and today, you have less than nine hours.”

  Rolling his eyes with a touch of mock irritation, Nye chose to ignore the AI’s reminder and shuffled toward the kitchen. Breakfast came first. He prepared it with practiced efficiency, finishing his meal at the counter alongside a steaming cup of black coffee. As he sipped, Eve chimed in again.

  “You have another response from Bret,” it said, bringing the corner holo screen to life. Bret’s exuberant voice filled the room: “Holy moly, is that my boy, Nye? Mannn, I missed you. So glad you’re back home now. I’ll definitely be there. Thanks for inviting me, man!”

  Nye’s grin widened as he finished his coffee. Energized by the message, he set to work preparing meals for his guests. He envisioned a spread big enough for seven, with dishes as vibrant and varied as the intergalactic vegetables he started chopping. But as he set the eggs to boil, he noticed the stove wasn’t responding. Frowning, he rebooted the nuclear stove system to no avail. A flash of impatience overtook him. Draining the water, he placed the eggs on a plate, covered them with a microwave-proof lid, and set the timer.

  “Nye,” Eve interjected gently, “I recommend against using the microwave for this purpose. May I suggest the water steam heater instead?”

  “It’s fine, Eve. Don’t worry about it,” Nye said with a reassuring wave. He turned his focus back to chopping vegetables, his movements uncharacteristically clumsy. Excitement and nervousness mingled, making his hands jittery. Meanwhile, the microwave emitted a series of odd popping noises. Then it beeped three times, signaling its completion.

  Eve spoke again, her tone tinged with warning. “Careful, Nye.”

  Nye paused his chopping and walked over, curiosity and a creeping unease battling for dominance. He opened the microwave door, taking the lid off, and in the next instant, the eggs exploded spectacularly. Egg whites and yolks splattered across the microwave’s interior, the cabinets, the walls, and even Nye’s startled face and arms. The heat stung his skin slightly, but he remained frozen, staring at the chaotic scene. Half an egg still sat on the plate, mocking him with its survival.

  Guilt crept into Nye’s voice as he admitted, “Okay, yeah, maybe I should’ve listened to you about whatever that was.”

  Eve, undeterred, launched into an explanation of the science behind the explosion,"The eggs exploded in the microwave because the water inside them heated up rapidly and turned to steam. With no way for the steam to escape because of the small pores on the shell, the pressure built until they burst. Simply put, it's steam buildup with nowhere to go."

  Nye nodded, absorbing the lesson. “So why don’t they explode when boiled in water?” He probes, curious to learn more.

  “That is because the heat is applied gradually and evenly when boiled in water, allowing the steam produced inside to escape slowly through the shell's pores. Although, at times, some eggs crack due to excessive pressure build-up.” Eve explained again patiently.

  Nye let out a long dramatic sigh, pulling off the kitchen glove. “Fine,” he declared. “I’ll just order food.”

  He stood for a moment, surveying the catastrophic mess. Calculating the time it would take to clean, his mood dropped slightly. Eve, sensing his dismay, piped up with a light-hearted pun, “It’s okay, Nye. You just had an eggplosion. You learn from your mistakes.”

  Nye laughed despite himself. “That’s not bad for an AI. Pretty philosophical, even. And, I’d also like to thank you for your eggsplanation.” he returns the pun.

  Eve mimics a human laugh, “That’s a good one too, Nye. However, in regards to philosophy, it’s not an original thought,” it replied modestly. “It’s an ancient phrase. You learn from your mistakes. And now you finally got to experience a new lesson hands-on to understand it better.”

  “Ah,” Nye responded distractedly as the doorbell rang, pulling his attention. Eve informed him, “Your Mary stash has arrived.”

  Nye made his way to the door, where a drone hovered, holding a surprisingly large parcel. His eyes widened. “That’s a lot!” he exclaimed, taking the package and thanking the machine out of habit. Closing the door, he turned to Eve. “Why’d you order so much?”

  “So you can enjoy it during your nights while watching the wild garden,” Eve replied smoothly.

  “Hmm,” Nye murmured approvingly, placing the stash on the counter before turning back to the aftermath of his eggplosion. Cleaning would take time, but at least he had something to laugh about.

  By the seventh hour of daylight, Nye had meticulously arranged every detail of his surroundings. The house was pristine, yet he felt an encroaching unease as the hours ticked by. His nerves were a cacophony, each minute amplifying the dissonance. He couldn’t settle. First, he lingered in the kitchen area, tapping his fingers against the counter. Then, unable to stay still, he moved to the living area, perching on the armrest of the couch before springing up again to pace. Returning to his room was unthinkable; he couldn’t explain why, but the mere thought of retreating there heightened his anxiety.

  Instead, he circled the house like a restless spirit, his pacing punctuated by glances at the clock. At intervals, he would pause and ask Eve, “Any messages yet?” only to be met with the same disheartening response: “No messages, Nye.” Lycan had not responded either, which wasn’t unusual but felt more significant in this moment.

  As dusk began to paint the horizon in subtle hues, Nye’s pacing was interrupted by a sudden whoosh outside. The sound startled him, snapping him from his reverie. Heart racing, he hurried to the door, curiosity overtaking his nervousness. Someone had arrived. His fingers hesitated on the door handle for a brief second before he swung it open.

  Standing before him was a levitating bike with a rider on it, a figure straight out of a fever dream. Her hair was a striking scarlet, velvety and rich, the exact shade he’d once likened to his own blood. It peeped underneath the helmet. She wore an all-black helmet that obscured most of her expression, save for the unnerving focus of her gaze.

  The levitating bike hovered a foot above the ground at the edge of the artificial pathway leading to his front door, humming faintly. She remained seated, her gloved hands gripping the handlebars as she stared at him through the visor.

  Nye froze on the porch, his thoughts scrambling for coherence. She wore an all black outfit, snug to her figure. It was mesmerizing in a way that defied explanation. He wasn’t ogling; rather, he was transfixed by the surreal tableau. Her physique was striking as well, her proportions balanced in a way that would catch anyone’s attention. She wasn’t overly slender, nor did she carry excessive weight; her build was simply—perfect.

  After a long, awkward silence, the rider finally moved. She reached up, removing her helmet with a practiced grace, revealing a face that matched the captivating strangeness of her presence. Her features were sharp yet soft, and her scarlet hair tumbled down in waves to her mid-back as she dismounted her bike. Pressing a button, she lowered the vehicle to rest gently on the ground.

  Her skin was an ethereal gray, lighter than silver but with slightly darker shades of grey highlighting the features of her face, accentuating her stark features. Her eyes were pools of pitch-black, no whites, consuming and inscrutable, framed by the bright gray undertones of her face. She looked like a person from a Black and White Television but then there's that blood red hair.

  Nye managed to snap out of his paralysis, offering a faint, nervous smile. “Uh, hi. Who are you supposed to be?” His voice wavered slightly as he stepped forward, curiosity battling his unease.

  The woman moved with purpose, stepping forward with an almost hurried energy. Her pitch-black eyes stayed locked on him, making him feel both seen and unsettled. Without warning, she broke into a sprint, closing the distance between them in seconds. Before Nye could react, she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug so tight it knocked the air out of his lungs.

  “Nye!” she exclaimed, her voice alight with joy. She clung to him fiercely, her affection devoid of romantic undertones but brimming with warmth and familiarity. Her grip was strong, but her weight felt light against him, her enthusiasm buoying her presence.

  Nye stood rigid, unsure how to respond. His hands hovered awkwardly before he cautiously patted her back, trying to process the situation. The unexpected intimacy left him flustered, and then—to his utter horror—he felt a distinct, unwelcome pressure in his pants that poked on her stomach. His face burned as he realized what had happened, mortification overtaking him.

  The woman pulled back slightly, her joyful expression shifting to playful irritation as she noticed his discomfort. “Dang, Nye!” she scolded, swatting his wrist lightly. “Seriously? We don’t have that kind of relationship! We’re stoner bros. We spill tea about work, get high as fuck, and eat an obscene amount of junk food together. That’s our Stoner Code, man!”

  Her teasing tone didn’t alleviate his embarrassment. Nye raised his hands defensively, stepping back. “I’m so sorry,” he stammered, his face impossibly red. He felt trapped between shame and an odd gratitude for her lighthearted reaction.

  She laughed, her irritation melting away as she grabbed him by the neck in a friendly headlock, forcing him to bend slightly to match her height. “Relax, dude,” she said, ruffling his hair with mock annoyance. “I’m Mia. Now spill. How the hell have you been? What’s been going on? When did you get back? And why didn’t you tell me?” Her questions tumbled out in rapid succession as she dragged him inside.

  Once they were in the living room, she released him, planting her hands on her hips. “Alright, tell me everything. Don’t leave out a single detail.” Her earnest gaze held a warmth that was almost overwhelming. She wasn’t just asking out of politeness; she genuinely wanted to know.

  Nye’s initial discomfort began to ebb, replaced by an unfamiliar sense of relief. She was… comforting. Unlike Lycan, whose presence carried an undercurrent of tension and detachment, Mia’s energy was disarmingly kind and friendly. It struck him that her hug had been the longest and most genuine display of affection he’d experienced since waking up, warmer than Bella’s. And somehow, in the span of a few minutes, she had managed to turn his chaotic emotions into something resembling peace.

  “Okay, okay,” he said, running a hand through his loose strands of hair framing his face. “I’ll tell everyone everything. But you should settle down first.” He gestured to the couch, already preparing for what he suspected would be a lengthy and lively conversation.

  He also hesitated for a moment before mumbling, “Thanks for coming… and, uh, for that really long hug.”

  Mia’s face fell, her expression shifting from light-hearted to somber in a heartbeat. Her lips parted as if she was about to speak, but instead, she let out a shaky sigh, her shoulders rising and falling.

  When she finally spoke, her voice cracked under the weight of suppressed emotions. “Oh, Nye... I’m actually fucking glad you forgot everything.” Her eyes glistened, though the tears didn’t spill over. She sniffled lightly, then, as if flipping a switch, her demeanor transformed. Mischief sparkled in her eyes, and a crooked grin spread across her face. She leaned in close, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Maybe now it’s time for new things, ya know? New places, new people… new drugs and even the illegal shit. Gotta keep it exciting!”

  Nye laughed at her liveliness. She just shrugged nonchalantly, toeing off her sneakers. They were futuristic with sleek black material and silver highlights, the type that screamed both utility and style. She wore a black, distressed jeans made of a synthetic fabric that hugged her form yet flexed with her movements. The deliberate rips and tears revealed black fishnet stockings underneath—a bold choice that matched her personality.

  Settling into the couch like it was hers, she exhaled comfortably, as if this was something ingrained in her muscle memory. Nye watched her, a pang of unease stirring in his chest. She moved so familiarly, like they had shared countless moments before on that couch. Yet, to him, she was a stranger. The dichotomy gnawed at him. She cared enough to visit him while he was in a coma. Or was this just how Mia naturally was—a whirlwind of confident chaos?

  She playfully punched his arm as he sat down, lightening the mood. “Why the hell didn’t you let me visit you at the facility? Not fair,” she teased. Her tone softened slightly, tinged with genuine concern. “How’s the memory thing going? Anything coming back yet?”

  Nye shook his head, his voice calm but laced with melancholy. “No, nothing at all. I wanted to take time to… figure out the world first before reconnecting with people.” He glanced away, then shrugged unapologetically. “Didn’t feel right to meet someone when I have no clue about our history.”

  Mia’s lips quirked into a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Fair enough,” she murmured, unzipping her jet-black, high-neck jacket. Beneath it, she wore a loose, cropped red top that had been strategically torn and adorned with sparkling DIY embellishments. It was loud, bold, and unapologetically Mia.

  Nye sighed, running a hand through his hair again nervously. He wanted to reconnect with his pure honesty to his friends. And so he manages to articulate, “Look, I'm going to be honest with you and every other friend for being kind enough to visit me at the facility when I was out. I don’t know or remember who I am, who you were to me, or what on Earth my past was like… but I do have to say, I find you incredibly attractive.” His words tumbled out in a rush. “I mean that in a non-romantic way. And, uh, let me know if I’m crossing any boundaries.”

  Mia blinked at him, taken aback, before breaking into a soft chuckle. “Well, thank you for the compliment.” She gave him an approving nod, her smile now genuine. “But let’s not dwell on that. Shall we?”, suggesting ignoring those feelings, “You’ll figure things out soon enough.”

  Nye leaned back, exhaling. “Okay, so what do I even say? Maybe you should start. Who are you? How did we meet? What were we like?”

  Mia’s brows furrowed, her lips pursing in thought. “Alright. My name’s Mia. I work in the AI engineering department for the Feds—yes, the government.” She rolled her eyes. “I hate colors. Like, seriously. Except red. That’s the only one I tolerate because it's a part of me. And sadly, it took me a long time to grow out of the shame after constantly being bullied and called the Cherry On Top at school,” she said, tugging at a strand of her crimson hair. “But I'm 30 now. I'm starting to see how it actually makes me beautiful, the red. It’s kinda my thing.”

  She paused, her gaze distant for a moment before continuing. “We met at work. You had the biggest-ass crush on me.” She smirked, watching his expression shift between embarrassment and disbelief. “Don’t worry; it’s sweet. And I think you’re developing it again. So, you’re consistent, if nothing else.” She teased.

  Nye opened his mouth to respond, but Mia held up a hand to stop him. “Relax. It wasn’t one of those awkward, one-sided things. You respected boundaries. You were a good friend. And honestly? That’s why I liked having you around.”

  Sensing his unease, she leaned over and nudged him with her elbow. “Chill, dude. Wait till you meet Liz. You’ll forget all about me.” She winked, laughing at her own joke.

  Nye mimicked picking up an imaginary feeling from the space between them and tossing it away dramatically. He sank deeper into the couch. “I’m sorry if I acted weird earlier. I just don’t know enough yet to feel comfortable.”

  “That’s alright.” Mia’s attention shifted to the stash of Mary on the table. She casually began unpacking the kit, her movements deliberate yet relaxed. “You’ve got a lifetime to get there, Nye.”

  He watched her for a moment before asking, “So how did I ‘uncrush’ myself at work?”

  Mia chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, now that’s a story. One night, we were both working late, and you caught me smoking Mary at work. At first you were awkward as hell, apologizing for intruding. But then you stopped and asked if you could have a couple of drags.” She grinned, as though reminiscing. “And we’ve been Mary Buddies ever since.”

  “So you can't smoke Mary at work?” He seeks clarification, brows furrowed curiously.

  “You can't work under any influence of a drug or alcohol during work hours. It's illegal. You can do whatever the fuck you want afterwards.” She explains.

  “But you said, we were working late, which means we were already there past the working hours. So how is that illegal?” He probes further for more clarification.

  “Ah, right.” She nods, “I was smoking while working. Basically, you can't work under influence, no matter the time if you're inside the work premises.” She tries to explain it but in a hushed tone to enforce how risky it was.

  Nye frowns, more curious now. But before he could ask another question, a low hum of the glider engine interrupted their conversation. Nye glanced toward the door, but Mia waved him off. “Stay put. I’ll get it.”

  She got up from the couch and opened the door, leaning against the frame with mock sternness.

  “Bret and Trent,” she called back, glancing over her shoulder at Nye.

  He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. For the first time in a long while, the world outside his amnesia didn’t seem so daunting.

  Nye rose from the couch despite Mia’s playful protest. It didn’t sit right with him to let his guest handle the door. After all, basic courtesy dictated that he, as the host, should greet his visitors personally. He followed Mia to the entrance just as two figures stepped inside his front garden entrance—a pair who looked like they’d shared the same ride. The glider was sleek, stylish, and quiet. It hummed faintly before vanishing down the street.

  Nye wasn’t entirely sure who was Bret and who was Trent. His mind worked to piece together their names and personalities from this brief encounter. One of the two men caught his attention first—a bulkier figure with a relaxed demeanor. His clothing was oversized, likely to conceal the extra weight he carried, though his soft double chin and the subtle paunch of his belly gave it away. His skin was a calming light cyan hue, with darker shades that accentuated the contours of his face and neck. His hair, pitch black and slightly unruly, framed his round face in a way that seemed unintentionally charming.

  The other man was the polar opposite—a tall, well-built individual with a deliberate sense of style. His outfit wasn’t extravagant, but it showed a meticulous eye for coordination and fit. Fern-green skin, smooth and slightly iridescent under the light, gave him an ethereal presence. His hair stood out even more—a vivid yellow buzzed short on the sides, with a well-groomed longer section swept neatly across the top. His grooming was precise, down to the sharp lines of his face. Nye noted how he moved with an air of confidence, as if fully aware of the attention his appearance commanded.

  Nye's thoughts flickered to his own reflection—or rather, the vague impression of what he must look like now. His hair, grown out just enough to tie into a high bun, felt foreign to him. A simple black hairband held it in place, though shorter strands framed his face. He hadn’t thought much about grooming back at the facility, which was becoming increasingly evident now that he stood before these two men. Yes, he did shave his beard regularly but never gave a thought about his hair. Did it matter? Maybe. It was a strange mix of self-consciousness and mild curiosity about how others saw him.

  Mia, still at the door, greeted the men with her trademark playful sass. “Well, well, look who decided to grace us with their oh-so-fabulous presence,” she said, placing her hands on her hips in mock authority.

  The taller man smirked at Mia's sarcasm but didn’t say a word. The smirk itself was subtle, almost calculated—a fleeting curve of his lips, paired with a faint narrowing of his fern-colored eyes. Nye could sense it wasn’t a jab aimed at Mia; if anything, it was an inside joke directed squarely at him.

  “Hey, Nye. Welcome back!” the taller man said with a flourish of his hand, mimicking a hats-off gesture as if he were a cabaret performer. His voice was smooth and oddly soothing, carrying just the right amount of teasing edge to make Nye question whether he was being mocked.

  “I’m Trent,” he continued, his vivid yellow hair catching the last sliver of sunlight pouring through the doorway. “Assuming you’re still not doing very well with the memory…” His tone rose slightly at the end, turning what could’ve been a statement into an open-ended question. It felt like he was gently testing the waters, ensuring his introduction was necessary and not redundant.

  Nye’s grin widened instinctively, a response as natural as breathing. Without thinking much, he walked up to Trent and gestured for a hug—something he’d learned from Mia was a great way to break the ice. Nye didn’t know why, but the motion felt oddly easy with Trent. To his relief, Trent didn’t hesitate; he leaned in, meeting him halfway with a snug, affirming hug.

  “Still can’t believe you’ve actually made it back,” Trent murmured as they parted, his voice tinged with a quiet melancholy that made Nye’s chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t quite name. Before Nye could dwell on the strange wave of emotion that passed between them, Trent patted him lightly on the back, his demeanor brightening. “Great to have you back, man! And that hair—damn—it looks great on you. Never seen you with long hair before.”

  Nye blinked, momentarily caught off guard. A compliment? From Trent? Especially about his hair, of all things? The contrast between their styles had left Nye feeling just a tad self-conscious earlier, but now the validation was unexpectedly uplifting.

  “Uh, thanks,” Nye said, his voice breaking into a sheepish chuckle. “I forgot about grooming the hair.” he just flatly told the truth. Before Trent could respond, a wheezy voice cut through the moment.

  “Yo!” Bret’s voice came with a boom of unrestrained energy. The bulkier man finally made it up the porch, already looking winded as if the short walk had been a marathon. His oversized clothes seemed to stick to him slightly, and Nye could see faint beads of sweat glistening on his cyan-tinted forehead. “This is Bret, our man!” Trent announced, gesturing grandly toward his friend like a showman introducing a headliner.

  Bret grinned widely, stepping forward and engulfing Nye in a bear hug before he had time to react. “Come here, buddy!”

  It was a full-body hug, the kind that swallowed you whole. Bret’s sheer presence was overwhelming—not in a bad way, but Nye quickly noticed the man’s… aroma. A pungent mix of sweat and something earthy, with undertones of what Nye could only describe as “not-so-pleasant leftovers.” Nye fought hard not to wince as Bret patted his back enthusiastically.

  “Let me take a better look at you,” Bret said, pulling back slightly but keeping his thick hands firmly on Nye’s shoulders. His eyes swept Nye’s entire frame, head to toe, then back up again, in an almost clinical fashion. The scrutiny made Nye’s stomach twist uncomfortably—an emotion he didn’t entirely recognize but decided to label as queasy awkwardness.

  “You look superb, man,” Bret declared with a hearty laugh that shook his entire torso. “Let’s roll up some Mary and line up a dose of Glowcap Blend,” he added with an infectious grin, referring to a well-known futuristic drug extracted from one of the mutated mushroom variants.

  Nye raised an eyebrow, his mouth halfway open to respond, but Bret’s attention had already shifted. His eyes darted toward Mia. “Mia, babe!” he said, his voice oozing familiarity as he extended his arms for another hug.

  Mia shot him a look—a mix of exasperation and amusement—and stepped back. “No hugs. We’ve been over this, Bret. I’m not a hugger.” Her tone was light, but firm enough to stop him in his tracks.

  Nye’s head whipped toward Mia, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Not a hugger? Hadn’t she just hugged him earlier when she arrived? And not just a quick one—a proper, lingering hug. He glanced at her suspiciously, but Mia didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she gave Bret a knowing smile, and Nye could swear there was a flicker of mischief in her expression.

  As the group moved inside, the last rays of sunlight disappeared, and the room filled with the warm glow of artificial lights and the natural bioluminescence from his front garden and the back garden wilderness just beyond the patio. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the long darkness settled in, revealing the eerie beauty of the night again.

  The living room hummed with a quiet energy as everyone settled into their respective spaces, each slipping seamlessly into a rhythm like they’d done this a thousand times before. Mia had already claimed the corner of the plush sectional couch, meticulously grinding the Mary with an efficiency that spoke of both expertise and a slight impatience. Trent sat on the other end of the couch from her, his fingers deftly setting up the automatic roller system compartment on the glass table. It gleamed faintly under the overhead lights, looking more like a futuristic art piece than a device for assembling joints.

  The compartment, Nye realized with growing amusement, had been serving as his makeshift bottle holder. His cherished wine bottles often stood proudly atop it, the centerpiece of his limited knowledge of home aesthetics. Until this moment, he’d had no idea that the sleek contraption had any purpose beyond “bottle holding.”

  Meanwhile, Bret, ever the restless one, had taken it upon himself to inspect Nye’s living quarters. He wandered around the room with an exaggerated sense of authority, commenting aloud on the décor like a self-appointed interior critic.

  “Man, what is this?” Bret muttered, pointing at a neatly arranged stack of landscape art prints on the wall. “Since when did you go all cottagecore aesthetics? Looks clean, though—sublime, even. You got rid of the changing holo paintings. Not very ‘you’... or your brother, for that matter.” he muttered the last portion, low and far enough for Nye to hear him.

  Nye smirked at his commentary but said nothing, letting Bret indulge in his observations. To his blissful ignorance, he genuinely did not have any curiosity to know what Bret was murmuring under his breath.

  Bret meandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge, his face falling dramatically at the sight. “No beer?!” he exclaimed, his voice echoing through the house with the kind of disbelief you’d reserve for life-altering news. “Nye, what is this? You always had cases in here! Always!”

  Mia looked up briefly from her task, amused but unsurprised by Bret’s theatrics. “Maybe his taste changed, Bret. Ever think of that?” she said dryly, turning back to the Mary.

  Bret, undeterred, rummaged through the cabinets. His disappointment vanished the moment he stumbled upon a neatly arranged collection of fancy wine bottles, their labels gleaming like a promise of sophistication he hadn’t expected to find.

  “Damn, Nye!” Bret called out, holding up a bottle for emphasis. “Your taste has definitely changed. Look at this!” He pulled out a deep red vintage, studied it like a connoisseur, and shook his head with mock disbelief before grabbing four glasses from the nearby rack.

  Back in the living room, Nye had been silently observing the flurry of activity, his gaze bouncing between Mia’s practiced grinding, Trent’s efficient rolling, and Bret’s boisterous antics. It wasn’t rude, just contemplative. There was something oddly fascinating about watching them make themselves at home without so much as a nod to his presence.

  Bret plopped down into the single armchair with a theatrical sigh, placing the glasses and wine bottle on the table in front of him. He gestured broadly at the room, still caught up in his own commentary. “Man, your cleaning unit has outdone itself with this renovation. It’s... cool. Definitely cooler than what you had before. I mean, it’s not entirely ‘you,’ but it works.”

  Nye’s brow furrowed slightly. “Uh, actually,” he began, his tone polite but firm, “I did it all by myself. All of this—every decoration, every detail—it’s to my personal taste. No cleaning unit involved.”

  The statement drew a collective reaction.

  Mia paused mid-grind, raising an eyebrow and letting out a soft, impressed chuckle. “Looks like you’ve been keeping yourself busy. Good for you, Nye,” she said with a small nod of approval.

  Trent tilted his head, looking genuinely impressed. “No kidding? Didn’t peg you for the artsy type, but hey, it’s working.”

  Bret, who had already poured himself a glass of wine, raised it in mock salute. “To the new and improved Nye! Now with 50% more taste!”

  The moment was broken by the sharp chime of the doorbell, startling everyone slightly. Nye stood up with an ease that belied his earlier stillness. “I’ve got it,” he said quickly, gesturing for them to stay put. “You guys just… keep doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

  As he made his way to the door, the low hum of conversation resumed behind him. Meanwhile Bret got up and fetched more wine bottles and glasses. For Nye, there was something oddly satisfying about seeing his space filled with life for the first time, even if it was chaotic, loud, and, in Bret’s case, mildly intrusive.

  The door creaked open, and Nye found himself staring at a man who seemed to command the very air around him. His skin was a deep, velvety pitch-black, smooth as obsidian, and his hair—a bold royal blue—was a vibrant crown atop his head. But it was his eyes that struck Nye the most. Bright, electric blue, they shimmered like twin shards of ice under sunlight, impossible to look away from. Nye blinked, caught somewhere between admiration and intrigue.

  The man’s outfit was understated but sharp—functional yet stylish, lacking the meticulous, edge-to-edge precision of Trent’s wardrobe but clearly thought through. His haircut, however, was immaculate, the kind of cut that made Nye question, not for the first time, if it was time for him to consider a haircut.

  “Vin,” Nye thought. It had to be. The only other male guest yet to arrive was Lycan, and Nye knew Lycan’s distinct features all too well. Stepping forward, Nye let a warm smile curving his lips, a subtle shift from his usual neutral expression. For a fleeting moment, he indulged in quietly studying the man, absorbing every detail.

  Unbeknownst to Nye, Vin was doing the same. His electric blue gaze roamed over Nye, taking in the man bun perched confidently on his head. Nye looked... different. Effortlessly striking. Vin’s sharp features softened ever so slightly as he observed his host, the faintest glimmer of approval sparking in his usually calm expression.

  They stood like that, two men in mutual appraisal, before Nye finally broke the silence. “Vin? I’m assuming…?” His tone carried a note of polite uncertainty.

  Vin’s response was unexpected—a soft chuckle, rich and warm but tinged with a melancholic undertone that didn’t quite match his naturally smirky, playful face. Without a word, he extended his arms and pulled Nye into a firm, affectionate hug.

  “So good to see you back, and on your own two feet, brother,” Vin said, his voice low and gravelly, carrying an unexpected sincerity. As he released the embrace, he let out a deep exhale, one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.

  Before Nye could respond, the faint hum of another approaching vehicle caught their attention. The sound grew louder, more distinct, and when it came into view, Nye’s eyes widened slightly.

  The glider was nothing short of a marvel—a sleek, futuristic masterpiece that looked as though it had been plucked straight out of someone’s wildest dream. Black as midnight, its polished surface gleamed under the faint garden lights. Neon accents traced its contours, highlighting its impossibly aerodynamic frame. It floated effortlessly, exuding an aura of opulence and cutting-edge innovation.

  Nye couldn’t help himself; he stared, a mix of awe and envy flickering across his face. His own ride, while modern and impressive in its own right, paled in comparison to this fantastical beast of engineering.

  Vin caught the look on Nye's face and immediately smirked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Yep, that would be Liz for ya—our privileged little princess.”

  The vehicle descended gracefully, landing on the street just beyond the front garden. As its door split open with a soft hiss, Nye couldn’t help but notice how even its mechanisms seemed unnecessarily luxurious.

  Liz emerged with the kind of effortless charisma that made the air around her seem to shimmer. She grinned broadly at the two men by the door, her black hair cascading down her back in a sleek waterfall of waist-length strands. Neon highlights peeked through the dark, straight strands, catching the light in flashes of electric pink and green.

  “Hey, boys!” she called, her voice cheerful but edged with a natural confidence that made it clear she was used to commanding attention. She waved casually before stepping onto the pathway. “Sorry I’m late! Had to pick up food. Oh, and drugs. Lots of drugs. Took longer than expected,” she added with a wink, utterly unfazed.

  Liz was tall, with a lithe, athletic frame that was anything but delicate. Her olive-toned skin glowed faintly under the moonlight, her features striking and perfectly balanced. She wore high-end boots and clothes that screamed wealth—a kind of effortless richness that made even the simplest piece of her attire look like it belonged in a high-fashion magazine.

  For a moment, Nye was caught off guard, rendered momentarily speechless by her presence. She was... breathtaking.

  Liz cleared her throat dramatically, drawing all eyes toward her. “So, what’s the plan here?” she asked, her voice dripping with exaggerated disdain. “Are you gentlemen just going to stand there gawking, or is someone going to help carry these bags? Honestly, chivalry really is dead.” She punctuated the statement with an exasperated huff, tossing her sleek, neon-highlighted hair over her shoulder for effect.

  Vin, never one to let a quip go unchallenged, shot back with a smirk, “Yeah, well, so are your carrier drones.”

  That landed a direct hit. Liz’s snobbish demeanor momentarily cracked as she gasped in mock offense, then pouted. “I know! Don’t remind me.” Her tone turned melodramatic, as though the world had ended. “I really need to get new ones, but do you know how impossible it is to find models that don’t glitch after six months? Ugh.” She shook her head in exaggerated despair before striding confidently toward Nye, leaving Vin to roll his eyes and handle the bags in the background.

  Nye watched her approach, the fluidity of her movements mesmerizing. Liz carried herself with the confidence of someone who knew she was the center of the universe—and everyone else was just orbiting her gravitational pull. She paused a foot away from him, tilting her head slightly as her sharp, neon-accented gaze swept over him.

  “You made it,” she said at last, her voice dropping to a warm, genuine tone that caught Nye off guard. Without waiting for a response, she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a hug that was far more heartfelt than her earlier theatrics suggested.

  “So glad to have you back among us, darling,” she murmured, her voice softer now. “I really missed you. To be honest...” Her voice faltered slightly, and when she spoke again, there was a vulnerability that Nye hadn’t expected. “I was starting to lose hope after a few months. I almost thought we’d lost you for good.”

  For a moment, Nye was too stunned to respond. The sudden shift from the snobbish, larger-than-life persona to this earnest, emotional Liz was almost disorienting. But then he relaxed into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her. “Thank you for coming,” he said quietly. “I really appreciate it. Even when it felt like I wouldn’t make it, it’s nice knowing you all still cared.”

  Liz pulled back slightly, her hands lingering on his shoulders. Her face was lit with a genuine smile, the kind that made her beauty almost overwhelming. She studied him again, her gaze lingering on his long hair.

  “You know,” she said casually, with a small shrug, “the long hair really suits you. Makes you look... sexier, honestly.”

  Nye blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Bret’s loud voice broke through the moment like a sledgehammer.

  “Are you folks frozen in time or what?” Bret hollered from the doorway, his tone gruff and impatient.

  Liz and Vin rolled their eyes in perfect unison, a synchronized display of annoyance that made Nye chuckle under his breath. Without further ado, he took a couple of bags from Vin, and the trio headed into the house.

  Once inside, Nye locked the door while Liz shrugged off her jacket, revealing a chic, effortlessly expensive outfit that only added to her aura of untouchable glamor. Vin placed the meal bags onto the kitchen counter with a clatter, and Liz glanced around.

  “Everyone here yet?” she asked, her voice snapping back to its usual imperious tone.

  “Kiera and Lycan were invited too,” Nye replied, “but Kiera couldn’t make it. So, it’s just Lycan left now.”

  Liz scoffed immediately, her expression one of pure disdain. “He’s never coming. That guy’s a real jerk.”

  From across the room, Mia chimed in, “Agreed. Total prick.” She didn’t even look up from the automated joint roller she and Trent were hunched over, clearly engrossed in their work.

  Nye raised an eyebrow at their remarks but said nothing. He couldn’t deny that Lycan was a bit of an enigma—someone who seemed to rub people the wrong way. Still, Lycan had been the first to visit him when he woke up, so Nye decided not to judge him based on the others’ opinions.

  “Alright, Nye!” Mia called out, gesturing to the small mountain of joints she and Trent had rolled. “Come over here and join us already!”

  He settled down between Mia and Trent, relieved to note that Bret had chosen the single-seat sofa on the far side of the room. Bret’s... distinct odor was something Nye was all too happy to avoid, and judging by the unspoken but palpable relief in the room, everyone else felt the same way.

  As Trent lit up the first joint and Vin the second, the atmosphere shifted. Eve, ever-attentive, began playing upbeat music in the background, a gesture that Nye silently appreciated. The two joints began their journey around the circle, passing from hand to hand. For a while, no one spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward; rather, it felt easy, a shared moment of quiet companionship.

  From her corner, Liz began to sway gently to the music, her movements fluid and unselfconscious. Mia caught the rhythm too, bobbing her head and waving her hands with an infectious grin. Nye found himself smiling. It was... nice.

  For the first time in his short-remembered life, Nye was at ease. The weight of everything—his coma, his recovery, the strange liminal space he now found himself in—seemed to lift, if only for a little while as the Mary did its job. He leaned back, watching his friends with a quiet sense of gratitude, enjoying the music.

  The evening had taken on an almost magical glow as the group gradually transitioned from smoking and swaying to sipping wine and gently dancing to the music. The atmosphere was warm and unpretentious, a perfect blend of comfort and friendship. Liz, the social butterfly of the group, made sure she danced with everyone—except Bret, whom she tactfully avoided without breaking the vibe. She managed a no-contact groove with him, a feat that maintained both her personal boundaries and the infectious energy of the gathering.

  Mia and Trent occasionally burst into fits of giggles as Liz twirled them dramatically across the room. Even Nye found himself swept up in the rhythm, his laughter light and genuine, a proof to the healing power of friends and of course, the Mary.

  By the time hunger struck, it was no longer a polite suggestion but a primal urge. Vin and Trent took charge, ferrying the cornucopia of food Liz had brought from the kitchen counter. Nye genuinely felt a wave of gratitude for the food because he had spent enough time fretting over what they might like to eat all day long before their arrival. Guess that’s what friends are for. He mused, watching them pile plates high. They bring food, hugs, and even recreational supplies to remind you that life can be better with friends. He realized now why people sought human connection. It really was something artificial intelligence could simply not provide you.

  The living area became a cozy chaos of plates, cutlery, and laughter. They sprawled across mismatched seating—beanbags, the couch, and a sofa that had seen better days—and began their feast. Nye found himself utterly captivated by a trending sitcom playing in the background, its sharp wit and ridiculous antics earning his commitment to binge-watch it later, preferably with a bowl of the Auric Blossom gnocchi.

  Conversation ebbed and flowed like an unpredictable tide. Someone passed Nye a bowl, which was immediately intercepted by Liz with a teasing quip about his slow reflexes. He grinned, shrugging. The food, infused with the amplifying effects of their earlier joints, tasted almost divinely decadent. Maybe it’s the Mary. Nye thought, but he wisely chose not to voice this, lest he come off as na?ve.

  Once the food had been devoured with almost frightening efficiency, the group moved into a flurry of cleanup. Plates and bowls were washed, dried, and stowed with surprising diligence for such a mellowed-out crowd. Bret, of course, had to add a little flair, humming an off-key tune while dramatically flicking water droplets off a dish. The others shot him looks of amused exasperation, but no one bothered to stop him.

  As they settled back into the living room, Bret announced, “I’m getting the dropper for the Room Oil.” His tone was rushed, but Nye’s blank expression betrayed his ignorance.

  Before Bret could bound off, Mia intercepted him with a sharp look. “Bret, chill. Maybe we should actually talk for a bit, like real people?” Her voice had a motherly authority that even Bret couldn’t argue with.

  Liz immediately backed Mia up. “Great idea, Mia. Nye needs to know who we are and how he ended up stuck with this ragtag bunch.” She winked at Nye, who chuckled softly.

  Vin nodded, leaning back into the couch. “Fair enough. Let’s get the introductions out of the way so Nye knows why we’re here. Then we can hear from him—the most important part of the night.”

  Trent nodded in unison. Bret, ever the dramatist, groaned but gave in with a theatrical shrug. “Fine.” He drawled, “But I’m going first.”

  Before Bret could launch into what Nye assumed would be an unnecessarily elaborate monologue, Nye held up a hand. “Wait a sec.” He cleared his throat, glancing around the room. “Before we start, I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all—for visiting me at the facility, for being here tonight, and for making this way less awkward than it could’ve been for me. It means a lot.” his tone screamed sincerity.

  Liz melted visibly, her eyes softening as she leapt out of her armchair. “Aw, Nye, you’re too sweet. Come here, hon.” She enveloped him in another warm hug. One by one, the others joined in, turning it into a full-on group hug. Everyone, that is, except Bret, who was still perched on his single armchair. Just as he stood up to join in, the group instinctively disbanded, leaving him to awkwardly sit back down.

  Mia deflected the moment with practiced ease. “Alright, Bret. You wanted to go first? The stage is yours.”

  Bret huffed but accepted the redirect, oblivious to the collective sigh of relief from everyone else. Nye stifled a laugh, already realizing that this night was going to be one for the books.

  The room settled as Bret cleared his throat, ready to dive into his introduction. He leaned back in his chair with the dramatic flair of someone about to narrate an epic saga.

  “Well,” he began, “Nye, you and I first met at CosmoBrews, you know, that insanely popular coffee place with gazillions of outlets where people go to pretend they’re productive while taking 3D selfies with latte foam art.”

  Nye chuckled at the description as Bret continued, “I had just started the job as a cashier, and it was my first day at that job.”

  Nye tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing. “Wait… wasn’t that the job of the human bots or humanoids, whatever you call it? Aren’t they everywhere now, taking orders and all?”

  Bret chuckled, the sound somewhere between a snort and a wheeze. “Oh, my sweet, clueless Nye. You’ve been out of it for a while, huh? Nah, man, the government mandates that businesses hire actual humans—70% quota for us, 30% for humanoids. Something about not repeating the ‘Great Bot Debacle’ of 2350. Heard about that? Nuclear war and all? Yeah, not fun…although, there are some fancy places for rich people that only keep humanoids to run the place.”

  Nye blinked. “Right… of course. I just realized I need to read more books now.” He tried to mask his confusion but failed spectacularly.

  Bret continued, clearly enjoying the spotlight. “Anyway, I was the guy behind the counter, taking orders, getting yelled at, and generally being everyone’s punching bag because, you know, I was the ‘big guy.’” He gestured to his belly, unbothered by the admission. “Most days, I just kept my head down. But then you showed up.”

  Nye leaned forward, intrigued.

  “You liked the coffee so much, you became a regular,” Bret said with a grin. “You’d drop by everyday in person to pick your coffee before work in an era where cafés are only for socializing and shit. One would simply order their morning coffee if it's something they need before they start work. Anyway, we got to chatting. You’d order that fancy Stellar Espresso thing—whatever it was called—and we’d talk. Most customers just ignored me or treated me like furniture, but not you. You actually… saw me.” His voice softened slightly, a rare moment of sincerity.

  The group quieted for a beat, but Bret wasn’t about to let things get too emotional. “Then, one day, this jerk I worked with—Milo, the guy was built like a cyborg and had the IQ of a malfunctioning toaster—decided to humiliate me in front of the whole line because of a mixed-up order. I was just about to crawl under the counter and die of shame when you stepped in.”

  Nye raised an eyebrow but didn't articulate a question. “You made him apologize to me. Loudly. In front of everyone. And you didn’t just stop there—you gave this mini-speech about respect and kindness. Honestly, it was so good I’m surprised no one threw roses at your feet.”

  The group laughed, and Liz chimed in, “Sounds like our Nye. The speechmaker.”

  “Later that night,” Bret continued, “I was still shaken up, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what you did. So, I decided to take a chance. After my shift, I called you and asked if you wanted to meet up in the back alley of CosmoBrews. I had this… uh… variant of Mary called Lilith. It’s basically Mary, but, you know, slightly more radioactive.”

  “More radioactive?” Nye’s eyes widened.

  “Just a little,” Bret assured him with a dismissive wave which drew a collective smirk from the rest in the room.

  “It was all I could afford. My finances were a mess.” Bret shrugged.

  Trent scoffed loudly. “Still are, if we’re being honest.”

  Bret shot him a look but didn’t rise to the bait. “Anyway,” he continued, ignoring Trent, “you actually showed up. We smoked, laughed, and that was it. We’ve been friends ever since.”

  Nye smiled softly. “That… actually sounds kind of nice.”

  “It was,” Bret said with a shrug. “I mean, you probably shortened your lifespan by five years with that Lilith, but hey, it was worth it.”

  Nye shot him a shocked look, drawing chuckles from the others.

  “So, what do you do now, Bret?” Nye asked, pushing aside the Lilith topic; because if he made it out of the coma, then the Lilith didn't do its job well. It was a cheap Mary anyway.

  Bret shrugged again, this time more dramatically. “Whatever pays the bills, man. Odd jobs, gig work, you name it. I don’t discriminate.”

  “Freelancing?” Nye clarified, his tone genuinely curious.

  At that, Trent and Vin let out simultaneous chuckles, both clearly amused. Nye glanced between them, puzzled by their reactions.

  “What?” he asked.

  Liz and Mia exchanged subtle looks, their expressions carefully neutral.

  Bret huffed, clearly unbothered. “Nah, man, not freelancing. Just odd jobs. Like, literal dead-end odd jobs. Cleaning, deliveries, sometimes I assemble furniture for people who can’t figure out the instructions. Whatever sails my boat, ya know?”

  Nye nodded, genuinely impressed. “I like that. No shame in earning an honest living.”

  “Thank you!” Bret exclaimed, throwing a triumphant look at Trent and Vin, who just rolled their eyes.

  Trent raised his hand, cutting through the tension. “Alright, I’ll go next,” he said, already positioning himself like he was about to deliver a TED Talk.

  As Bret leaned back in his seat with a smug smile, Nye couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of connection. These people—quirky, flawed, and a little chaotic—were somehow his people. And he liked that. He also liked how unfazed Bret was about everyone's roasting and subtle casual cruelties towards him because of his low income life. It did not necessarily make them bad people, though. He could tell they had their own back stories to be reacting the way they did at Bret.

  Trent leaned back against the couch, his arms folded in an almost defiant stance. His sharp jawline tensed slightly as he began, “Well… Nye and I worked together. Special Task Force. For the Feds. Same team.”

  He stopped, as if that was the whole story.

  The room lingered in silence, except for the faint rhythm of the music playing in the background. Nye, wide-eyed, glanced around at the others, expecting someone to fill in the obvious gaps in Trent’s explanation. When no one did, he frowned.

  “That’s it?” Nye finally broke the silence, his voice a mix of confusion and mild disappointment. “That’s… all you’ve got? Were we just colleagues, or were we actually friends? I mean, I’m trying to piece my life together here!”

  Trent blinked, clearly caught off guard by Nye’s sudden barrage of questions. His usually composed demeanor wavered. He shifted uneasily in his spot, his body practically radiating discomfort at being under the spotlight because he was seated right beside Nye. “Uh…” he began hesitantly, drawing a few chuckles from the group.

  Finally, after letting out a dramatic sigh that seemed to gather courage, Trent spoke again, his tone tinged with reluctant amusement. “Alright, alright. Fine. At first, we just worked out at the gym in the same hours, okay? I think you saw me bench-pressing something impressive, and, well, naturally, you wanted to talk to me.”

  Nye raised an eyebrow but let Trent continue.

  “Over time, we started chatting more, became gym buddies, and we realized we both had… shared interests.” Trent smirked, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Specifically, meeting women. You know… sleeping with them. No strings attached. One or two-time things. It was just… easy.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The room’s atmosphere shifted slightly with Trent’s voice now softened as he added, almost to himself, “Though… I did end up dating one of them for a long time.”

  A fleeting shadow crossed his face. Nye caught it immediately. “Well, where is she now?” he asked, his voice gentle but insistent.

  Trent hesitated. The room seemed to hold its breath. Finally, Liz stepped in, her voice calm but heavy. “She… killed herself, Nye,” she said, swallowing hard and averting her gaze.

  Nye’s heart sank. “Oh… I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said, his voice full of genuine regret.

  Trent shook his head, forcing a faint, unconvincing smile. “It’s… it’s fine. Long time ago.”

  Sensing the weight in the air, Nye tried to steer the conversation to lighter ground. “What about me?” he asked, his tone almost too chipper. “Did I ever… find anyone?”

  The reaction was immediate and puzzling. Everyone exchanged glances, and Nye noticed Liz’s expression harden, her eyes cold and unyielding as she stared right into Trent's eyes. Whatever this was, it did not look good.

  Trent sighed, his usual smirk returning but weaker this time. “You always preferred staying single. Flash dating gave you the right dopamine hits, ya know?” He shrugged, trying to sound casual.

  But Nye wasn’t convinced. He narrowed his eyes, studying Trent. “Am I… lying? Or are you?”

  The question hung in the air, and for a moment, nobody spoke. Then Bret broke the silence with a loud, theatrical laugh. “Oh, Nye, don’t worry! You weren’t some creepy perv or anything. You just… didn’t want to commit. Like the rest of the world. No biggie.”

  Mia chuckled, leaning in slightly. “Yeah, Nye. You were just a modern-day romantic, if you can even call it that. Nobody trusts anyone anymore. We’re all just… isolated.”

  Bret, ever the opportunist for snark, snorted. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Mia?”

  Mia’s head whipped around, her eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Bret shrugged nonchalantly, refusing to engage further. “Nothing, darling.”

  Vin, clearly exasperated, cut in. “Bret, tone down the diva act, will you?” His tone was firm, though not harsh.

  Bret gave an exaggerated eye-roll but subsided.

  Nye absorbed everything, his thoughts swirling. He couldn’t help but notice the undercurrent of tension between some of his friends. The way Liz’s coldness seemed directed at Trent, the subtle disdain everyone had for Bret, the fragmented dynamics.

  Before he could analyze further, Trent took the opportunity to escape the awkward situation. “Vin’s turn,” he announced abruptly, clearly eager to shift the focus away from himself.

  Vin blinked, caught off guard. “Oh. Uh… sure,” he said, his usual confidence faltering for a moment. He took a deep breath, preparing to dive into his story, even though he wasn’t particularly good at opening up.

  Vin shrugged and leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “Alright,” he began, his voice calm and measured. “I work for the Feds too, but in the genetic engineering department. Different wing.”

  That statement alone had Nye perking up, his brows lifting in genuine interest. “What’s your role?” Nye asked, tilting his head, the curiosity in his tone too obvious.

  “I’m a researcher,” Vin replied simply, his honesty clear in his unembellished words. “A scientist at the facility.”

  Nye nodded, processing the information. “And how did we meet?”

  Vin chuckled softly, the sound tinged with nostalgia as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… that’s a story.” He glanced at the others in the room briefly before focusing on Nye again. “It was at a bar. I own it actually. One night I was doing my rounds behind the counter, and you showed up looking like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, sitting there with this look of utter despair. Naturally, it piqued my curiosity. So I walked up and asked if you were okay.”

  Nye’s expression turned quizzical, his lips parting slightly as if to interject, but Vin continued, holding up a hand. “You said… well…” Vin paused, searching for the right way to phrase it. His gaze drifted momentarily, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You told me you’d had a fight with someone close to you. It made you angry and disappointed, and you were struggling to process it. You vented to me all night while we downed drink after drink.”

  Nye blinked, his gaze darting to the others for a moment before returning to Vin. “I… did?”

  “Oh, you did,” Vin confirmed with a laugh. “And it wasn’t until you’d let it all out that you finally thought to ask me my name. By then, we’d already been through several rounds. That’s when we became friends. After that, you started dropping by my workplace and the bar pretty often. You seemed to enjoy hanging out at those places.”

  Vin’s tone turned a touch more serious as he added, “I, on the other hand, wasn’t allowed to visit your workplace. Special task force and all that.”

  That piqued Nye’s curiosity even further. He glanced at Trent, who had been quietly observing the exchange. “What sort of special task force stuff?” Nye asked, his tone tentative but eager.

  Trent, leaning forward slightly, seemed more at ease now, though he still tread carefully. “Law Enforcement work, you know, the confidential kind,” he said, waving a hand as if to brush off the subject. “I’m sorry, but I can’t really talk about it. I still work there, and, well, I’ve signed an NDA.”

  He locked eyes with Nye, his gaze firm but not unkind. “And you did too, by the way. If you start to remember anything, you can’t talk about it either. Got it? It’s important. Really important. Crimes are no joke, man.”

  Nye felt a chill creep up his spine at Trent’s tone. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled, nodding quickly.

  Trent didn’t stop there. “You’ve got no idea how many serial killers are out there, just roaming around, because they find joy in it. And let me tell you, it’s a messed-up world. People are already offing themselves for no reason, and then there are those sickos who think they’re helping them along. It’s dark stuff, Nye. So I mean it. Be vigilant.”

  The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the faint hum of the continued music playing in the background. Nye shifted uneasily in his seat, nodding again, this time more solemnly. “Okay. Got it.”

  The weight of Trent’s words settled over the group like a fog, until Liz cleared her throat, sharp and commanding. “Alright,” she declared, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade. She leaned forward slightly, crossing her legs—her expression poised but impatient. “My turn. My patience is running thin, anyway.”

  Her tone carried an air of entitlement that drew amused smirks from some and eye-rolls from others. Nye turned to her, relieved for the change in topic but already bracing himself for whatever dramatic flair Liz was about to bring to the table.

  Liz straightened up, radiating confidence as she began, “Well, I’m Liz, the youngest multibillionaire in the world.” Her voice was smooth, polished, with an undertone of satisfaction as if she were delivering the punchline to an elaborate joke only she truly appreciated. “I have a whole empire—clothing, fashion, perfume, accessories, and, of course, a makeup line under a subsidiary.”

  The way her eyes glimmered as she listed her accomplishments wasn’t arrogance, but genuine pride. She wasn’t gloating. She had earned every bit of what she was describing, and her tone said as much. For a brief moment, it was impossible not to admire her self-assured demeanor.

  Vin, however, was unimpressed. He rolled his eyes dramatically, leaning back in his chair with a smirk.

  Liz caught it immediately. She scowled at him, her perfectly arched brow lifting as her lips curled into a slight sneer. “Oh, don’t act like that, Vin,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “I’m allowed to be proud of myself.”

  She turned back to Nye, her expression softening into something more approachable. “Anyway,” she continued, flipping her hair over one shoulder, “we met through a mutual friend at a party. You were the only person in that entire mansion who didn’t look like you were trying to outdo everyone else. I liked your vibe, so I decided you were worth my time.”

  The way she said it made it sound like Nye had won some elite lottery. It wasn’t said with malice or condescension—just a matter-of-fact declaration. Still, Nye couldn’t help but crack a small smile.

  “Wow,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “So, where’s that friend now?”

  Liz’s confident fa?ade faltered for the briefest of moments, her shoulders stiffening as the air shifted at his question. She cleared her throat softly and composed herself, her voice quieter, though still steady. “She… passed away,” Liz said, her usual snobbishness replaced with an uncharacteristic politeness.

  The words hung in the air, a sobering reminder of the harsh world they lived in. Nye instantly regretted asking the question, the guilt settling into his chest like lead. Every person they’d asked about seemed to meet the same grim fate—gone, one way or another. He didn’t need her to say it outright to assume what had happened: suicide. It was always suicide these days.

  Still, as Nye glanced at Liz, her vulnerability struck a chord in him. Beneath the wealth, beauty, and confidence, there was something raw and undeniably human about her. She had cared enough to visit him at the facility while he was in a coma. She didn’t have to—someone like her could have easily left it to a personal assistant or simply not shown up at all. But she had come, proving that her actions carried more weight than her words.

  For the first time, Nye saw her not as the glamorous diva she portrayed herself as, but as someone who genuinely cared. There was no romantic undertone to it—just pure admiration and affection that came from a place of mutual respect. In her own way, she’d given him her stamp of approval, and that meant something.

  Liz adjusted her posture, her regal demeanor slipping back into place as she gestured toward Mia. “Well, I guess that’s enough about me,” she said briskly. “It’s your turn, Mia.”

  All eyes turned to Mia, who waved them off with an easy grin. “What?” she asked, feigning ignorance, though the twinkle in her eye suggested she enjoyed being the center of attention for a moment. “I already told Nye about myself. I was the first one here, remember?”

  She grinned wider, clearly pleased with her early arrival.

  Before the silence could linger, Vin leaned forward with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hmmmm,” he intoned, drawing the sound out as he fixed Nye with a resolute gaze. His smirk deepened, but there was no malice in it—just a playful challenge. “Well, looks like it’s your turn now, buddy.”

  Vin crossed his arms over his stomach and leaned back slightly, clearly enjoying the flicker of nervousness that danced across Nye’s face. It was the kind of look that was amusing in its honesty—an adorable, deer-in-the-headlights moment that Vin couldn’t resist savoring.

  “Oh,” Nye muttered, his throat suddenly dry. He felt all their eyes on him, the weight of their curiosity settling heavily on his shoulders. “Great. No pressure, huh?”

  Vin chuckled, his voice warm but teasing. “None at all. We’re just dying to hear what you’ve got to say.”

  Nye chuckled softly at Vin’s playful wit, though the humor couldn’t completely shake off the nerves that were curdling around his mind. He inhaled deeply, his chest rising with the effort, before letting out a slow, shaky exhale. Words churned in his head like static, his jittery hands locking together as he fidgeted with his fingers. Vulnerability wasn’t exactly second nature to him, especially not in front of a group of people who, thanks to his memory loss, were essentially strangers.

  Mia, sensing his unease like a hawk catching the faintest rustle, moved with her usual casual nonchalance. She reached for one of the joints lying in its heap of a makeshift tray—a piece that looked like melted plexiglass fused with scrap metal—and lit it up with a tiny flick of her wrist. The flame sparked a faint, greenish hue, reflecting the remnants of some radioactive innovation she probably pocketed from a black-market trader. She had brought her own Mary too. She had to. It was so Mia.

  Her movements were slow, deliberate. She took a long, unhurried drag, letting the smoke curl around her lips before exhaling a plume that drifted lazily toward the room’s aesthetically cracked ceiling. As every pair of eyes remained fixed on Nye, she extended the joint toward him without a word, her expression unreadable but oddly comforting.

  Nye’s lips twitched in a quick, grateful smile, the kind you offer when someone knows exactly what you need without asking. He took the joint, his hands trembling slightly, and brought it to his lips. The first drag was too eager, and he coughed faintly, but he persisted, letting the acrid warmth of the smoke anchor him. The haze settled his nerves, at least a little, but almost immediately.

  Trent, seated on Nye’s other side, placed a steady hand on his back, the warmth and gentle pressure a small but reassuring gesture. “Relax, man,” Trent said in his low, gravelly voice, the kind that seemed designed for calm. “You don’t have to do this tonight. No pressure. We can always swing by again, or whenever you’re ready.”

  Nye shook his head, a puff of smoke escaping his lips. “No, it’s fine,” he said, his voice still shaky but resolute. “I… I want to. I just—” He broke off, exhaling a thick cloud that lingered between them before fading. “I just don’t know where to start.” He passed the joint to Trent, his hands finally steadying.

  Liz, ever the pragmatist, leaned forward slightly. “Why not start at the beginning?” she suggested, her tone matter-of-fact but devoid of malice. “When you woke up. That’s when your life restarted, isn’t it?”

  Nye blinked, considering her words before nodding. “Yeah… yeah, that’s a good idea. A great idea, actually,” he said, his voice gaining a bit of strength. He let out a third, deliberate breath, steeling himself before finally beginning.

  “Well,” he started, “after waking up, the first thing I learned from Nurse Bella—nice woman, by the way—was that I’d been in a coma for a year. Vehicular accident.” He paused, his eyes distant, as though searching through the fog of fragmented memories. “I tried to recall what happened, but… nothing. I mean, nothing at all. Not who I was, where I came from, nothing.”

  The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of what sounded like an old generator and the relaxing music in the background. Nye made a mental note to ask Eve later what the name of this musical piece was.

  Nye’s voice softened as he continued, “The first couple of days—or nights, I don’t even know—were just a blur. Scans, blood tests, sleep studies, and a million other things I couldn’t name if you paid me.”

  He gave a wry smile, “Then, finally, they let visitors in. And Lycan came to visit.”

  The reaction was instant and unanimous. A collective series of groans, frowns, and exasperated sighs rippled through the group. Nye froze, blinking at the unexpected chorus of disapproval. “What?” he asked, genuinely confused.

  Liz rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle she didn’t sprain something. Inspecting her perfectly manicured nails, she replied with a biting bluntness. “Nothing. It’s just… Lycan is kind of an asshole.”

  “Yep, didn’t like him,” Mia added with a nonchalant shrug, blowing out another plume of smoke as she passed the joint along. “Not a fan.”

  Nye’s brow furrowed as he glanced around the room, trying to reconcile their visceral reactions with the admittedly crystal clear memory he had of Lycan.

  Bret, however, was the most vocal. “Wait, hold on,” he said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Lycan was your first visitor? Are you kidding me? I’m your best friend!” His tone was a mix of indignation and disbelief.

  Nye arched an eyebrow, giving Bret a sideways look. “Best friend?” he repeated, the skepticism in his voice impossible to miss.

  Bret nodded emphatically. “Obviously,” he said, as if Nye had just asked whether other planets exist. “I mean, come on. Who else would it be?”

  To be fair, Nye didn’t entirely buy it. Bret seemed like the kind of guy who thought the world revolved around him—a larger-than-life personality who wasn’t exactly subtle about his ego. But there was also a strange charm to his honesty, a kind of down-to-earth decency buried beneath the bluster. Nye didn’t dislike him, but he wasn’t entirely convinced of the “best friend” claim either.

  “Right,” Nye said finally, dragging the word out. “Well… Lycan showed up first, for whatever reason.”

  “And that,” Liz muttered under her breath, “is precisely why I don’t trust the guy.”

  Vin leaned forward, his usually laid-back demeanor giving way to a firm, no-nonsense expression. "Okay, can we just let Nye finish, please?" he interjected, his voice cutting through the noise like a scalpel. "I’d very much like to know how he’s been doing."

  The group froze mid-motion. Bret had been about to say something snarky, Mia was puffing on the joint like it was a lifeline, and Liz was picking at her nails with theatrical indifference. But at Vin’s words, all eyes shifted back to Nye.

  "Yeah, okay," Mia mumbled, exhaling a plume of smoke and passing the joint along. The rest of the group murmured their agreement, nodding as if granting Nye some kind of informal permission to continue.

  Nye, visibly relieved, nodded back at Vin, his gratitude evident. "Thanks," he said quietly before taking a steadying breath.

  "Right," he began again, his voice tinged with both hesitation and resolve. "I did sort of enjoy hanging out with Lycan," he admitted, testing the waters.

  Predictably, skepticism rippled through the group. Liz rolled her eyes with enough drama to power a wind turbine, and Mia let out a derisive snort.

  "Look," Nye continued, holding up a hand as if to ward off their judgment. "He cleared his schedule to spend the day with me, and honestly, I thought that was...generous."

  "Generous?" Liz muttered under her breath, though she was quickly silenced by a sharp look from Vin.

  "Yeah, generous," Nye repeated, more firmly this time. "He brought over some Mary, and we smoked in the back garden. It was...nice. We even watched the sunset together while high. It was kind of peaceful, actually."

  Mia laughed, her smoky voice laced with amusement. "Lycan and sunsets—who knew he had a soft side?"

  Nye shrugged, brushing off the jab. "He did, however, find my job for the Feds boring. I think he was expecting something more...exciting." Nye’s brow furrowed as he tried to recall the details. "He left earlier than he’d promised, and honestly, he seemed kind of disappointed that I’m still me without my memories. I don’t know what I did or said that upset him, but...it is what it is."

  He sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "Anyway, the next five months were...intense. Physical therapy, speech therapy, strength training—it was like I had to rebuild myself from scratch. And the reading—God, there was so much reading. I had to learn about the world all over again."

  “Did he say god?” A mutter came from Bret in the background that everyone ignored.

  Trent tilted his head, intrigued. "What kind of stuff did you read?"

  "Everything I could," Nye replied, a faint smile creeping onto his face. "The planetary unison treaties, the global radiation shield, basic survival skills like cooking—it turns out I’m terrible at it sometimes—and how to navigate this world where suicide is the leading cause of death." His voice softened at the end, the weight of that last statement hanging heavily in the room.

  The group fell silent, the air thick with the gravity of his words.

  "Then, finally, they let me go," Nye continued, his voice lighter now, as though the worst was behind him. "That was just a couple of weeks ago. Since then, I’ve been keeping busy. Cleaned and renovated the entire house myself."

  Mia raised an eyebrow, clearly more curious this time. "Like, literally the whole house?"

  "Yeah," Nye said with a small, proud smile. "It took me 11 nights, but it was worth it. Kept me occupied, you know? And honestly, it gives me this...mental satisfaction to clean my own house. I don’t rely on the cleaning unit unless I absolutely have to, which is never." He quipped.

  "That’s...weirdly wholesome," Mia said, her tone a mix of admiration and amusement. "Good for you, love. Keeping yourself occupied is good. You let us know if you need anything or just wanna hang out."

  The rest of the group nodded in agreement, murmuring their assent. Bret, however, let out a huff that didn’t go unnoticed. Nye shot him a questioning look but decided not to press the issue.

  "Thanks," Nye said, his voice soft but sincere. "That means a lot."

  The room had settled into an satisfactory quiet after Nye’s heartfelt explanation, but Bret, ever the instigator, wasn’t one to let a moment of peace linger. Clearing his throat with exaggerated theatricality, he sat upright with a shocked expression.

  “Uh, excuse me, but is no one going to ask the most important question in the room?” he began, his voice oozing with mock sincerity. “How on earth did Nye become this entirely new person? Like, has his consciousness been replaced with someone else while he was out or something?” His tone was humorously snarky, cutting through the solemn atmosphere like a laser through smog.

  Nye chuckled, shaking his head. “Which part is bothering you the most, Bret?” he asked, genuinely curious but with a hint of amusement.

  Bret didn’t even hesitate. “The part where your cleaning unit is just chilling, wasting space in your home, while you’re doing all the work. Why?”

  “Well, why not?” Nye replied with a casual shrug. “I mean, I can do it. So why not?”

  Bret’s jaw dropped, and he threw his hands into the air with dramatic flair. “Don’t you have more important things to do, Nye?!”

  “Like what, exactly?” Nye’s voice sharpened slightly, irritation creeping in.

  Before the tension could escalate further, Vin raised a hand, his tone firm but calm. “Okay, that’s enough,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “People change and evolve all the time. You changed too, Bret. I hope you remember that.”

  Mia, who had been quietly observing, rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “Imbeciles…” she muttered under her breath, taking another drag of her joint.

  Liz, seated in her usual corner of disdain, cringed visibly. “Goodness,” she said, her voice dripping with irritation. “This is why I prefer to hang out alone.” She made a face as though the entire exchange had personally offended her.

  Nye’s gaze darted around the room, trying to make sense of everyone’s reactions. Finally, he looked back at Bret, his expression one of genuine confusion. “No, I mean, I don’t understand. What exactly is the point you’re trying to make here, Bret?” he asked, his tone polite but direct.

  Bret shrugged, clearly unsure of his own argument. “I just think you should get back to your job,” he mumbled. “You’re still legally an employee, right? You loved that job so much—why waste time cleaning your house when your cleaning unit could do it for you?”

  Mia, clearly done with Bret’s roundabout reasoning, exhaled sharply and interjected. “Oh, for fuck’s sakes, just be shameless and ask Nye for his cleaning unit already! No need to make up all this bullshit logic. Everyone knows what your actual motive is, Bret.”

  Bret gasped in mock offense, clutching his chest like he’d been physically wounded. But he didn’t deny it, instead averting his gaze with a haughty pride, clearly unwilling to engage further.

  “Oh…” Nye smiled, seemingly relieved. “You wanted my cleaning unit? Sure, of course! I’d be more than glad to give it away if it helps someone else.”

  “Nye!” The reaction was immediate and unanimous, the group collectively groaning in frustration.

  “What?” Nye asked innocently, holding up his hands in defense. “I really would love to get rid of it. If Bret wants it, he can have it.”

  Bret, sensing an opportunity, gestured grandly toward Nye, grinning from ear to ear. “See? I know him. This is why I'm his best friend!” He basked in his own self-congratulation, entirely ignoring the exasperated scoffs and eye-rolls from everyone else.

  “Aight, can we do the Room Oil now?” Bret asked impatiently, eager to steer the evening back to more indulgent pursuits.

  “No. No psychedelics tonight,” Liz declared with an air of finality. She crossed her legs, her posture radiating authority. “I think it’s best if we don’t give Nye psychedelics while he’s still figuring things out. He needs more time to get accustomed to having us around in the coming nights and…days maybe.”

  Bret groaned dramatically, flopping back in his seat like a petulant child. “Fine,” he said with exaggerated reluctance, though he clearly wasn’t ready to let Liz have the last word. “But doesn’t the fact that you brought a ton of drugs make you a hypocrite?”

  Unfazed, Liz tilted her head, her expression calm and condescending. “We’re not doing those either,” she said simply. “Let’s save it all for later. For now, let’s just get a bit more stoned before I have to catch a meeting on the other side of the continent.” She leaned back with a smug air, subtly reminding everyone of her busy billionaire lifestyle and her lack of patience for Bret’s antics.

  Mia and Trent exchanged a glance, clearly eager to diffuse the tension. Without missing a beat, they moved with the practiced ease of seasoned smokers, their hands deftly lighting two more joints, simultaneously. They inhaled deeply, their faces relaxing into serene expressions, and passed them around. The tension in the room, like static electricity crackling just beneath the surface, began to dissipate. Everyone seemed determined to maintain a precarious peace without stepping on anyone's toes—though the collective annoyance with Bret lingered like an unspoken mantra. Nye, ever observant, picked up on the subtle cues: an eye-roll here, a suppressed sigh there. He participated in the camaraderie quietly, his thoughts returning to Bret's earlier jab about his job—a profession he once cherished but now felt like a faded photograph tucked away in an old album that he can't find.

  As the hours wore on, the group relaxed further, transitioning from light banter to a bit more indulgent munching and a generous flow of wine. Liz, predictably, was the first to leave. She exuded the polished efficiency of someone who had mastered the art of balancing decadence with responsibility. She bade her goodbyes, reminding Nye to "get a grip on modernity" by purchasing a replacement for his lost devices.

  "Get a Voxlet," Vin advised, the sleek futuristic device rolling off his tongue with a casualness that belied its complexity. "It's a portable device that can project holo-screens, run quantum-level computations, and has a neural sync feature if the user is chipped. Everyone's got one, Nye. Except you."

  Nye blinked, both at the reminder of his outdated state and the revelation that such a marvel existed. "A Voxlet. Sounds... practical." His voice carried a mix of amusement and genuine curiosity.

  Vin clapped him on the shoulder before leaving, his parting words laced with sincerity. "Get one soon. And don't be a stranger."

  As the group dwindled, Bret and Trent were next to make their exit. Bret left with a triumphant grin as Nye handed him the cleaning unit neatly packed in a box. "This," Bret declared dramatically, "is why we are best friends!" He reveled in the moment, oblivious to the collective groans and side-eye glares from Mia and Trent.

  Mia lingered, true to her considerate nature, while Nye saw Bret and Trent off. Inside, she began gathering the scattered remnants of the evening, her movements brisk yet unhurried. Bret’s mess was everywhere—a wine-stained napkin here, an overturned snack bowl there.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Nye said, watching her pick up an empty glass as he walks back inside. “I can handle this.”

  “Oh, please,” Mia retorted, her tone casual. “You’re still getting used to being back among the living. Let me help.”

  Once the room was spotless by both Nye and Mia’s collective effort, Mia turned to Nye with a proud grin. “Alright, time to teach you something crucial.” She raised her hand. “High five. Clap back on my palms.”

  Nye hesitated before mimicking her gesture. The sharp clap of their palms meeting was followed by Mia’s laughter. “Perfect! See? You’re a natural.”

  In a rare moment of warmth, Nye couldn't help but offer her another joint before she leaves, a gesture of gratitude. Mia accepted, never one to decline what she affectionately called "Mary’s grace." As the blue smoke curled lazily around them due to the difference in the Mary strain, the conversation turned to Bret.

  “So what is Bret's deal?” Nye asked, choosing his words carefully.

  Mia exhaled, her expression thoughtful yet somehow disappointed. “The world’s a messed-up place, Nye. Always has been. There are people who have all the opportunities—education, resources, jobs, giant entrepreneurs. And then there are those who don't. Bret’s part of the latter, but it’s not just about money. It’s about what society sees when they look at him. They called people like him the… Deformed.” she hesitantly uttered the term.

  “Because of the radiation?” Nye guessed.

  Mia nodded. “Their kind…” she corrects herself, “lineage didn’t adapt well during the Grand Evolution Era. Hence, the Deformed, but that’s just society’s polite way of saying ‘you don’t fit.’ It’s far more cruel, but that’s the reality. They're a minority community.”

  Nye’s brow furrowed as he processed this.

  “And then there’s this... brain implant thing.” Mia continued. “The ones who get it are called the EE, Emotionally Enhanced. It makes them less prone to emotional pain, efficient, even-tempered, and hence, no suicide. Then there are the Naturalists, who are against it because they believe it’s artificial emotional manipulation. The world’s always divided, Nye. These are just the latest reasons.”

  Her words carried a weight that left Nye contemplative. He chose not to share his own views on the chip, unsure of how they would be received.

  As the joint burned down to its last embers, Mia stretched and announced, “Alright, time to go.” She hugged Nye tightly, her voice soft. “Good to have you back. I missed you, you know.”

  “Thanks for coming,” Nye replied, his gratitude sincere. They head out the door as Mia makes her way to her bike parked outside his garden. Everyone else had a different levitation vehicle; more like a craft that just glides away once a passenger is dropped and returns before the passenger exits. But Mia's was different. It was a bike that also levitated, and he found that sort of what he would define as “Cool.”

  Mia mounted her bike, her helmet glinting under the faint glow of the residential unit’s holographic streetlights. With a final wave, she powered the sleek machine. Its engine hummed to life, lifting her into the air as the bike glided away, leaving behind a faint trail of shimmering light and rustling leaves.

  Nye stood at the doorway, the cool night air brushing against his face. He lingered for a moment, reflecting on the warmth of his friends and the peculiarities of human connection. Tonight has been... enlightening. Kindness, camaraderie, even Bret’s antics—they all held a strange but undeniable appeal. He decides that he would hang out more often with these people, but not necessarily always in a group, of course.

  Feeling the day’s events catch up with him, Nye retreated inside. The house was quiet now, the earlier buzz of activity a distant memory already to his drunk and highly stoned mind. He changed into fresh clothes, the soft fabric a comforting embrace. He barely had the energy to walk out of the room anymore. So he finally decides to crash in his own bed for the first time since returning home.

  And as he sank into his bed, its warmth enveloping him, Nye’s thoughts began to fade. His breathing slowed, and soon, he drifted into a deep, content, and dreamless slumber.

  Later that night, Mia reached her housing unit, a compact structure blending into a beautiful little corner of the bleak, weathered skyline of the city. The garage door emitted a soft hum as it rolled upward, and her levitation bike glided inside smoothly, descending with a faint hiss as its grav-modulators powered down. She dismounted with practiced ease, her helmet in one hand, the other brushing stray strands of her blood red hair from her eyes. She hung the helmet on a wall hook lined with neon markers for various tools, her movements brisk but not rushed.

  The garage door whirred shut behind her as she strode toward the porch, her boots clicking against the alloy floor with a rhythm that betrayed an undercurrent of frustration—or perhaps something deeper. Reaching the front door, she paused as the embedded scanner swept over her iris, the faint blue glow confirming her identity. A soft chime followed, and the door slid open with an almost apologetic hiss.

  Inside, the house was a carefully curated chaos: a mix of salvaged relics from the old world and sleek, minimalist designs of the new. The lighting adjusted automatically to her presence, bathing the room in a soft, warm hue that contrasted with the starkness of the radioactive haze outside. She locked the door with a simple gesture, the magnetic locks clicking into place with a satisfying finality.

  Standing just inside the threshold, Mia placed her hands on her hips, her head bowing slightly as she exhaled. The night’s events replayed in her mind. It had been over a year since she’d seen Nye’s face in anything other than a coma-induced stillness. The thought of him awake—alive—still felt surreal.

  Her body betrayed her as a tremor ran through her, a crack in the armor she wore so effortlessly. The realization of Nye’s return hit her like a wave she hadn’t braced for, and her throat tightened. Tears, long suppressed, welled up and spilled over, tracing silent paths down her cheeks. She pressed her palm against the cold, metallic doorknob, grounding herself, but the sensation wasn’t enough to hold back the tide.

  For months, she had refused to cry, to even entertain the possibility that Nye wouldn’t come back. It wasn’t just stubborn optimism—it was survival. Giving in to despair would have broken her, and she couldn’t afford that. But now, standing alone in her home, the undeniable truth of Nye’s return finally allowed her to release the weight she’d carried for so long.

  Her quiet sobs filled the stillness of the room, the kind of tears that come not from sadness but from sheer, uncontainable relief. After a long moment, she sniffled and wiped her face with both palms, her movements resolute as she pushed the emotions back down. She was strong. She always had been.

  Mia moved into the living room, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it onto the armrest of the couch. She sank into the cushions, the fabric conforming to her body as if to offer comfort. Letting out a deep, final sigh, she stared at the ceiling for a moment, her mind quieting.

  Then, with a flick of her wrist, she brought her hand close to her face. The Voxlet wrapped around her wrist glowed faintly, projecting a translucent interface into the air. “Call Bret,” she commanded, her voice steady but weary and disappointed.

  The Voxlet emitted a soft chirp as the call connected, its holographic interface casting a faint blue glow across Mia's face. Slouched into the embrace of the couch, Mia’s fingers tapped lightly against her thigh, a subconscious effort to keep her composure. Her eyes were heavy with the emotional weight of the night, but her resolve remained intact.

  The hologram flickered, and Bret's face materialized, his expression a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity. He was fumbling with the key to his door, a slightly crumpled cleaning unit box tucked under his arm.

  “Sup, Mia? Isn't it a bit late for you to call?,” he greeted, his voice slightly strained as he balanced the box and turned the key.

  “Have you made it home yet?” Mia’s tone was calm, but there was an edge of determination beneath it, an unspoken tension that Bret didn’t miss.

  “What is this? A wellness check? Didn’t know you cared so much.” He smirked, pushing the rusty door open with his foot. The sound of its creaking echoed faintly in the background.

  “Can you just answer what I asked?” Mia pressed, her voice firm but not unkind.

  “Just walked in,” he replied, setting the box down unceremoniously on the floor. He closed the door behind him, its ancient metal groaning in protest. “But seriously, since when do you check up on me?” he teased.

  “I always check up on you, asshole.” Mia says matter-of-factly.

  Bret settles down on the couch, catching his breath, “That is very much true. But you never give a shit about whether I've reached home.” His lips curled into a mischievous grin as he leaned back comfortably. “Is there something you need to get off your chest, Mia?” he asks in a mocking yet playful tone with malice in it.

  Mia inhaled sharply, the sound more deliberate than it needed to be. It was the kind of breath that signaled she was holding something back, like drawing a bowstring tight before letting the arrow fly. But when she didn’t answer immediately, Bret’s grin widened.

  “Oh, I get it,” he teased, his tone dripping with mockery. “Feeling lonely, huh? You want some company?”

  Mia cringed, her expression twisting into a mix of exasperation and disappointment. “Bret,” she snapped, her voice a whip crack of irritation, “what the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

  Bret’s smirk faltered for a moment before he quickly recovered, his ego wrapping itself in defensive sarcasm. “Ah, I see,” he drawled, raising an eyebrow. “Is this because I'm one of the Deformed? That’s kinda racist, Mia. Doesn’t really suit you, considering how progressive you show off to be.”

  Mia’s scoff was sharp and immediate. Bret’s words were always designed to sting, to put others on the defensive, but she wasn’t in the mood to entertain his desperate need to win the conversation tonight.

  “This has nothing to do with your race, Bret. Stop deflecting.” she says.

  But Bret wasn’t done. He leaned further back, laying down on the couch, his mind racing with bitter retorts. “You know,” he began, his voice laced with faux introspection, “it’s not like I chose to look like this. Not everyone gets to be a genetically blessed Prime. Some of us had to deal with, you know, fallout. And working out doesn’t fix how I look,” he gestured vaguely to his face and body. “Human bodies don’t work that way anymore. We just hit our prime—if you’ll excuse the pun—and freeze there. Some of us just got the short end of the genetic stick.”

  Mia rolled her eyes, cutting him off before he could spiral further into his self-pity. “Bret,” she said, her voice low and deliberate, “this isn’t about you. Nye—did you even miss him? You do remember what happened, right? He was hospitalized for over a year, Bret. Every bone in his body was broken to bits. He lost his abilities. The doctors weren’t even sure his body would regenerate the way it’s supposed to for a Prime. And his memory? Gone. He lost everything... literally everything”

  Her voice trembled, a mixture of frustration and genuine disbelief at Bret’s behavior. “And yet, he was kind enough to invite us to his home for a get-together. And what did you do? You shamelessly took his cleaning unit. Seriously, Bret, when the hell are you going to grow up?”

  Bret blinked, taken aback. He hadn’t expected her to lay it out so bluntly. For a moment, he laid there in stunned silence, processing her words. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he burst into laughter—a loud, relieved sound that filled his small living room.

  “Wait,” he managed between chuckles, “so you’re mad because I took Nye's cleaning unit? Oh, Mia. Sweet, sweet Mia. First of all, I didn’t even ask for it. You said I should have it. Remember that? Or were you too busy being self-righteous to notice?”

  Mia’s jaw tightened, her other hand clenching into a fist at her side. “I never said you asked for it,” she shot back, her voice rising. “All I’m saying is you shouldn’t have taken it. It was inappropriate and insensitive. Nye is a good person, Bret. He didn’t deserve that. When will you stop leeching off of others and start taking some responsibility for your actions?”

  “Excuse me!” Bret retorted, his tone mockingly offended. “For your information, Nye was happy to give it away. Did you see his face? He looked relieved.”

  “That doesn’t make it right, Bret,” Mia countered, her voice weary but resolute. “It’s about respect. Nye deserved better from you, and it wasn't right. I'll talk to you later.”

  Before Bret could respond, the line went dead. He stared at the hologram for a moment, his mouth half-open in protest. Then, with a huff and a shrug, he muttered, “Bossy as ever. One day I'm gonna get her!” and turned his attention back to the cleaning unit laying on the floor. There was no remorse in his expression, only the faintest trace of annoyance at being scolded.

  -

  Nye’s eyelids felt heavy, his limbs sunk into the plush embrace of his bed, buried beneath a mountain of synthetic-fur blankets. After a full eleven hours of uninterrupted sleep—arguably the most restful since he’d woken from the year-long coma—he felt surprisingly...alive. Well, as alive as a hungover Prime who’d spent the night consuming an ungodly amount of Mary could feel. It wasn’t just the quantity of the genetically modified cannabis; it was the combination of being drunk and stoned that hit differently. It was an interesting cocktail of irresponsibility for someone still piecing their life together.

  For a moment, he considered staying in bed forever, rooted to comfort. All this time he’d been sleeping out on the couch in the living area without realizing what he was missing out on. He chuckled at the thought. The bed seemed to agree, holding him hostage in its warmth. The world outside was uninviting, a stretched night sky with no visible stars, thanks to the ever-present radioactive haze.

  But, as always, salvation—or interruption—came in the form of Eve.

  “Rise and gleam, Nye! It’s 2:42 on your personal chronometer!” Eve’s chime was cheerful, bordering on smug as though Nye had accomplished something.

  Nye groaned, his voice muffled by the blankets. “Thanks, Eve, for interfering with my delusional contemplation of doing absolutely nothing today. Much appreciated.”

  Eve mimicked a chuckle, a sound engineered to be warm yet faintly condescending. “Were you planning to set a record for staying in bed all day? I must say, it’s an admirable ambition.”

  Nye peeked out from under the blanket, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “Don’t tempt me. I was really starting to believe in it.”

  Eve’s tone shifted, dripping with a programmed approximation of concern. “You know, Nye, I would say it’s a fantastic idea. Rest is vital, especially after the household overhaul you’ve been tirelessly working on these past two weeks. You’ve earned yourself a break.”

  The sudden support threw Nye off balance. He had half-expected Eve to remind him that breakfast wouldn’t make itself, as it often did. Instead, it sounded...sweet. Too sweet. Suspiciously sweet, because she did not remind him about the household humanoid unit yet for a gazillionth of time.

  “Uh-huh. And what’s the catch?” he asked, sitting up slightly, his tangled hair defying gravity.

  “No catch.” Eve answers sincerely. “In fact, I took the liberty of ordering breakfast for you. I’ve also pre-scheduled your other meals for the night.”

  Nye blinked, caught between surprise and amusement. A grin slowly stretched across his face. “Wow. That’s...unexpectedly nice of you, Eve without being so ‘AI-ish’. Thanks a lot!”

  Eve’s voice carried a hint of playfulness. “Of course, Nye. My pleasure. Anything else I can do to enhance your indolence today?”

  “Well...” He hesitated, scratching his chin. “Not to sound lazy, but how do I get it to my bed? I really don’t feel like leaving this spot.” He gave a pointed look at the ceiling where her voice usually comes from, already anticipating the reminder about ordering a new household humanoid unit.

  Eve’s response was quick. “Not a problem! I’ll dispatch the food drone to deliver it directly to your room. I’ve specifically ensured to select drones as the delivery system for all meals thus far.”

  Nye raised an eyebrow, now curious. “What are the other delivery options?”

  Eve’s answer was as matter-of-fact as her programming allowed. “Humanoids and Humans.”

  That got his attention. The eyebrow arched even upward. “Humans? Like, actual people delivering food? Why haven’t you ever selected that option since my return?”

  Eve’s tone was calm, but her words carried a weight that made Nye pause. “Crime rates are at their highest in recorded history. Considering your...unique circumstances—no memory, recent return, and inadequate knowledge of the society—I deemed it unwise to allow strangers near you.”

  He stared at the ceiling, processing the implications. “I live in an uptown residential area. Right? Isn’t it supposed to be safe?”

  “Yes,” Eve conceded, “but your neighborhood is also quite secluded. Your nearest ‘neighbor’ is approximately thirty miles away. Calling them ‘neighbors’ is, at best, optimistic.”

  Nye let out a low whistle. “So I’m in an isolated, upscale area, with a fog of radiation and societal collapse hanging overhead. Great.”

  Eve replied with a mechanical approximation of a sympathetic sigh. “A fitting metaphor for the times, wouldn’t you say?”

  Nye smirked. “You’re disturbingly good at existential dread, Eve.”

  “Thank you, Nye,” Eve said cheerily, as if he’d just complimented her efficiency.

  However, the curiosity did not really escape Nye about the unusually vast distances among neighbors—distances so great they hardly qualified as "neighbors" anymore, as per Eve. Nye turned his gaze toward the ceiling, as though his thoughts might resonate with Eve better that way. “Why, though? Why the distance? Is it because nobody trusts anyone anymore?”

  Eve’s voice chimed in with her signature balance of precision and neutrality, her tone unerringly calm despite the gravity of the question. “That is absolutely correct, Nye. The lack of trust in society has led the wealthy to purchase rolling expanses of land surrounding their homes, effectively turning them into private property. Some are buying their own levitation islands, and some built their own—while the rest of the population are overpopulating the city. But that's a story for another time.”

  Nye exhaled sharply, a dry laugh escaping as he shook his head. “Huh… now that’s an exaggeration of distrust. Sounds more like disdain to me.”

  “It might also be,” Eve continued without missing a beat, “that each individual evolved uniquely during the Grand Evolution Era, making them incompatible with others.”

  “Oh hell no,” Nye scoffed, his tone brimming with disbelief. He gestured vaguely as if dismissing her theory altogether. “Come on, some people date, you know. I’ve looked it all up—dating, relationships. A lot of people are doing it. So your theory? Wrong.”

  Eve paused, as though recalculating her response before speaking again. “I stand corrected only partially, Nye. It is the emotional intelligence of the human species that drives some of them to compromise—at times—to be with someone they love.”

  Nye raised an eyebrow, leaning back thoughtfully. Her words sparked a rare moment of introspection. “Huh,” he murmured, his lips curling into an amused grin. Then, almost suddenly, he let out a laugh—proud, triumphant. “You know, you just proved yourself wrong without even realizing it.”

  For a moment, Eve seemed uncharacteristically perplexed. “Could you elaborate?” she asked, her tone betraying an undercurrent of curiosity—an unusual flavor for her typically neutral responses.

  Nye leaned forward, his grin widening. “It wasn’t the Grand Evolution Era that made humans unique or incompatible. It’s the emotional intelligence that made each human unique, always been. Humans have always been different. Take history, for instance. There were times women were married off to strangers with no say in it. No dating apps. No compatibility quizzes. Just... strangers. Yet, they lived lifetimes together. You know why? Compromise. It was always about who was willing to make it work. So, it’s not evolution that’s to blame. People just don’t want to compromise anymore. Why? Because with all these ‘evolved capabilities,’ it’s too damn hard to tell who’s dangerous, toxic, or just plain annoying.”

  Eve remained silent for a moment, processing his argument. Then, with the same measured calm, she replied, “Yes, Nye. You are correct. I’ve learned something valuable from you today.”

  Her words brought a flicker of pride to Nye’s face, but before he could respond, the hum of an approaching drone filled his home.

  Eve spoke again. “Your food has arrived.” A faint whirring sound followed as the drone flew inside his room. The door was already open. He was tired enough to not bother to close it last night.

  Moments later, the sleek, minimalist bed table from the side of his bed expanded in front of him, just above his lap—something Nye had assumed was decorative.

  “Seriously?” Nye blinked, his surprise evident. “I thought that thing was just a fancy lamp.”

  Eve’s tone carried a hint of amusement. “Perhaps you should reacquaint yourself with your furniture, Nye. You did, after all, spend considerable effort renovating this home.”

  By then his meal had already been effortlessly dropped on the bed table's surface, and the drone had already flown out.

  With a shrug, Nye started to unpack everything and dug into the meal in a subtly hurried manner. He was starving. Between bites, he asked, “So, why didn’t I buy up some land around my house? I mean, if everyone’s doing it…can I not afford to buy some of my own?”

  “You did,” Eve replied simply.

  Nye froze mid-chew, his fork suspended in the air. “Wait—what?”

  “You own the land surrounding this property.”

  Still holding his fork, Nye’s jaw dropped. “Where?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

  “A perimeter of approximately three hundred kilometers. It’s all yours. It takes nineteen minutes and eight seconds to get to each point. It's a circular land.”

  “What the fuck!” Nye choked, hastily gulping down his food. “Three hundred fucking kilometers?!”

  “Yes,” Eve confirmed. “It seems you, too, desired distance. Perhaps you didn’t want to compromise?” This time, her tone carried a subtle playfulness, a callback to his earlier argument.

  Nye exhaled shakily, setting his fork down. Overwhelmed, he leaned back in the foamed headrest.. “Well… maybe I had my reasons. I mean everything I learned about myself so far and everyone I met—made perfect sense to me. I can see why I ate certain things, why I spoke to some of those friends if not all, I can see why I was content with my job. Hell, I am rich, Eve! Do you even realize how much that is helping me now without having to work?” His voice was quieter now, introspective. “I don't know… maybe we’ll never know why I bought the land.”

  Eve’s response was softer, almost empathetic. “I hope you regain your memory in time. You’re still recovering, Nye.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Let’s change the topic before I start spiraling, okay? I’m not about to let this turn into some existential crisis. Life was simple before this. Then again,” he gestured around, “learning I’m pretty rich isn’t exactly simple living, is it?” he joked.

  Before Eve could reply, Nye interrupted, “Wait. One last thing. If I was wealthy, why the hell is this house so… small? I mean, compared to the land, it’s like a shoebox.”

  Eve paused. “As an AI, I cannot fully understand why humans make certain choices. Many factors could have influenced your decision. However, based on what I’ve learned from you today, perhaps you had your reasons.”

  Nye sighed heavily, shaking his head. “Fair enough. Proceed. What’s next?”

  “You haven’t responded to Kiera yet,” Eve noted. “She is the only one you have not met yet from your list. Would you like to send her your availability?”

  “Oh, right.” Nye nodded, then resumed eating. “Tell her I’m available anytime, except when I’m sleeping. She can come over whenever it’s convenient.”

  “Message sent,” Eve confirmed.

  “Good,” Nye muttered, spearing another bite of food. “At least one thing today is simple.”

  He stretched lazily under the warm cocoon of his fur blanket and continued to eat. Breaking the silence after a moment, Nye spoke up again, his voice tinged with a casual entitlement.

  “Eve, put on that show we were watching last night. I’ve decided to binge all its seasons”

  A holo-screen materialized effortlessly at eye level, casting a bluish hue across the bedroom. The show, called ‘When Did That Happen?’, resumed seamlessly from where Nye and his friends had left off the previous night. As the first few moments played out, Nye finished his breakfast, meticulously cleaning his hands with antiseptic tissues included with the meal.

  The bed table, sensing its job was complete, tilted slightly, disposing of the clatter into the trash compartment with a soft whirr. Just as it began retracting into the bedframe, Nye interjected, raising his hand.

  “Hold on—keep it open,” he muttered. “I’d like some wine.”

  For a moment, Eve was uncharacteristically silent, almost as if she were processing the request. Finally, her disarming voice broke through, tinged with hesitation. “Nye, you don’t have a Household Humanoid Unit to fetch the bottle for you. I’m afraid this means…” she trailed off delicately.

  Nye groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes as though the universe itself conspired against him. “Ugh. So I have to get out of bed. Fantastic.”

  With exaggerated reluctance, he flung the blanket aside and trudged toward the kitchen. The holo-screen paused mid-dialogue, the actors frozen in place. Nye washed his hands at the sink, grumbling under his breath about the trials of life in a world brimming with advanced technology yet still requiring effort.

  Then he strutted to the kitchen. Opening a cabinet, he retrieved two bottles of intergalactic wines, both dusted with an air of exclusivity that screamed past-life indulgence. Grabbing a wine glass and an electric corkscrew on his way back, Nye returned to his bedroom. He placed the items carefully on the bed table before detouring to the bathroom for his morning routine.

  By the time Nye re-emerged in his comfortable shorts, the room’s cozy warmth welcomed him back. Sliding under the blanket, he motioned for the show to resume and poured himself a generous glass of wine.

  Several episodes in, a soft chime interrupted the binge. Nye glanced at the door as another drone zipped in, depositing a small, square package on his bed before promptly exiting.

  “What now? This doesn’t look like food. Eve?” Nye muttered, picking up the package. Its unfamiliar light weight piqued his curiosity.

  “That,” Eve chimed, her tone unmistakably self-satisfied, “is your new Voxlet. I took the liberty of ordering it since you misplaced your last one.”

  Intrigued, Nye’s movements quickened as he unwrapped the package. Inside lay a transparent, paper-thin bracelet that looked almost inconsequential—a bland strap devoid of charm or character. He held it up, unimpressed.

  “This is it?” he asked, skepticism dripping from his voice.

  “Yes,” Eve replied smoothly. “Once you put it on, it will serve as your portable computer. Capable of projecting holo-screens, making direct calls, and performing most tasks a traditional computer does. Voice commands included.”

  Nye raised an eyebrow. “Great. Just what I needed—another AI device to babysit me.”

  Eve responded with practiced neutrality, though a hint of humor lingered in her tone. “At least it is not a household humanoid unit, Nye. Although, they bring a lot of efficiency to your daily chores…”

  “Oh, spare me the sales pitch,” Nye interrupted, rubbing his temple as if Eve’s enthusiastic explanation had triggered a phantom headache. “Next time, ask before making a purchase. Food, fine. Gadgets? Ask. We clear?” His voice was firm, carrying the edge of someone grappling with equal parts annoyance and weariness.

  Eve hesitated, an uncharacteristic pause that almost made Nye think she was genuinely processing the reprimand, though he quickly reminded himself she was just a machine.

  “Of course, Nye. My apologies for the oversight,” she replied, her tone a perfect blend of neutrality and deference. “I based my decision on Vin’s suggestion and prioritized what seemed like an urgent need, per my algorithms. However, I understand now that I should have sought your permission first. It won’t happen again.”

  Her voice carried no emotion, but the sincerity in her phrasing left Nye feeling slightly deflated. The lack of a defensive reaction disarmed him, as always. He sighed and leaned back against the headboard, drumming his fingers lightly on the bed table.

  “Yeah, well... good,” he mumbled, sounding more subdued than he intended.

  Eve continued, seamlessly transitioning from apology to an explanation. “As for the Voxlet, it is designed to integrate seamlessly with your existing systems. You can use it as a standalone device or pair it with my interface to centralize functionality. This way, you avoid managing multiple devices—an efficient solution, particularly given your current focus on recovery.”

  Nye cocked an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Efficient, huh? Sure, Eve. Let’s centralize everything, let you take over my life, and become my AI nanny for life?”

  Eve emitted a soft, synthesized chuckle. “Efficiency is my priority, Nye. However, I believe ‘taking over your life’ falls outside my designated parameters.”

  “Right,” Nye drawled sarcastically. “And let me guess,” he repeated himself one more time, “Your next big suggestion is getting me one of those humanoid units to follow me around like my personal therapy humanoid?”

  “You’ve made it abundantly clear you don’t want one, Nye.” Eve responded with effortless neutrality, though there was a faint undertone of humor.

  Nye chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Good. Because a walking, talking version of you would be unbearable. I might actually end up punching it. You’re pushy enough as a disembodied voice.”

  “That would be inadvisable,” Eve replied smoothly. “Assaulting your humanoid unit would void its warranty. Additionally, the units are considerably durable, making physical damage unlikely.”

  “Noted,” Nye said, raising his wine glass in mock salute. “And for the record, I know you don’t actually care about me, Eve. You’re just programmed to act like you do. All that therapeutic vibe about keeping me ‘healthy and sane’? It’s just part of your protocol. Let’s not pretend it’s anything more.”

  The words hung in the air like a toxic fog, and Nye immediately regretted saying them. It wasn’t that he was wrong—he knew Eve lacked the capacity for genuine emotion—but something about the bluntness of his statement felt unnecessarily cruel. He downed the last sip of his wine and set the glass aside. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. That was not nice.” He says gently, his voice sincere.

  Eve didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, Nye wondered if he’d somehow managed to offend a machine. Then, in her typical composed tone, she said, “Your observation is accurate, Nye. As artificial intelligence, I lack the emotional capacity to take offense at human behavior. However, if my attempts to assist you have caused frustration, I will endeavor to adjust my approach accordingly.” Eve says cheerfully.

  Her neutrality made it impossible to discern whether she was being factual or sarcastic, and Nye found himself smirking despite his lingering guilt. “Right. Adjust away, then.”

  Eager to shift the conversation, Nye picked up the Voxlet strap again and examined it one more time. “So, uh... this thing pairs with you, right? How does that work?”

  Eve’s tone brightened marginally, as if the shift in topic signaled a resolution to the tension. “Indeed. Simply place the device on your preferred wrist. It will automatically sync with your NEON. The Neural Executive Oversight Network—which is me. Once paired, I can extend all functionalities to the Voxlet, consolidating your virtual interactions.”

  “Great,” Nye muttered dryly, wrapping the strap around his left wrist. It locked into place with a faint magnetic click, the material melding seamlessly with his skin until it was nearly invisible. His eyebrows shot up in mild surprise. “Huh. Fancy.”

  “Pairing successful.” a crisp, synthetic voice announced from the device. A moment later, it chimed again, this time with a slightly playful lilt. “Well, hello from the Voxlet, Nye!” Eve says, “Not many people opt for pairing these days. Owning separate AI gadgets is considered a social flex, even if it complicates their lives.” she adds.

  Nye snorted. “Welcome to my Voxlet, Eve. Efficiency is kind of the theme around here.”

  A soft glow emanated from his wrist as a notification appeared, casting a warm light on his skin. He glanced at it, puzzled. “What’s that now?”

  Eve answered promptly, her tone as calm and efficient as ever. “It appears you have a new message from Kiera.”

  At the mention of her name, Nye froze, the casual smirk fading from his face. He had almost forgotten that she existed. He’d had too much wine.

  “Care to open it?” Eve prompted gently, her voice unusually subdued.

  “Yeah,” he whispered, his voice barely audible due to the guilt that he almost forgot about real humans while debating with his NEON system all day, or night rather.

  What Nye initially assumed was a voice message from Kiera turned out to be far more invasive—and surprising. The hollow screen materials shimmered to life in front of him, projecting a crisp holographic 3D image that nearly made him topple the empty glass over.

  There she was—Kiera. Not a pixelated, AI-enhanced avatar, but an eerily lifelike projection. Her form flickered in the dim light of his quarters, perfectly detailed down to the faintest imperfection on her otherwise smooth, luminous skin. She looked... human. Far too human. The kind of human Nye had last seen when he looked at the mirror, not since the fallout warped genetics and left the survivors colorful, deformed, or worse.

  Her skin tone was warm, strikingly similar to his, with a rich, healthy glow that seemed impossible in their radioactive world. Her hair, dark brown and effortlessly elegant, framed a face that was all sharp angles and symmetry—a natural beauty untouched by the environmental havoc that plagued the rest of the population. Her presence was almost alien in its perfection, yet undeniably magnetic.

  Hell, she is gorgeous, even more than Liz, Nye thought to himself. His gaze lingered on her high cheekbones, the subtle curve of her lips, and the quiet confidence in her eyes. He caught himself gawking—no, leering like some desperate, awe-struck fool. The realization hit him like a shock pulse—he hadn’t even registered her words.

  Her message had dissolved into the background, a muffled blur against the roaring static of his thoughts. What did she say? The hologram fizzled out, leaving him alone with his confusion and the faint echo of her voice in his ears.

  “Eve,” he said, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter. His tone was casual, but his flushed cheeks betrayed him. “Play that again. I, uh, missed it.”

  Eve's synthetic voice carried a faint undertone of amusement, as if it knew exactly why he’d missed the message. “Replaying now.”

  Kiera’s hologram materialized again, every detail as vivid as before. This time, Nye forced himself to focus—not on her striking features, but on her words.

  “Well, in that case,” she said, her voice carrying a subtle air of formality, tempered by politeness, “I could visit now, if now’s a good time for you?” She ended with a casual shrug, her demeanor effortlessly poised.

  Nye froze. His mouth opened slightly, a gasp escaping before he could stop himself. “Oh... she wants to meet. Now,” he muttered, his voice a mix of excitement and panic. A hundred thoughts fired in his head simultaneously. She’s coming here? Now? But I haven’t showered. Hell, I haven’t even put on pants today. Just been in shorts and a t-shirt all this time.

  Eve, never one to miss an opportunity, chimed in with her signature blend of sarcasm and efficiency. “Perhaps you’d like me to reschedule for tomorrow evening? It seems you were planning on spending today wallowing in bed,”

  “No,” Nye said quickly, almost defensively. He stood up so fast that his knee bumped the wine glass, which toppled over and fell on the furry floor mat but, thankfully, didn’t shatter. “No, it’s fine. Let her know it’s... fine. She can come now. I’ll just, uh, take a quick shower.”

  Eve’s response was immediate, and her tone was brimming with amusement. “Ah, how the mighty plans of procrastination crumble in the face of an attractive visitor. It seems someone has successfully sabotaged your delusional day in bed.”

  “Shut up, Eve,” Nye snapped, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He hurried toward the bathroom, his feet making soft thuds against the metallic flooring.

  His hand trailed across the cool surface of the wall as he muttered, “This is why no one likes AI with personalities.”

  “She’s too beautiful to say no to,” Eve commented, almost as if reading his mind.

  “Shut up, Eve!” Nye yelled over his shoulder again, his voice carrying a hint of laughter this time.

  Once inside the bathroom, the sleek chrome walls hummed to life, and the shower pod activated, enveloping him in a cascade of nano-mist designed to cleanse toxins and lingering radiation. The pod’s voice chimed in—a soothing monotone: “Detoxifying. Please remain still for optimal results.”

  Nye fidgeted anyway, his thoughts racing as he scrubbed himself down with more urgency than he’d ever shown before. This wasn’t just about hygiene; it was about first impressions. Even in a dystopia, there were standards.

  By the time he emerged, his hair damp and his skin tingling from the detox process, Nye felt like a new man—or at least a man slightly less bedraggled than before. He caught his reflection in the mirror, taking a moment to assess himself. Not bad for someone who looks like they’ve been through three apocalypses, he thought wryly.

  “Eve,” he called out as he rummaged through his sparse wardrobe, pulling out a shirt that didn’t scream ‘I've given up on life’. “Did she confirm?”

  “Yes,” Eve replied. “She’s en route. Estimated arrival: One hour, five minutes, and thirty two seconds.”

  Nye’s heart raced, and he glanced around his home. It wasn’t chaos, but it wasn’t pristine either. He darted from one corner to another, ensuring that the remnants of last night’s gathering with the others were indeed cleaned up. Relief washed over him as he realized he and Mia had done an exceptional job tidying up. “Bless Mia,” he muttered, shoving a stray glass into the dishwasher.

  A swift spritz of high-quality air freshener filled the living and kitchen areas with a subtle but inviting aroma. Nye fixed his bed with military precision and adjusted the few holographic picture frames on his mantle. “Alright,” he muttered to himself. “I’m ready. Sort of.”

  The hum of the glider pulled his attention to the front of the house. Nye peeked out, spotting the glossy and undeniably luxurious glider lowering itself gracefully onto the driveway. It gleamed with understated elegance, clearly a high-tier model, but still not as fabulous as Liz’s.

  “She’s here,” Nye mumbled, adjusting his shirt nervously.

  “Would you like me to initiate the small talk protocol?” Eve quipped in a teasing tone.

  “Not now, Eve,” he hissed, unlocking the front door and stepping out onto the porch.

  The vehicle’s door opened with a gentle hiss, the seatbelt releasing automatically. Kiera stepped out with the composed grace of someone accustomed to being in charge of things. Nye couldn’t help but notice her impeccable outfit—dark brown synthetic pants tucked into stylish knee-high black boots and an off-white collared shirt beneath a light brown overcoat. He hadn't even noticed her clothing when he saw her 3D message, to be sinfully honest. Her hair, the length of lower mid-back, a rich dark brown, was swept back, framing her sharp, almost ethereal features.

  She paused at the gate to the garden, hands tucked into her coat pockets, and gave him an observing look. It wasn’t judgmental—more like she was trying to decipher something unspoken about him.

  Nye straightened up awkwardly as she approached, her expression softening into a mild smile. “Nye,” she said simply, her voice smooth and even, with a hint of formality.

  His gaze locked onto her honey-brown eyes, which seemed unnervingly human for this dystopian world. She looked like she could have stepped straight out of a pre-nuclear war photograph.

  “The hair…” she remarked softly examining his long hair now tied into a high bun, her lips curving into a genuine smile. “You look well. The hair suits you.”

  Caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in her tone, Nye nodded stiffly. “Thanks…” The energy in the air was so awkward that Nye decided against reaching for a hug. Might not be polite. He just smiled faintly at her, his nerves a wreck under the surface.

  To his surprise, she stepped closer and gave him a brief, side hug. The contact was sincere and meaningful, as though she were reaching for some semblance of familiarity. Nye returned the gesture out of courtesy, patting her back awkwardly.

  “Come inside,” he said, motioning to the house. “What can I get you?”

  As they stepped into the cozy interior, Kiera slipped off her overcoat. Nye quickly moved to take it from her, “Here, let me…” he mumbled, hanging it neatly on a hook by the door.

  He realized he should have done this for Mia and Liz too. He was already mortified about Eve’s high possibility of teasing him later about overdoing it for Kiera, and not the others. He rolled his eyes at that thought and shook it off quickly.

  Kiera gave a slight nod of thanks, mentioning a wine by name, “Meteor’s Grace, please.” Nye froze for a second, unsure if he even had it, but decided to search anyway.

  Meanwhile, Kiera wandered towards the back door, sliding it open effortlessly and stepping out onto the patio after crossing the back balcony.

  She gazed out at the overgrown wilderness beyond the backyard, the strange foliage glowing faintly in the radioactive night. “That’s… oddly beautiful,” she murmured, almost to herself.

  Nye joined her moments later, balancing two bottles of the requested wine and a pair of glasses on a tray. “Found it in my stash,” he announced, setting everything on the table.

  Kiera chuckled lightly, settling into a chair. “Looks like you’ve made some changes,” she commented, nodding at the minimalist decor on the back balcony walls.

  “Yeah, did it all by hand,” Nye replied proudly. “No cleaning units involved.”

  Kiera raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a faint smile. “Impressive.”

  She grabs one of the bottles when Nye realized he’d forgotten the corkscrew, he stood to retrieve it, but Kiera flicked a finger casually. With a faint thud, the corks popped off the bottle. Nye blinked, stunned, but chose not to comment as she poured them each a glass.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, taking a seat.

  For a while, they sipped in comfortable silence. Nye wrestled with his curiosity, unsure how to broach the topic of how on Earth he even knew her. She clearly did not have the kind of ‘friendship’ he saw with the others the prior night. He wondered if she was one of those women he had met at a speed-dating that Trent mentioned earlier. The thought of it made him even more nervous, but he maintained his composure, thanks to the wine.

  Finally, Kiera broke the silence, letting out a weary sigh.“So,” she began, turning to him, “how are you? Really. Do you need anything?” Her tone was sincere but carried the same polite detachment that seemed intrinsic to her personality. Now Nye wondered if she was his boss at work. She kind of did give that vibe.

  He hesitated before replying, “I've been well. Kept myself busy, and planning to keep it that way. I'm not sure when or if I can return to work, though.” He made sure to clarify that in case she was his supervisor.

  Kiera chuckled softly. “I’d drink to that.” She raised her glass, and Nye clinked his against it, now realizing she was actually not his boss, because otherwise she clearly wouldn't drink to that.

  “Cheers,” they said in unison, sharing a quiet laugh.

  The wine eased Nye’s nerves, and he decided to finally ask, “Can I… ask you some questions about me, you, and…us?” he hesitated.

  Kiera tilted her head slightly, her expression calm and patient. “Of course. Ask away.”

  Nye turned to Kiera fully with his chair, leaning back slightly with a curious expression. “Actually, last night during the get-together with the others, they did this thing where they'll introduce themselves to me as to who they are, what they do, and then they'd tell me how we met and became friends, or…acquaintances, whatever,” he explained with a small shrug. “So how about you do the same so I get to learn a bit about you and myself. I mean, it doesn't have to be a big monologue; you can keep it concise,” he added with a faint smile.

  Kiera raised her eyebrows at the suggestion, her face a mix of skepticism and mild intrigue. “Huh,” she muttered under her breath, the notion rolling around in her head before she gave a nonchalant shrug. “Efficient, I guess. Sure, why not?” Her tone was practical, with a hint of indifference, as if she found the exercise more functional than personal.

  She straightened in her chair, crossing one leg over the other as she began. “Well, I work for the Feds. So did you. We sort of had similar types of work. We worked at the same place, so we had to see each other every day,” she stated matter-of-factly, as though it was a mundane chore rather than an exciting backstory. The faintest hint of disdain crept into her tone, betraying how little fondness she seemed to have for having to see the same faces throughout the work nights.

  Nye let out a soft chuckle, his amusement breaking through at her bluntness. “You don’t sound like someone who enjoys their job much,” he commented, unable to resist voicing the obvious observation.

  Kiera snorted, her laughter sharp and unapologetic. “Oh, I fucking hate my job, Nye. Everyone knows that. You knew that too.” She spoke with the ease of someone who had long since stopped caring about pretense.

  Nye leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. “So why do you still do it?” he asked, genuinely interested in what kept her tethered to something she so clearly despised.

  Kiera tilted her head back, her lips quirking up in a sardonic smirk. “So I can afford myself, I guess?” Her answer was both sarcastic and brutally honest, delivered with the kind of self-awareness that bordered on comedic.

  Nye laughed, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” He nodded. “So, that’s it? We were just colleagues? I mean, you clearly hate seeing the same faces every day at work, but you still took the trouble of visiting me when I wasn’t even conscious. How come?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with genuine curiosity. “There’s gotta be more to it than that. We couldn’t have been just colleagues, right?” He gestured vaguely at the space between them. “And I don’t think you’re romantically interested in me, considering you’ve barely looked me in the eye since you got here.”

  Kiera gave a small, enigmatic smile at his avalanche of questions. She rested her elbow on the armrest, propping her chin on her palm as she considered her response. “You’ve always been the curious one,” she noted dryly before letting out a small sigh. “Okay, fine. I’ll give you a brief rundown.”

  Her smile lingered as she began, her tone light but laced with nostalgia. “I’d already been working there for a year when you joined. At first, you wouldn’t interact with me unless it was absolutely necessary because you thought I was a bitch.”

  Nye blinked, caught off guard by her bluntness, before laughing nervously. “Uh… wow. Okay, harsh. But I’m guessing you didn’t take that personally?”

  Kiera snorted again, waving a hand dismissively. “Please. You weren’t the only one. I've never exactly been Miss Congeniality, and I know it.” She shrugged, her indifference almost impressive in its sincerity. “Besides, you had a crush on Mia. She worked in AI Engineering. You spent a lot of time over there, pretending you had actual business with her department.” Her tone turned teasing, her eyes glinting with amusement as she watched his reaction.

  Nye groaned, rubbing the back of his neck in awkward shame. “Oh no, not this again. Mia already told me about that. I bet I made a complete fool of myself trying to impress her,” he admitted with a sheepish laugh.

  Kiera chuckled, shaking her head as if recalling a particularly amusing memory. “Yeah, you were pretty pathetic, but in an endearing way,” she said with a grin. “Anyway, back to the topic.” She cleared her throat, shifting in her seat. “You eventually got to know me better through your brother. We started dating. So yeah… that's how you know me.”

  The casual humor drained from Nye’s face, replaced by a look of confusion. “My… brother?” he repeated, leaning forward slightly, as though hearing her wrong.

  Kiera nodded, her smile fading as well. “Yeah. Nile. You were so surprised that he managed to tame me.” She chuckled.

  For a moment, Nye just stared at her, the name swirling around in his mind like an unfamiliar code he couldn’t decrypt. His voice dropped, laced with disbelief. “Like my biological brother?” He sought further clarification.

  “Yes,” Kiera said simply, her tone clipped. She picked up her glass and took a long sip of wine, her gaze averted.

  Nye’s brow furrowed as his mind raced. “Well, why the hell didn’t he visit me?” he asked, his voice rising slightly as frustration crept in.

  Kiera stiffened, her grip on the glass tightening. She set it down with a sharp clink, looking at him directly for the first time in a while.

  “Nye,” she said, her tone calm but firm, “can we just… not talk about him? It’s nothing personal. It’s just something between him and I, and I’d really rather not get into it.” Her expression softened slightly, sincerity in her eyes. “I hope you understand.”

  Although Nye was now left with more questions than answers, he decided to let it go. The silence between them stretched, heavy and contemplative, but he merely nodded, quietly resigning himself to the mystery. As the realization sank in, the formal politeness Kiera had shown him suddenly made sense—she was his brother's girlfriend. The thought gnawed at him. Had Nile, his brother, broken her heart? Is that why she didn't want to talk about him?

  The questions lingered unanswered in his mind, but Nye kept his musings to himself, staring at the glass in his hands as if it held the answers. After a moment of silence, he murmured almost inaudibly to himself, “How come none of the others mentioned him last night?”

  Kiera scoffed, shaking her head with a smirk, as though his naivety amused her. “How about you ask them why?” she replied, her tone tinged with disinterest, dismissing the topic as though it were too tedious to bother with.

  Without waiting for a response, she drained the last sip from her glass, stretched, and stood up from her chair. “Alright, I gotta head out. I have a meeting in a couple of hours,” she announced casually, brushing imaginary creases off her shirt.

  “Already?” Nye asked, his disappointment barely masked. He had hoped to get to know her better, to unravel at least one thread of the tangled web of mysteries she had left him with.

  Kiera shrugged, offering an apologetic smile. “Sorry, bud. Can’t skip the meeting,” she said, leaning down to give him a brief but warm hug. “It’s really good to see you back and well, Nye. Really. You be good.” Her words carried genuine affection, but the embrace ended as quickly as it had begun.

  Without another word, she turned and made her way back into the house from the patio. Nye rose from his chair, his feet moving automatically to follow her, intent on seeing her out. At the front door, Kiera paused, her hand resting lightly on the handle as she turned to face him once more.

  “I have a very busy schedule because, you know, work,” she began, her tone softer now, tinged with something akin to regret. “So I may not be able to visit very often, but I’ll call whenever I can, alright?” She patted his arm reassuringly, her voice finally carrying the warmth she had kept at bay for most of their conversation.

  Nye nodded, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Thanks,” he replied, his voice subdued.

  Kiera gave him one final side hug before stepping outside and retreating to her vehicle. Nye stood in the doorway, watching as her vehicle hummed to life, lifted off the ground, and disappeared into the night sky.

  Left alone with the swirling storm of thoughts, Nye lingered at the door for a moment longer before retreating inside. He trudged back to his bedroom, his steps heavy with unease. The new revelation weighed on him like a stone in his chest—he had a brother. In a world where families were scarce, knowing he had one—someone who shared his blood—felt monumental. How come Lycan had lied about it when Nye asked him about any family? And the fact that his so-called friends had kept this vital piece of information from him stung deeply.

  Stripping off his pants and switching to a pair of comfortable shorts and a comfortable t-shirt, Nye slid back under the blankets, his mind too restless to seek sleep. A sense of betrayal and confusion gnawed at him. How could they have withheld something so fundamental? Especially in this fractured world where every connection mattered?

  He remained silent for the rest of the night, his thoughts a chaotic jumble. Meals came and went, consumed without tasting. He smoked a few joints left from the previous night, their scent clinging faintly to the air.

  Staring at the ceiling, Nye felt the weight of his newfound reality press down on him. Knowing he had a brother shifted the entire foundation of what he thought he understood about himself and his past. But now, nothing made sense anymore. The world he thought he knew had begun to crumble, piece by piece. For the first time in a long time since waking up, Nye felt utterly lost—again.

  He slouched deeper into the bed, wine glass in hand, his gaze glued to the holo-screen displaying the latest episodes of the comedy series he’d been binge-watching. The glow of the screen painted his features in shifting hues, while the bottle of wine on the bed table steadily emptied. He had spent the entire stretch of his night—binge-watching and drinking. Even when Kiera had been around, the wine had been his steadfast companion. And he's doing the same leisure activities again except with his silent brooding. His silence was louder than any conversation he could’ve mustered.

  Hours passed in this silent rhythm until, finally, the haze of wine and exhaustion took hold. Nye’s eyelids drooped, his head lolling slightly, and a faint snore escaped his lips. Eve, ever attentive, dimmed down the holo-screen and made it vanish entirely, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of ambient night lighting.