The bar proprietor completes Max's drink in record time and slides it over to her. As she anticipated, it even looks like a dessert in liquid form.

“Thank you,” she says, welcoming the drink eagerly. She carefully brings the glass to her lips for a slow sip, as if drinking old, expensive wine. She lightly smacks her lips, and once the flavor hits her proper, her eyes light up. “Holy shit, this is amazing!” She knocks back the glass for a more gluttonous second sip, throwing out all the delicacy she had shown the second prior.

Joji smiles at her nearly child-like astonishment. “I'm glad you like it. Don't get too carried away with it now; I know you can't taste the vodka, but it's still there, so remember to pace yourself, okay?”

“It'll be difficult, but I'll try.”

“So, how about you, Atreus? Since you just came from Takahashi's place, I assume you want a White Russian, like always?”

“That's right,” Atreus answers, but before he even says it, the elder man had already begun collecting the proper ingredients.

“You wash down your donuts with a White Russian?” Max interjects with disbelief on her face. “Your sweet tooth really is out of control, huh?” She smirks as she takes another blissful gulp of her strawberry and coffee liqueur-heavy drink.

After Joji finishes Atreus's White Russian and slides it over to him, the familiar chime of the entrance sounds off again, followed by the indiscernible sounds of multiple men attempting to talk over each other somewhat aggressively. It's David, Naoki, and Keiji, the three businessmen who also frequent the bar. Each of them bear the same, exhausted look of desk jockeys who had long shifts – loosened ties, undone buttons on their shirts, and their blazers draped over their arm, likely not worn since the minute they walked into work.

“Evenin', Joji!” David pauses from his conversation with his colleagues to give a spirited greeting despite his clear fatigue. “Give us all the usual, please!”

The three men make a straight approach to the sofas in the corner of the room, where they limply throw themselves onto their cushions like ragdolls. They don't even acknowledge Atreus, not because they're being rude, but because their exhaustion simply makes them oblivious.

“You three are a bit later than usual,” Joji remarks as he grabs a serving tray to collect the men's' usual orders on.

“That's this asshole's fault right here,” Naoki's gruff voice is heard as he points to Keiji. “He skipped lunch so we made a detour over to Shohei's so he could fill his stomach before we got here.”

“Well, excuse me for delaying your precious drinking time for ten minutes,” Keiji responds with an equally barbed tone as he rests his had all the way back against the top of the backrest, facing the ceiling. “I forgot how important your relationship was with your long island iced teas. Wouldn't want to get in the way of that little romance.”

“For men so exhausted, you seem eager to argue with each other,” Joji comments as be brings the platter over to the coffee table in front of the men.

“Sorry, Joji,” David apologizes. “We're weekend warriors again, so we're a bit on edge.”

“Not only that, but overtime weekend warriors, too,” Naoki gripes as he leans forward with only just enough energy to grab his long island iced tea and throw himself back again. “We drew the short straw this week and got saddled with ten more hours on top of our usual seventy or so. Christ, it's a nightmare. I hate city living. I want to buy a van, convert it into a small RV, toss the wife and kid in, and travel around the country without a god damn care in the world. No bills to pay, no boss to listen to, just me, the family, and the open road, you know?”

“I miss being sixteen,” Keiji joins in Naoki's lamenting of adulthood. “I think that was the last time I was truly without any real responsibility. At that age, I was just worrying about my grades in chemistry class and whether or not Christine Albright from astronomy liked me. I wasn't even worrying about college yet, nor did I even care about getting a driver's license because I lived in an area with great public transportation. Hard to believe it was over fifteen years ago.”

“With the exception of being around friends often, I fuckin' hated high school. But I'd still take it over this shit,” Naoki agrees with the sentiment under his low, tired voice.

“This is part of the reason why I joined the clan,” Atreus remarks towards Max. “So I don't end up looking like these sorry sad-sacks.”

“Are they always like this?” Max ponders.

“Only when they get weekend shifts, but even then, it's usually not this bad. But don't worry, once they get a few drinks in them, Davids turns the karaoke machine on, and thankfully he's got a good voice.”

“Oh man, that's good stuff,” David comments as he feels a burdening weight lifted from his shoulders after he downs half a bottle of his usual IPA in one indulgent swig. It wakes him up enough to finally become a bit more aware of his surroundings, leading him to spot Atreus at the bar. “Oh, shit, Atreus. I didn't see you there, ma–” he stops talking when he glances to the gangster's right.

“What's wrong?” Atreus asks after a pronounced pause.

“Who's this?” the curious businessman asks, pointing to Max.

“This is my date, Maxine.”

“Well, heck!” David shoots up from the sofa with a second wind of energy and approaches Max with an extended hand. “I'm David Kobayashi. Nice to meet you.”

Max takes his hand and gives a firm shake. “Maxine Scott.”

“Those are my friends and coworkers, Naoki and Keiji,” David introduces his colleagues, pointing at them respectively. The two men can only muster halfhearted nods, still only half-conscious after a long day. “Sorry about their attitude; we had tough shifts at work. They'll lighten up once the alcohol finally hits their bloodstream.”

“Oh, it's no problem,” Max reassures her new acquaintance. “I empathize with you guys. I really do,” she stresses without going into detail of her own frustrating work experiences.

“I appreciate that. Still though, I wish you could've met us on a good day,” David says as he returns to his seat.

“What's a 'good day' for us, anyway?” Naoki asks snarkily. “Aren't we always complaining about work and obligations every time we walk in here? That's why we come here to begin with – to complain about life and get hammered until we pretend not to hate it anymore.”

David heaves a sigh at his friend's blunt pessimism. “Man, you need to take the edge off. Here, have a smoke and chill out.” He grabs a lighter and chrome cigarette case from his pocket and opens it to reveal a collection of professionally rolled marijuana joints, thick and densely packed.

“Hold on, David,” Joji interrupts. “You know the ventilation in here isn't that great. Last time you whipped out that case, it took two whole days to get the smell out.”

“I know, Joji, but the odorless strains are so expensive these days,” the businessman pleas.

“Two joints maximum. Period,” the proprietor firmly states while holding up two fingers.

“Okay, okay,” David quickly concedes so as to not get on the bad side of the man who owns the place. He plucks two joints from the case, and holds one out to Atreus. “Want one?”

The gangster pauses for a moment and considers it before turning to Max. “Do you smoke?” he asks his date.

“Sometimes, yeah,” she answers sincerely. “If you want to share it, I'm fine with that.”

“What strain is it?”

“It's called 'Phantom Hammock',” David answers, stating the strain's absurd name with a straight face. “It's meant for relaxation.”

Atreus ponders if it's a good idea to mix a strain meant for relaxation with hard liquor, especially when he's likely expecting a call from Okada sometime later in the night. He wouldn't want to embarrass himself by talking to his superior while too deep under the influence. At the same time, he doesn't want to pass up a chance to give himself and Max another moment to share before the night is done. Ultimately, he takes a chance and hopes Okada doesn't call too soon.

“Toss it over,” Atreus beckons.

“Catch,” David tosses the joint in an underhand motion, and the augmented man seizes it from mid-air with ease, careful to not crush it with potentially immense grip.

Atreus places the head of the joint in his mouth and brings his right pinky to his face. The tip of the finger breaks open like a lid on hinges, and the tiny lighter inside ignites a small, but bright flame.

“Whoa!” Max exclaims in surprise. “You have a lighter in your pinky? I never would've guessed you had such trivial little tools in there. You look like a cartoon character.”

“It gets used once in a blue moon.”

As the evening passes, Atreus and Max take their time finishing their glasses at a measured pace and sharing the single joint graciously given to them by David, who pounded back his bottles of IPA fast enough to work up the audacious courage to finally pick up the karaoke microphone within the hour. As the couple begins their second glasses of alcohol, they listen to the background noise of David's surprisingly smooth voice over steady, sensual R&B beats. The other two businessmen are gently swaying their bodies back and forth to the soft melodies, already beginning to work themselves up and out of the pit of hopeless despair they were trapped in when they first entered the bar.

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“He's actually got a pretty good voice,” Max admits with a content nod.

“He'd better, considering he has several years of practice under his belt already,” Atreus adds.

“I bet if I still had the passion for singing I used to have in middle school, I'd probably join him. I was in the school choir from sixth to eighth grade.”

“Really?” Atreus reels back a bit, surprised at the sudden information. “I sort of... unwittingly pegged you as the person who would play an instrument instead of sing.”

“I don't blame you. I sort of have the look of the chick who has an electric guitar sitting in her room but never touches it,” she smiles as she pokes fun at her own sense of fashion. “But, of course, when I hit ninth grade, I thought being in the choir was, like, 'totally uncool.'” She emphasizes with a mocking voice in clear disdain for her own teenage self.

“I used to draw a lot in middle school,” Atreus decides to reciprocate her adolescent secrets with one of his own. “Specifically little two or four-panel comics I'd share with my friends. I must've drawn hundreds of them from seventh through eighth grade.”

“No kidding?” Max reels back too. “I never would've pegged you for the artistic type at all.”

“I wouldn't really call it 'art'. They were little better than stick figures. A little later, I went into graphic design, which I personally consider to be something different entirely. I think I still have those comics though, hidden away somewhere in either my closet or at my dad's house, underneath my old clothes and stuff I never took with me when I moved out.”

“Awww,” Max, half-teasingly and half-seriously, rests her head on his shoulder and looks up at him with endearment and a wide smile. “I like the idea of you still hanging on to your old middle school drawings like they're precious memories. I'd like to see them some day.”

“You're not missing much,” Atreus puts on a nervous smile. “I don't think the sense of humor of thirteen year-old me would hold up to an adult's standards. It's all just dick and fart jokes repackaged in different ways in each comic.”

“Dick and fart jokes can still be funny to an adult. It's all about delivery.”

“Either way, I gotta remember to burn them next chance I get.”

“Oh, don't be that way.”

Without lifting her head off of his shoulder, she continues listening to David continue to sing sultry rhythm and blues songs with the passion of a famous diva, swaying his hips and closing his eyes as if performing in a stadium of devout fans, which, in this case, are his two drunken coworkers.

“How long does he usually sing for?” Max asks.

“At least an hour, but he averages at around two and a half or so. Longest I've personally seen him go is almost five. It really did his voice in for a few days afterward, though. But once they get a few more drinks in them, they start singing 80s hair metal or early-2000s nu metal. That's usually the point where I leave.”

“Oh, God,” she smirks partly out of amusement and apprehension, but also out of slight curiosity as to what the sound must be like.

“He's the only person who really uses that machine that much,” Joji comments as he tidies up his bar. “Aside from my wife, of course – when she takes the time to visit.”

“What does your wife do, Joji? If you don't mind me asking,” Max lifts her head to take the opportunity to get to know her gracious host.

“She's the principal at Tojo High School. She plans on retiring at the end of the next school year. After that, I imagine she'll be around here a lot more often, which would be nice. Our working schedules are so different, we only really see each other on the weekends or when we're asleep in bed. She wakes up early and comes home early, but I wake up late and come home late.”

“I usually like my alone time even when I'm in a relationship, but clashing schedules like that would drive me nuts. I'd hate not being able to see my significant other for long stretches of time. You're both really mature to be able to tolerate it for so long.”

“In cases like ours, it's not so much about finding ways around it as it is about simply making the best of the little time together we do have. On the occasion I take the whole weekend off, we go on miniature vacations to the next city over or something to take full advantage of the opportunity.”

“That sounds really nice,” Max comments with a warm smile.

Suddenly, a dull vibration is felt in Atreus's pant pocket. Having a strong feeling of who might be calling him, he's quick to retrieve it. As he thought, it's Okada.

“One minute,” he announces to his date, “this might be an important call. I'll be right back.” He stands from his stool and briskly walks to the exit before Max can even acknowledge his need to step out. Now standing out on the sidewalk, he answers the call. “Hello?” he speaks into the phone.

“Watanabe-kun. Are you busy right now?” Okada's low voice is heard from the other end.

“Uh... Not really,” the gangster answers unsteadily. He wants to say 'yes', but believes it would be bad form on his part. “Why?”

“I've received a reply from Lee. He knows who has the information we need.”

Atreus's attention is immediately drawn. “He knows who sold the ammunition? Who is it?”

“I, uh, am afraid the matter is a tiny bit complicated. I'd rather not explain it over the phone. Is it possible for you to stop by headquarters tonight?”

The augmented man hesitates and looks back through the bar's door window. He sees Max engage in lighthearted conversation with Joji once more. He doesn't want to end the night prematurely, but he can't say with a straight face that a casual date at a bar is more important than his obligations to the clan.

“What time do you need me there?” Atreus finally asks.

“There's going to be a meeting among myself and several other senior officers here tonight and if previous meetings of a similar nature are anything to go by, it could end up turning into a shouting match that'll last until sunrise,” the senior advisor's annoyance in his tone is clear. “It starts in four hours, so do you think you can get here in less than two?”

“...Yes, I can do that,” the subordinate replies with subtle dejection.

“Good. I'll see you later then.”

“See you later, oyaji,” Atreus ends the call and heaves a small sigh before returning inside the bar. He approaches the counter with a clear change in his demeanor, which is something Max takes immediate note of.

“You alright?” she asks, curious about the phone call.

“I, uh, got a call from someone,” the gangster responds somberly while trying to keep things vague. “I need to be somewhere soon.”

“Oh...” Max becomes a bit more sullen as well. “Do you have to leave right now?”

Atreus shakes his head. “No, not this instant. We have another hour or so before I need to leave, so let's make the most of it,” he puts on a consoling smile and knocks back the remainder of this second glass of White Russian.

“If you say so,” Max smiles back and does the same to the remainder of her second Berry Buzz.

The night at the bar continues steadily; about another hour passes and Atreus and Max have finished their third glasses of White Russians and Berry Buzzes. The deliberate pace at which they were drinking keeps their level of inebriation from hitting near-blackout heights, but they ultimately decide to stop there due to Atreus's upcoming meeting and the fact that it's still somewhat early in Max's day.

Meanwhile, the trio of businessmen have completely ditched the initial exhaustion they displayed earlier, and have begun passing the karaoke microphone back and forth between each other to sing emotional rock ballads.

“Man, they're really putting on a concert over there,” Max comments, turned in her barstool in such a way that allows her to watch the three men as if she were a paying audience member.

Atreus glances his phone to check the time – it's closing in on 10 PM. “I think it's time to call it here for the night,” he reluctantly announces. “Good timing though, because those guys are going to start sounding delirious in a little bit.”

“Alright,” Max turns back around in her stool to face Joji. “Thank you for the drinks, Joji. They were delicious, and your place is beautiful,” she gives her honest gratitude for the time she spent at the bar. “It was nice meeting you.”

The proprietor smiles. “It was nice meeting you too, Maxine. I'm glad you enjoyed your stay.”

“I'll cover the drinks,” the gangster announces as he brings up the Velonum application on his phone to pay. Joji obliges by compiling their orders on a tablet.

“You sure?” Max interjects. “I don't mind going dutch.”

“I'm sure. It was my idea to come here, so I think it's fitting for me to cover the bill.” Atreus scans the code on the tablet to complete the transaction instantly.

“Guess I'll order my ride,” Max stands and takes her phone out too to summon an Automa to bring her home.

“Wanna wait outside for it?”

“Sure,” she nods, and Atreus begins to lead the two outside. She turns to give one last farewell to her host. “Bye, Joji!”

“Have a good night!” the elder man replies in kind with an accompanying wave.

Atreus gives a wordless wave in response and the couple exit the establishment. The three singing men continue to be heard until the closing of the door behind them finally shuts them out, and now only the sounds of Kyoba traffic fill the air. A short, noticeable pause shrouds them as Atreus tries to find the right words to say for cutting their time short.

“Sorry to end things a bit early tonight,” he eventually utters. “I'm not usually this busy.”

“It's okay,” Max reassures with a small smile. “I had fun. It was a nice, quiet night out. Kind of, considering those guys,” she points back inside the bar, referring to the trio of businessmen. “But for someone who works at a place like Crown, it's a bit hard to get one of those without staying at home.”

Before their conversation can continue, a silver sedan pulls up to them. Max approaches it and opens the door to sit inside as he hovers over the doorway. She sits still for a brief moment and looks up at Atreus with a mildly dazed expression – no doubt the effect of the vodka-fill mixed drinks she had been downing for the last two hours or so.

“You sure you don't want to come with me?” she asks in a low voice and powerful gaze he hadn't seen since the time he visited Crown as a customer some nights ago.

He pauses to take a deep breath and stare back into her intense eyes. A silent battle rages inside him between two sides – one that wishes to get into the car with her, and the other that has an extremely important job to do.

“You have no idea how badly I want to,” he bluntly admits, but follows with a small sigh. “But I can't. I have something urgent I need to take care of.”

Max furrows her brow delicately in disappointment, and he expects a regretful farewell. However, she instead seizes him by the tie and brings his head forward – not with a strong tug, but with a firm lead that he can't help but follow, and brings their faces together for a kiss. At first he's caught by surprise, but the subtle taste of strawberry and espresso begins to distinguish themselves – remnants of her drinks – and they soothe him into a sense of ease. Though, of course, they might be figments of his imagination, which has decided to become overactive in the short time their lips remain locked.

The kiss lasts for only a few seconds, but the sheer surprise factor of it leaves him feeling like it was several minutes. They bring their faces apart and she finally relinquishes his tie.

“I'll see you later,” Max states as if it were a command and not a suggestion or guess. He quietly takes a step back as she closes the door, and the vehicle pulls away to rejoin the traffic.

He stands still and watches the silver taxi disappear into the sea of steel that grows denser in the distance, eventually snapping out of his daze to remember his promise to Okada. Not wanting to waste anymore time and potentially test the limits of his superior's patience, he orders an Automa of his own.