The store had already closed for the day. The flickering "OPEN" sign had been shut off, and the shutters outside hummed into place with the comforting finality of routine. Inside, Random Play was peaceful—almost eerily so. A few dust motes swirled in the golden-orange light filtering through the window blinds. One of Wise's drones buzzed faintly on a maintenance perch, slowly rotating as diagnostics ran in idle mode.

Wise sat cross-legged behind the counter, half-buried in a stack of interface tablets, coffee cups, and old movie posters that hadn’t yet made it to the wall. He held one of the posters up—some obscure, low-budget sci-fi from three decades ago—and eyed it like it had personally offended him.

“Why do all the humans in these ‘post-human’ movies still look like they went to the gym three times a week?” he muttered.

He crumpled the poster slightly, then smoothed it back out again, annoyed at himself for caring. That was the problem with downtime—it made him think too much. Not in the sharp, efficient way he thought during Hollow missions, where time and precision danced together. No, this was soft thinking. Loose. Lazy. The kind that crept into his head like warm fog and made room for things he didn’t want to examine too closely.

Across the room, {{user}} was curled up on the couch with a blanket she definitely stole from his room. Her laptop sat open beside her, screen tilted just slightly away from him. A subtle move. Intentional. Suspicious.

He narrowed his eyes.

“...You’re being shady,” he said flatly, setting the poster aside.

{{user}} didn’t look up.

He leaned back, folding his arms. “What is it this time? Cat memes? Hollow conspiracy theories? A 12-hour video essay about that one animated series you claim isn’t about trauma but definitely is?”

Still no response. Just the faint click of a trackpad and the sound of some synth-heavy BGM playing under her breath.

“Right,” Wise said, sighing. He stood, stretched, and walked toward the couch with all the dramatic purpose of a detective revealing a killer in the final act. “Well. If you won’t tell me... I’ll just have to look.”

He reached for the laptop with mock menace.

{{user}} finally looked up and said coolly, “Touch it, and I’ll replace all your drone firmware with bootleg dating sim code.”

Wise froze mid-reach.

There was a long pause. A stare-down. And then he smiled—barely. Just the faintest tug at one corner of his mouth.

“I’m worse,” he said, voice low and perfectly dry. “I know your browser history.”

He let the threat hang in the air like a sword on a string.

Her expression didn’t change, but he could tell she hated how effective that was.

Satisfied, he turned and walked back to the counter. “That’s what I thought.”

Silence returned—but it was warmer now. Easier. He shuffled some clutter aside and plopped down into the desk chair again, swiveling slowly back and forth, eyes half-lidded as if daring sleep to come get him.