Chapter Text
Quiet Days
Inside the Stellaron Hunters’ hideout—an ever-shifting location hidden from prying eyes—the air hums with quiet activity. The space is sleek, minimal, and dimly lit, with only the faint glow of holographic displays and data streams casting shifting lights on the metallic surfaces.
Kafka is the first to wake—not because she’s an early riser, but because she enjoys a moment of peace before the chaos of the day begins. She sits at the central table, a cup of something steaming in her hand, reading through mission updates. Her posture is relaxed, a lazy elegance in how she leans back, one leg crossed over the other.
Blade doesn’t sleep in the traditional sense. He’s already awake, his silhouette visible as he sharpens his sword with slow, deliberate movements. The rhythmic scrape of steel on whetstone is a familiar sound in the hideout, an almost meditative ritual. He doesn’t acknowledge Kafka when she glances at him, but she smirks, knowing he’s aware of her presence.
Silver Wolf is still curled up in a corner of the room, sprawled across a beanbag chair with a handheld console in her grasp. The device emits soft beeps and flashing lights as she plays some old, pixelated game. She’s been awake all night, but she’ll insist she doesn’t need sleep—until she inevitably dozes off mid-mission briefing.
By the time Sam, the mysterious automaton, clanks into the room, the hideout is fully awake. Kafka nudges Silver Wolf with the toe of her boot, prompting a groggy complaint as the hacker reluctantly pulls herself up.
“Mission parameters updated,” Sam states in their mechanical voice, placing a data chip on the table.
Silver Wolf yawns, rubbing her eyes before inserting the chip into her tablet. “Ugh, more encrypted junk. You guys know this could be done remotely, right?”
Kafka chuckles. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Blade stands up, sheathing his sword in a smooth motion. “Are we going or not?”
Silver Wolf rolls her eyes but gets to work, hacking into the necessary systems. Meanwhile, Kafka moves behind Blade, adjusting the high collar of his coat like a mother fussing over her child. He stiffens but doesn’t push her away.
After another successful mission—retrieving a valuable artifact tied to a Stellaron—the team returns to their hideout. Silver Wolf, exhausted, flops onto the couch and resumes her game. “Another day, another victory for the Stellaron Hunters,” she mutters.
Kafka stretches, removing her gloves with practiced ease. “You’re getting slow, Blade,” she teases, earning only a grunt in response.
Sam stands near the corner, recalibrating their systems, emitting soft mechanical whirs.
For a while, they enjoy a rare, quiet moment. Kafka sips wine from an expensive glass, Silver Wolf’s game beeps fill the silence, and Blade—though he won’t admit it—seems just a bit more at ease.
They don’t talk about the next mission. They don’t talk about the past.
For tonight, this is enough.
Hauntings of Mara
The Stellaron Hunters’ hideout was never truly silent, but something about the air that morning felt different. Heavier.
Kafka knew it before she even saw him. The way the lights flickered sporadically, the sharp scent of ozone lingering in the corridors—subtle signs, but enough. She found Blade standing in the training room, his back turned to her, muscles taut like a coiled spring. His hand clenched and unclenched at his side, his breathing ragged.
She took slow, measured steps toward him. “You’re fighting it again,” she murmured, as if commenting on the weather.
His shoulders jerked slightly, betraying the effort it took to remain standing. “Leave.” His voice was raw, strained.
She didn’t. Instead, she circled him, her heels clicking softly against the floor. She could see the telltale signs of Mara’s corrosion creeping along his exposed skin—crimson veins pulsing faintly, an unnatural glow simmering beneath the surface. His grip on reality was slipping.
Then he turned, and his single crimson eye was wild, unfocused. The familiar Blade was being drowned under the sickness, lost in time, lost in rage.
“You know I can’t do that,” she said gently.
His breathing sharpened. His hand twitched toward his sword. She saw the moment the sickness took over—saw the blankness in his gaze, the way his body tensed in preparation to attack.
The first slash came without hesitation.
Kafka stepped aside, effortless as a waltz, avoiding the blade by a hair’s breadth. Another strike, and she twisted away again, her movements fluid, untouched by fear.
Blade had lost himself to the Mara-struck state before, but it never made him clumsy. If anything, he was more lethal, unburdened by hesitation.
She dodged again, this time brushing her fingers along his wrist as she moved. A light touch—nothing forceful, just enough to remind him she was there.
"Come back now, darling," she cooed. "It’s only me."
His breathing hitched, a flicker of hesitation breaking through the haze.
"You don’t want to do this, do you?" She moved again, slower this time, letting his eyes follow her. His hand shook.
She could see it—his body betraying him, torn between instinct and memory.
Then, softly, she hummed a tune.
A melody from long ago. A half-remembered lullaby, something stolen from a distant past. The same song she’d used before, when he first became one of them.
The sword wavered. Then, with a sharp exhale, Blade fell to one knee, gripping his head as if trying to claw his way back to reality.
It was a long moment before the silence settled. Blade remained on the floor, his breaths slowing, his hands still trembling. The red glow faded from his veins, but the weight of something else remained.
Kafka crouched beside him, resting a gloved hand on his shoulder.
His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet. “I hate this.”
She didn’t need to ask what he meant. The sickness, the endless cycle, the way he was shackled to something he could neither control nor escape.
He exhaled a long breath, tilting his head back. "The High Cloud Quintet," he said at last, voice distant. "They're all gone."
Kafka's expression didn’t change, but she listened.
"Yingxing, Baiheng, Jingliu, Jing Yuan, and…" His throat tightened. “Dan Heng.”
She let the name linger between them.
"I made an enemy of him," Blade continued. "By my own hand." His grip on his knee tightened. “Even if I know it’s not truly his fault… I can’t stop myself from wanting to destroy him.”
There was something hollow in his tone, something wounded.
Kafka tilted her head. "Regret, Blade?"
He laughed—harsh, humorless. “If I still had the right to regret, it wouldn’t hurt like this.”
She let that sit.
The sound of soft footsteps interrupted them.
Blade barely reacted when a small hand reached toward him. A delicate plate was placed beside him, carrying freshly baked cookies—warm, soft, their scent cutting through the metallic cold of the hideout.
Firefly stood there, her expression as unreadable as ever. "You should eat," she said simply. "Sugar helps."
Blade stared at the cookies for a long time.
Kafka smiled. “Look at that, darling. Even Firefly cares.”
Firefly scoffed. "It's just logical. He burns too much energy when he goes berserk." But she stayed a moment longer, watching.
Blade hesitated. Then, almost reluctantly, he reached for one. It crumbled slightly in his fingers, still warm. He took a bite, chewing slowly.
Sweetness.
Warmth.
A brief illusion of something normal. Something… human.
Kafka leaned back, satisfied. "See? Even a walking corpse deserves something sweet every now and then."
Blade didn’t respond. But he kept eating.
And for the first time that day, he didn’t feel entirely lost.
Warning: Unauthorized Presence Detected
The Stellaron Hunters' hideout hummed with its usual quiet activity, but today, there was an air of mischief in the air.
Silver Wolf was in her element, sprawled lazily in her favorite beanbag chair, her gaming console balanced on one knee and her tablet resting on her other. Holographic screens flickered in front of her, casting shifting neon lights across her face.
On one screen: the security systems of Herta Space Station.
On the other: a leaderboard of some obscure pixelated fighting game she had absolutely rigged in her favor.
She smirked, cracking her fingers. "Alright, let's make today interesting."
From the other side of the room, Firefly sat on the couch, curled up under a blanket, watching a movie on a larger screen. She barely acknowledged Silver Wolf’s antics, only glancing over occasionally between scenes.
Silver Wolf tapped away at her tablet, her mind racing through the possibilities. She had spent the past few hours worming her way into Herta Space Station’s mainframe—again.
Their security firewalls were laughable. Did they even try?
With a few keystrokes, she started small:
She changed the access codes for the Simulated Universe. Every researcher was now locked out unless they input "Silver Wolf is the GOAT" as their password.
She edited the logs. According to the official station records, today, Herta had sent out an official message declaring her favorite game as "the most sophisticated form of entertainment in the universe."
She messed with the station's AI. Regulated voice responses? Out the window. Now, when anyone asked for system assistance, they’d be met with a robotic voice that replied: "Herta says you should figure it out yourself, nerd."
She let out a small, satisfied laugh as the notifications started flooding in.
"Oh, they're already panicking," she mused, watching the distress calls pop up on her screen. She scrolled through the reports from increasingly frustrated researchers. "Why is the access panel locked?! Why is the Simulated Universe calling me ‘low-tier trash’?! Who changed my research logs?!"
Kafka would have told her to be careful not to attract too much attention. But Kafka wasn’t here right now.
Besides, this was funny.
Silver Wolf propped her elbow up, resting her chin on her palm as she considered her next move.
“Oh, I know.” She smirked.
She pulled up an old archived log of Herta’s research. The station’s history went way back, and buried in the records were countless experiments—failed, forgotten, or just ridiculous.
With a few precise edits, she rewrote history.
Now, according to the station’s official records:
Herta had once declared gacha games to be the purest form of universal entertainment.
An old, never-before-seen project, "Project Silver Supreme," was apparently an experiment meant to create the ultimate gamer genius.
The ranking of station researchers now included a mysterious "Silver Wolf" as an honorary superior.
She cackled, stretching her arms over her head.
The alerts on the security network started blaring. Someone was finally trying to undo her work. About time.
Silver Wolf cracked her knuckles. "Alright, let's see how long you last, chumps."
From her spot on the couch, Firefly yawned, glancing at the flickering screens.
“…You do this every time, and they still haven’t caught on?”
Silver Wolf shrugged. “It’s not my fault they’re slow.”
Firefly took a slow bite of a snack, eyes fixed on her movie. It was some old sci-fi film—dark atmosphere, flickering lights, something about space horror. She barely reacted when an alien on screen got shredded apart by some unseen force.
“Mm.” She tilted her head. “If Kafka gets on your case again, I’m not covering for you.”
Silver Wolf grinned. “You say that every time.”
Firefly said nothing, but Silver Wolf swore she saw the tiniest smirk tug at the corner of her lips.
Silver Wolf checked the security logs again. The station’s tech team had finally started fighting back, scrambling to patch the chaos she had unleashed.
"Alright, time to leave them something special," she murmured, rapidly typing away.
As a parting gift, she left one last alteration to the system:
A holographic pop-up now flashed across every major terminal:
"Silver Wolf was here. Try harder next time."
And with that, she pulled back, severing her access just as the system administrators finally got a lock on her connection.
She stretched, rolling her shoulders. "Alright, that was fun."
Firefly, still watching her movie, didn’t look over. “You done?”
“For now.” Silver Wolf smirked, already planning her next attack. “But I’ll be back.”
Firefly just sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. "You're an actual menace."
Silver Wolf grinned, kicking back into her beanbag. “And you love it.”
Firefly didn’t answer.
But the slight amusement in her eyes said enough.
Collision Course
The Stellaron Hunters’ missions were typically smooth—calculated, precise, leaving little room for unexpected encounters.
Today was not one of those days.
Kafka had felt it in the air the moment they touched down on this forsaken, abandoned planet. There was something off—not the usual kind of danger, but something more chaotic.
She realized exactly what it was the moment Silver Wolf let out a cackle.
“Ohhh, this is gonna be good,” the hacker grinned, eyes locked onto the holographic feed of security cameras.
Kafka sighed, already suspecting what had happened. “What is it?”
Silver Wolf spun her tablet around, displaying a very familiar group of individuals standing not too far from their own objective.
The Astral Express crew.
Dan Heng, March 7th, and…
Kafka narrowed her eyes. Caelus.
She already felt the tension radiating from her team.
Blade’s entire posture changed. He didn’t say anything, but she could see the way his grip tightened around his sword, his entire being locking onto Dan Heng’s presence like a predator scenting blood.
Firefly, on the other hand, had already turned around. “Nope. I’m out.”
Kafka arched a brow. “Oh?”
Firefly’s voice was flat, but with a tinge of urgency. “I’m not dealing with Caelus. I don’t care about the mission. I’m leaving.”
Silver Wolf barely stifled a laugh, flicking through the security feeds. “You guys are so dramatic. I see an opportunity.”
Blade, still silent, took one step forward.
“Bladie.”
Kafka’s voice was light, almost teasing. But that single word stopped him in his tracks.
She smiled. “Be good.”
He didn’t respond, but his knuckles whitened around his blade.
Kafka exhaled, shifting into command mode.
This was going to be a long day.
The Stellaron Hunters had a job to do—retrieve an artifact, something valuable, potent, and hidden.
The Astral Express crew was here for something else entirely. Some relic March was rambling about, probably tied to another mess of trouble.
The problem?
Their paths were now colliding.
“Let’s just finish fast,” Kafka murmured, hands in her pockets as she surveyed the scene. “The sooner we’re out of here, the less trouble we attract.”
Silver Wolf, not listening in the slightest, was already typing away.
“Oh come on, we can have a little fun, right? Look, they’re using local comms.” She grinned. “It’d be a shame if… someone… intercepted them.”
Kafka sighed. “Silver Wolf.”
Too late.
A sharp screech blasted over the Express crew’s comms, followed by a robotic voice:
“March 7th has been voted off the team. Please pack your bags.”
From across the clearing, a distant “WHAT?!” echoed in outrage.
Silver Wolf was wheezing with laughter.
Firefly, who was halfway to boarding their ship, glanced back. “You guys are so stupid.”
Silver Wolf didn’t even look up. “You’re just mad because your crush is over there.”
“I don’t have a crush,” Firefly said instantly.
Kafka gave her an amused look. “Yet you’re still walking away.”
Firefly didn’t answer.
Silver Wolf, delighted by the chaos she was causing, tapped into their comms again.
“New mission directive: Hug Dan Heng immediately.”
Blade stopped walking.
Silver Wolf’s laughter died instantly as she realized what she just did.
Blade moved.
“Bladie.” Kafka’s voice was firmer this time, but he was already striding forward.
Dan Heng, standing across the ruined site, stiffened. He had already sensed him.
Blade drew his sword.
Dan Heng drew his spear.
And just like that—it was seconds away from a disaster.
Kafka didn’t hesitate.
With the tiniest flick of her fingers, an invisible force rippled through the air, pressing against Blade’s arm just enough to slow his movement.
His sword halted an inch before breaking into a dash.
His single red eye flicked toward her, sharp and furious.
“Bladie.” Kafka’s voice was soothing, smooth as ever. “Do you really want to do this right now?”
He didn’t respond.
The tension between him and Dan Heng was suffocating.
Kafka tilted her head. “We don’t need to do this today, darling. We got what we came for.”
Blade’s jaw tensed. His body was still coiled, still aching for a fight.
But—
Her words reached him.
Finally, he turned away with a sharp breath, sheathing his sword.
Dan Heng didn’t move either, his grip on his spear still tight.
It was only when Blade finally walked past her that Kafka allowed herself a small, victorious smile.
She turned back to Firefly, who was still hovering uncomfortably close to their ship, arms crossed.
Silver Wolf was still trying not to laugh. “You know, that was almost really bad.”
Firefly gave her a look.
Kafka smiled, utterly unfazed. “I think it went quite well.”
Firefly rolled her eyes. “I hate you all.”
Silver Wolf was still grinning. “Sooo… does this mean I can still hack their ship?”
Kafka simply turned on her heel, walking away.
Silver Wolf shrugged. “Taking that as a yes.”
And just like that, the Stellaron Hunters vanished into the shadows, leaving behind only chaos, unanswered questions, and one very hacked Astral Express navigation system.
Get In The Car: We’re Going Shopping
For once, the Stellaron Hunters weren’t on a mission, and yet the hideout felt like a battlefield.
Tension crackled in the air. Something was off.
Silver Wolf was snapping at Firefly over the last energy drink in the fridge. Firefly, in turn, had barely said a word all morning but had an incredibly heavy presence of irritation, making the whole room feel colder.
Blade, as usual, didn’t speak unless necessary, but his entire aura radiated imminent violence.
And Kafka?
Kafka was over it.
She sat back in her chair, watching as Silver Wolf groaned, Firefly sulked, and Blade stared at nothing in particular, probably fantasizing about stabbing someone.
“Alright,” she finally said, voice lazy but carrying weight. “We’re going on a trip.”
Silver Wolf paused mid-sip of her stolen energy drink. “What?”
Blade blinked, as if hearing something incomprehensible.
Firefly, who had been idly watching a screen, raised a single brow.
Kafka smiled. “Everyone is tense. We need a change of pace. I’ve decided we’re going on a shopping trip to Penacony.”
Silver Wolf narrowed her eyes. “Are we... actually paying for this?”
Kafka smirked. “Oh, no. That’s your job.”
Silver Wolf sighed dramatically, but her fingers were already working. Within seconds, she was tapping away at her tablet, rerouting credits from some unfortunate Interastral agency’s expense account.
Funds secured.
Blade exhaled through his nose, looking unimpressed. “I don’t see the point in this.”
Kafka hummed. “I do. We’re going.”
And with that, the decision was made.
The moment they stepped onto Penacony’s neon-lit streets, the atmosphere shifted.
Despite everything, the planet had a way of making even the most hardened criminals feel a little lighter. The blend of luxury, spectacle, and sensory overload was distracting in the best way.
Silver Wolf was the first to vanish, dragged off by the glowing arcade signs.
Blade stood still, as if contemplating whether or not he could leave, but Kafka placed a gentle hand on his arm.
“Stay, Bladie,” she purred. “It’ll be good for you.”
Blade scowled. But he stayed.
Firefly, still reluctant, shoved her hands in her pockets but followed along.
Silver Wolf had one goal.
Gear.
Hacking tools.
Limited edition in-game currency packs.
And one very expensive custom jacket that she didn’t need but wanted anyway.
She paid for none of it.
Kafka just smiled as Silver Wolf walked past the registers, acting as if she owned the place.
Firefly rolled her eyes but didn’t bother stopping her.
Firefly didn’t really shop, but she did find herself dragged into a boutique.
Kafka insisted on picking out outfits for her.
“This would look stunning on you, darling,” Kafka cooed, holding up something ridiculously elegant.
Firefly gave her a deadpan look. “No.”
Silver Wolf snickered from behind a clothing rack.
Kafka, of course, didn’t take “no” as a real answer. “Just try it.”
“...Fine.”
She tried it.
It looked good.
She would never admit it.
Blade, at first, hovered awkwardly while everyone shopped.
He didn’t need anything.
But somehow, he ended up being handed things.
Kafka casually tossed a high-end coat at him. “Try this.”
He caught it, scowling. “I don’t need this.”
“You might as well have something nice.”
He sighed.
...He did end up keeping the coat.
By some miracle, no fights had broken out.
They found a sleek, upscale café, taking a booth with a view over Penacony’s neon skyline.
Silver Wolf was buried in her console, occasionally shoving fries into her mouth.
Firefly had ordered something small, half-distracted by the city lights.
Blade was surprisingly quiet, his expression neutral—not tense, not irritated.
Kafka took a slow sip of wine, pleased.
“This wasn’t so bad, was it?” she mused.
Blade didn’t answer immediately.
But he also wasn’t miserable.
Silver Wolf, without looking up, muttered, “Yeah, yeah. You win this round.”
Firefly just huffed, but there was no real annoyance in it.
Kafka smiled.
Mission accomplished.
By the time they returned to the hideout, the mood was lighter.
Silver Wolf immediately collapsed onto the couch, already loading up a game.
Firefly took out one of the mystery novels she had bought—not admitting she actually liked it.
Blade, despite himself, kept the coat on.
And Kafka?
She simply leaned back, completely satisfied.
Because for once, everyone was just... fine.
And sometimes, that was enough.
Warfare or Victoria III?
The Stellaron Hunters weren’t strangers to high-stakes jobs, but this one had felt off from the start.
The client, a paranoid governor from some backwater planet, had reached out in absolute secrecy. He was convinced that a rival nation was harboring a Stellaron, hidden deep within their fortified government complex.
The payment was good. Very good.
But the whole thing reeked of incompetence.
"These guys don't even have space travel," Silver Wolf had muttered when she first scanned the job details. "How would they even find a Stellaron?"
Kafka had only smiled. "Well, we'll just have to see for ourselves."
So they took the job.
The complex was heavily guarded, and it took effort to slip in undetected.
Silver Wolf spent hours hacking through multiple firewalls, grumbling about outdated security that somehow still managed to be annoying.
"These guys think encryption from a century ago is peak security," she muttered, fingers flying over her tablet. "I could break in with a calculator, but they stacked so much junk on top of it that it's just... slow."
Firefly, who had been forced to help, sighed. "Can't you just brute force it?"
"I'm already doing that. It'll take a minute."
Meanwhile, Blade and Kafka had the fun job of avoiding patrols.
"These guards are barely trained," Blade said flatly as they ducked behind cover. "This is a waste of time."
Kafka chuckled. "Now, Bladie, where’s the fun if there’s no challenge?"
Blade didn't dignify that with a response.
When Silver Wolf finally broke through security, they navigated a series of corridors, bypassed some archaic alarm systems, and eventually made their way into the vault.
The door was massive, steel-reinforced, and locked with multiple biometric scans.
Blade stared at it, unimpressed. "I could just cut through this."
Silver Wolf rolled her eyes. "Or I could open it normally."
She did.
Inside the vault, bathed in dim security lighting, was…
A computer.
Not an alien superweapon.
Not a hidden Stellaron.
Not anything remotely impressive.
Just a single, outdated terminal sitting on a reinforced desk, surrounded by cooling fans and comically overcomplicated security devices.
Firefly blinked. "What... is this?"
Silver Wolf took one look at the screen and immediately started laughing.
Kafka tilted her head, amused. "Well?"
"This isn't a war machine. This is—" Silver Wolf wheezed between laughs. "Oh, this is a strategy game."
Blade frowned. "A what?"
Silver Wolf tapped at the screen, navigating a set of menus. "It's an old military tactics simulator. Some nerd took it way too seriously and repurposed it as an actual strategic war-planning system."
Kafka's smirk widened. "Are you saying the enemy government has been making battle plans… using a game?"
Silver Wolf grinned. "Yep."
Firefly squinted at the screen, reading through the lines of code. "...This is literally a reskinned version of Galactic Conquest 2."
Blade, who had no patience for any of this, sighed. "We came all this way for a children's game?"
Silver Wolf was having the time of her life. She booted up a saved session and pulled up a top commanders leaderboard.
The highest score? The enemy nation’s actual military leader.
Firefly groaned. "This is embarrassing."
Kafka leaned on the desk, smiling. "Our client paid us an obscene amount of money to steal a video game."
Silver Wolf was practically vibrating with amusement. "I say we take it anyway. Imagine the look on their faces when they realize their entire war strategy is gone."
Blade looked beyond done. "This is ridiculous."
Firefly nodded. "I don't want to be here anymore."
Kafka chuckled, tapping her earpiece. "Well, let's pack it up, darlings. Time to tell our dear client he paid a fortune for a console."
Silver Wolf grinned as she started downloading the entire system onto her drive.
It wasn’t a Stellaron.
But it was going to be hilarious.
Vocal Mishaps
The Stellaron Hunters weren’t the kind of people who took guests. Their ship was their hideout, their safe zone—only trusted allies ever stepped foot inside.
Yet, as they departed from Penacony, an exception had somehow found his way aboard.
Boothill, the infamous Galaxy Ranger, leaned back in one of the lounge chairs like he owned the place, boots propped up on the table.
He gave the crew a lazy grin, his hat tilted just enough to shadow his sharp eyes. "Well, well. Ain’t this somethin’. Here I was, thinkin’ y’all were ghosts in the wind, yet here I am, sittin’ in your little clubhouse."
Kafka, as always, was composed, offering a smile. "We’re just giving you a ride, cowboy. Don’t get too comfortable."
Blade, seated across from him, said absolutely nothing. His glare, however, spoke volumes.
Firefly sat off to the side, arms crossed, watching the exchange with mild disinterest.
And then there was Silver Wolf, who had been suspiciously quiet.
Which meant, of course, she was up to something.
Boothill was a man of many things—gunfights, theatrics, monologues longer than they needed to be—but today, he had an extra problem.
His synesthesia beacon, a busted piece of tech, was failing spectacularly.
He had gotten used to it over the years, adjusting to the random verbal mishaps that left his speech, well a little less colorful.
But what he wasn’t used to?
Silver Wolf hacking it.
He didn’t even notice until it was too late.
At first, it was subtle.
Boothill was mid-sentence, recounting some old bounty chase, when his words glitched.
"Now, lemme tell ya, this fella was slipperier than a—blueberry hotdog."
Silence.
Firefly blinked. "What?"
Boothill frowned, shaking his head. "I meant—slipperier than a—electric cowboy boot full of cheese."
Silver Wolf choked on her drink.
Blade slowly turned his head, watching Boothill as if he had just lost his mind.
Kafka, smiling pleasantly, tilted her head. "Is something wrong, Boothill?"
Boothill tapped the side of his head, frowning. "Dag-gun thing’s actin’ up again…"
Silver Wolf, completely innocent, shrugged. "Weird. Maybe it’s getting worse?"
Boothill tried again, muttering under his breath. "Ain’t no big deal, just gotta—find the spaghetti sheriff and shoot the moon pancakes."
Silver Wolf collapsed into actual laughter.
Boothill’s eye twitched.
"You did somethin’," he muttered, pointing a finger at her.
Silver Wolf wiped a tear from her eye. "Me? Nooo. I would never."
Firefly, barely holding in a smirk, shook her head. "This is your fault for trusting a hacker near your broken tech."
Boothill sighed, rubbing his temple. "Y’all are menaces."
Kafka just smiled, sipping her drink. "We do our best."
Blade, who had said absolutely nothing the entire time, exhaled through his nose and looked away—but the corner of his mouth twitched, just slightly.
Boothill muttered something about "darn wubbaboo space bandits" and "no respect for a lawman," but at this point, the damage was done.
Silver Wolf?
She was already writing a program to make it worse.