There it was, standing in all of its... well, crusty splendor.

He watched Wally handling the mechanism of the ramp flawlessly, displaying an innate strength and will to survive. Gary could see it from his movements, surgical and direct, and from his posture, on maximum alert for impending danger.

Finally, the utility earth-mover halted the passage's descent, rumbling and whirring from excessive dust in its compartments. The interior was, in essence, Wally's home; a dome to protect the young man from the insidious treachery of the silent world behind them.

The trash collector beamed at the Sergeant, inviting him inside through a swift movement of his chin. "Come on! It's even better from a close perspective." He said, pride tainting his tone.

Bullet preceded him, hopping onto the ramp and quickly joining his master. Rain kept splashing against Gary's dark green raincoat, but the material resisted, absorbing the liquid. He had chosen his garments well, no doubt about it.

The Sergeant adjusted his hood and stomped his way in, a smile tugging at his lips from Wally's bounciness. That man-child was just too innocent and pure, having grown up without an education on even the most basic of subjects.

Gary sincerely doubted Wally possessed any knowledge about sex, or about his hormonal changes during puberty, for that matter. Just what had happened to this fellow? What atrocities had he survived to accept a complete stranger into his sanctuary... just to have someone to talk to?

But, no, Gary wasn't lying when he said they could become friends. After all, with this remarkable second chance given to him, the Sergeant craved something simpler; a ticket out of the action, destruction, and utter bewilderment of having to heed to dubious orders.

The lights all around them flickered on. Wally planted his feet in the center of the room and spread his arms wide. "Welcome to my home!" He smiled toothily, almost screeching his announcement out. Bullet barked beside him, as if adding a word of encouragement for his master.

Those Christmas lights indeed crafted a spectacular and welcoming atmosphere. Surely, the truck's crude interior was complemented by the decorations Wally had placed. Gary could understand why the young man had chosen this container as his sanctuary.

However, before Gary could concentrate on analyzing the various relics Wally had collected, his eyes fell on the worker's body. The lights in the truck allowed the Sergeant a deeper inspection of Wally's faculties.

There was no mistaking his thin frame, barely conceivable to support such harsh labour. Whatever canned food and polluted water Wally had relied upon had the unfortunate side effects of slowly debilitating his physique. And his skin? Totally filthy! Probably unwashed since the very day he was born. The only saving grace was its shade, comparable to Gary's, but slightly darker.

Was the uniform he wore protecting him? Did it possess a field of some kind to filter the UVs? Still, there were some tans, around Wally's face and exposed appendages. At least, his eyes functioned as intended, being shielded by his goggles, which reminded the Sergeant of WALL-E's lens.

A wince crossed Gary's face, and it didn't got unnoticed by the worker.

Wally cutely cocked his head. "What's wrong?"

You... you're the problem.

It was not strategic to reveal the motive behind his unease. The trash collector didn't deserve to carry another burden, that of representing the reason Gary felt deep sympathy for him. In fact, pity wasn't what he wanted to exchange with Wally.

Not then and not in the near future.

So, Gary shook his head and lowered the hood of his poncho, along with letting his military bag fall. "Nothing. It's just the weight of this damn sack." He accentuated the discomfort from his facade by rolling his shoulder in circular motions.

"Ah!" Wally bolted in action and clutched onto the bag. "L-let me handle that!" He grunted through gritted teeth, transporting the object towards one of his shelves.

The Sergeant almost cackled at the way Wally's stance giggled left and right, the worker's legs wobbling as they struggled to find a good equilibrium.

Clearly, Wally felt that, as the landlord, he was obligated to treat a guest fairly. He was doing a woozy job so far, but Gary let him continue for the sake of his self-esteem. Instead, he waved his own arms up and down, getting rid of the stuck drops of water on his poncho.

Wally carefully took off his boots and gloves, hanging them near the sealed entrance, similarly to how his robotic counterpart acted. Gary heard multiple sighs of relief, along with the worker moving his spine and down, cracks reverberating throughout the truck. "Much better!" The trash collector added at the end, smiling brightly.

"You... uh..." Wally rubbed the back of his neck. "You want to hang your coat?" He blinked. "N-not that I detest you wearing it! I just thought you might like to get comfortable."

The Sergeant shifted the weight on his shoulders. A bit too heavy. He's right.

Nodding, he approached the same corner Wally had walked into and stripped his raincoat off. He placed it onto the only remaining hook, gently patting it. Now, Gary's garments consisted of his shirt, pants, and boots. The truck's floor was a bit too rough for his tastes, which was why he did not separate himself from them.

Gary focused his undivided attention on the shelves, placing his hands on his hips. Wally had seriously worked tiredlessly and diligently to obtain all kinds of relics from a dead past. The Sergeant counted at least ten categories: old children toys, signs, shattered traffic lights, parking cons, hardware, torn clothing belonging to both sexes, and even a god damn drum.

But what if...

Hands working on auto-pilot, the Sergeant practically punched the lower button. The shelves alternated between one another, until Gary caught a glimpse of what he was looking for. So, detaching his fist, he grasped the familiar object and brought it closer.

"Ah, yes!" Wally joined his side, jabbing a finger at the game. "I have no idea what this is. I collected it this morning along with other stuff."

"It's a Cube of Rubik." The Sergeant easily answered, bouncing the cube from one palm to the other. "I know it's made of nylon, and there are springs to keep the components attached. It was very popular more than seven centuries ago. You have no idea how many speed runners participated in contests." He then gripped one side. "It's very simple: You have to rotate the sides and align the various squares so each face is made of only one colour."

Wally's mouth remained open to resemble an 'O' shape. The soldier smirked, offering the cube to the trash collector, who gladly retrieved the object and attempted to resolve the puzzle.

Of course, Wally couldn't get it right.

His eyes roamed to the plastic spork.

Gary couldn't comprehend why the worker chose utensils to eat above all other relics. He didn't assume it was because of an eventual shortage, as Wally seemed to prefer canned food: easily accessible and consumable.

"I have never seen anything like that." Wally commented, momentarily lifting his eyes from the cube. He was nowhere near done. "I'm aware of forks and spoons."

Gary nodded in approval. "It's a spork. A hybrid, if you will. You did well to separate it from the rest."

Something was missing...

A metaphorical light bulb flickered on.

He rotated the shelves again, settling onto the mass of lighters. Gary snatched one from the collection and flung it open, rapidly pushing a thumb onto the metallic wheel.

A scorching spark was produced. And after a few more attempts the butane finally acted as fuel, bringing a tiny flame out.

"Fire!" The soldier exclaimed, laughing loudly.

"Wooh!" Wally disregarded the cube, inching closer. "I have never seen them do this!" Those innocent eyes flickered to Gary. "How do you know so much stuff?!" He excitedly asked.

Wally was, yet again, a little bit too close. However, Gary flung the lighter's cover down, crossed his arms, and leaned against the shelves. "Everything can be used if you read the instructions." He smugly said, reaching out to pat the trash collector on his shoulder.

The soldier motioned at the far end of the truck. "And what about where you sleep? Anywhere I can lay on? I'm no stranger to sleeping on floors, but I would choose a matress of steel with a pillow anytime."

Sure, his unit's expeditions in villages often resulted in sleepless nights, and the Sergeant was used to prolonged exposure to this type of ordeal. But all humans required a certain amount of hours to settle in and enter proper REM cycles. Their very health was on the line...

Gary wasn't about to jeopardize his senses.

The worker posed the cube of Rubik back onto the shelves and pointed a finger behind him. "Right this way, Gary! I've actually put together a bunk bed."

Indeed, the quarters were divided into two separate levels. A single ladder would guide the other person onto the additional berth. It was made of metal, far from safe and tested wooden interiors. There resided a certain fascination, though, empowered by the thought of the trash collector managing to craft this quaint furniture.

A slow rumbling reverberated from Wally's stomach. The young man blushed and crossed his arms over the body part, avoiding eye contact. "S-sorry!" He blurted. "It's been a whole day since we've last eaten something."

Another rumbling followed Wally's...

...and it originated from Gary, this time.

The Sergeant smirked. "You're certainly not the only one with fatigue and hunger." He turned to the bag, unzipping it. "Let's see what we've got here..."

BnL wasn't very... sneaky in acquiring all of the companies the world housed and making an effort to promote its own brand. In fact, most of the products Gary was currently rummaging through sported the same nameplate and would, most likely, taste the same. Only a big ass 'Affiliated with BnL' was present on the front cover.

"Beans. Beans. Beans~" The young man sang, tapping his foot. "Beans. Oh, beans again!"

Okay, maybe he had slightly exaggerated with them...

"Ah, hah!" He exclaimed, whirling around to wave the two containers. "Would you like some chicken with salmon? They taste pretty good!"

Wally was kneeling in front of an old VCR, fumbling with the cables. He stopped momentarily to address the soldier. "Sure!" He waved his own palm. "I'm good with that."

The problem was opening it...

Something caught his attention, having remembered this small detail when he had gazed at the various plastic utensils. Gary quickly pushed the button and halted the shelves once the requested destination had arrived. He scrutinized the spoons and forks, eyes darting from one extremity of the shelf to the other.

There it was!

Bingo.

It was a metal knife, six inches in length. The handle slid quite well into the Sergeant's hand, and he expertedly twirled it. The weight and length was ideal for usage in the army, as well as its decent dexterity. Wally had been lucky to find such a well-preserved artifact.

"Hey-uhm..." Gary did not detach his eyes from the weapon. "Do you mind if I keep this knife and that lighter?" Its weight was still present in his pocket. "They could come in handy, you never know."

Self-defense first of all. Besides, if he and Wally were to actually board the Axiom, a weapon could very well determine their fate.

"It's fine!" The trash collector consented from behind him.

Gary approached the young man, cocking an eyebrow. "What are you doing?" He asked, standing on the tip of his feet to catch a glimpse of what labour Wally was entertaining himself with.

The worker delivered a devilish smile. "You'll see!"

Shaking his head at the young man's anticts, the Sergeant crouched down and tore the cans' tops wide open with his knife. Already the fragrance of food invaded the soldier's nostrils, and Gary breathed in deeply, letting the smell guide him elsewhere. He was back home, with his family, enjoying a stuffed turkey on holidays... and with that damn photo taunting him.

Gary was snapped out of his trance by a soft touch on his arm.

"Are you okay?" Wally asked him, genuine concern plastered on the entirety of his face.

The Sergeant pinched his eyes shut. "Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. Just..." How could he put this? "Memories. Sometimes they barge into my mind without a warning. I-it's normal, you know?"

Wally actually bobbed his head.

"Yes, I understand."

With that cleared out, the trash collector gladly accepted the chicken and practically stuffed his mouth with it. Loud munching noises spread across the truck, undeniable proof of Wally's status as a malnourished survivor bearing no knowledge about long, forgotten table manners.

A bit of chicken soup slipped from the left corner of his mouth, pummelling onto the floor. It did not bother the worker, though, who hummed contentedly and kept his eating pace stable.

At least he's using a fork...

Still, the civilized part of Gary couldn't withstand such a barbaric display of hunger. While Wally was excused from adhering to this philosophy because of planet Earth's drastic change, it did not mean certain parameters were to be completely butchered.

Hell, the trash collector's dog approached the residual piece of soup and licked it off the floor. Bullet then whined, a pleading look given directly to his master. He was demanding his fair share.

"Don't worry, I'll keep a reasonable quantity for you."

Or, at least, that was what garbled phrase had supposedly been spat from Wally's stuffed maw. The letters and vocals were jumbled, inconsistent phonetics making the Sergeant wish for a Damocles' sword to cut his head off in that instant.

It was... ignoble.

Gary paused his eating to address the young man.

"Uh..." He drawled, at first. "Have you always eaten like this?"

Wally nodded. "Yesh."

That had been the last straw...

The soldier put his dinner down, intertwining his fingers and legs. "Okay, I'm gonna teach you something important now. Listen closely and make sure to memorize it, alright?"

Wally dried his wet mouth with a forearm. "Okay?"

"They're called table manners. It is... imperative for someone to respect certain rules when they eat with other people." Gary rotated his hand back and forth. "You can do whatever you want while you're alone, just act otherwise in front of others."

The worker was fully listening to him.

Okay, Gary. Time to give a man-child from a post-apocalyptic set-up a lesson over eating food like a proper human being.

"First things first! Posture. Here, let me show you..."

The next few minutes were a blur as the Sergeant teached New York's Sole Survivor the basics. Though Gary had to admit: despite his immature personality, Wally was a fast learner and was eager to please.

Besides, that's what Wally was... a Sole Survivor.

"You're doing good!" The soldier praised. "Just make sure to remember to eat with your mouth closed. And, for the love of God, do not humm too loudly while you're doing that! People will think you're a weirdo."

"What's a weirdo, Gary?"

The Sergeant shook his head. "You... really don't wanna know."

Wally shrugged, gathering a piece of salmon and letting Bullet feast on it.

"You're not a worker like me. Where are you from?"

Ah, the question that Gary had hoped would never arrive. He was prepared, though! Prepared to spill so much bullshit and mix it with the truth even Jim Carrey from 'Liar, Liar' would envy him.

"I am a soldier." Gary scoffed. "Or... I was."

"A soldier?"

The way Wally was tasting the word meant that he had absolutely no idea about its origins.

"You're not exactly the only one out here." The Sergeant commented. "Those savages? Troublemakers. My squad and I got into frequent fights with them in a place we call 'Iraq.'" He spat the name of the country. "So many deaths... I-I might as well be the only survivor."

Wally had begun rotating his fork into the residual soup of the container. His eyes were distant, as if his very mind had drifted away and was exploring buried memories of his past.

Perhaps Gary wasn't far away from the truth...

"You're like me."

Oh?

"Mmmh?" The Sergeant raised his gaze again. "What do you mean?"

The Sole Survivor smacked his lips. "We were abandoned... left for dead. I... m-my parents taught me how to explicate our directive. I can read, maybe write a little bit, but I was never alive." His hands started trembling. "Once the resources were scarce, we began killing each other for our own survival. W-we-"

Gary halted his speech, wrapping his arms around the unstable young man. Wally buried his face into the crook of the Sergeant's neck and cried, soft weeping noises escalating as time passed. Gary merely tightened their embrace.

"T-they... they..."

"I know... I know."

God bless your soul, Markus. At least you guys can live on through this wonderful person.

Wally detached himself from Gary's grip, rapidly drying his tears. "A-and what about you? D-do you have a family?"

Hesitancy surrounded his very core...

"Well, uh..." Gary rubbed his temples. "Fine, fine! Yeah, I did. We tried to follow old Earth customs, such as Christmas or Thanksgiving. I had a little brother once, named Thomas. Thomas Sanderson."

The name still left a sore taste on his tongue.

"He was ten years younger than me. One day, he was playing outside and a drunk son a bitch hit him with his truck." Gary sighed. "Thomas died instantly. At least I never had to worry about him suffering hours on end before relief."

"Is that why you became a soldier? Because of the anger?"

"Nah! I was already enlisted. I just exploited the opportunity to escape from my old man. Our relationship strained significantly since the accident."

"Oh..."

Gary tapped Wally's nose. "Cheer up! I had a lot of time to get over Thomas' death. I was mostly successful. Don't pity me, you've had it rougher."

I shouldn't either. You've survived this long on your own. But how can't I?

"Was what you said true? Are we friends?"

The Sergeant chuckled at the insecurity he detected from the question. "Yeah, I consider us friends. That is, if you want to be my friend."

Wally's eyes sparkled. "Y-yeah! I-I mean-" Recognition, of all emotions, crossed his features. "Wait a second, please!"

Gary stared impassively as the Sole Survivor bolted for the barely-functional TV. On his way there, Wally retrieved a cassette from a toaster.

How the hell the trash collector even thought of conceiving a toaster as a storing device was a mystery to the Sergeant. Still, Gary kept his mouth shut and let the scene play.

If the worker was doing what the soldier expected him to do, then...

Another 'Bingo!' for me.

...Wally had put on a tape. The tape.

The singers happily sang 'Put On Your Sunday Clothes.' A multitude of people joined the stage, adhering to the rhythm and increasing the melody's energetic display through their magnificent voices. They then danced, mirroring the spectacle of the American Dream from the 50s.

Wally excitedly clutched onto the Sergeant's shoulders and groaned, unable to move him up.

"Come on! L-let's dance."

His strength was feeble, pathetic. Gary just let Wally absorb the satisfaction of having managed to lift him upwards. When, in reality, the Sergeant had accompanied the movements with his own body.

The two of them poorly imitated the dancers' precise and professional skills. But neither of them cared! They were having so much fun. Bullet sat in the background, panting, and visibly intrigued by the humans' curious anticts.

That is, until the final song interrupted their dancing.

Gary looked between the TV and the knelt Wally, bringing a hand upwards to apply a gentle pressure to his back.

"And that is all... That love's about..."

"And we'll recall... When time runs out..."

The Sole Survivor was mesmerized by the duet, not realizing his own fingers eventually intertwined. Gary was well aware of the feelings of oppression and emptiness, having experienced them after the unfortunate demise of his brother.

"That it only... Took a moment..."

"To be loved..."

"A whole... Life... Loooong."

Wally lowered his hands, sighing in disappointment. "I'm so stupid..." He croaked out.

No, you are not.

"You just want to experience what those two felt. There's nothing wrong with that, you know. To find love is... probably the biggest challenge of them all."

"Did you? Did you ever find love?"

"Nope!" Gary smacked his lips. "Honestly, I don't think I ever will. But you, Wally? I can feel something is gonna happen. There's an aura of luckiness surrounding you. I can almost touch it."

The recording ended, leaving a barricade of static for the two to witness. Bullet scratched his ears and whined at the pesky interference, and that pushed Wally into quickly snatching the tape away and storing it inside of the toaster.

Wordlessly, the Sole Survivor shot Gary a look before ambling towards the exit, a BnL bag in his grasp.

The Sergeant huffed, going after him.

Bullet hopped onto wrecked cars and spinned in circles, draining the accumulated energy, while Wally stood onto his feet and waved his bag up and down, cleaning it from the stuck dirt.

Gary was merely sitting on the ramp, playing with the lighter Wally had gifted him. He was almost tempted to test if this was still a dream by scorching the palm of his hand. However, he decided against it, preferring to continuously light the flame up and then slap the metal top down.

It was early evening. A purple-ish aura surrounded the landscape as the residual light retreated for the night. A torrent of wind accompanied the shift of perspective, hitting the two humans directly into their chests. The Sergeant's face scrunched a bit from the impact, but he otherwise endured its force.

Gary noticed Wally's attention being drawn upwards, and his own eyes flickered towards the general direction. The Sole Survivor was staring at the vastness of space from a parting hole through the brown-ish and polluted clouds.

Thinking about what could be out there, huh? That, maybe, love itself is up there. Well, you ain't far from the truth. The Sergeant smirked. You've got a nice chance on your plate. I can't promise to accelerate the process, but I'll help you regardless.

Gary's smile turned melancholic.

I don't know why I'm here, Thomas. Is the universe playing a prank on me? Or am I a victim of its insidious schemes? Either way, I must aid Wallace...

His fists tightened.

...even if it means I'll perish. There's someone wishing to keep humanity away from Earth's reach. I'm sure we'll have a score to settle, he and I.

The howling in the wind became deafening. Gary's skin practically tingled as if grazed by a thousand pieces of sharpened glass. The Sergeant's vision wandered far off the visible scope, until it settled onto the massive wall of dust engulfing anything into its monstrous wake.

The young man snapped to his feet. "WALLY!" He called out, whistling at Bullet immediately after.

The mutt galloped inside the truck, while his owner took a moment to register the sandstorm before he whirled around and joined them.

The smaller blows of dust reached their sanctuary, but the ramp had already been lifted.

"That was close, eh?"

Wally did not answer vocally, but he at least shrugged, demonstrating that he was gradually getting over the tape. He placed the BnL bag back where it belonged before he dragged himself towards their bunk, momentarily stopping near a light meter.

By flipping a switch, most of the Christmas lights turned off.

Understanding the implications behind the gesture, Gary climbed the ladder leading to the upper bed and adjusted his resting position, one arm snaked around his neck and the palm of his other hand spread on his chest.

The material of the mattress was rough, but better than whatever crap he had slept on during his stay in Iraq. Just thinking about those nights with the looming fear of getting ambushed sent a chill down his spine. It was useless, right now, to sleep with an eye open, but old habits rarely die.

In fact, Gary stared at the ceiling, lost admist the convoluted labyrinth of his mind.

He thought about Eve's arrival, or rather, how much it would require for her to arrive. Wally hadn't collected the plant, yet. So the Sergeant would be forced to tail the young man until its discovery. And then? Then they would try to survive Eve's trigger-happy approach.

What would the... girl look like, anyway?

Gary could see why the mechanical counterpart of his Wall-E had been struck. Eve was a gracious female bot, indipendent and sure of herself. And despite her daring mindset on things (especially the part where she blasts her way out of problems), she was a perfect combination of cuteness and self-awareness.

But what about a human Eve?

If Gary's experience in the army was anything worthwhile to consider, there was the crucial card of passion to catalogue. It made sense, no matter the angles the Sergeant looked at.

A robot may be easily swayed from their mission. The lingering curiosity of learning about the world around them seemed pretty effective onto the robots in the movie. Eve had followed Wall-E out of necessity, but she stuck with his anticts and enhanced her cultural baggage.

With an extreme prejudice over a dead world and the absolute importance of her directive, a human Eve would do anything to go back onto the Axiom with a successful specimen under her custody. The mere chance of Earth sustaining life after seven centuries would point at a significant shift of perspective, removing monotony from the residents' dull lives.

No, a human Eve would be far more ruthless.

That was why Gary needed to stuck himself at Wally's back like glue. He would be the Sole Survivor's guardian, shielding him from Auto's frustrating outlook and unbearable cruelty.

Besides, if Auto was now a human, he could be far more cunning as well. There was no guarantee the plot would unfold as the movie's own did. And that was the major issue.

Humans are not machines.

Adrenaline pumped into his veins. A soft voice in the back of his mind informed Gary of Auto's unredeemable status. The second in command would never change, he couldn't change. Or, perhaps, he could if someone pushed him onto the right path.

One chance. Just one chance to settle things right.

That, Gary could bestow upon the man.

He became distracted by soft whimpers coming from the first floor. Gary clutched onto the sides of the bed and leaned in to peek, ears on high alert. The whimpers weren't high pitched, they couldn't possibly belong to Bullet. It sounded more like a man being disturbed in his sleep.

Surely enough, he spotted the curled mutt just beneath the other bed, staring at its occupant. When Gary's face entered his point of view, Bullet spared him a glance before refocusing on Wally.

Huffing, Gary tip toed his way down the ladder, shifting barely as not to wake up the Sole Survivor. He affectionately rubbed Bullet's neck before his gaze fell on the young man.

Wally's hands trembled and clenched as he appeared to be combatting a nightmare. A bit of sweat ruined the texture of his forehead, while the rest of his body spasmed every now and then. Whatever was plaguing his dreams was bad, very bad.

An idea popped into his head.

There was no guarantee it would work, but the dangers of self-loathing and embarassment were nothing compared to what Wally was going through.

Gently, he snaked his fingers into the young man's hair and adjusted them. Then, Gary sat near him and rubbed the palm in circular motions. The Sergean't mother had always said his massages were one of a kind, soothing to their very core.

After a few seconds Wally calmed down, his breathing stabilized. A small smile adorned his lips while he hummed contentedly.

Gary returned to his mattress, choosing to listen to the storm's howling. The noise was remarkably soothing, reminding the Sergeant of those popular ASMR videos.

It was...

Gary Sanderson succumbed yet again to exhaustion. But this time, he wasn't alone.

Author's note:

Can't remember how much this chapter is.

However, I'm fairly certain it's almost 5k words.

And considering this is a whole scene without cuts, I've surpassed my worst expectations.

:D