It's day sixty-three on the Arkvault, a seven-mile zoo of cosmic snowflakes, and we're E-rank Earthly Ramblers, still rattled from yesterday's pirate chaos. I wake in my Habitat-382 flat, Unit 59, spine-hugging bed easing my aches. My dead smartphone, purse, some crumpled notes, coins, and cards—Earth's last scraps—sit on my shelf, mocking me with 500 years of time dilation. My bracelet, that cheeky glowing bangle, pings: Log saved. Query: Post-pirate recovery stretch? "You know me, bangle," I chuckle, stretching like I'm prepping for a cosmic marathon. Single, stranded, and itching to regroup, I'm Coach Bounce, ready to rally my team.
Outside our building, Fiona leans against the wall, her white-and-black suit sleek, flux staff clipped to her hip, blonde braid catching the fake sunlight. Dmitri looms, orange-and-black suit snug, magma spear retracted, shield folded. "New quest," Dmitri grunts, eyes glinting for action. Fiona crosses her arms, Dublin fire sharp. "Day off. I'm knackered." They turn to me, the tiebreaker. I grin, fishing a scratched Mumbai coin from my pocket—one of Earth's last relics. "Heads, we chill; tails, we quest." I toss it, the coin spinning like a tiny planet. It lands heads. Fiona smirks, Dmitri shrugs. "Movie it is," she says. "The Godfather's playing at the cinema—an Earth classic." My bracelet logs: Decision: Downtime. Query: Popcorn power-up? "Spot on," I laugh.
We visit the cinema, a glowing dome in Habitat-382's plaza. The screen's massive, projecting Marlon Brando's gravelly voice. I munch popcorn, my red-and-black suit creaking, plasma pistol and glowing blades stowed. Fiona's eyes flicker at the screen, her staff's orb dim. Dmitri munches beside us, his shield propped like a footrest. "This Don guy's got grit," he mutters. Fiona snorts, "You'd arm-wrestle him." I laugh, oblivious to her quick glance my way, her cheeks faintly pink. The movie's a hit, but the pirate debris still haunts me—time to grow, Ramblers.
Post-film, we hit a restaurant, all neon vines and humming tables. We scarf burgers—mine's stacked like a protein tower—chatting over fizzy drinks. "Better than sludge," Fiona says, her laugh softer than usual. Dmitri nods, sipping something that smells like rocket fuel. My bracelet pings: Meal logged. Query: Calorie count for cosmic burgers? "Not now, bangle," I whisper, grinning. We teleport to the Guild dome, drawn to its tourist spot—a window as tall as a skyscraper, wide as a pitch, framing the void. Adventurers mill about, some sitting, others pacing, all gawking at stars and nebulae swirling like cosmic soup. I lean on a railing, suit humming faintly with flux. Fiona's staff pulses, her eyes on the stars. "Makes you feel small," she murmurs. I nod, "But we're Ramblers—small but scrappy."
Dmitri's eyes narrow, sensing something. "Gonna train," he grunts, hefting his spear and shield. As he strides off, he shoots me a double thumbs-up, smirking slyly. I blink, puzzled. "What's with him?" Fiona's cheeks flush, her staff's orb flaring briefly—she saw it too. We sit on a bench, the window's glow bathing us. "Your past," Fiona starts, voice low. "What was it like?" I shrug, thinking of Mumbai's bustle. "Gym rat, coaching kids, dodging traffic. No family, just mates. You?" She hesitates, eyes soft. "Dublin pubs, MMA rings, me and my sister against the world." Her voice catches, and I lean closer, oblivious to her quick glance. "You're tougher than most, flux mage," I say, grinning. She smiles, but it's guarded.
We ping Dmitri to meet at the teleporter, ready to head back. Fiona's steps slow, her cheeks redder, embarrassment radiating. "Alex," she stammers, gripping her staff. "What do you think about… us? I mean, me?" I tilt my head, still clueless. "You and Dmitri? You're family, more than I ever had back home." Her eyes widen, face crimson. "No, I mean… me. Us, together?" She blurts it, voice shaking, staff's orb pulsing wildly. I freeze, my flux-tinged hands tingling, brain buffering like a bad holo-stream. My bracelet pings: Incident: Emotional overload. Query: Romantic reps needed? "Not helping, bangle," I mutter, heart racing.