“I don't care what they say about us anyway…”

A radio played a gentle song as the entire county got Breadystack calzones for a post-battle morning breakfast. They were warriors, those Breadystack employees; right after the battle, they revved up those fryers and got to work on serving an entire county. Everyone pitched in at least; Sarika worked alongside her delivery driver from a few weeks ago, sharing stories of combat (he personally ran over at least five ninjas with his car).

When her shift ended, Sarika rejoined the crowd. As the heroes of the battle, those that arrived inside the chamber earned a spot inside the diner while the rest of the county ate on picnic tables that stretched out for two miles in every direction.

Sarika had one final duty to perform - delivering a few calzones. At the first table, he spotted Connolly sitting with Ms. Bass, talking about fathers and daughters and mothers and sons.

“Thank you, Sarika,” Connolly said, bloodstains still on his face from the battle. “My students always recommended this place to me, but this is the first time I’ve actually been.”

“Use this, then,” Sarika offered, sliding an extra thing of ranch across the table.

“Thank you for breaking me out of that mental prison,” Connolly offered. “I gave up. That’s why his mind control worked. I should’ve fought harder.”

Sarika looked over at Ruta. “Well, when you’ve given it all, that’s where other people come in. Nobody has to go it alone.”

Connolly looked her over for a moment. “You’ve come a long way, Sarika.”

Sarika just shrugged. “I met some nice people along the way.”

Connolly sagely nodded at that, then placed another handrolled cigarette in his mouth. Before he could light up, Sarika plucked it out of his mouth. When Connolly protested, Sarika gestured at the overhead sprinklers.

“Fair enough,” he supposed. He then looked out through a window into the sea of picnic tables. “My Department will be handling Holloway’s imprisonment and the shutdown of the device.”

“What’s your department exactly?”

Connolly grinned. “Don’t worry. We’re staffed with Top Men. Top. Men.”

Sarika looked at him in confusion.

“I mean that literally,” Connolly elaborated. “This isn’t foreshadowing of our nefarious future use of the device or like a sequel hook. We got some outstanding people making sure the device is destroyed.” Connolly smiled at her. “Though, if this ever required a sequel, I think we’d know who to call.”

Sarika shook her head but let out a small smile. “See you Monday morning in class, Mr. Connolly.”

“Take care, Sarika.”

As Sarika departed, he heard Connolly ask Ms. Bass if there was a Mr. Bass.

The next delivery took her to a booth where President Garcia ate with Bass while Wharton sat in his bubble tank.

“I see, I see,” Garcia explained as he took notes, a brace wrapped around his wounded neck. “You make the voting process secret so nobody can pressure you. Amazing!”

He looked up as Sarika arrived. “Ah, the hero of the night!” he proclaimed. “This calzone will be perfect brain food as we study how to make a constitution. This will be the first one El Marcos has ever had. Bass here is highly knowledgeable on government workings.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Bass aha’d awkwardly. “Well, at one point, I did want to be president. But now…at the end of the day, I think I just want to be myself.” She smiled as she rested an icepack on her stomach.

“I should never have asked a young girl to decide my country’s fate for me,” Garcia concluded. “I’ll work with my countrymen and allies instead and come up with that fate together. Hopefully, I can build a system that’ll outlive me. Take that for a broken boundary and outliving death and all the other boundary talk we’ve had for the past three weeks.”

Sarika nodded at that, passing each of them their calzones. She placed the calzone inside an airlock at the edge of Wharton’s bubble; he retrieved it through the other side of the airlock.

“To think,” Wharton realized. “I thought going out in my bubble like this would be a nightmare. Yet it feels like I’m with you guys all the same.”

“That’s because you are with us,” Bass corrected, smiling at the sight of Wharton.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, Bass, I’d like to learn more about government, too. Maybe you could teach me as well?”

Bass blinked. “Ah, well, you know, I’m really not the best when it comes to teaching.”

“That’s alright,” Wharton answered. “You just need to be yourself.”

When the two gave each other honest smiles, President Garcia and all of his bodyguards immediately stood up and started clapping. Bass went red and buried her face into her calzone while Wharton laughed.

Sarika gave another small smile and left the blossoming romance and democracy. She then shifted through the diner, arriving at her final destination - a table off the side of the diner, specifically designated for those with peanut allergies.

“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” Ruta surmised as Sarika arrived. She sat with the peanut kids as Sarika gave them all salads. The five members paid their food no mind for the moment, instead focusing on their animated conversations with each other.

“I’m sorry, everyone,” Ruta apologized, bringing the conversation to a halt. The five members looked at each other.

“It’s alright,” Heart finally said. The rest of the table nodded in agreement. “You lied because you were under duress, and then went out of your way to make us all friends. And then you kept going out of your way to make a whole county feel better.”

Fire continued. “And then you helped make the whole world feel better. And you actually did it! You became the symbol they falsely built you up as. But it’s different now. We’re not putting you on a pedestal; you helped put all of us on that pedestal together.”

The five - no, six - members of the peanut table all came together for a hug. “We’ll be longboarding after this,” Water offered. “You should come too, Sarika.”

Sarika went to say no, but hesitated. “You know…I think I will.”

The peanut table all cheered.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Ruta exclaimed. She stood up from the table, offering her goodbyes to the table as she departed. Sarika only had one bag left in her hand - her and Ruta’s calzones. Ruta grabbed the other hand and led her through the crowded diner, passing by the dorm security guard and secretary eating together, patched-up gunshot wounds and smiles on their faces.

Ruta brought Sarika through the doors. The autumn breeze moved softly through them, rustling in a path that took it over the sea of humanity before the two girls.

“They say the entire world’s having a picnic in solidarity right now,” Ruta told her, enjoying the breeze. “It’s unfortunate that this feeling can’t last forever though. Sooner or later, we’ll just go back to our usual hum-drum lives.”

Ruta tilted her head to the sky and grinned. “I used to worry about feeling big or small. Feeling small made me want to feel big. But to be perfectly honest…I understand my real size now. Because my size - that’s the real me. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Me neither,” Sarika agreed. The diner had assembled the rows of picnic tables within a long field surrounded by forests on either side. Caramel colors covered the whole scene; soon enough, it would all be gone, both people and colors.

“That’s alright,” she realized aloud. “They’ll be back next year.”

“Hmm?” Ruta tilted her head. “What was that?”

“Just some self-reflection.”

“That’s the best kind of reflection!” Ruta’s mouth watered when she remembered Sarika held a bag with both of their calzones. “I’ll eat to that!”

Sarika opened the bag and for the third time in the past ten minutes, she shook her head with a smile.

“...and they forgot the napkins again.”

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I DON’T CARE ‘BOUT THAT.