– You know the one. "Don’t judge a book by its cover." But also maybe check for bloodstains.

  – Sometimes the meanest-looking guy is a socially awkward attack dog.

  – Alex was right. Again. She better not get smug about it.

  ---

  I’ve had a lot of strange mornings since the world went sideways, but none quite like sitting in a ruined classroom while a human bulldozer explained a military-grade suicide plan using empty bullet casings and a broken chalkboard.

  “This is the entry point. Here. Rear guard leaves at 2200. Alex will cut the power supply, I take it that she already knows he she'll do her job. Elliot's gonna be our distraction, while I will eliminate enemies with him. While that's happening, Alex will be free to loot and claim whatever she wants. I don't need their resources.”

  Gail’s voice was calm and sharp. His finger tapped each point like he was conducting a deadly orchestra. Alex, beside me, was nodding like she already memorized everything. Meanwhile, I was two metaphors deep into wondering if this felt more like a heist movie or the beginning of a horror game.

  I cleared my throat. “So basically, we’re playing Metal Gear Solid, except with less cardboard boxes and more risk of turning into zombie chow.”

  Gail stopped.

  He looked at me. Blankly.

  “…Metal Gear Solid?” I prompted.

  “Is that a…vehicle?” he asked, dead serious. "I know what a metal gear is, but I don't think we mean the same thing."

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Oh.

  Oh no.

  Alex bit her knuckle to stop from laughing.

  “Uh… no, it’s… it’s a video game. Stealth. Ninjas. Cigarettes. Giant robots. You know, fun stuff, it's big in the internet.”

  Gail blinked once. “I’ve never used the internet.”

  I stared. “You mean like… not recently?”

  “No,” he said. “Ever.”

  My brain short-circuited.

  He kept talking. “I had parents who thought email was evil and TV was propaganda. Helicopter parents.”

  “Damn,” I said. “Like… the controlling kind?”

  “No. Like, they were actual helicopters. Had rotor blades. Made noise. Monitored everything.”

  Alex snorted

  At least he can joke around.

  “They had broomsticks so far up their asses, they could sweep floors with a fart,” Gail added, without changing tone.

  I choked.

  Alex full-on cackled.

  “I ran away at fifteen,” he continued like he’d just said “I bought cereal yesterday.” “Found a military recruiter who didn’t ask questions. Lied about my age. Got in. The rest is classified or dead.”

  His voice dropped then, and for once… I felt the weight behind it.

  “I don’t talk to people much. Not unless it’s mission-critical. Everyone I’ve ever talked to… is dead. So. If I don’t get what you say, or why you say it… I’m sorry.”

  I stared at him. This giant murder-dad built out of broken bones and sad eyebrows. My brain wanted to fire off another joke. But my mouth didn’t cooperate.

  Because how do you respond to that?

  “…You know what a Roomba is, though,” I finally said.

  He nodded. “I saw one explode in an IED training video.”

  “…Close enough.”

  ---

  We finished the briefing. I say “we” as if I contributed something beyond meme references and a vague understanding of flanking.

  Alex and I walked back to Overhole in silence. The good kind. The “our brain is full of intel and regrets” kind.

  “You okay?” Alex asked.

  “Yeah. Just…” I scratched the back of my neck. “Gail’s story hit like a rogue cutscene. Wasn’t expecting it.”

  “He’s trying,” she said.

  “I noticed. That apology was almost human.”

  Alex nudged me. “Told you he’s not a bad guy.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not allowed to be right this often. It’s suspicious.”

  She grinned. “Get used to it.”

  ---

  Later that night, I lay on my makeshift bed with my hands behind my head, staring up at a crack in the ceiling. My brain was replaying the whole conversation with Gail like a Netflix recap.

  He wasn’t what I expected. He wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. He wasn’t like Jules.

  And that was the kicker, wasn’t it?

  Jules had personality. Wit. Laughter. Charm.

  Gail had the emotional range of a military pamphlet and the face of a man who could strangle a grizzly bear.

  But Jules ran.

  And Gail apologized.

  I closed my eyes and sighed.

  Alex was right. Again.

  I hate it when that happens.