Earthside Bar – District II – Night
The bar was dim, soaked in amber light and old jazz. Smoke curled in the corners like lazy ghosts. Somewhere in the back, a broken holo-screen played replays of the Marsbus bombing with muffled commentary, muted out of respect—or perhaps fatigue.
John sat alone at the end of the counter, a full glass untouched in front of him. He didn't drink. Not really. But he needed to hold something, anything, in his hand. It had been eight hours since the news broke.
Imagawa was dead.
Across the bar, nestled in a booth half-cloaked in shadows, Midas sat with Sakarah, both watching him from a distance. Neither spoke for a while. The silence around John was too heavy to intrude on.
Suddenly, Midas's comm crackled to life in his ear.
Plukett's voice, low and steady, came through.
"How's the teddy bear holding up?"
Midas gave a half-smile, glancing at John before replying quietly.
"What do you think? He's holding it together the only way he knows how. Any word on our little amigos?"
Plukett sighed.
"They've vanished. Even Havery's trail's gone cold. But here's the silver lining—no outbound flights off Earth in the last twelve hours. They're still here. Somewhere. And I'm gonna find them."
Midas nodded.
"Keep us posted."
There was a pause.
"Take care of the big fella for me," she added, voice softening before the line went dead.
Midas leaned back in the booth, eyes never leaving John.
Sakarah's gaze was more focused—curious, concerned.
"He's not the type to get this emotional," she said at last, voice low. "But that old man meant a lot to him, didn't he?"
Midas gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable.
"Imagawa didn't just mean something to him. He saved him. Literally."
Sakarah turned to him, intrigued.
"What do you mean?"
Midas shifted slightly, voice dropping into memory.
"Few years back. Botched interbase transport gig. A top scientist—accused of treason—was being brought down from Moon Base to Earth for trial. John was just a rookie then. Fresh out of the academy. No ties to Bineth. Just raw talent and guts."
"The escort team gets hit. Ambushed hard. High-body-count kind of ambush. Imagawa was the team lead. It was chaos. John... didn't make it. He died in the field. Took a hit meant for Imagawa."
Sakarah's eyes widened.
"But he's alive—"
"Yeah," Midas said grimly. "Because Imagawa broke every rule. Did something no one thought possible. Not even Bineth knows how. The details are murky, sealed, but one thing's clear: Imagawa gave John his own Bineths."
"His Bineths?" Sakarah echoed, stunned.
"Whatever they are, they brought John back. Not healed. Resurrected. Imagawa paid a price for it. Something changed in him after that. He got quieter. Sharper. More withdrawn. But he kept John close ever since. Like a father who never wanted to lose his son again.That incident changed both of them forever"
Sakarah turned her gaze back to John.
He hadn't moved.
He sat there, motionless, lost in the swirling vortex of grief and memory. The flicker of blue neon from outside the bar window danced over his face like ghost-light.
"He doesn't know who he is without that man," Sakarah said softly.
Midas nodded.
"Maybe he never did."
The three of them sat in separate silences—one mourning, one remembering, one watching the weight of death bend a man but not yet break him.
Outside, the city whispered.
And somewhere in the shadows, the past waited to rise.