"So here's what you're going to do," Rob said.

He turned, not fully facing me. His gaze had been on the wall as he spoke, one hand propped on his hip while scratching his chin absentmindedly. He'd tucked the heavy revolver into his waistband, having tossed the towel onto the counter before stepping further into the Pod.

I leaned against the chest high partition separating us and propped my arms across the top as he spoke from within his sleeping area.

"It seems safe out there for the moment, but, Owen," He said, a tinge of regret coloring his words as his eyes made contact with mine. "You can't stay here."

In an instant, the feeling of resolution I'd accumulated bled out. My heart thumped twice behind my rib cage. It was an unexpected funeral dirge on a gloomy morning.

A pain. Prickling from within my chest along with a slowly dawning realization.

He wanted me to leave.

The gravity of the situation pressed like a crushing weight. It was less sharp and lacerating than Dora's choice, but nonetheless still there. A steadily building, icy-cold mass of dread and fear pulling me downward link by link; A chain of dejection.

I'd finally left the tunnels. Successfully avoided the Goons and their lookouts. Gotten somewhere warm, full of air and absent of stabbing red-eyed murder-bots. Sought someone else's help after having survived brutal conditions, and was now going to be turned away.

I had no more plans. No more tricks up my sleeve: I was spent.

Rob's eyes were pools of sadness. Deep enough to challenge the distance I would've covered if I'd jumped off the railing. He didn't say anything as he patiently watch me.

I floundered. Split between the decision to feebly plead my case, or simply collapse to force being physically dragged out the lock. Coming to Rob's had been my best, and likely last, hope. The few moments of reprieve I'd already gotten was beyond what I should've asked for. If he was saying he couldn't help? I didn't need to drag him into my problems.

"Okay," I said quietly. There was really nothing else to say. At least he hadn't shot me.

"Can I just sit here for a few more moments?" I didn't want him to see my face anymore, so I turned around quickly.

"You can call that paying off the favors if you need to," I said, trying to keep the defeat out of my voice and failing miserably.

"Wait, Owen. I meant you'd have to leave the Stacks." There was a note of shock in Rob's voice as he came back into the kitchen, "ARE YOU CRYING?!!"

"...no." I said, unconvincingly as I covered my face. My gloves were disgusting, but I wasn't in any place to care as my shoulders sank and I tried not to let the emotions burst forth.

It was a losing battle.

"Hey. Sit the hell down, Owen. Geez." He guided me to a seat he'd extended so I could sit at the table. "Look. If McCreed decides to initiate a contraband search now, we're sunk. That's why we've got to get you out of here, and somewhere else. Somewhere not the Stacks. That's all I meant."

"You were going to kick me out!" I squeaked. My voice had come out as more of a whine than legible words. A much higher pitch than I'd meant for it to. Embarrassing.

"Are you kidding me right now?!" Rob said, half laughing as he sighed, "Look man. Sit here and take a moment, alright?"

He backed up a few paces, examining me as if now only realizing I was wearing an Outerall while off shift. He blinked a few times more as if he was also just now realizing how bedraggled my appearance was. "I think now is the time for me to ask what the hell happened to you."

I took a few measured and calming breaths, feeling more than a little embarrassed at my emotional outburst as I tried to collect myself. A metal cup, filled to the brim with water was lowered into my view. I gulped it down gratefully and immediately felt better.

My head cleared.

"Sorry, Price." He said, taking the empty cup. "I should've realized how bad a shape you were in."

He turned, plunking the cup down onto the counter. This caused his arm to bump into another cup sitting near the plate I'd seen earlier. Like a biblical tsunami, more of the Caf cup's contents spilled over and into the dish to combine with the liquid already there.

With lightning fast reflexes which didn't seem real, Rob snatched the cup before it could fully tilt. I would've been impressed were it not for my sudden inability to tear my gaze away from the half moon shape of the grayish-white patty. It was swimming in the cooling sea of shimmering brown liquid, the thin layer of Caf glistening in the light as Rob deftly manipulated the cup back onto the counter.

I should've been repulsed by the soupy leftovers, but wasn't as my stomach gurgled.

It wasn't a gurgle of rejection, or discomfort, as one would've expected for a soggy, cold, half-eaten meal. Instead, it came out as a powerfully elicited act of defiance, meant to communicate just how unhappy it was at being restrained from the object of its newest, deepest desire.

Like some uncivilized creature hermit-ing within a dark and forgotten cave, I felt my jaw tighten in anticipation of a bite. My mouth watered involuntarily as I fought the sudden urge to snatch the puck from the flooded plate and stuff it into my mouth.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Rob's eyes flicked from the half eaten food, to my face, and back again.

I raised a grime encrusted finger in question. "You, uh, wouldn't happen to have another one of those pucks, would you?" I asked, voice meek.

"No. That's the last one, sorry." He was frowning.

Not surprising. Protein Pucks had never been one of my favorite foods since I'd eaten a lot of them as a kid. I hadn't rushed to repair our refrigeration dispenser when it had broken down, and even before, we'd only kept a few stocked for when it was either too late, or too inconvenient to seek out a food cart, or take a trip to the Corporate Cantina.

Rob seemed like he wasn't any different.

"Do you mind then?" I tried not to drool everywhere.

"Have at it." He said with a wave.

I turned, lifting the dish to my mouth as Rob stood and walked back into his sleeping area. Probably to get away from watching me eat in the state I was in.

There is an oft misquoted and repeated saying where nine meals are credited as the only thing between mankind and various states of anarchy, or disorder. While the target of the meaning might change depending on whomever delivered the message, I think I understood much better now the truthfulness of the number. Between the double shift and the night before, I'd likely only missed four meals at the maximum. As my lips touched the dish, and cold, bitter caf poured into my mouth, I was certainly more than ready to do things...TERRIBLE things to anyone and anything which might step between me and consuming the scraps I held.

Rob continued busying himself as I ate.

Okay ‘ate’ is the wrong word. I ravaged it. Tore it apart. You could even say I inhaled it despite the fact my stomach would've never let my lungs have the satisfaction.

How did it taste?

Well...it was cold. Crumbly. Uh, gooey? And dry. Oddly dry.

It was a number of conflicting, normally unpleasant things, but to summarize in a single phrase in the moment?

It was magnificent.

I swore I could feel the calories being absorbed and burned as the energy hit my system. My body was rewarded with a single, fleeting moment of pure, unadulterated bliss as I chewed for all I was worth. I was pretty sure a double slice of REAL, succulent, high-skrit, Vat-grown Beef couldn't have matched how I felt right now. I paused to suck down the remainder of the cold cup of Caf, not even caring about the bitterness as I closed my eyes and savored the sensation of the sharp, stabbing pain of hunger dulling down to a simpering roar.

I sighed, taking a steadying deep breath to better savor the sensations of my absolute basic needs being, partially, met. I grimaced as the moment was ruined by a whif of what I probably had been smelling like since entering Rob’s Pod. A few more test sniffs confirmed the double shift, running, and literal stewing in my Outeralls had led to an...unpleasant result.

From behind, I was startled as I heard a thump which was followed by a series of gagging noises coming from Rob's sleeping area. I dropped the plate with a clatter as I rushed over to the half-partition. Rob had his back to me, hands on his knees as he attempted to keep himself upright.

"Rob!" I yelled, eyes scanning around for threats, or signs of danger.

He straightened with much difficulty before turning around to glare at me.

"What is that...SMELL?!" He exclaimed, looking at me through watering eyes. His free hand was pinching his nostrils shut as his other hand dropped something into a pile of equipment at the foot of his bed. "Ugh...what did you do, roll around in a vat of dead things?!"

"There wasn't a vat," I said in mild annoyance, "And I've been in here for a while. How are you only complaining now?"

"I thought I'd need to fight!" Rob yelled, "I dialed down my implants so they wouldn't get glitzed." He blinked several times as he shook his head, having toggled something in his interface as his expression shifted back to normal.

"Wait." He said, glaring at me as confusion passed over his face, "You said you rolled around in dead things?!"

"No!" I said. "I mean, it wasn't a bunch of dead things and I didn't roll around in it, or anything. There was just this one dead guy and a hood I had to..."

"DEAD GUY?!" He yelled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took a deep calming breath. I went quiet.

"How did you get involved with a...you know what? I don't even wanna know. You. Shower. Now. Leave the suit and gear on the floor.” He shoved me, hard. Into the direction of the shower. “Geez. They’re going to know you were here just by the smell," He muttered as I blushed. Saying nothing despite wanting to defend myself.

I began stripping the work-uniform off, OuterAlls falling to the floor in a heap as I wiggled out of my jacket and pants. Clad in undersuit and cloud of funk, I stepped into the booth, letting the sensor begin the weak spray of, surprisingly, hot water.

I heard the booth clatter and felt lines of pain which caused me to curse. The uncomfortable sensation of a million needles raking across my skin spiked my senses as a thick-bristled brush attacked me from above the curtain which barely kept the water from leaving the confines of the coffin-like booth. The scrubbing was unrelenting, the soap harsh and chemical smelling, and, while I wasn’t exactly a prude by any scale of reference, being suddenly, and harshly poked and prodded out of nowhere wasn’t the best experience.

“The hell?!” I shouted indignantly, sputtering as a hard scrub pushed my head under the spray, “Rob?! STOP!”

“You smelled horrible, Owen!” Rob yelled, pausing to squirt more soap onto the brush as he readied for another barrage of scrubs.

“I’ll wash then!” I tried to sputter out, but was overridden as his attack pressed forward. The combination of water, soap and trailing grime stung my eyes and kept me from being able to defend myself effectively as he continued to yell, "I AM washing you. HOLD STILL!"

He managed a few more, skin-scraping scrubs, involuntarily on my part, before I finally was able to yank the brush out of his hands to glare at him indignantly.

“Dammit, Rob!” I said, flipping the brush over and holding it up threateningly. “I can wash myself you know!”

My yelling served only to amuse him as he keeled over, laughing. My rage was ruined by the grin that broke out on my face. In mock surrender he rose his hands, wincing as he realized the smell was clinging to them before, thankfully, leaving me to handle the rest.

I went to work on the suit as he resumed his original task of gathering equipment, making sure to give his hands and arms a through wash first in the kitchen sink.

Now unmolested, I set to my own work. The undersuit was stripped off, hung on a set of clips, and dribbled grayish water as I rinsed it out a few times for good measure.

Couple squirts of soap, a bit of elbow grease (sans flesh-flay), a quick hang on the drain-line and in short order I cleaned myself up enough to almost feel like a normal person again.

The suit, jacket and pants took much more work, but were handled in decent order as I shut off the water, which had grown cold as the work completed.

I turned, realizing the Pod had gotten oddly quiet as I'd labored.

A question was formed on my lips when my vision became suddenly obscured, and the feel of a rough cloth scraping against my face forced me to close my eyes involuntarily.

The room went dark.

I was blinded.