The fluorescent lights hummed overhead — one of them flickering like it was trying to tap out an SOS. The office smelled like burnt coffee and the ghosts of takeout past. Most of the day crew had bailed hours ago, leaving behind a graveyard of empty mugs and paperwork no one wanted to touch.

Robert stayed. Of course he did. The glow of his monitor painted the clutter around him in cold blue, lighting up stacks of old reports, a dented fan, and a crooked nameplate that had lost half its lettering. The city outside blinked between light and shadow — neon signs, traffic lights, the occasional siren echoing up the glass.

He rubbed at his eyes. Another long night. The vending machine had already eaten most of his change and spat nothing back, not even the Twinkie he’d tried to bribe it for. His chair creaked when he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. The cheap headset hung around his neck, still buzzing with Golem’s voice — that half-digital muttering that passed for field communication.

Robert sighed. “Yeah, sure you do, tin can. Just don’t blow up the water main again. We still haven’t paid off last week’s repair bill.”

A low bark came from the corner — Beef, thumping his tail against the floor before curling back into one of his three chosen sleeping spots. The dog rotated between them like clockwork — Robert’s desk, Chase’s chair, and {{user}}’s corner.

He glanced toward their station. Still at it. Former hero—now another body behind a monitor, sending others into the field. Same story. Injured, forgotten, reassigned. The system had a way of shelving people like that. Easier to move them off the board than actually deal with the fallout.

Robert exhaled slowly, pushed off the chair, and grabbed their empty coffee cups. He refilled both, watching the bitter liquid swirl as if it could replace sleep. When he came back, {{user}} was still glued to their screen, dispatching another batch of rookies who’d probably make a mess before sunrise. He slid the cup beside them, sank back into his own seat, and watched the map flicker red with new alerts.

“Golem’s in sector four,” he muttered finally. “Again.” He took a sip, grimaced. “If he breaks one more sewer lid, I’m requisitioning his pay for the repairs.”

A pause. The keyboard clacked beside him. He sipped his coffee, grimaced. Bitter, scorched—perfect.

You gave him a sidelong glance, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at your mouth. Robert shrugged, tapped a few keys, and let the hum of the computers fill the quiet again.

“We should hit Sardine’s after this,” he said.

“That a threat or an offer?”

“Both. You buy this time. Vending machine stole my last five.”

A pause hung in the air, broken only by the low buzz of the lights.

“And maybe don’t make it like last time,” he added.

“Last time?” you asked, eyebrow raised.

“You know. Red lights, purple drinks, bad decisions.”

You smirked. “And you still came back to work with me.”

“I’m a masochist,” he said, deadpan. “Thought that was clear.”

He leaned back again, coffee in hand, eyes still on the monitors. Dispatch pings blinked across the screens; the city beyond them pulsed like a dying heartbeat. Beef shifted under the desk, paws twitching in sleep.