“Hey wait what are you doing, stop that!” cries out Kokei as she reaches forward for Ekitai’s shoulder, he of whom is facing away from her and instead reaching out to a tall white box machine with a shape resembling a fridge inside a well lit room with fair white walls.

Behind Kokei along said walls is a long row of cabinets although lacking in visible ridges and handles, but in the place of handles are strange small pairs of curved panels that are each shaped as a semicircle with the flat side facing inward. On top of the counters are a surplus of miscellaneous kitchenware with what appears to be pots and pans placed disorderly on the white tops same colored as the cabinets, for most of the room was white with slight differences in color hues to distinguish them as the cabinets and fridge has a partially blue hue and the walls are somewhat beige.

In reaction Ekitai rolls his shoulder to throw Kokei off while arguing back in an irritated raspy voice, “Oh for chris sakes, if you put anything here in your mouth you’d be lucky to vomit it out!” He then places his hand onto the fridge, or more specifically onto a rectangular panel on the fridge in place of the handle, to which a bright green hologram projects in front of him with a display of an inventory grid along with a column of buttons at the side that he seems most intrigued in, analyzing them quickly as Kokei recovers behind before throwing herself onto him, gripping his arms in an attempt to wrestle him back while shouting, “He doesn’t want you to touch anything, dummy!”

In spite of the vast difference in size, Kokei manages to drag Ekitai backwards before the two hit against a long island table along the center of the room, the table divided in half down the long side with the half they hit being slightly taller than the other. Both sides have litter with the lower side having circular light plates, some large and others small–some stacked on top of each other– as well as cups some of which are also stacked and rolled on their side. Close to the far edge towards the wall beside Kokei there seems to be a gray plate integrated into the table with a panel sitting against the small ledge between the two elevations adjacent to it, the plate about the dimensions of a fairly sizable sink.

On the upper side of the long island are two shot glasses with red tints, and in between them are two tall bottles of a darker shade, those bottles shaking upon the collision of the hovering table by the two rowdy guests, a terrorizing reaction that throws Kokei off Ekitai’s back to race to the bottles and suspend their potential drop.

In that brief window of release Ekitai bolts back to the hologram, hastily pressing various buttons that pop up new windows and pressing buttons there, and just as Kokei turns around and charges at him he presses one last button that then projects a final screen of an image resembling a trash can as the refrigerator machine makes an odd curtling sound.

With the buzzer hit, Kokei freezes in defeat, frowning miserably before she begins reprimanding aggressively, “What the hell Ekitai? They’re going to be so mad at us!” as the green holograms all are relinquished.

“Who?” innocently asks Dana as she steps in through a curved doorway from some lounge room depressed by a few low steps, populated with multiple white covering fluffed couches accompanied with tabletops some small and others longer. Further against the wall is a long window screen displaying the high of day, cyan light pressing into the room from the sun over the forest, touching down on the couches and the white fur floor below.

Dana continues inside, well dressed in her black blazer but with a concerned expression, her green eyes sharp as her head tilts. She approaches the center of the room, moving past the end of the long white island table where more dishes lay. There are a few cabinets also along the wall at her side adjacent to the one with the door she enters through, and further along said wall is another doorway to a lengthy room.

That room has a long hovering white table with a stretched gray integrated plate along the center proportioned as a dining table albeit without any current chairs to accompany it. Against the wall are light brown cabinets also with the same panels for handles, all the way down to the corner.

Moving in front of the doorway to the dining room is Dana who moves towards both Ekitai and Kokei, the latter of whom steps forward before pointing back at Ekitai and professing, “Dana! I was trying to stop him but-, but he-, he trashed all the food!”

“Oh, I should have done that prior, my apologies,” gently assures the familiar voice that of Meditat who also steps into the room through the same arched doorway Dana did, more cabinets next to the other side of the door as they seem to wrap all around the room, only ever split by taller different storage units. The floor of the kitchen is hard and glossy unlike the lounge, although still white, making the man’s footsteps audible as he steps deeper into the room.

Immediate horror covers Kokei’s face upon the unwarned entrance of the resident whose home had already been defiled, and she turns to face him while standing in front of more cabinets, although above the pots and pans against the wall is a large clean mirror angled such that Meditat’s upper body is visible from the perspective facing Kokei.

Beside the mirror and pots there is another integrated plate in the counter, although this one black and much longer than the island plate, large enough to be used as a stove with leisurely space. Against the wall at the edges of the stove and up is a tall frame reaching about the height of the mirror with an overhead long black bar under the top, jutting out slightly over the stove, the wall behind the frame overlaid with a gray metallic plate too. Below the stove there is also a distinction with a darker cabinet than the others, dark gray which clashes against the white, and instead of dual semicircular panels there is one long panel like an oven’s bar, for that is what it did resemble.

In front of the oven and beside the island, Kokei flusters in speechless panic before throwing out the first words to come to mind: “Sorry for not consulting you about it!”

Slowly pacing down the kitchen while glancing at the littering dishes all over the countertops, picking off a cup on a counter against the wall that the fridge is on and examining it, Meditat shakes his head and again assures gently, “No, I’m only lucky those expired products didn’t leave a stench here. I also apologize for all this…clutter…I guess we didn’t really care too much to clean up after ourselves.”

Up to the bottles is where Meditat stops, turning to face them and placing the cup down by the shot glasses. He then reaches for one of the darker bottles, the ones that might’ve been a collection of innumerable glass shards had Kokei not saved them just seconds ago, and he picks it up before more intimately inspecting it.

Bottle in hand as it’s brought up to his face, rotating it back and forth, he reminisces in a mellow tone: “Everything is exactly where it was yesterday…just like how I remembered before we left for Earth 1.”

All chaos of the prior skirmish has subdued as now Dana, Ekitai, and Kokei just silently stand by each other to watch and listen Meditat continue while gazing at the bottle, “You know, for a man who was so adamant about preserving and perfecting his body, Razi sure did put just about anything inside it.”

He then delicately places the bottle back on the table in the precise spot he picked it up from as he remarks, “But I guess he had an even better tolerance than Flynn so…who am I to judge.”

Moving away from the bottle, although with his hand still lingering at the table, he turns his attention back to the three to recall in a voice more casual, “Oh yes, the food, you must all be hungry.”

Forward Meditat advances to the refrigerator, Kokei and Dana stepping to the side to offer him space as he stands before the machine, gazing at it analytically before concluding: “A full resupply is a bit tedious, I can complete that later but for now it’ll be faster to just make you all food.”

Turning towards Dana, he asks a question almost as if of extraterrestrial in origin: “So what do you people eat anyways?”

Yet it’s not Dana who responds, but instead Kokei beside her who strangely raises her hand like a scholar trying to answer a teacher’s lecture question before admitting, “I uh- actually I was…thinking about baking cinnamon rolls…,” when instantly her own stance becomes known to herself, to which she then awkwardly lowers her hand to grab her other shoulder and more timidly rationalize, “I just figured it’d be a nice way to recover energy…even though I know that’s not how it works…and either way if we don’t have raw ingredients then there’s not much point to that…,” before she lowers her head and even more quietly whispers, “So never mind….”

A warranted puzzled expression exhibits on Meditat’s face to the eager yet ultimately self-revoked answer, but Dana is quick to turn to Meditat and propose freely, “You can make raw food ingredients right? They’re actually not that bad if I remember correctly…well the ones you made after you got better…or maybe I got used to it I don’t know.”

Glancing over to Dana who gave a more confident response, Meditat nods his head and confirms, “I can, yes, it’s basic chemistry mixed with intentional conditional design. I figured you’d all want something instant given the late time, but I am not opposed to the request.”

“Oh we just woke up,” bluntly reveals Ekitai, calling for the enraged death glares of both Kokei and Dana after they had attempted to conceal their own laziness.

“I was trying to be polite…but I digress,” admits Meditat with the shake of his head to the confession of an already known truth, “If you are all fine waiting and also want the same, I can administer the ingredients. I myself am indifferent since I do not require food.”

Nodding his head, Ekitai confirms first: “Oh I’m fine with it, if there’s one good thing Kokei’s good at it’s food.” which rightfully warrants the disgusted glares of both the person in mention and Dana, the latter of whom then shifts gaze to Meditat with a soft smile before offering, “You should try them though, trust me she knows how to bake. And I’m fine with it too, cinnamon rolls for lunch isn’t the worst I’ve done.”

With all parties in agreement, Meditat sighs gently past the oddities of their squabbles before walking around the island, still dressed in his battle suit as he grabs plates and cups to place them over the integrated gray plate, to which the plate flashes a blue upwards light, and in an instant those very dinnerware vanish with only sparkles of light left behind as a trace.

After moving the rest of the platter on the left side of the sink and letting them also be removed from the surface, he places his hand on the white countertop and asks, “So what is needed?”

On the other side of the island stands the trio, Kokei specifically being the one to begin listing, “We need three fourth cup warm milk-,” concurrently as azureous flames burst from Meditat’s hands and morphed into the shape of a cup before in a second materializing into a transparent cup with white milk inside.

Continuing, Kokei orders “Two and a quarter teaspoon of active yeast, a quarter granulated sugar, an egg and egg yolk, a quarter cup melted butter, three cups of bread flour, three quarters teaspoon salt,” while simultaneously flames project from Meditat’s hand and manifest small cups of butter and flour, plates of eggs, and the following ingredients Kokei lists: “Two thirds cup of dark brown sugar, one and a half tablespoons ground cinnamon, a quarter cup soft butter unrelated to the quarter cup of melted butter, four ounces softened cream cheese, three quarters cup of powdered sugar and half a teaspoon of vanilla extract,” which not even a full second after completing she receives her full list, all placed out on the countertop in neat containers appropriate to their form.

Last flame hardened and colorized, Meditat sighs almost as though from exhaustion before he raises his gaze up at Kokei and inquires curiously, “Did you look at that before I got here?”

Perplexed by what to her is reacted to as a bizarre question, Kokei tilts her head and simply answers, “Huh no, I just know,” before she then walks around the island to his side, to which he steps away while she asks, “I’m assuming you have mixers and risers right? Risers would be great.”

Like a monitor outputting a loading bar, Meditat’s eyes bounce around to recall all that has been asked from the woman who just earlier couldn’t even properly gain the courage to suggest the meal.

Completing the search, Meditat nods and responds, “I believe we do but I’m not sure, if not I can always make them. And you’re uh…’Kokei’...was it?”

Already Kokei is running back and forth, receiving the cup of milk from a light flashed by the oven, already heated as she turns around and races to the countertop where she swipes at one of the panels of the cabinet door, triggering it to emit a holographic screen which she swipes at before pressing on the grid which causes another light to flash although this time from the countertop’s white surface which leaves behind a curved metallic bowl or so it seems.

“That’s fine, and oh wait yeah it is, sorry I uh thought I introduced myself yesterday but I guess I forgot,” explains Kokei offhandedly before she dumps the warm milk into the bowl and grabs the cup of yeast from the island before bringing it back.

After sprinkling some off it inside, she returns the cup back to the island and then in one hand grabs the egg plate and in the other the cup of melted butter as she comments, “Oh I saw that your stove has a traditional setting, that’s actually really cool most places don’t do that which really sucks because I feel like it kinda makes it taste jaded without it you know?”

“Mhm…I’m glad you appreciate it…,” now awkwardly responds Meditat as he steps back and slowly begins placing the rest of the dishes on the island over the sink, allowing it to be cleaned off the surface while allowing the strange guest to continue the process like clockwork.

While putting away the stack of cups, he glances up at Dana with an uncomfortably puzzled face.

To that instead Dana flashes an innocent smirk, and moving with the momentum that Kokei kicked off she begins grabbing the pots and pans by the stove to move them out of Kokei’s way, bringing them over to the sink for them to be relinquished. At the same time there’s a vibrating sound coming from the area of the bowl Kokei summoned.

After grabbing one of the pans offered by Dana to place it over the sink, Meditat raises his head up at the elderly man beside his friend and checks, “Wait and just to make sure I heard it right, you’re ‘Ekitai?’” as the vibrating sound abruptly stops.

First gazing off into space with his mouth hanging open, Ekitai shakes his head after being mentioned, glancing over to the man in the suit on the other side of the island before nodding and verifying, “That’s my name, yeah. And what, I guess I should refer to you as ‘Meditat,’?”, his own question oddly coming off with an attitude, judgemental perhaps, or rather unconvinced. He squints too, but that squint instead becomes a glare as though randomly hostile as beside him Kokei offhandedly mentions joyously, “Oh wait, there is a riser!”

Stunned firstly by the peculiar shift in tone from a man who just prior appeared rather jolly and kind spirited despite perhaps some foul language but clearly not ill intended, Meditat blinks twice with a slight frown before murmuring apprehensively, “That’s what I normally go by, but you can also refer to me as Rohan if you’d like but preferably not if I’m masked in public.”

“Eh, not much better,” Ekitai callously states before he turns around and walks off to Kokei without many more words to give, leaving just Dana on the other side who’s turned away collecting more plates and cups from the other countertops, not seeming to have overheard the conversation. While she works on scraping the dishware on her side, an almost magnetic humming sound comes from the direction of the stove side as the voice of Kokei requests, “Hey Eki can you get a pan for me? I just need to make the frosting,” to which Ekitai’s voice replies, “Yeah give me a sec.”

That brief glimmer of alleviation has whisked away from Meditat’s eyes as he just lowers his head, frowning as he hears Kokei call for: “Oh wait Dana can you get a border fourteen by nine? I think the dough is just about done rising,” followed by the voice of Dana cheerily complying, “Yeah sure thing!”

Gloomily Meditat moves on to the other countertops of the kitchen to move away the clutter, the strange tension looming over him when it seemed so unprovoked. As he walks away, the vibrating begins again and the magnetic hum stops.

At the back of the kitchen Kokei walks with a bowl in hand to the other side of the stove where Dana stands beside an orange projection of a rectangular border just over the white surface of the countertop with a length just over a foot where she places the bowl besides and scoops a large ball of dough as on the other side Ekitai places a long rectangular metallic pan on the stove.

But past the doorway is where the fourth is, strolling on the soft fur carpet in the lounge with glossy white walls behind, smoothly curved, no longer any erosion detectable. A few steps past the short flight of low stairs to the kitchen and Meditat comes to a stop before turning to the side.

Within Meditat’s line of sight are several white couches along the wall divided up by small white tabletops, and ahead of it are longer tables where past it are more white couches whose direction mirror the wall, the two rows facing each other.

Further down to the corner of the room is another sofa, and on the opposite side of the lounge is the wide window where the cyan light passes through, providing the room not just the simple white light but an additional hue of color that gives the reflective surfaces more life.

Perfectly in between the row of sofas down the wall at the center of the vanishing point stands the man in the blue suit, the same blue suit that was worn in the battle a decade ago.

Now alone again in a room by himself, for while there is chattering and clashing it’s all distant and somewhat suppressed, Meditat slowly paces down the aisle of sofas for the lounge was always slightly bigger than what was needed.

Yet at the same time that was never thought to be a problem, it never felt too big that a member could get lost, for it was still personal enough as a home. Even if it lacked a roof or a driveway or a door or even the general shape of a house, it was still a home nonetheless, for it was once populated with a family.

At a stop seemingly randomly in the aisle, Meditat turns with his back against the near wall, and he slowly sits down on the couch behind. Upon placing himself on the sofa, the leathery cushion is squished downward, pressed as its softness made it highly reactive to any force, although because of such property seemingly weak it naturally sculpts itself around the man, absorbing him into the sofa like a warm embrace.

Seated down, Meditat’s hands lay on his lap, his back leaned slightly against the sofa whose back is also cushioned similarly to the seats in that it also molds itself around him. While his whole body comfortably melds itself into the couch he’s able to comfortably rotate his head to gaze forward.

In the large lounge white as the purity of heaven the man in blue sits on one of the clouds, facing the clouds right before him as he did yesterday, another cloud in the corner of the room large enough for multiple to sit but with enough spacing to allow one body to lay completely.

Alone in the room the man sits, silent, still, his hands on his lap in blue, although it is not blue of the khakis but instead of the fiber in the suit, at least for the inner thighs.

In the corner of the couch sits no one.

In the couch directly in front of him past the long table sits no one.

And on his lap, empty for there is no one resting, all his hands can do is sit there, and all his fingers can do is interlock with each other and each other alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Qbza sprl ol dhz pu aol olhcluz ilfvuk aol ivbukz vm ylhspaf, h aptl ivao lalyuhs huk puzahuahulvbz.

All the sudden the head of the friend swings through the door, glancing around the room and locking gaze onto the man before she announces, “Oh there you are, the rolls are all done! Come on!”

In smooth movements like greased metal bars of a gate sliding out, the black gloved fingers slip out of their lock and separate, both being moved away to their individual respective plane that is each side’s thigh.

Facing forth in the direction of the window in a stance completely still, the man just stares in silence for a few moments while the popped out face remains still too, facing him.

Finally he closes his eyes and releases a deep sigh before pulling himself off the sofa and up to his feet, where he then turns to face Dana by the door, his black cape resting behind his back.

The cape then begins slightly waving back and forth from the movements of the wearer who paces up the lounge, approaching the door back to the kitchen and leaving behind the sofa that has long lost its warmth from yesterday.

Cautiously lowered is the thin metallic tray containing the array of large puffy cinnamon rolls baked to a perfect golden brown, each one of them smoothly and perfectly topped with icing white as snow, not overbearing that it conceals the surface in white but not scarce enough that it’s underutilized.

Down the tray is placed at the center of the white table over the gray beam, held by the small fair skinned hands with pink-painted nails. Once the pan touches the surface, the hands relinquish its tenacity and move themselves back up just as straight ahead from the curved doorway steps in Dana, her amber bangs waving back and forth in her movements as a smile dawns on her face upon the marvelous sight.

First to make a sitting motion and intently right across the pan is Ekitai, who in the middle of his motion is cushioned by a blue flash that presents him a cushioned white seat, not overly soft like the sofas but still visibly comfortable as he scoots slightly to adjust for perfection. Concurrently another flash emits from the gray beam in the center in front of Ekitai, transporting a large circular white plate attended with a metal trio of utensils: fork, spoon, and knife. On the other side is also a glassy cup although at first empty.

After taking a prolonged analytical gaze of her work, Kokei administers a sincere smile and affirms, “I think I could’ve made the shapes a bit more symmetrical and maybe distribute the frosting more evenly, but it’s passable.”

“Oh please, I have to scope in with my golden eye to tell any differences,” assures Dana with a smile as she approaches from the other side of Ekitai while through the same doorway she came through steps in Meditat, stopping after being revealed and inspecting the room in a moderately mystified mood.

Grabbing the empty cup and hoisting it in the air, Ekitai commands in a sarcastically authoritarian voice: “Okay but where’s the milk with the cinnamon roll?! You can’t have cinnamon rolls without the milk!” to which Meditat centers his attention on him before raising his hand which launches a concentrated azure blaze all the way through the cup before taking the form of liquid, sloshing in the cup before recoloring to white with the texture of milk.

As Dana sits across from Ekitai, also being offered her own seat along with a complementary set of dinnerware, Ekitai inspects the cup before querying doubtfully, “Hmm…are you sure I can drink this?”

“You’re not lactose intolerant, right?” snarkily remarks Kokei with a smirk as she sits down beside Dana, given her own seat and set, the knife she grabs first as she slides the knife under one of the buns and lifts it off the tray without requiring any additional support, able to bring it to her plate and place it down as Ekitai chuckles and retorts raspily, “Not yet I ain’t.”

While Meditat walks down the table on Ekitai’s side given there’s already two on the other, Dana reassures more sincerely: “Don’t worry, it’s drinkable. Besides, if it wasn’t, I would be more concerned about the entire batch.”

Already Kokei dug her fork into the roll, and with her other hand she incisions a smaller cut with her knife. After making a complete separation she lifts the fork up and with it the piece before, confidently bringing it to her mouth where she takes a bite.

She brings it away from her mouth and back to the plate as she chews and swallows before turning to Dana and validating, “Looks like I didn’t make this all for nothing!”

Across from her sits down Meditat with his own seat and plate while Ekitai places the cup back on the table and plunges his fork into one of the buns in the tray, using a more forceful means to pull it out and bring it to his own plate. At the same time Dana slides her knife below one of the rolls and with her other hand gripping a fork she supports the bun against the fork, more carefully bringing it back to her side as she handles it more delicately.

Fork still plunged into the roll, Ekitai lifts the bun back up and to his mouth where he grabs a bite off its side, smearing some of the frosting on his face as Dana more professionally cuts a piece out of the bun with a knife more similarly to Kokei, although more so she cuts out an even smaller piece that she can bring up to her face with her fork and put completely in her mouth, able to ingest the whole cut with precision.

Both of them however have a similar reaction to the consumption, both pleased with smiles as Ekitai leans back and remarks, “Man it’s like I don’t feel my entire body destroyed after yesterday!” followed by Dana who praises merrily, “I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss meals like this, I haven’t been so relaxed eating in so long it feels.”

After taking another large bite out of the side of his own roll but not after finishing swallowing said chunk, Ekitai attributes through muffled speech: “Well you can thank Meditat for his sacrifice for that, I know he wasn’t a big eater but I hope he knows how grateful we are that we can enjoy ourselves without being hunted.”

Next to him sits Meditat who just silently stares at his own plate, the only one not to have any food on it, and he slightly tilts his head away with a frown, angling his face such that it can’t be seen by any of the other three.

Both Kokei and Dana also have rather sober reactions to the statement, although more sentimental with a different reason to their frowns. They both look down at their food as Kokei murmurs, “Yeah…I guess so….” to which Dana places her hand on Kokei’s shoulder, slightly rocking it back and forth in support although clearly somber herself.

Their expressions may have been sentimental, but Meditat’s shows more of a discomfort, an unease to the position he’s been placed in. All he can do is look away in a frown, his plate still empty as the other three reanimate and begin taking pieces of their rolls again, continuing their meal.

One dressed in a blazer, perhaps a bit formal in private with friends, but simply a nice attire that’s balanced by the tank top underneath.

One dressed in an overcoat, perhaps a bit heavy indoors in a meal, but still a casual piece of wear that can be a simple matter of taste.

One dressed in a hoodie, perhaps not entirely necessary indoors either but definitely more reasonable and doesn’t deviate from the norm.

Then one dressed in blue armor, far from casualwear as rather than a dress for a meal it’s one for a battle, as even inside the fortress it can’t help but stick out oddly with its large scrunched cape and its flashy lights.

Although that was the default of what was worn in the fortress for a long time.

Back when it was nothing more than a combat team’s headquarters.

Back before it became a family’s home.

Yet without a family, the meaning that had eased away from the armor no longer held.

It was ten steps forward, and yet somehow back to square one.