The War-Rig groaned to a halt as the sun dipped below the horizon, bleeding a sickly neon orange into the purple haze of the sky. Kafka had pulled the massive truck into a hollowed-out rest stop beneath a crumbling overpass.
"Engine's overheating," Kafka announced, her voice rasping as she climbed into the back. She was wiping grease from her forehead, her tactical shirt clinging to her toned frame. "We're staying here for the night. I've rigged the perimeter sensors, but we need to stay close. The 'Luck' is the only thing keeping the air breathable out here."
The interior of the sleeper cab was cramped, smelling of diesel, old leather, and the intoxicating, lingering scents of the three women.
Daniel was sprawled on the oversized bunk Kafka had scavenged. He was half-conscious, his body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that only comes from being a literal supernatural battery.
"He's burning up," Mia whispered, her hand sliding onto Daniel's forehead. She had discarded her lab coat hours ago, wearing a silk slip that shimmered in the dim emergency lights of the cab. "The field is expanding again. His body is working overtime to protect the truck."
"Then we need to stabilize him," Sophia said, her voice dropping into a low, sultry tone. She was sitting at the edge of the bed, her long legs crossed, watching the rise and fall of Daniel's chest. "My data was clear, Mia. Proximity is the key. But surface-area contact? That's the multiplier."
Daniel felt a pair of soft, expert hands begin to unbutton his shirt. "I... I'm trying to... sleep," he managed to mutter, though his heart was starting to thud against his ribs.
"This is medical, Daniel," Mia cooed, her lips brushing against his collarbone as she pulled the fabric away. "You're at risk of a mana-overload. I need to ensure your heart rate remains... consistent."
She moved over him, her weight settling on his lap. The friction of her silk slip against his jeans sent a jolt of electricity through his spine that had nothing to do with magic.
"I'll take the lead on the 'grounding' process," Kafka said, crawling onto the bunk from the other side. She moved like a predator, her strong, calloused hands sliding under Daniel's back to lift him slightly, bringing him flush against her heat. "If the commander says we need a full-body connection to maintain the shield, who am I to argue?"
The cabin grew impossibly hot. The windows fogged over as the golden dome outside pulsed with a rhythmic, intensifying light.
"Daniel," Sophia whispered, leaning over him from the head of the bed, her dark hair falling around them like a curtain. She didn't look like a strategist anymore; she looked like a woman who had realized that survival was the ultimate aphrodisiac. "Don't fight it. Just... let your luck take care of us."
Her lips met his, tasting of wine and desperation, while Mia's hands wandered lower, and Kafka's grip tightened around his waist.
Daniel's [Lucky Charm] didn't just hum this time—it roared. As the intimacy in the cramped cab reached a fever pitch, the golden dome outside hardened into a shimmering, impenetrable sphere. A pack of Mana-Wraiths shrieked as they hit the barrier, vaporizing instantly into nothingness.
Inside, Daniel wasn't thinking about the monsters. He wasn't even thinking about sleep anymore. He was lost in a sea of soft skin, heavy breaths, and the spicy, frantic energy of three women who were determined to make sure their "Savior" felt every bit of their gratitude.
"You're doing so well, Daniel," Mia moaned against his neck, her body molding perfectly to his. "Just... a little more. For the world's sake."
The apocalypse was raging outside, but inside the War-Rig, the only thing that mattered was the heat of four bodies becoming one under the golden glow of luck.
The nights in the wasteland are long.