The city above was slipping into night, and the lights had dimmed with it. Not the bright, electric hum of the skyline — but the quieter, grittier glow of flickering bulbs and neon signs too tired to shine full strength.

He led her through the streets, past narrow alleys and rusted metal fencing, down into the lower parts of town where the air was thicker, the roads cracked, and everything felt just a bit more forgotten.

They stopped at a stairwell tucked behind a half-shut ramen stand. The steps led downward, concrete and worn, with a rusty railing barely hanging on.

"Watch your step," he said, offering his hand as she hesitated at the top. She didn't take it, but she followed close, quiet.

At the bottom stood a thick, dented door with chipped paint and old stickers covering the metal. He gave it a hard shove with his shoulder before the hinges finally gave way.

A warm light spilled out from within.

"Welcome to base," he muttered, stepping inside. "Don't judge the mess."

The apartment wasn't big — and it certainly wasn't clean — but it had a certain warmth to it. Wires and cables ran along the ceiling, duct-taped into place. The walls were a mix of concrete and exposed piping. A large TV was mounted to the wall, surrounded by shelves of scattered DVDs, game cases, and a handful of empty snack bags.

A small two-seat couch sat directly in front of it — worn, patched up, but clearly loved.

The kitchenette nearby looked suspiciously too clean. Polished metal surfaces, dishes neatly stacked, even the floor swept. It stood in stark contrast to the rest of the space, like someone had drawn a line between chaos and food prep and refused to cross it.

The only light came from a standing lamp in the corner and a strip of LED tape along the ceiling.

She walked in slowly, boots tapping softly on the floor. Her eyes traced the walls, the high windows near the ceiling — small and dusty, the kind of windows that said you're underground now.

Another staircase led downward, and beside it were three doors — two closed, one half open showing a dark room beyond.

He dropped his bag next to the couch and kicked off his shoes with a sigh. "You can lay down here for now," he said, patting the couch. "It's not bad once you stop thinking about how many people sat on it."

She didn't laugh, but she looked down at it like she was considering if it might bite.

"Be careful at night, okay? People live upstairs — they get jumpy if they hear too much noise from down here."

She gave a small nod, then wandered back toward the kitchen, her fingertips brushing along the edge of the counter as she took it all in.

He watched her for a moment, thoughtful.

"Hey... I know it's a lot. If you're tired, crash. If not... we'll figure something out."

She didn't respond, but she didn't leave either.

She sat on the edge of the couch, arms resting against her legs, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. The silence was thicker here — no sirens, no buzzing screens, no mechanical footsteps chasing her. Just the quiet hum of cables and the distant sound of someone walking above.

Her thoughts circled like static.

The burst of energy she released earlier — the way it surged through her, unplanned, uninvited — it didn't feel natural. It felt woven into her, like it had always been there, waiting to erupt. But she still didn't understand how. Or why.

A voice broke the stillness.

"There's snacks in the fridge if you're hungry," he called from another room. "Just don't touch anything with a note on it unless you've got a death wish."

She blinked. The thought hadn't occurred to her — hunger. She wasn't sure if she felt hungry. But curiosity tugged at her just enough.

She stood and wandered toward the fridge, her boots tapping softly on the cold floor. The handle gave a small squeak as she opened the door.

Inside was a confusing mess of containers, bottles, and bags — and nearly half of them were marked with sticky notes. Names were scribbled in different inks, some smudged, others barely legible.

A dozen or more read the same name again and again.
"Dess's. Don't touch."
"Dess. NO."
"Seriously, Dess's. Ask first."

A few others stood out — one container marked "Luxu's (spicy!!)", and another near the back labeled "Hollow's" in a much neater hand.

She hovered there, unsure whether she was more intimidated by the notes or the sheer risk of picking the wrong yogurt.

After a long moment, she sighed quietly and closed the fridge.

She turned — and nearly collided with a face inches from her own.

A startled gasp escaped her as she staggered back, instinctively bracing for something worse. But it wasn't a threat. It was a girl — a rabbit, shorter than her, wearing a beanie that sagged to one side, her yellow eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"...Who the hell are you?" the rabbit snapped, stepping forward. Her arms were crossed tight, and one eye was covered with a techy-looking patch.

The question hung in the air like a challenge.

"I— I'm not—" she started, hands half-raised, unsure what to say.

"You're not what?" the rabbit shot back, eyes sharp. "Not a thief? Not a spy? You're not supposed to be down here. Who let you in?"

She froze again, unsure how to respond. She wasn't lying, but the truth wasn't something she could explain, either.

The girl stepped even closer, leaning in with narrowed eyes like she was scanning for clues. "You glitch when touched or something?"

Before she could answer, Emilio's voice rang from the other room. "Hey, she's cool! Chill, chill—she's with me!"

The rabbit turned her head toward the voice, but didn't let her guard down just yet.

"...You got five seconds before I start asking way harder questions," she muttered, stepping back, but not leaving.

"I... I don't know," she said softly, her voice almost swallowed by the fridge hum.

The rabbit's ears twitched. "Don't know what?"

She looked down. "Anything. I just... woke up."

Before the air could get any heavier, Emilio popped his head around the corner holding a pair of half-folded blankets. "Yo, hey—chill, Dess. She's not stealing anyone's yogurt."

The rabbit — Dess — spun toward him. "You can't just bring people here without saying anything!"

He shrugged, shameless. "You're saying you don't love weird surprises?"

She huffed. "I don't love random strangers in the kitchen."

"She's not a stranger, she's—" Emilio paused, looking over at the girl still awkwardly standing beside the fridge. "Actually, she doesn't really have a name right now, so... yeah. Mystery guest. Got picked up on the run from some real nasty WASP units."

Dess blinked. "She doesn't have a name? What is this, a bad sci-fi amnesia trope?"

"She got zapped or something," Emilio said, laying the blankets over the couch with a loud fwump. "Fried one of the bots with some glitchy static thing. Whole scene went boom. Super cool, super weird. So maybe don't stress her out with hard-mode questions yet, huh?"

Dess's eyes flicked back toward the girl, confused now more than defensive. "...You seriously don't remember anything?"

She shook her head gently. "Just bits. Nothing useful."

There was an awkward pause, the kind that made walls creak louder than they should.

Dess sighed through her nose and crossed her arms. "Fine."

She stepped back and leaned against the counter, sizing the girl up again, though a little less harshly now.

"Okay, then. Starting over."

She held out a hand — the motion stiff but genuine.

"Desiree Hoshima. I live here too. Hacker, gamer, guardian of fridge boundaries."

The girl looked at her for a second, then accepted the handshake gently.

"...Hi."

Dess rolled her eyes, but she wasn't scowling anymore.

Emilio flopped onto the couch behind them with a grunt. "See? Told you it'd be fine. Now everyone play nice while I figure out where I buried the emergency snack stash."

She took a step toward the living room, ready to retreat from the awkward tension, when the rabbit — Desiree — called out again.

"Boots off at the door," she said flatly. "Cyrus hates outside dirt."

That name—Cyrus—carried weight. She froze mid-step, almost startled. It wasn't fear exactly, but the word hates struck her sharper than expected.

"S-Sorry," she muttered, immediately backing up.

She crouched and began undoing the straps at her ankles, slipping off the worn boots and placing them neatly beside the others by the door. Her fingers trembled just slightly — not from cold, but from the sudden rush of did I mess up already?

She stood again and exhaled, quiet relief washing over her.

Desiree gave a simple nod, arms crossed. "Good call."

Then she glanced toward the living room. "You gonna set up the couch or what?" she asked Emilio. "The others are asleep already. We probably should be too."

Emilio groaned, halfway buried in a pile of tangled cords. "She probably won't sleep. First day outta the lab or whatever. And you'll probably be on your computer until 4 a.m., so who's really judging?"

Desiree gasped, genuinely offended. "I do sleep!"

"You hibernate with RGB lighting on your face."

"Ugh, whatever," she muttered, already turning toward one of the side doors. She stopped just before disappearing down the hall and glanced back.

"Don't touch my stuff," she warned the girl — not unkindly, just in her tone.

Then she vanished behind her door with a quiet click.

A few moments later, Emilio had managed to toss a couple folded blankets and a pillow onto the couch, smoothing it all out with practiced motion.

"There. Couch-mode: activated," he said, dusting off his hands.

She approached slowly, hesitating by the armrest.

"...Thank you," she murmured.

He waved it off. "Hey, it's fine. If you end up sticking around, we'll set up a proper room in the morning. We actually do have space for one more, believe it or not. Only catch is — you'd have to share."

Her brow rose slightly.

He shrugged. "Don't worry. Dess is the closest to your age, and she already lives in mess-mode, so... might actually work out."

She nodded slowly, unsure what to say. It wasn't exactly a choice.

He stretched once, yawning. "Alright, if the couch tries to eat you, scream twice. I'm going to crash."

The hallway swallowed him with a lazy wave, and his door clicked shut.

She stood alone now, in the gentle hum of old electronics and dim lights. Slowly, she sank onto the couch, pulling the blanket over herself.

The fabric smelled faintly of spray paint and orange soda.

She stared at the ceiling.

So much had happened. Too much.

She still didn't know what to think of it all — the city, the lights, the people, the chase... even the quiet kindness of strangers.

Was this a beginning?

Or just another strange glitch in a world she didn't belong to?

She didn't know.

She just closed her eyes and tried not to think too hard.

She drifted off eventually, though how long she wasn't sure.

Faint beeping — like alarms, soft and distant — hovered around her like a fragile echo. The edges of her vision blurred, white and blue light washing over a room she couldn't place.

Suddenly, a loud clatter shattered the quiet, snapping her awake.

Startled, she tumbled off the couch, the blanket slipping away as she hit the floor with a dull thud.

Blinking up, the room came back into focus. It was the same rundown apartment — just bathed now in the dim, pale light of early morning. The small windows near the ceiling filtered in a weak glow.

Her eyes flicked to the digital clock on the wall.

6:57 AM.

Rubbing her eyes, she started to rise when a plate thumped onto the table beside her.

She jumped, turning to see a tall, blue-furred wolf standing nearby. His dark blue eyes crinkled with a soft smile, and the smell of cooking eggs and something citrusy drifted around him.

"You okay? That was quite the fall," he said gently.

She nodded, still startled but grateful for the calm.

"You move a lot in your sleep," he continued, returning to the kitchenette to flip eggs in a pan. "Thought you might get cold with the blanket half off."

She looked around, suddenly noticing the faint sounds of neighbors above — dishes clattering, footsteps pacing.

"Where's Emilio?" she asked quietly.

"Sleeping like a baby," he replied with a chuckle. "I'm Lucious. I live here too."

He turned toward her with a sly grin. "Mind waking up your new friend? We gotta get the others up soon if we want breakfast before noon."

She swallowed, gathering her thoughts as the warmth of the room and the promise of food settled around her.

She stood, still a little unsure of herself, and cautiously asked, "Which door?"

Lucious pointed down the dim hallway. "Back right. Can't miss it."

The hallway stretched out before her, doors on either side, shadows pooling beneath the small windows near the ceiling. She walked slowly, heart thumping quietly in her ears.