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The final stretch to Schale’s main office has never been any longer.
Even when he’s lifting his heavy feet with all his remaining strength and pushes them as far as he possibly can, it feels unreachable.
The hallway is flat, yet walking on it feels just as draining and arduous as an upward slope, a slope with an imaginary boulder before him.
Sensei ignores his dirty glove and pushes the cracked shades out of the way to rub his weary eyes.
First, the meeting with GSC dragged on and on through the morning, noon, and into the afternoon.
Then, a group of lowlifes who somehow recognized him and felt like it was a good idea to mug his tired ass.
And of course, fighting off a group of enemies loaded with rifles and grenades with just a handgun and a gut full of hate is not enough.
The best he could do was run, return fire only when necessary, and disengage by evasion.
Which means he did miles and miles of running on the hardest path possible, so they won’t follow.
On top of a lot of detouring, double-backing, and J-hooking, in case they follow him right back to this building.
Involuntary parkouring wasn’t fun, and stealing clothes and walking half-squatted to blend in certainly wasn’t fun, either.
By the time he’s a hundred percent sure that those bastards had given up, the sun had long set, and the moon was halfway through the sky.
“……” Auburn lets gravity take his eyesight down to take a reluctant look at himself.
While reminding himself to keep walking, because if he stops, he’ll never have enough power in him to resume, and just crash onto the floor.
His wolf gray button-up is definitely going into the laundry, with dirt and patches of sweat coated all over.
Thankfully, no blood or torn fabric. His sweet AI assistants did their jobs flawlessly.
The ranger green cargo pants are okay, other than being dirty as well; they are meant to take a beating.
Maybe it’ll last until the weekend. He gives is a half-hearted dusting; no frails, no tears.
His Ready X backpack, while battered, somehow survived him rolling on top of it, falling on top of it, and being chucked over a wall.
Working as advertised. He exhales, trying to not to think about the condition of its contents.
The tablet is fine; he recently gave it a new protective case and has just talked to Plana through his wireless earbuds.
Auburn goes on to check on the magazines on his belt: one empty, one has a quarter left, and… one’s missing. Fuck.
He really should resupply on his Archon’s 19-rounders, now that he thinks about it, but that has to wait until at least tomorrow morning.
Or noon. “afgbimasi[tunwrothgh…” Or the next tomorrow morning, really. He’s both physically and mentally done for.
What about the handgun? Nah, it’s fine. A couple of mags fired in rapid succession, then left unattended for a while? Wouldn’t hurt it at all.
At the closed office door, Sensei simply slams his whole body onto it, hoping that his weight alone would bring him in.
The door doesn’t even budge at the beginning, but with a hefty click! It gives way presumably by Plana’s helping hand.
Indoor illumination and air conditioning turn on in a snap, greeting its exhausted owner.
There’s a scent in the air mixed with coffee, paper, gun oil, and that really cool WD-40 flavored candle he got from Millennium.
Schale. His leir, domain, and operation base. The place that always welcomes him with open arms.
His head says shower before bed, but everything underneath says too tired, don’t give a shit.
So he goes straight for the couch; more specifically, the biggest, longest one among the bunch.
The last remaining decency urges him to at least take off the dirtiest part of his clothing, which is the shirt.
So he does. Not that the compression tank top underneath is any better, but still. Couch’s cover needs a wash anyway.
Gloves peel off rather easily, and two swift clicks are all he needs to take both the backpack and the belt off of him.
Boots? Fuck it. It can stay on for tonight.
Shades and earbuds go on the coffee table nearby, same with the Shittim’s Chest, his phone, and his Archon Type B handgun.
Plana even turns on the tablet’s camera for a second to check if the adult is crashing on the couch for the night before dimming the lights.
It’s Plana, because Arona has long racked out before he even made it into Schale’s building; she did some heavy-lifting today, after all.
Sensei flops onto the couch on his belly and reaches for whatever resembles a pillow to brace his heavy head.
Proportionate to how little energy is left in his tank, the comfort coming from underneath only magnifies disproportionately.
Auburn can feel how the foam sinks down and down and down to his weight, dragging his consciousness along.
He takes a deep breath, letting his blinking slow down and his breathing even out.
Whatever comes tomorrow, it’s tomorrow-him’s issue.
And if someone wants to wake him up before that, they will need a shovel. An excavator, even.
With one final exhale, Sensei begins his well-deserved journey into the dreamland and never looks back.
“Let's drink a toast to the admiral, and here's to the captain bold…”
What wakes him up is not a shovel, an excavator, or even his deafeningly loud alarm clock.
No. It’s a voice. Coming from the table, where his loose belongings should be, more specifically, his phone.
It’s not loud, angry, hateful, or anything that should’ve sobered him up within an instant and tense up like a bowstring.
If anything, it’s the polar opposite, or maybe that’s why he wakes up the moment it makes it to his ears? Because it’s so out of place?
“…And glory more for the commodore, when the deeds of might are told…”
He doesn’t really care, though; for one, the exhaustion is yet to recede, even though the sun is up.
For another, my, the voice, her voice is adorable.
Through the electronic speaker, her singing is soft and dulcet as a ribbon, gently grazing his eardrum.
The little warm crackle around the notes, the awkward, airy chuckle that she tries her best to ignore and powers through…
“…But off with your hats and three times three, for every sailor's son…”
Sailors? With his closed eyes, he can’t help but smile as he listens quietly.
Her voice has a shy sweetness to it, a loving softness that turned even the simplest lyric into something intimate and deeply personal.
Each line carries a quiet devotion, pushing her irresistibly cuteness as she tries her absolute best to maintain pitch accuracy.
And the tender lilt in her singing made it feel as if she plucks a little piece of her heart and hums it directly into his ear, one careful note at a time.
“Mmm.” Auburn makes a happy noise like a caveman inspecting a cool stick. A very tired caveman, that is.
“…For the men below who fight the foe, the men behind the guns…”
Her tone has grown even more endearing; light, affectionate, and wonderfully delicate in a charming way.
A honeyed warmth, knocking on the side of his head that never in his life he’d let be.
This song should’ve been a military ballad, not a morning call song; what’s the opposite of a lullaby again?
Regardless, at this point, his brain has finally broken out of her hypnotically sweet singing and matches it to a person he knows.
“…Oh, the men behind the guns…”
When she finishes, the silence afterward feels full and complete rather than empty. Satisfyingly so.
Her voice has left behind such a gentle glow, it casts away all the clouds from the last night that’s still lingering within.
“You did FOX Eats, and you do FOX Sings now?”
As much as Auburn wants to wait and see if she’ll sing for more, he greets her with an utterly raspy voice.
“…Good morning, Sensei.” Niko greets with a slight new-lit awkwardness. “Need any reinforcements there?”
“Mhm.” He tries to work his limbs and his body, and holy shit.
His arms and legs are screaming, screaming in soreness, and his neck is stiff like it’s now made of concrete.
It takes some extra effort to peel his torso out of the sofa; the one-night-old grime has dried up and become a yucky pseudo-glue.
“Uuuuuuuuuuuurgh…Andskotans… ewoch.” Eventually, he gives up on getting up and resorts to turning to his side instead.
There’s a both worried and entertained chuckle coming from Niko. “I suppose that’s a yes?”
“Now that you asked.” He mumbles, seeing his phone is somehow on call with the almighty Fox-2 and has its speakers on.
“I need you to sing another song. About airmen, not sailors this time. Do us Air Force proud, please.”
“Well that’s…” Niko is audibly shy about that; clearly, it’s a spur-of-the-moment decision to sing himself to face the day.
“C’mon, it’ll be great.” He urges, bringing his stiff hand to rub away the nasty crumbs around his eyes.
“…The rest of the team is returning to the rally point, so that has to wait.”
“Oh no.” Sensei eyeballs his phone, reluctant to power his arm to reach for it.
“Am not giving you another chance to tap into my phone next time.” He probably will, just to hear that singing again.
“That’s a shame.” Nike makes a fu fu chuckle. “We’ll see about that.”
“Scary.” Sensei adjusts his posture; the pillow pressing against his ear feels a bit too low and too hard. “Where’d you learn that song anyway?”
“Odyssey,” Fox-2 explains. “We had a little exchange program back then.”
“They joked that we knew nothing about being a sailor, even though we were issued a sailor uniform.”
“So they taught us this song after we taught them VBSS.” Niko says with smile that he can just hear.
“The good ol’ days.” Auburn knows that kind of smile, however. Distant, remembering. Oh, the Hiraeth.
“What’s your ETA?” Reengaging on another topic, Sensei hopes to divert the former SRT student from that route of memory lane.
“Gotta make myself presentable before that.” Presentable, as in take a shower, change clothes, and get a cover for the spot he slept on.
“…About 20 mikes.” Niko does not reply for several seconds as faint noises of rustling can be heard in the background.
“Need anything, Sensei?” Her voice shifts in distance, presumably because she is picking her device back up. “FOX Eats is still taking orders.”
“Breakfast, please.” He works his limbs again to see if they decide to wake up yet. “Will take whatever you bring. And coffee, too.”
“Sensei,” A chiding snicker escapes Niko’s lips. “It’s almost past 12. Are you sure you’ll be operable tonight?”
Fuck. Auburn glances at the other electronic device he has, which has been sitting on the table quietly.
And as if answering to his gaze, the night sky of Shittim’s Chest boots up, with a cute Plana with a gigantic whiteboard in her hands.
On that whiteboard, a message is written with a pink crayon, in a childish font.
Didn’t want to wake you up. You look tired even asleep. Sorry.
“I’ll manage.” Sensei speaks to both Niko and his concerned AI assistant, with a gentle rub on the latter’s forehead with his thumb.
“You’ve got anything else to run before that? Before we continue to chase down Lores and fight more horrors beyond comprehension?”
“We do, actually.” Muted clicks of her shotgun clacking against her gear sound louder than before.
“Yuki- Fox-1 put together a target package on a group of interest. Said she’s bumping their priority.”
“Why?”
“Because Fox-4 spotted them chasing an oddly adult-shaped figure that scampered by one of her hideouts last night.”
“…Right.” I knew those lightly traveled trails were there for a reason… “I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you on that.”
“I’d be more surprised if you can- Hm?” Her reply sounds to be interrupted by what’s, or rather, who’s around her.
“…Yeah. I told him some, you wanna just…” Niko’s voice fades into the distance as she gets distracted by her teammate.
Or maybe he’s the distraction here? “……” Auburn listens to the silence and tries to turn that kindling of guilt into a fire under his ass.
“Sensei,” Niko’s motherly voice chirps through the phone again. “We’re going to pack up our equipment and RTB now.”
“Good for you.” Says the metaphorical son of this dialogue with slightly forces vitality. “And you know what? Forget about the food.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I’ll ready some refreshments for you, then we'll dine out. Consider it a compensation in advance, for missing out on the action later.”
Commotions from Niko’s teammate can be heard in the background.
And the loudest lines are He said WHAT? from Fox-3 and My body craves meat! from Fox-4.
Foxes are fearsome carnivores. He notes, finally prying himself off the not-so-comfy makeshift bed. “There’ll be enough for all four of you.”
“And coffee?”
“…Bring me an uber big, uber icy one. Black.”
“Roger that.” Niko brightens up and somehow sounds even more endearing than before. “I expect a huge tip.”
“How ‘bout a thankful and back-breaking hug from a freshly-showered me?”
“Hmm...” Her brightness remains, but the ending tone in her voice indicates there’s something else.
She says in a dulcet whisper, as if trying to hide it from the rest of her team. “You may need a bit more than that.”
Foxes are also, calculating carnivores, now that he remembers. “We’ll see about that, too.”
“Fox-2~ Stop being lovey-dovey with that big man~!”
“You wanna keep bantering with him, you're gonna carry that radio backpack-!”
Kurumi and Otogi’s voices come from the other side of his phone, louder, but still have that distance filter.
“Duty calls.” Fox-2 remains unfazed; well, at least she sounds like so, who knows what expression she’s wearing now?
“Go.” Sensei gives her an imaginative pat on her shoulder. “Be seeing you soon, big girl.”
Niko does not hesitate to hang up the call; she has all the promise she needs, and she knows that she’ll see to it in person.
The adult, on the other hand, musters the tiny amount of energy recovered from the past few hours and gets on his feet.
What has replaced the weight on his limbs is muscle pain, and his heavy head attached to a stiff, creaky neck certainly isn’t helping, either.
Focus, commitment, and sheer will. He repeats to himself, he’s got students to meet, this is nothing. Sheer fucking will.
Collecting everything left on the coffee table last night, including his tablet with a still-concerned Plana, he heads toward the back of the office.
Time to start a new day.