(During the hours after midnight, back at Aegis Headquarters, Commander Cromwell sits in her office, twiddling her thumbs with a grim expression, her brown hair tied into a bun and her brown eyes narrowing. After a while of waiting, the trio of operators she initially sent have finally come back to her office: Proxy, a girl at about twelve years of age with bright purple hair tied into a single, short braid, a form-fitting black hoodie with pants, and purple pupils underneath her small, futuristic, rectangular glasses, and Pulse, a sixteen-year old girl with short black hair and green eyes wearing a black operative outfit.)

  Commander Cromwell: (sounding subtly relieved) You’re finally here. I wasn’t sure I could’ve waited any longer. (standing up and opening to the door) In any case, it’s good that you dropped by. (leaving her office, the duo following) After all that’s happened, I need a report. What was that all about?

  Pulse: (firmly) Let’s start with what we know first, shall we? Our analysts detected a Surge Beacon’s energy signature, a powerful one, in fact, and Focus was sent to capture it. The mission went awry when the Sparks interfered and tried to capture the Beacon themselves instead.

  Pulse: We’ve been keeping tabs on the Sparks for a while now and understand how they operate. They only interfere with business that they get paid for. If they were after the Surge Beacon as well, then someone must have hired them to do so. That alone is unsettling.

  Commander Cromwell: Indeed. This implies that not only does the culprit know about Surges as much as we do, but it also means that he’s got plans for the Beacon. This might amount to something big.

  Proxy: If our assumptions are anything to go by, then Focus teamed up with the Surge Beacon to find the culprit. We followed the trail they left behind and ended up in quite the mess, where we met… him.

  Commander Cromwell: Who? The culprit?

  Proxy: (gritting her teeth) Must be. He sure had a handful of followers coming along, all of them with masks on. He too had a mask on… with this purple infinity sign on it, and if that didn’t make him mysterious enough, he seemed like he was talking in riddles all this time. He even turned one of the Sparks into a full-on Surge Beacon with some sort of… shiny green crystal or something. He was almost gonna bury us six feet under. (groaning) A lot has happened, and Jax went through a lot to get us out of this. He’s been taken to the dormitory to rest up as we speak.

  Commander Cromwell: Is it serious?

  Proxy: (relieved) He’s just exhausted, that’s all.

  Pulse: (grimly) We saw not one, but two Surge Beacons in action right before our eyes. I never imagined that a Beacon could be this powerful. Those two could’ve laid waste to the world if they continued any further.

  Commander Cromwell: (firmly) I’ll let you continue in detail some other time. For now… we need to figure out what we’ll do with the Sparks.

  (Commander Cromwell and the duo head for a room, with two soldiers standing at the gate and promptly opening it, and they get to see Boltix, Jackpot, and Mistrick incapacitated behind bars while unconscious. Commander Cromwell glances at them with a grim expression as the tension only escalates even further.)

  (The light of day shines on a small grocery store beside a fuel station, with a vendor of old age scrolling through his phone while sitting comfortably on his chair. He notices a sixteen-year old boy with short black hair and sharp blue eyes wearing a black tracksuit with white stripes on its sides; it’s none other than Focus, who carries a huge assortment of all sorts of snacks with both of his arms and places them on the counter, to the vendor’s surprise.)

  Vendor: (surprised) Woah. Um… sure, okay.

  Focus: (blankly) I’m not done yet. Just a moment.

  (Focus promptly heads back to pick up another load of snacks, stuff like chocolates, ice cream, chips, and lots of other stuff, adding to the vendor’s shock, who silently places them one by one on the cash register. Focus keeps coming back with lots of their stuff while checking out several items on his sticky note until he completely fills up the counter with cliffs of snacks, and eventually, the vendor is finally done with them all, placing them all in several plastic bags while panting in exhaustion.)

  Vendor: (panting heavily in exhaustion) What’s all of that for, kid?

  Focus: (unamused) Kid? How old do you think I am?

  Vendor: Not old enough, apparently.

  Focus: (deadpan) Not old enough for what? I got my driver’s license at twelve. Get on with it, old stuff.

  Vendor: (scowling) Getting cheeky, aren’t you? Fine, then. That’ll be two-hundred and thirty seven dollars, you little rapscallion! Cash!

  Focus: (narrowing his eyes) Rapscallion? Wow, you really are older than you look. (handing him several paper bills) There you go.

  Vendor: (bitterly, taking the cash) Now back off, will ya? (inspecting the cash, shocked) Wait a minute. Those are one-dollar bills! (angrily) Hey, you!

  (The vendor, however, finds Focus nowhere around, who has already left with the snacks in silence. The former angrily glances outside of the store, only to find him far gone in such little time, to both his shock and frustration.)

  Vendor: (frustrated) Get back here, damn it!

  (Meanwhile, back at an abandoned parking lot, Flare nonchalantly places several fuel tanks inside the car’s trunk, having already stolen them from the nearby fuel station. The sixteen-year old fire girl wears an orange, sleeveless vest under her black, sleeveless shirt with orange shorts and has her orange-red hair tied into a messy top knot. She then closes the trunk and examines the area with her relaxed and subtly excited orange eyes, and she sees Focus approaching in the distance carrying a hefty load of plastic bags and all so effortlessly.)

  Flare: (in awe) Woah. How much did that cost?

  Focus: (narrowing his eyes) The question is… how much I actually ended up paying, cuz I can assure you… I didn’t even have to pay in double digits for this load. You got our fuel supply?

  Flare: (nonchalantly) Yeah, that too went well. Some folks back at the station weren’t too pleased with my visit, though. Whatever happened to them, they sure had it coming. (grinning) Anyway, we’ve got everything we need now, I guess.

  Focus: And more, just in case. Well, then. Let’s get moving, shall we?

  (Flare nods with a smirk, while Focus opens the door to the backseat and places his load of plastic bags in there, leaving a considerable space behind. Flare opens the door to the driver’s seat with an excited smirk, but Focus clears her throat at her and grabs her attention, crossing his arms with an unamused expression.)

  Flare: (annoyed) What?

  Focus: (unamused) You’ve had your turn, firecracker. I’m taking the wheel.

  Flare: Say what?! I barely got to drive yesterday! It was barely ten minutes before we ended up getting a good night’s sleep!

  Focus: (deadpan) And those were the longest ten minutes of my life. My life was flashing before my eyes. Never before have I feared for my life as much as I did back then.

  Flare: (begging) I still didn’t figure out how to drive! Please gimme one more chance! Please!

  (Focus’s right eye twitches in annoyance, but then he places his hands beside his legs and sighs deeply, heading to the passenger seat, while Flare enthusiastically jumps into the driver’s seat for another shot at driving. Focus fastens his seatbelt then crosses his arms, bowing his head with an unamused expression, while Flare places her hands on the wheel.)

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Focus: (firmly) First up, hands at ten and two.

  Flare: (baffled) What’s a ten and two?

  Focus: (trying to remain patient) Think of it as the hands of a clock. Place your hands at ten and two o’clock.

  Flare: Umm….?

  Focus: (grabbing her hands and adjusting them on the steering wheel) There and there. You’ll be able to remain in control of the car’s trajectory that way.

  Flare: Okay, okay! Hands right here! Got it!

  Focus: (groaning) Okay, first rule of driving — .

  Flare: Don’t crash?

  Focus: (his left eye slightly twitching, deadpan) …Sure. Let’s start with “don’t crash.” We’ll get to “don’t commit vehicular manslaughter” later. And put on your seatbelt, Flare. Trust me, you’ll need it.

  Flare: (fastening her seatbelt) So… brakes on the left… and accelerator on the right?

  Focus: Unless you want to reverse natural selection, yes. Now before anything, shift into drive. Gently.

  Flare: (baffled) Uh…?

  (Focus rolls his eyes and gently shifts into drive himself, glancing at Flare with an unamused expression while doing so, whose eyes widen in awe and comedically innocent realization. She then glances at the road ahead with an excited grin, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. She “lightly” steps on the accelerator, only for the car to lurch forward and crash into the curb. Flare winces at this, while Focus remains unbothered as always.)

  Focus: (unbothered) Told you you’d need the seatbelt.

  Flare: (defensive) Hey, it’s just too sensitive!

  Focus: (deadpan) Then whisper to it. Romance the pedal a little.

  Flare: (rolling her eyes, pouting) Oh, ha ha. Really funny. (blankly) Okay, now what?

  Focus: (sarcastically) There’s nothing we can do. The curb has won.

  Flare: (unamused) Really?

  Focus: (narrowing his eyes) Just shift into R gear then use the brakes. And I say again… (stressing on the word) gently.

  (Flare repeatedly blinks at Focus in bafflement, and he sighs deeply, shifting in R gear himself. Flare then glances at the brakes and winces as she slowly gets ready to step on it, opting to be more careful while doing so. She gently steps on the brakes and actually manages to slowly move back with the car a bit, then she takes her foot off and remains still, glancing left and right to see where to go next.)

  Focus: (unamused) Think about how many miles we would’ve crossed if you weren’t wasting time trying to get out of a parking lot.

  Flare: I’m getting there, at least!

  Focus: (flatly) Fair point. Now to escape this common dilemma in which an obstacle would usually stand in one’s way, drivers with acumen would often pull off a move that’s considered genius on so many levels. They use the steering wheel while gently stepping on the pedal at just the right time to manipulate the trajectory of the vehicle and assume an alternative path, which is colloquially referred to by less educated individuals as… (glancing at her, deadpan) making a turn.

  Flare: (unamused) I knew that.

  Focus: (unbothered) Yeah, you sure did. Anyway, signal first. Left lever. The thing you keep pretending doesn’t exist.

  Flare: (glancing at the left lever, in awe) Ohhh. So that’s what it’s for!

  Focus: Yes. Believe it or not, people like to know before you swerve into their personal space.

  Flare: (baffled) But there are no people.

  Focus: Still an important tip regardless.

  (Flare tightens her grip on the steering wheel and slowly takes a turn to the right with the car, and after adjusting the car’s trajectory, she gently sets foot on the accelerator, completing the turn and getting to move further with the car, actually getting out of the parking lot and into the empty highway. She grins in excitement as she finally finds herself hitting the road, while Focus’s unbothered expression cracks a bit, as if he’s subtly impressed.)

  Flare: (grinning excitedly) I’m doing it! I’m really doing it! (glancing at Focus) How am I doing? Did I pass?

  Focus: (unbothered) Define “pass”. The fact that the car is still in one piece makes it an A+ in my book.

  Flare: (chuckling nervously) Well… uh… thanks for the help. I appreciate it.

  Focus: (shrugging it off) Yeah, you do. Not everyone in their right mind would trust you with two tons of metal in wheels.

  Flare: (annoyed) And you just had to make me regret it!

  Focus: But hey. You did well, I must say.

  Flare: (unamused) Don’t be ridiculous.

  Focus: I mean it. Given your unrivaled status as an unregulated fire hazard, I’m genuinely surprised you didn’t end up burning the steering wheel. You were more at ease than I expected.

  (Flare glances at Focus, surprised by his words and the subtly genuine tone behind them, and a small smile forms on her lips. She then promptly stops the car at one side of the road and unfastens her seatbelt, to Focus’s surprise, who sees her pulling out a plastic bag of snacks from the backseat. She pulls out a bag of chips out of the bag and throws another at Focus, who grabs it with a baffled expression, while Flare smiles at him.)

  Flare: (grinning) You might as well grab a bite for now. We’ve been on an empty stomach for long enough.

  (Focus glances at the bag of chips with a baffled frown, as if feeling awkward and out-of-place. He reluctantly opens up the bag of chips and silently grabs a bite, and he and Flare have their breakfast together in silence, the tranquil and peaceful sort of silence.)

  (Time passes by for the duo, who have already had breakfast and lunch while driving on the road, with Flare still taking the wheel. As the sun finally sets, and the night sky begins to take shape, Flare and Focus continue their journey on the highway, albeit bored after all that’s happened. Focus crosses his arms with his trademark poker face, glancing through the window beside him at the abandoned, sandy area at his side of the road, but then he notices a motel ahead with a coffee bar beside it. Seeing the coffee bar in particular breaks Focus’s poker expression, awakening a jolt of energy in him that Flare has never seen before, to her bafflement.)

  Focus: (with tranquil excitement) Flare, stop the car. You have no idea how much I need this right now.

  (After a while, inside the sleek and comfy coffee bar, Flare and Focus are on their seats, waiting for someone to pick up their order. Flare watches with a baffled expression as Focus taps his feet underneath the table in excitement despite having his regular blank expression. After a while, a barista approaches their table and hands them the menu, and as Flare extends her hand to grab it, Focus immediately gets a hold of it to check it out, to Flare’s surprise. He flips the menu on the table rather swiftly and begins to spell out his order while writing something at the back of the menu.)

  Focus: (firmly, while writing at the back of the menu) Alright, so I’ll have a quad shot, half-decaf, oat milk flat white, but make sure the espresso is pulled at exactly 27 seconds — not 26, not 28, I can taste the difference — using single-origin Ethiopian Yirgacheffe beans, medium roast, preferably air-roasted, not drum-roasted. Steam the oat milk to 58°C — not hotter or it’ll scorch, not cooler or it won’t bring out the sweetness — and do not swirl it in a circular motion. Do the ‘S’ pattern. It gives a silkier microfoam.

  Barista 1A: (baffled) Uh, sir — ?

  Focus: (cutting him off) Then add two drops of organic vanilla syrup and just the faintest dusting — I mean a whisper — of cinnamon, because too much ruins the crema. Pour it in a pre-warmed ceramic cup, preferably white because it helps me judge the milk texture. And please, for the love of caffeine, stir counterclockwise. Clockwise messes with the flavor aura.

  Barista 1A: So… uh… a flat white with four espresso shots, oat milk instead of dairy, and some fancy add-ons?

  Focus: (narrowing his eyes menacingly) Don’t diminish art. I expect this to be completed in four minutes and eight seconds and for me to be charged $18.35 for it. If I don’t receive my order on time, I won’t even pay that much. Oh, and if the crema doesn’t form a perfect golden ring, I’ll know.

  Barista 1A: (blankly) But we price it at $23.99.

  Focus: (intimidatingly) I’ll pay no more than the price I set… if you perfect it, that is. What’re you gonna do about it?

  Barista 1A: (stuttering in fear) Well… I… it’s just… fine, have it your way! Just don’t kill me!

  Focus: (genuinely baffled) I didn’t say anything about killing.

  Barista 1A: (turning to Flare) So… uh… what about you?

  Flare: Um… I don’t really — .

  Focus: (cutting her off, to the barista) Same as mine. So double the price, double the time frame, and double the expectations. (handing him the menu) I’ve got the exact details of my order at the back of this paper, so get to work. I expect perfection.

  (The barista grabs the menu and fearfully nods before leaving, and Focus crosses his arms and closes his eyes with a firm expression. Flare remains baffled at what she just saw, repeatedly blinking as she sees Focus being unbothered as always.)

  Flare: (baffled) Uh…?

  Focus: (cutting her off, his stance unchanged) Hush now. I’m counting the seconds.

  Flare: (annoyed) Okay, that’s it! What’s wrong with you?!

  Focus: (calmly, in a prophetic manner) Do not stain this hallowed spot with your yelling. This is a place where people take in angelic divinity manifested into a beverage.

  Flare: Are you talking about coffee?! You really like coffee that much?!

  Focus: (his eyes still closed, still speaking in that same manner) Judging by your tone, you speak of coffee as though it is undeserving of such a lofty standard. (his voice getting sterner) Do you by any chance… hate coffee?

  Flare: (sulking) What if I do? I tried it once, and I’ll never forget how bad it tasted.

  Focus: (opening his eyes, exasperatedly turning to her) You ungracious ingrate! Coffee is the greatest blessing on Earth since humans first learned to walk upright! Coffee isn’t just a drink! It’s a revelation — liquid ambition distilled from the heavens! Have you ever watched the morning light hit a cup of fresh brew?! It’s like the world’s waking up just to applaud it! The aroma alone could resurrect the dead — rich, deep, unapologetically alive! A poorly cultured vermin such as yourself would never understand the refinement of this transformative drink!

  Flare: Okay, okay! Man, whatever happened to “do not stain this hallowed spot with your yelling”?

  Focus: (closing his eyes and crossing his arms once again) Now leave me at peace while I continue counting down! I’m at six minutes!

  (Flare sighs deeply and crosses her arms while waiting for the order as well. Another barista grabs the TV remote and opens the television for the other guests, switching to a news channel. Flare momentarily glances at the TV and is shocked when she sees blurry yet fairly discernible photos of her and Focus. The other customers immediately turn to her in shock upon glancing at the TV, and she chuckles nervously at them, knowing that she and Focus have finally been figured out.)