Oh, hello... I see you.
Yes, you!
It's been, what, two years? Seven hundred and thirty days of me not whispering my dirty little secrets into the void of your mind.
Do you miss me?
Or did you find some other Melito to satisfy your craving for sex... I mean... drama and cosmic absurdity?
You look... different.
Actually, you look remarkably like Capt did two years ago. Same tired eyes, same 'I've seen the end of the world and all I got was this lousy trauma' expression.
Welcome to the Moon.
Watch your step!
The artificial gravity here is set to 'Languid Afternoon,' which means your breasts will feel slightly perkier and my hangovers feel twice as heavy.
I'm standing here, clutching a flute of something that tastes like fermented stardust and Chef's desperation.
Watching the pinnacle of Capt's achievement.
It's a wedding...
A standing party.
Because apparently, even after saving the galaxy, Capt and Vice can't be bothered to sit down.
Look at them. Over there, near the fountain of synthetic chocolate.
Captain Ragia Quarso.
My Captain.
My... well, former 'battery charger'. He looks disgustingly handsome in that dress uniform. It's tight in all the right places, highlighting the ridge of his shoulders and the strength of those thighs that used to...
Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves.
And Vice.
Goddess.
That's the only word. She's draped in a white gown that looks like it was woven from captured moonlight and the sighs of virgins. She's glowing. Literally. Her Melios is humming at a frequency that makes the glassware vibrate and my inner thighs twitch.
They're talking to a group of S-rank Inquors.
You can tell they're S-rank, because they move like they own the air. Also, they breathe and their outfits cost more than a small lunar colony. Capt is nodding, looking every bit the hero, while Vice leans into him, her hand possessively tracing the line of his arm.
"You're staring, Mira," a voice chirps beside me.
I blink.
My consciousness snapping back from the memory of Capt's skin against mine.
The heat, the Felt, the way his scent used to make my Melios roar like a caged beast. I look down. It's Private and Fluffy.
They're with The Supreme Commander of Earth Defense, Liquida Quarso.
The three of them are currently engaged in a high-stakes competition to see who can fit an entire cupcake into their mouth at once.
"Gimi-gimi buka!" Private muffled through a cloud of pink frosting. "Ranyan and Vice look so poka-poka, right? Like two stars crashing into each other but without the 'everyone dies' part."
"They look like they need a room," Fluffy adds, her eyes dancing with mischief. "And a very sturdy bed."
Liquida lets out a booming laugh, his chest heaving. "Let them have their moment, girls. They earned it. Though, I must say, the catering is... adventurous."
I follow his gaze to the buffet.
It's a chaotic spread. Real Earth food. We're talking greasy, glorious, heart-stopping Earth staples. Pizza, burgers, and some incredibly vibrant, nose-hair-burning spicy dishes that Chef insists are 'Indian.'
"It's the Capt's request," I tell you, while taking a sip of my drink. "He wanted a taste of the 'old world.' I think he just wanted an excuse to see if he could survive a vindaloo after surviving the Krall Queen."
Speaking of Chef...
If you look past the ice sculpture of the Xeca, you'll see the twins. Chef and Navi... are currently rolling around on the manicured lunar grass, and swearing at each other.
"It's a travesty, you uncultured whelp!" Chef screams, pinning Navi by the ears. "Pineapple is a fruit! It belongs in a bowl, not on top of a sacred disc of dough and cheese!"
"It's sweet and savory, you pretentious stove-monkey!" Navi yells back, trying to shove a slice of Hawaiian pizza into Chef's mouth. "It's the evolution of flavor! It's the future!"
Nobody stops them.
It's part of the entertainment. Besides, the food is delicious. I think I've had three sliders and something called a... 'samosa' that is currently doing a very spicy tango in my stomach.
It feels... right.
Chaotic, loud, and slightly nonsensical.
It's hard to believe that only two years ago, we were staring into the abyss. After Vice pulled that stunt with the Tickling Clock.
Don't ask me the physics, my brain still hurts thinking about it.
She actually managed to bring Ragia back, and then?
Explorer 7 turned into a goddamn hurricane. We tore through the Krall Queen's forces like they were made of wet paper.
And Ragia... he evolved.
Or maybe he just stopped holding back. He can use his female form now. That sleek, terrifyingly beautiful Krall Queen form, to channel all that power without losing his soul to the hive mind.
He should have been a general, but he refused the title.
He'd rather stay as the Captain of the Xeca.
And me?
I'm retiring.
Next year, I will hand over my Melito mantle.
"Mira? Are you okay? You're doing the thing where you talk to the air again."
I turn to see Gap.
That's my successor.
She's a Mer, and she's lovely, really. Her Melios is Wonderwall.
She can raise stone fortresses out of thin air. We call her 'Stealth,' mostly because she has a habit of appearing right when you're about to do something scandalous.
"I'm fine, Stealth," I say, patting her cheek. "Just saying goodbye to some old friends."
"But there's no one there," she whispers, looking confused. Her eyes dart to where you're sitting.
Yes, you.
She can't see you, of course. You're just a ghost in the machine to her.
"There's always someone watching, honey," I smirk. "Just make sure you give them a good show. Ragia still needs a mother for this crew, even if he has a wife now. You're Capt's defender, but don't forget to be the heart too."
"Or at least the liver. Someone has to keep them from drinking the engine coolant."
Stealth nods, though she looks like she wants to run away.
She'll learn, you know?
I look back at the Captain. The GX-778-C serum's effect is humming in our veins now. It's perfect. It's efficient. It means we don't need Felt sessions with him anymore to stay combat-ready. The connection is stable.
His energy now... it's exclusive to Vice now.
I laugh, a sharp, brittle sound.
"What's funny?" Stealth asks.
"Nothing," I lied.
But as I watch them, a sudden, cold shiver snakes down my spine.
A phantom ache throbs in my core... a memory of his hands, the way he would look at me when the Felt became too much, the raw, primal hunger that bypassed all logic.
I miss it.
God...
I miss the way he used to break me and put me back together. It's a selfish, itchy kind of longing. Lika Private said, "Gusi-gusi that no serum can fix."
But then... wait.
I frown.
My stardust flute feels heavy.
Two years ago.
The battle...
Tickling Clock...
Why does that memory feel like a dream I had, while waking up from another dream?
I remember the darkness after Vice activated the clock. I remember the silence.
And then...
Suddenly, we were here. We were winning. We were celebrating.
But did we actually do it?
I remember the Krall Queen's face. I remember the way the stars seemed to blink out. But the details are...
Fuzzy.
Like... like a video file with corrupted sectors. I feel like I'm reciting a script I haven't quite memorized.
"Mira? You're staring again..."
I look up.
Prof is standing there. She's staring at her datapad, her brow furrowed. Her clone is right beside her, wearing the exact same dress, delicately spoon-feeding Prof a piece of cake.
"The readings are... inconsistent," Prof mutters, not looking at me. "The lunar orbit has a micro-fluctuation every 4.2 seconds. It's almost like a heartbeat. Or a pen scratching on paper."
"Prof, you're overthinking," I say, but my voice lacks conviction. "It's a party. Enjoy the cake."
"I don't like this cake," Prof says. "The clone likes it. I like data. And the data says we shouldn't be here."
Suddenly, the sky above the lunar dome ripples.
It's not a cloud. It's not a ship. It's a tear.
A Gyra... you know... the one of those massive Krall biological cruisers, drops out of a fold in space, screaming a psychic wail that makes my teeth ache.
Then another.
And another.
The lunar defense sirens start to blare, a discordant harmony to the wedding music.
Capt is already moving.
He doesn't even have to say a word. Vice is at his side, her white gown tearing away to reveal her combat suit beneath. Private drops her cupcake. Fluffy's eyes go cold.
"Well," I sigh, setting my drink down on a passing robot waiter. "I guess the wedding party is over."
I look at you one last time.
The sky is turning that sickly red, and the ground is beginning to shake. Ragia is looking towards the stars, his silhouette framed by the encroaching chaos.
He looks... satisfied. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"I wanted to talk to you more," I say, leaning in close to you. "I had so many more stories. About the time Fluffy tried to Felt with a vending machine, or how Private thinks the Moon is made of actual cheese if you dig deep enough."
"But duty calls. It turns out the universe isn't finished with our little fanfare just yet."
I reach out, my fingers ghosting over your.
"Be careful, reader. The void is hungry today."
I turn away, my Melios flaring to life, a golden aura of defense and desire.
"Capt!" I yell, my voice regaining its bite. "Save some for me! I haven't had my morning workout yet!"
As I run towards the hangars, towards the Xeca, towards the end of everything or the beginning of something worse, I can't help but think...
You really do look like him.
Capt...
From two years ago.
I wonder...
If that's because you're the one holding the pen now.
Wait...
A pen?