The fire roared high into the cavernous ceiling, painting the rusted steel and concrete in shades of molten gold. Sparks drifted like fireflies. The whole plaza throbbed with music — pots and pans slammed into a rough beat, the scrap guitar screeching with every chord. People stomped, clapped, and shouted, their voices climbing the walls like echoes of a real city.
Mikey sat back with a plate of meat, the heat of the flames brushing his face. His stomach rumbled but his eyes kept wandering, drawn to the movement, the noise, the life.
He couldn't remember the last time he saw so many people laughing in one place.
Maybe never.
A group of little kids ran past, faces sticky with sauce, wooden skewers waving in the air like swords. One of them almost toppled into him.
"Hey—watch it!"
Mikey laughed as the boy darted past.
"Sorry, Mr. Mikey!" the kid yelled, not slowing down.
Luce appeared beside him, balancing a mug in one hand, grease-stained napkin in the other. She plopped down on the bench next to him with an unceremonious sigh.
"You look like someone dropped you in the middle of a circus."
Mikey blinked at her.
"Feels like it."
She smirked, tilting her mug toward him.
"You're not used to this, huh? All the noise, the food, the people who actually… smile."
Mikey shrugged, his eyes trailing toward the dancers near the fire.
"Yeah. Back in the Council, parties weren't exactly my thing. Seemed superficial."
Luce studied him for a second, her smirk fading.
"Well," she said softly, "tonight you don't gotta think about any of that."
She tapped her mug against his kabob stick.
"Tonight, you just eat, drink, and let the fire do the heavy lifting."
Before Mikey could answer, a booming laugh cut through the din.
Bobo, already red-faced from drink, was standing on a crate, his metal arm around Willie's shoulders. Silvia was next to them, rolling her eyes but smiling anyway.
"…and then—then this little shit—" Bobo pointed at Willie, nearly spilling his drink— "thought he could outdrink me back in '22! You remember that, Silvia?"
Willie groaned, face in his hands.
"Please don't—"
"Oh, I remember," Silvia said, lips twitching with amusement. "He puked on your boots."
The crowd around them burst into laughter. Willie muttered something about sabotage, and Bobo slapped him on the back so hard he almost toppled.
"You hear that, everybody? He want's the smoke! He'll be crying in the latrine!"
More laughter. Even Luce chuckled under her breath.
From across the plaza, Ryosuke leaned against a support beam, away from the main crowd. The glow of his cigar ember flickered in the dark, his cybernetic fingers tapping a silent rhythm against the metal wall.
He watched the fire, the people, the way they moved together in chaos but somehow with purpose.
"Not bad, huh?" Marlene's voice cut into his thoughts. She approached with a plate balanced carefully in her hands, her movements neat, deliberate even in the disorder.
Ryosuke glanced at her, exhaling smoke.
"No fights yet. Surprising."
Marlene gave a small laugh.
"Give it time. Someone will drink too much and test your patience."
She offered him the plate.
"Eat. You've been standing here brooding long enough."
He raised a brow but took it.
"You are mothering me again."
"I'm keeping you away from yourself," she corrected gently. "There's a difference."
Ryosuke smirked faintly, just for her, before turning his gaze back to the flames.
Closer to the music, Bobo had somehow got his hands on a battered drum from the storage piles. He slammed on it with both hands, the rhythm sloppy but enthusiastic.
Sweat glistened on his shaved head as he hollered, "Dance, you bastards! Don't just stand there!"
Several people answered — a group of Rossen refugees first, clapping their hands together, stepping in time with the beat. Then a few silo kids joined in, laughing, their feet kicking up dust. The rhythm caught like fire, spreading through the plaza until half the crowd was moving.
Mikey watched, half in awe, half in hesitation. He chewed slowly, trying not to look like he wanted to join but very obviously staring.
Luce caught the look, her smirk returning.
"Go on, rookie. Don't just sit there stuffing your face."
"What? Nah, I don't—"
"C'mon, Grant. Show us you got legs. Or are you scared?"
Mikey's ears went hot. He stuffed another bite of meat in his mouth.
"I'm not scared."
Luce grinned, satisfied.
"We'll see."
She stood, mug raised, and let herself melt into the growing circle of dancers. The fire painted her hair golden as she spun.
Mikey stayed rooted to the bench, torn between sinking into the shadows and running headfirst into the noise.
The fire cracked, the drums pounded, the night roared on.
Mikey finally gave in.
At first he looked like a scarecrow learning to walk — his arms stiff, legs jerky, every step a beat behind the rhythm. But he was laughing, grinning ear to ear, cheeks flushed from the firelight and the embarrassment.
Bobo spotted him across the circle, his laughter cutting through the din.
"Oh yeah! Fuck it up, kid! Just like your Pa used to!"
That only made Mikey worse, but he leaned into it, wobbling on purpose, shaking his shoulders like he was trying to shake a bug off his shirt. The crowd cheered him on like he was killing it.
Angelica wasn't far off, stomping her little feet to the beat, her face alight with joy. She wasn't dancing so much as declaring war on the ground beneath her.
Mikey spotted her, his smile softening. He crouched down, reached for her tiny hands.
"C'mon, Angel! Show me what you got!"
The girl squealed with delight. Together they spun in circles, clumsy and dizzy, falling into the dust and picking themselves up again.
Across the plaza, Amelia peeked out from the flap of a tent. Her gaze searched the crowd but settled fast — on him. On the way Mikey's laughter was unguarded, how his whole face lit up as he spun the little girl in wide, crooked arcs. For a moment, her own lips curved into a smile she hadn't meant to give. She caught herself.
The smile faltered. She stepped back inside, letting the flap fall closed.
Back by the flames, Luce was caught in her own whirlwind — Bobo had scooped her up with his heavy arms, spinning her around like she weighed nothing. She shrieked with laughter, smacking at his shoulder.
"Put me down, you drunk bastard!"
"Not till you admit I'm the better dancer!" Bobo bellowed, grinning like a fool as he spun faster.
"You're not dancing, you're a crane!"
The crowd roared. Someone banged harder on the drum.
Near the edge of the square, away from the chaos, Ryosuke lingered in the shadows. He sat on a chunk of broken concrete, cigar ember glowing between two fingers of his cybernetic hand. The light flickered across the dull steel of his knuckles, across the scar etched down his cheek.
The noise of the bonfire rolled over him in waves — laughter, cheers, the slap of bare feet on stone — but he let it all wash past. His dark eyes stayed on the fire, watching it devour the wood plank by plank, sparks lifting toward the cavern ceiling and fading to nothing.
He muttered to himself in Japanese, low enough no one could hear. Something like a prayer, or maybe just old words he couldn't shake.
A child's laugh pulled his attention.
Marlene was in the circle now, holding her six-year-old boy by the hands. She swung him around, spinning him so fast his short legs nearly flew out from under him. The boy shrieked with delight, curls bouncing, cheeks red. Marlene's face glowed with joy — the kind that only came out when she forgot anyone was watching.
Ryosuke from his distance, looked at her. A faint smile was on his face with an expression that was unreadable.
Angelica abandoned Mikey long enough to run to them, grabbing Marlene's skirt and tugging until she was pulled into the spin. The three of them turned in messy, happy circles, laughter carrying over the drums.
Mikey stood back a little, catching his breath, hands on his knees. Watching them, his chest ached — not from dancing, but from something older.
Something he couldn't name.
Ryosuke's gaze softened in the shadows. His lips curved — not into a smile exactly, but close. He took another drag of his cigar, smoke curling into the firelit dark, and muttered again. This time the words were clearer, an old saying he hadn't spoken in years.
"Even in hell, a fire brings family together."
The bonfire cracked louder, sparks showering the night. Music pounded. People kept dancing. And the level — for the first time in months — felt alive.