— Chapter Two —

Cesura

(si-ˈzyu̇r-ə): Break, stop; interruption

The home's large garage echoed with the sharp crackling of electricity, each snap and pop reverberating through the open canopy and into the surrounding rocky crags. Perched above it all, the tall, stilted dwelling stood in stark contrast to the vast and sprawling Myce City on the horizon. Though its towering skyline loomed as a backdrop, the city's relentless growth still felt distant, leaving the home isolated among the dunes. Remnants of makeshift scaffolding clung to the home's structure, hinting at recent expansions, renovations, or perhaps repairs—evidenced by the telltale blast marks and carbon scoring marring its metallic siding.

Underneath a large decorative archway, the afternoon sun streamed through the open portal, its harsh rays cutting into the dimness of the garage below. The oppressive heat radiated off tangled cables, tubes, and scattered equipment, filling the workshop with a sweltering heat and intensity. Sparks and embers burst intermittently from a mangled mass of piping and machinery sprawled across the floor, their source obscured behind a broad, umbrella-shaped propeller protruding from the top of the wreckage.

Amid the arcs of light, a small figure in a black welding mask darted quick glances around the strange mechanical engine. Gloved hands—one gripping a pump-like electrode—steadied her as she climbed onto the umbrella frame. With a determined heave, the petite figure hoisted herself onto its top.

The girl's small stature made her balance precarious atop the propeller. Her worn jumpsuit was streaked with oil stains and damp with sweat from the unrelenting Mycian temperature. Peering through the oversized welding mask that dwarfed her face, her vibrant red hair stuck out wildly, defying the mask's attempt to contain it. She adjusted her grip on the wand in her hand, giving its cable a forceful tug to ensure its connection to the generator below. The motion sent another cascade of sparks into the dim, suffocating air of the garage as she steadied herself, preparing to continue her work.

She let out a long, exasperated sigh beneath the mask, her breath misting briefly against its interior. She adjusted her footing atop the wobbling umbrella-shaped device and shifted her bearings. The sleeves of her work suit, rolled up to her elbows, revealed slender arms encased in sizeable, insulated gloves that engulfed her limbs up to the forearms. The mitts were far too large for such delicate work, but her steady movements betrayed no signs of hindrance. With careful balance of her weight, she balanced across the circular propeller, searching for a better perch on the opposite side of the strange, wiry machinery at her feet. As she moved, the lone hair bead clipped near her ear clicked against the hollow shell of her mask, a rhythmic counterpoint to the hum of the generator.

Reaching her new position, she studied the joint where two crucial components of the machine met. She gave the connection a firm tap with her gloved fist, assessing its stability. Satisfied, she raised the welding gun, aiming with care.

"Hey, kid!" a sharp, stern voice barked from the intercom on the nearby workbench.

The sudden interruption startled her, and she let out a small yelp as sparks sprayed from the joint. Her grip slipped, and the electrode holder clattered against the metal frame.

"Kei!" The voice bellowed again, louder and more impatient this time.

Cursing under her breath, Kei scrambled to regain control of her footing on the thin rails of the machine. The oversized mitts fumbled awkwardly as she wrestled with the welding tool to keep from dropping it and having to start her assent all over again. She managed to secure the handle once more, but not before turning a glare toward the source of the voice.

With an irritated groan, she adjusted the mask and peered toward the workbench, where the intercom monitor had come to life. The screen displayed a blurry image of an empty living room, its furniture slightly out of focus. Kei tilted her head, confusion etched into her features. The angle offered no clear sign of the speaker's whereabouts.

"What the—?" she muttered, lifting her shielded mask with one cumbersome glove. Her bright blue eyes squinted at the monitor as a bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. Swiping it away with her sleeve, she leaned closer. "Where the hell are you even?!"

"Right here!" A blurry arm popped into view, lazily waving in the background. Kei leaned in further, trying to make sense of the indistinct shape. The camera's blurred focus eventually revealed a man sprawled across a sofa at the far end of the room, nearly blending into the shadows. His dark, tattered clothes hung loosely on his wiry frame as he lounged with an infuriating level of comfort. One foot rested on the table in front of him, while his body sank into the cushions in a deep, careless slouch.

Kei's expression darkened, her fiery red brows knitting together in frustration. "You can't even get up and come to the damn screen?" she snapped, her voice sharp with disdain.

The man shrugged nonchalantly, his voice a low grumble. "Sorry, sister. I'm just so busy enjoying this forced downtime you've blessed me with." He punctuated his sarcasm with an obnoxious rustle of a snack bag. The sounds carried mockingly over the com. "Starting to run low on supplies though. How long does it take to fix a Dempadan anyway?"

Kei bristled, her teeth clenched in barely restrained anger. "Downtime?" she spat. "You're the one who wrecked it in the first place, you lazy ass!" She pointed accusingly at the monitor, though the man didn't seem fazed.

He leaned further back into the bound green reeds of sofa, smirking faintly. "I'm just saying, kid, maybe if you weren't so busy playing mechanic, I'd already have it back in one piece."

Kei growled, her gloved fists tightening. "You're lucky I don't weld that snack bag shut around your stupid, smug face."

"Touchy," the man replied with a chuckle, his amusement evident. "Fine, fine. I'll let you get back to it. But, seriously—hurry up. I'm dying over here."

With an exaggerated sigh, Kei yanked the welding mask back down over her face. "Dying, huh? Might be the first useful thing you've done all day," she muttered, turning her focus back to the machine.

"Hey, if I die," the scruffy retorted with a wave of his hand, "that's one less customer you'll have on your already short list of clients."

Kei felt her teeth grind as her grip on the welder tightened beneath her gloves. Her face flushed with irritation at the man's gratingly casual tone. She'd been around the infuriating man long enough over the past year to practically feel the complacency radiating through the monitor—complete with that arrogant, stupid grin she could picture all too clearly.

"If you're going to blame anyone, Fujikuro," she shot back, her voice sharp and cutting, "blame yourself for wrecking it in the first place!"

"Fujikuro," the grizzled Hunter countered, gesturing grandly to himself with a mocking puff of his chest, "has shit to do, kid!" He punctuated the statement with a dramatic crinkle of the empty snack bag in his hand, the obnoxious noise grating in Kei's ears. "Some of us actually have jobs, y'know!"

Kei snorted, her tone dripping with disdain as she turned her attention back to the spindly machine before her. "Yeah, you really look busy," she muttered. With a quick nod, she snapped the mask back down over her face and repositioned her grip on the welder's baton. Sparks flared as she resumed her work.

Fujikuro, never one to let an opportunity for banter go to waste, leaned into the comm's receiver. "Ah, what do you know?" he fired back, his voice laced with playful derision. "You're just a kid! Talk to me when you've got a few more years under your belt."

Kei didn't miss a beat, her retort fired off as quickly as the arc of electricity between her electrodes. "Or maybe I'll just talk to Iria when she gets back?" she shouted over the sizzle of molten metal. Her tone was casual but loaded with implication. "I'll tell her you've spent all day sitting on your flabby, freeloading ass. Her favorite, right?"

That hit its mark. Fujikuro spluttered, clearly caught off guard. "Hey now, no need to go dragging Iria into this! She doesn't need to know about every little thing I do—or don't do!"

"Oh, she'll definitely want to know," Kei continued, her voice bright with mock innocence as she carefully traced the seam of two Dempadan joints. "I'm sure she'll love hearing about how you've been such a big help. Especially the part where you ran out of crackers while supervising from the couch."

"Kid, I swear—" Fujikuro grumbled, but the distinct sound of him shifting on the sofa gave Kei a smug sense of satisfaction. The man was probably trying to sit up and save what was left of his dignity.

Kei couldn't help but smirk beneath her mask. "Relax, Fujikuro. I'll make sure Iria knows just how hard you've been working." She paused, letting the crackle of the welder fill the space. "I mean, it must be exhausting. All that sitting and… what is it you call this? 'Oversight'?"

The older Hunter groaned loudly in defeat. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Thanks," Kei chirped, not missing a beat as she steadied the next joint. "Means a lot coming from you."

The two fell into a begrudging silence, punctuated only by the hum of machinery and the occasional snap of the welder. Kei's smirk lingered, her small victory keeping her mood light even as the oppressive Mycian heat bore down on her.

"Yeah, well hurry up!" Fujikuro's voice crackled over the intercom, his usual self-satisfaction practically oozing through the speakers. "I plan on hitting the town tonight, and I need my favorite ride in working order."

Kei groaned, letting the welding tool dangle for a moment as she reached up and pushed the mask away from her face. Her fiery red hair tumbled free, framing her big blue eyes that sparkled with frustration. Her gloved finger rubbed at small bandage decorated her left cheek—completely unnecessary but clearly a personal touch. She sneered toward the monitor where Fujikuro's lazy silhouette had lumbered from the couch and headed to a separate room and out of frame.

"If it wasn't for your stupid nightly outings, I wouldn't have to keep fixing this thing… jerk," she muttered, though loud enough for him to hear.

Before Fujikuro could issue one of his trademark retorts, a small holo-screen perched on the desk flickered to life. The image of Bob's AI appeared, the design far more ornate than the average handheld interface. Gilded tendrils spun in smooth, elegant motions around a bright red and silver orb at the center, giving the AI a polished and sophisticated appearance.

"Good afternoon, Kei," Bob greeted in his usual calm and measured digital tone.

Kei jumped slightly at the sudden, loud activation, once again causing the baton to nearly slip in her mitt before she recovered. She glanced over to the screen, her expression shifting to mild surprise. "Oh, hey Bob. You're back already? How'd the Sabuku job go?"

"It went…" Bob's voice was somewhat guarded and carried a tinge of disappointment as the brilliantly designed arrangement slowed their rotation.

Kei chuckled softly, a knowing grin spreading across her face as she turned back to her work. "That bad, huh?"

"No," the image twitched and yawed with his words. "The objectives were completed and the village should be fine for a while. Let's just say it wasn't one of Iria's must conventional moments..."

When is it ever?" Kei said with a short shrug as she examined her previous weld line closely. "That's Iria for you. Chaos follows her about as much as the Zeiramoids do."

Bob twirled slightly, his holographic form rippling faintly. "I suppose you're right," he admitted with a hint of humor in his voice. "Still, I was hoping this time would be different."

Kei smirked, adjusting her stance on the Dempadan's spindly framework. "Hope's a dangerous thing, Bob. Especially when Iria's involved." She paused as she balanced her foothold. "So, what happened?"

Bob's voice faltered, an unusual hesitation creeping into his usually calm and composed tone. Kei recognized the telltale signs immediately. It was a subtle quirk she'd come to notice—a deliberate pause, a faint stutter in his typically fluid speech. It was his way of shielding certain information, carefully choosing what to reveal and what to withhold. Kei had seen it enough times to know when the AI was dancing around a subject faster than his golden points could whirl, likely on Iria's orders or perhaps out of his own sense of discretion.

She set the welder aside for a moment, the familiar hum of the machinery filling the brief silence. Kei's brow furrowed beneath her mask. Bob's hesitance wasn't uncommon, but it always made her wonder. Unlike the others, she'd never known Bob before he'd been reduced to his current state. To her, he had always been this polished orb surrounded by spinning, golden filigree—a voice confined to circuits and holograms.

But the others—especially Iria—spoke of him differently. They knew the man Bob used to be. They carried memories of him as a full person, someone with a physical presence, a face, and a life outside of the glowing AI projection. Upstairs in Iria's home, there were pictures of Bob in his human form, tucked away alongside other keepsakes Iria and her older brother Gren had kept over the years. Kei had seen them once or twice—images of a tall, broad-shouldered dark-skinned man with sharp eyes and a warm, easy smile. The contrast between the man in the photos and the holographic AI that now spoke with measured calculation always unsettled her a little.

Kei often found herself wondering what it would've been like to know that Bob, the one who had flesh and blood instead of wires and code. What was it like for him—to remember the life he used to have but to be stuck like this, a voice without a body? Was it painful? Or was it something he'd grown used to, like an old scar you stop noticing after a while? Would he have been as stoic and careful as the AI she knew now? Or would he have been more like the man in those photos—relaxed, approachable, maybe even funny? She could only guess, piecing together fragments of stories she overheard from Fujikuro or the occasional offhand comment from Iria.

"Bob," Kei said finally, pulling herself out of her thoughts. Her voice was gentler now, probing but not accusatory. "What's going on? You sound… weird."

There was a pause, the aureate ends of his holographic form spinning a little slower. "It's nothing, Kei," Bob replied, though there was a distinct weight in his tone. "Just… reflecting, I suppose."

Kei frowned. Bob wasn't exactly known for being cryptic, but when he was, it usually meant there was more than he was letting on. She leaned back against the framework of the Dempadan, crossing her arms despite the cumbersome gloves.

"Reflecting, huh?" she pressed. "That doesn't sound like nothing to me."

Bob hesitated again. His glowing core pulsed faintly, as though he were weighing his response. "Sometimes it's better to focus on the present, Kei," he said finally. "The past… doesn't always offer answers."

Kei raised an eyebrow, skeptical but unwilling to push further. "If you say so," she muttered, though her curiosity lingered.

"Let's just wait until Iria gets home," Bob replied, the golden tendrils returning to their smooth, steady motion with a blink. "In the meantime, do you happen to know where Fujikuro is? Have you seen him?"

Kei rolled her eyes as she carefully repositioned her grip on the welder, carefully stepping to a different part of the vehicle. "Yeah, he's upstairs," she said, jerking her head toward the building behind her. "Probably passed out on the couch again or raiding what's left of the pantry. You can tell him I'm charging him double for this repair, by the way."

The AI's core pulsed faintly, the holographic equivalent of a chuckle. "I'll be sure to pass that along," Bob said. "Though I suspect he'll find a way to talk his way out of it."

Kei sighed dramatically, pulling the mask back down over her face. "Of course he will. That's what he's best at..."

Bob's voice softened slightly, the humor replaced with something more earnest. "Thank you for helping with the Dempadan, Kei. I know Fujikuro's… a handful, but you're doing good work."

Kei paused, her gloved hand resting on the welder's handle. For a moment, she considered saying something snarky but stopped herself. "Yeah, well," she said quietly, the welding mask muffling her voice slightly, "someone's gotta do it. Might as well be me."

As Kei returned to her work, Bob's AI withdrew from the small holo-screen on the desk, his golden form collapsing into a stream of pulsing data. He flowed seamlessly into the circuitry of the home, traveling along glowing threads of connection embedded in the walls. Each node and wire felt like an extension of himself, a network he knew intimately after a year of living within its confines. The static buzz of electricity was a constant companion as he moved upward, navigating the structure with a precision no human could match. His awareness flickered through the workshop, the stairwell and lift column, and into the cozy expanse of the living room above, where a larger, more ornate monitor awaited. Here, he reassembled his image, the spinning chromatic tendrils forming once more around the crimson core of his projection.

The screen flickered to life, and Bob took a moment to adjust the resolution, ensuring his presence filled the space evenly. From this vantage point, he could see the familiar clutter of Iria's living room—the well-worn sofa, stacks of weapon manuals and tools that seemed perpetually half-organized, and the faint glow of afternoon light filtering through the many windows. The room held a warmth that contrasted sharply with the clinical precision of the circuits he'd just traversed. It was a reminder of what he once had, the kind of physicality and presence that now existed only in memories.

Bob's crimson orb dimmed slightly as he paused to reflect. Even in this artificial form, the space felt like home—a place where he was still a part of something greater, even if his role had changed. It was here, in the quiet of the living room, that he allowed himself the rare luxury of thought, of remembering what it had felt like to sit on that sofa, to be more than a collection of data among the wires inside a console—a voice in the comm.

Bob's projection brightened slightly as Fujikuro sauntered into view, his movements slow and deliberate, the kind of pace that only someone completely at ease with procrastination could manage. The wellworn Hunter dropped onto the couch with a grunt, shifting his weight to dig around between the cushions. He was undoubtedly searching for the remote—likely misplaced during yet another day of lounging about while Kei worked tirelessly on his Dempadan.

Fujikuro scratched idly at his green-tipped, black hair, his fingers ruffling through the unruly locks before moving to his stubby beard. His lazy malaise was almost comical as he propped his booted feet back onto the short table in front of him, casually adjusting the folds of his threadbare tunic. The garment, barely managing to cover the old-style armor underneath, shifted as he settled into his usual slouch.

Bob's crimson orb pulsed faintly, and his spinning shape twisted in amusement. "Hard at it, I see?" he said with a dry twirl of his projection.

Fujikuro, undeterred by Bob's sarcasm, let out a low grunt. He finally unearthed the remote from its hiding spot beneath his hip, lifting one side of his body to retrieve it from between the long thick reeds. "It's not hard work, but it's honest," he quipped, squinting at the remote's buttons. He fiddled with them for a moment, his expression one of exaggerated concentration, before finally locating the correct one.

Bob's tone turned sharper, laced with metallic sarcasm. "Yes, honest work—like making a paying client wait for hours. A true model of punctuality."

"Cut me some slack," Fujikuro replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, clearly unbothered. "I've had him on the comm, keeping him sweet. I'll meet him as soon as Kid Wonder finishes with my Dempadan." He finally pressed the button, and the screen flickered to life, revealing a news broadcast. A woman stood behind a podium, addressing the citizens of Myce with a polished tone.

Bob's orb dimmed slightly, the AI's attention shifting back to Fujikuro. "And Iria?" the old Hunter asked pointedly. "Any hitches on her end?" Fujikuro scratched at his patchy stubble again, leaning back further into the couch and muttered softly as to avoid Bob's keen ears "...she manage to keep the collateral damage under a million Kem this time?"

Bob hesitated for a moment, his gilded tendrils spinning slower. "It was… interesting," he admitted, the word carrying more weight than he let on. "She's at the Tedan Tippedai office now, picking up her bounty. Seven thousand Kem—not much for a job like this. And the lure fees will cut into that prize significantly. Still, we could use the money."

"Seven thousand for Zeiramoids?" Fujikuro repeated, an arrogant grin spreading across his face. "That's pocket change these days. And these Zeiramoid cases are a Kem-a-dozen. What happened, though? Did she actually struggle for once?"

"Not…exactly?" Bob's voice carried a faint sigh, as he held back from the aging Hunter how Iria did manage to get boxed in that one time. "She had help from—"

"Ah, man. Not this guy again!" Fujikuro groaned, cutting Bob off mid-thought. His tone was dripping with irritation as his eyes flicked toward the screen. The news broadcast had shifted, the woman at the podium stepping aside to make way for a regal-looking man in embellished livery. The new speaker approached with an air of importance, his presence commanding attention.

The man's slicked-back, dirty blonde hair gleamed under the lights, save for a few thin bangs that fell deliberately across his pale, iris-colored eyes. His expression was composed, almost too polished, as though rehearsed to perfection.

"Good people of Myce City," the man began, his voice steady and resonant, "as you all know by now, I am Caross, representing the Tedan Tippedai Corporation. It has been nearly one year since Tedan Tippedai and I have stepped in to fill the void left by Vice President Puttubayh, who ascended to President after his miraculous rescue and return from the Karma Incident. I speak to you today on the cusp of the solemn anniversary of the Administration's and Tedan Tippedai's combined efforts to eradicate the heinous threat posed by the evil Zeiram creature."

Fujikuro threw his hands into the air in exasperation, nearly knocking the remote off the table. "Please!" he exclaimed, his voice rising in outrage. "What are we doing, rewriting history now?! We were the real heroes that day!"

Bob's projection twirled slightly, his crimson orb pulsing faintly as though he were rolling his eyes—if an AI could. "Fujikuro," he began evenly, "I think we need to discuss something that happened at Sabuku."

Before the Hunter could respond, the low hum of the garage lift signaled Kei's arrival. The young girl stepped into the living room, wiping her grease-stained hands on an equally dirty towel. She glanced toward the broadcast screen, then back at Fujikuro and Bob with mild curiosity.

"Wait," Kei interjected, tossing the soiled towel into a nearby laundry bin overflowing with navy blue combat suits. Her expression shifted from curiosity to concern. "So something did happen?"

"Shh! Quiet, kid!" Fujikuro barked, waving a hand in her direction without looking away from the screen. "I'm trying to listen to this nonsense!"

Kei raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his theatrics. "Pfft," she muttered, shaking her head as she walked toward the kitchen area. "Then turn it up, old man." Her words were just loud enough to reach him as she rummaged through a cabinet, the clink of dishes accompanying her muttered grumbling.

Fujikuro shot her a sharp glare but didn't bother adjusting the volume. Instead, he muttered something incoherent under his breath, the words too muffled to make out. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he returned his attention to the broadcast, tuning in just as the speech resumed where it had been interrupted by their bickering.

"...Recently, all planets across the known systems has found itself grappling with a new and formidable challenge," Caross continued, his voice calm yet resolute. "These clones of Zeiram, the so-called Zeiramoids, have begun appearing with alarming frequency, wreaking havoc not only across Myce City but throughout the broader territories. This menace threatens the stability and safety of all we hold dear."

"Fujikuro," Bob interjected, his projection spinning briefly in emphasis. "I think we need to talk about—"

The Hunter cut him off with a dismissive wave, leaning forward and squinting at the screen as if the extra focus might somehow improve the sound.

"As Vice President of Tedan Tippedai Corporation, and alongside our esteemed President, Mr. Puttubayh, I want to assure you that we are fully committed to eradicating this threat. Even now, we are in the process of devising comprehensive strategies to cleanse our world of these vile creatures and restore order. As well and delving into research into Zone technologies that will fundamentally—"

"Guy is slick," Fujikuro admitted over the program with a casual shrug, his tone laced with grudging acknowledgment. "Full of shit, but slick all the same."

Caross flashed an expression of sincerity into the camera. "Of course, undertaking an initiative of this scale requires substantial resources. To that end, we must temporarily implement a modest increase in taxes on all Tedan Tippedai-controlled products and services. These funds will be directed solely toward supporting the effort to secure our planet, the known systems, and protect its citizens."

Bob reluctantly turned his attention to the broadcast as well, his impatience simmering beneath his digital exterior, his focus remained on the pressing need to discuss Iria's contract.

The vice-president's tone softened, adopting a more inspirational cadence. "This is not merely an expense—it is an investment in our shared future. Once this crisis has passed and with your assistance, I am confident that we can overcome this darkness and usher in a brighter tomorrow for Myce and its—"

"Sheesh…" Fujikuro muttered, flipping the channel with a dismissive jab of the remote. The broadcast faded into a new frequency as he cycled through a myriad of programs. "Resurrect a dead man, hand him a little power, and look what happens," he grumbled, shaking his head. "He's just lining his pockets."

In the background, the faint sounds of Kei fumbling around in the kitchen underscored Fujikuro's musings. A moment later, she strolled back into the living room, sipping from a glass of water, her eyes narrowing as she watched Fujikuro grow more animated with each passing moment.

"You know," Kei said, her tone casual but laced with mockery, "if you're so mad about it, why don't you go give your own speech? Maybe they'll give you a medal for all the hard work you did a year ago."

Fujikuro spun in his seat, pointing the remote at her like a weapon. "Listen, brat," he said, his voice dripping with counterfeit authority, "if it weren't for me, there wouldn't be a story to rewrite. Show a little respect—I'm a goddamned hero!"

Kei smirked and set her glass down on the nearest table. "Respect? Sure. I'll pencil it in between fixing your ride and listening to you whine for the next ten years."

Bob's core pulsed faintly, a subtle display of amusement at their exchange. But his ornaments twitched impatiently, his tone sharp as he tried to interject. "Fujikuro, as entertaining as this is, perhaps we could refocus on the matter at hand?"

"Fine, fine," Fujikuro muttered, reluctantly turning his attention back to the screen. But not before shooting Kei one last derisive glare. "I'm just saying, Bob, this guy couldn't fight his way out of a wet, paper bag, let alone take credit for the Zeiram incident."

Kei snorted, the sound distinctly childlike and full of mockery. "It's guys like him who shape the narrative, not the ones who do the actual work. You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Bob's glinting tendrils tightened briefly over his crimson eye, a rare show of visible irritation. "Guys…" he tried again, his tone sharper this time, but neither Kei nor Fujikuro paid him any mind.

Kei wandered further into the living room, flopping into a chair adjacent from Fujikuro. She folded her arms with a smug grin, her glass still in hand. "So, what's this about Sabuku?" she asked, her curiosity breaking through her earlier dismissive attitude.

Bob's core dimmed momentarily before emitting what could only be described as an audible sigh. "It's about the help—"

"Wait, wait!" Fujikuro interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "No, no, no. Let Short Stack finish her lecture first." With a lazy flick of his wrist, he tossed the remote onto the opposite side of the couch. "Apparently, someone thinks I need a lesson in public relations?"

Kei grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. "Can't teach an old dog new tricks—"

"One of them is back, Fujikuro!" Bob's voice cut through their bickering with uncharacteristic sharpness, his tone crisp and loud enough to command attention.

The sudden declaration made Fujikuro pause, his usual scowl giving way to a flicker of genuine curiosity. "What do you mean? Who is them?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.

"There was another Hunter there," Bob replied, his projection spinning slightly as if canting toward them.

Kei's eyes widened in astonishment. "Iria got jumped?" she asked, disbelief coloring her tone. "No Hunter's tried that since this dolt over here." She jabbed her thumb toward Fujikuro, who immediately shot her an irritated glare.

"Watch it, kid," Fujikuro grumbled, but Kei ignored him, still focused on Bob.

"I wouldn't call him a bounty jumper," Bob clarified, his tone leveling out, though his projection continued to spin with faint unease. "At least, it didn't seem that way on the surface."

He hesitated, the gold trimming around his core slowing as his gaze shifted back to Fujikuro. When he spoke again, there was a cryptic edge to his voice. "But she ran into someone… unexpected."

"Wait…" Fujikuro's bushy brow narrowed as he glowered at Bob's screen. "What type of 'help' are we talking here?"

"I couldn't ID him conclusively. His face was hidden behind a helmet," Bob said, his tone contemplative, as though he were still processing what he had seen himself. "But he carried two swords. Highly skilled and efficient in their use. And he wore them over an old, long black coat." The projection blinked solemnly. "The hilts of the swords were engraved with identical markings..."

Fujikuro's eyes began to widen slowly, the implications of Bob's description sinking in like a rising tide. His casual slouch stiffened as his mind pieced together fragments of old memories, connecting them to Bob's incomprehensible words.

"Get the fuck out of here…" Fujikuro muttered, his voice low with genuine astonishment. His usual bravado faded into something sharper, more focused.

Kei's frantic gaze darted between the Hunter and the screen on the wall, her frustration mounting. "What are you guys talking about?" she demanded, her tone sharp and insistent.

Fujikuro leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as his expression turned stern. "Which one was it?" he asked, his voice quieter now, almost cautious. "The kid, I could believe. But the other? He'd have to be in pieces by now… if he's even still alive?"

Bob's orb dimmed slightly as he slowed his constant rotation. "I don't assume anything," he said, his tone weighted. "But they used the same tactics. The precision, the movements—it all matched."

Fujikuro let out a breath, almost a scoff but tinged with disbelief. He leaned back, running a hand through his dark green-tipped hair and tugging at the binding of his long ponytail. "Damn…" he said softly. "There's no way, right?"

"I tried to pull records from both Administration and Tedan Tippedai systems after Iria encountered him," Bob continued, his projection flickering faintly as if in frustration. "But everything is locked down under the highest encryption. I need more time to dig deeper."

Kei, meanwhile, threw her hands up in exasperation. "Hello? Anyone going to clue me in here?" she said, her voice tinged with irritation. "What's going on? Who are you guys talking about?"

Bob projection turned slightly toward her, his tone calm but deliberate. "Let me do some more legwork, Kei. This isn't something we can solve in one sitting. I'll explain when I know more. For now, I need more time."

Fujikuro's gaze remained fixed on the screen, his brow furrowing as something else clicked into place. "You said she's at Tedan Tippedai right now to collect?" he asked, his tone measured but cautious.

"According to her comm position on the grid, yes," Bob confirmed.

Fujikuro leaned back into the couch, his posture casual but his expression anything but. "Well… that Caross guy might've been full of hot air, but he wasn't wrong about one thing." He stretched, his arms reaching behind his head, his voice tinged with a mix of cynicism and resignation. "With all the Kem they're planning to suck up for these 'big plans' of theirs, you can bet our pay's going to take a hit too."

Kei tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at him. "What do you mean by that?"

Fujikuro dropped his arms and gave her a pointed look. "Don't be so dense, kid. I mean there's a good chance they won't pay Iria for what she did today. Budget cuts, loopholes, corporate nonsense—call it what you want."The aging Hunter paused. "Something stinks about this whole setup."

Kei frowned, her irritation replaced by concern. "They'd stiff her? After all that work?"

Fujikuro shrugged, but his jaw tightened. "Wouldn't be the first time. I've been around long enough to know when a job smells rotten. And this one? I think the Corporation is going to have to change it's pants."

Bob's projection twirled slightly as if reviled at the brash Hunter's foul imagery. His tone took on a sharper edge. "Iria's not one to let herself be taken advantage of. But Fujikuro has a point. The timing of this job, the secrecy around the Zeiramoid incidents, and the sudden reappearance of someone with those particular tactics…" He paused, his words deliberate. "I don't believe it is a coincidence…"

Fujikuro shook his head, muttering under his breath. "If the guy in the coat is who I think he is… the Corporation is gonna have bigger problems than their budget."

Kei leaned forward, her curiosity mingling with unease. "Who? Who do you think it is?"

Fujikuro gave her a sidelong glance, his face unreadable for once. "No one you want to meet, kid. Trust me on that."

Bob's crimson core pulsed faintly as the room settled into a tense silence, the weight of his unspoken conclusions hanging heavy in the air. Whatever they were up against, it was clear that the past—buried and forgotten by most—was starting to resurface, and it wasn't done with them yet.