Finally.
After hours of hammering, stacking, chopping, and shouting across the square, the bonfire was ready.
Level 127 felt alive.
Nearly a hundred people had gathered around the plaza. The woodpile in the center rose taller than any man, jagged planks stacked high like a mountain waiting for fire. Around it, tents and food stalls formed a loose circle—meats smoking over makeshift grills, the smell of spice and grease mingling with sweat and metal. Children wove between benches, chasing each other with laughter, while older faces sat quietly, some with mugs already in hand, their eyes carrying both exhaustion and relief.
It had been a long time since this many of them had come together without running or fighting.
Bobo walked to the center, boots clanking against the cracked concrete. He carried a dented bucket in his good hand and, with his steel arm, banged it loud enough to rattle the stalls.
CLANG—CLANG—CLANG.
Heads turned. Voices dropped. The square slowly hushed until all you could hear was the faint hum of the floodlights above and the shifting of bodies settling in.
Bobo raised his chin, grinning through the scars.
"Alright! First off—thank y'all for coming out tonight. Brass actually signed off on this little shindig, so we ain't sneaking one past 'em for once."
The crowd chuckled.
"Been a crazy couple months, huh? Rossen was hit hard. We took in their people. And if any of you fine folks from Rossen are here tonight, give me a woop woop!"
About fifteen voices rang out, ragged but proud: "Woop woop!"
"Hell yeah," Bobo said, grinning wider. "Glad to have y'all here. Y'all made it through fire and steel, and you're still standin'. That deserves a damn cheer."
The crowd clapped and stomped their feet.
"And then… well." He paused for effect, his grin curling sly. "We did some real crazy shit, didn't we? We infiltrated Jöten."
Gasps and whistles shot up. Someone shouted, "Insane!"
"Damn right it was insane!" Bobo barked, then laughed. "But we pulled it off. Two hundred of our own were set free that day. Two hundred. First victory we've had in—hell, decades maybe!"
The plaza erupted into cheers.
"And it wouldn't have happened without her."
He jabbed a metal finger toward Luciana.
"Give it up for Luciana Corrine! It was her idea, her plan, her stubborn-ass heart that made it work!"
The crowd turned, applauding and hollering. Luce leaned against a tent pole with her mug, cheeks flushed as she gave a sheepish smile and lifted her mug.
Bobo's grin softened.
"Of course… it wasn't without loss."
His voice dipped, rough around the edges.
His gaze found Marlene, sitting with her hands folded neatly in her lap, a sad smile touching her lips. A hush passed briefly through the crowd.
"But we've gained too," he went on, steadying his tone.
"Me and my squad crossed paths with one of the Directors again. Mako—the Lightning Prince himself. And lemme tell you—" he barked a laugh, though it was lined with nerves, "—that bastard was terrifying. Never thought I'd see lightning that close and live to tell the story. Scared me damn near outta my pants!"
The crowd chuckled, the tension easing.
"But that's the point," Bobo said, sweeping the square with his gaze.
"We're learning more about 'em. About them. Every fight, every scar, every loss teaches us something. And one day, when the time comes—we'll be ready to do more than just survive."
The crowd nodded, murmurs rippling through them.
Bobo's grin returned.
"But we ain't just fighters. We ain't just survivors. We're family. And speaking of family…"
He turned and pointed his metal arm toward the benches, where Mikey sat mid-bite with a kabob half-stuffed in his mouth.
"We also picked up ourselves a little brother."
Mikey froze, wide-eyed, food still in hand.
"This here's Mikey—Desmond and Darla Grant's boy. Their only son. Our new baby brother."
The plaza roared with cheers, whistles, and claps. A few folks leaned over to pat Mikey's shoulders and ruffle his hair. He flushed red, trying to wave with his greasy hand while still chewing.
Bobo's smile softened again.
"He's seen us fight. He's seen us bleed. He's seen us lose…"
The weight in his tone pulled at the crowd, silence hanging a moment.
Then he threw his arm up and shouted, voice booming.
"Now it's time he sees how we party!"
The people erupted in laughter and applause.
Bobo turned, calling out with a smirk.
"Ryo! You know what to do, brother!"
Ryosuke stepped forward, cigar glowing in his cybernetic grip. He plucked a loose plank from the pile, held the tip to the ember of his cigar until it caught fire, then tossed it skyward.
The crowd gasped as the burning wood spun through the air.
Ryo leapt, twisting midair, and slammed his heel against it with a sharp crack. The plank shot down into the pile, splinters bursting out as flames spread in an instant.
The bonfire roared to life, fire clawing upward, painting every face in red and gold.
The crowd went wild. Cheers. Whistles. Children shouting.
Someone struck up rhythm on pots and pans, the clang of improvised drums filling the air. A man tuned his scrap-metal guitar, letting its jagged notes cut through the smoke as others clapped along.
Level 127 of the Silo Core was alive.
Mikey watched the fire climb into the dark, heat licking at his face, and for the first time in a long while… he smiled.
The bonfire had begun.