The cellar room is quiet in the way only underground spaces can be.

  Buck sits on the edge of the bed, boots off, back against the stone wall. The lantern is turned low. Shadows cling to the corners but do not feel hostile. Just patient.

  “All right,” Buck says softly. “Let’s see where we stand.”

  The HUD fades in, slower this time, like it is weighing whether the conversation should happen at all.

  RESOURCE ASSESSMENT

  The next panel appears, heavier somehow.

  SURGE READINESS

  Buck exhales. “That’s a jump.”

  It is, B.U.C.K. replies. The curve steepens here.

  “Feels like more than just time and rest,” Buck says.

  There is a pause.

  Yes, the AI admits. I believe the system is waiting.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “For what.”

  For resolution of something, B.U.C.K. says. The Irish. The Atlantic Guard. Low Tide. There is imbalance.

  Buck closes his eyes. “So time wants a story finished before it lets me move on.”

  That is my interpretation, the AI says. Unresolved tension creates drag.

  Buck snorts quietly. “That figures.”

  Silence settles again, thicker now, thoughtful.

  “Hey,” Buck says after a moment. “Tell me something.”

  Go on.

  “What’s your favorite memory?”

  There is no pause this time. The response comes immediately, too quickly.

  Well, it is definitely not that extremely awkward experience with that girl at the foster home right before you left for college.

  Buck’s eyes snap open. “Nope. We are not doing that.”

  You asked, the AI says, unapologetic.

  “I meant before,” Buck says. “Before everything. With her.”

  The silence that follows is different. Gentler.

  All right, B.U.C.K. says quietly. That one.

  The room seems to soften as the memory unfolds.

  It was the day the picture in the vault was taken, the AI begins. Your mom took you to a mall, the Millcreek Mall. First the arcade. She let you play for hours.

  Buck smiles faintly as fragments of memories dance in the shadows of his mind.

  Galaga, B.U.C.K. continues. Asteroids. Ninja Gaiden. Double Dragon. You were terrible at some of them. Very loud about being good at others.

  Buck lets out a quiet laugh.

  You ate pizza across the way. Pizza Boy. Grease everywhere. You said it was the best day of your life. She laughed like she hadn’t laughed in months.

  The AI’s voice lowers, warmer.

  It was the first time she hadn’t been in the lab in a long while. She turned everything off. Just to be with you.

  Buck’s throat tightens.

  Afterward, she took you for ice cream. Sara’s diner at place called Presque Isle. You got it all over your hands. She didn’t care.

  A pause.

  You walked across the street to the beach. Sat in the sand. Watched the sun set over Lake Erie.

  The room feels full now, as if the past has weight.

  You leaned against her. She rested her head on yours. For a while, it felt simple. Like you were just a family.

  Buck swallows.

  I felt like part of it too, the AI says softly.

  Buck turns his face slightly toward the wall, pretending the dim light is the reason his eyes sting.

  “That was before,” he says quietly.

  Yes, B.U.C.K. replies. A few months before….

  They sit with it.

  No HUD. No stats. No planning.

  Just memory.

  Finally, Buck lies back, staring at the ceiling. “Thanks.”

  Good night, the AI says, voice gentle and careful. Sebastian.

  Buck closes his eyes.