Page 27 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

Chapter Twenty

Damian

“One more stop,” Maya says as we pass another brightly colored building. “Our fighter needs fuel after that run.”

Marco grunts from the front seat. “Yeah. McDonald’s. I’m starving too.”

The vehicle turns sharply into a line of mechanical beasts, all waiting their turn at a strange box that towers beside us. When we pull even with it, a woman’s distorted voice emerges from it, greeting us with unnatural cheer.

“What would you like for breakfast?” Maya turns to ask me.

I stare at the glowing board covered in unfamiliar words and stranger images. “I… do not understand the choices.”

“Just pick something,” Marco grumbles. “Egg McMuffin? Hotcakes?”

“Perhaps if you explain what a… McMuffin entails?”

Although Marco has no translator and can’t understand me, he knows I didn’t answer the question. Throwing up his hands, he exclaims, “For Christ’s sake.” He pulls out of the line, parking the vehicle with a sharp jerk. “We’re going inside so he can look at the freaking pictures.”

The interior’s assault on my senses is immediate. Bright reds and yellows cover every surface, while workers in matching uniforms move with startling enthusiasm for such an early hour. The air carries sweet and savory scents, but none I recognize as actual food.

Maya guides me to the counter, speaking quietly. “The breakfast menu is up there. Pictures might help?”

I study the images carefully, aware of Marco’s impatience behind us. “The round one with egg seems… safest?”

“Egg McMuffin it is.” She orders for both of us, then leads me to a small table while Marco waits for the food. “Sorry about him. Seems like he doesn’t know the meaning of patience.”

“Or compassion. Few guards do.”

I glance around the strange eating house, taking in the families with small children, elderly couples sharing morning meals. “Much is different.”

“Does it ever overwhelm you?” she asks softly. “All the changes from… where you come from? The new things?”

I consider my answer carefully. “In theludus, we learned to adapt quickly or die. This is…” A small smile touches my lips. “A somewhat less lethal form of adaptation.”

Marco arrives with our food before Maya can respond. He sets the tray down and retreats to a distant table, making not secret of the fact that he’s watching us.

Maya demonstrates how to unwrap the food, and I follow her example. The bread is simultaneously too soft and too crispy, the egg unnaturally round.

“I know it’s not exactly gourmet,” she says, watching my expression. “But it’s fast, and after that run…”

“Where I’m from, athletes eat figs and bread dipped in wine before training.” The memory rises unexpectedly clear. “The wine is always watered, of course. My father said a clear mind was as important as a strong body.”

Her eyes sharpen with interest. “You don’t talk about him much. Your father.”

“He was a teacher. A philosopher.” I focus on the strange food, not meeting her gaze. “He taught me that wisdom matters more than strength.”

“Is that why you helped the little girl at the park?”

“He would say that teaching others is how we best honor our own teachers.” I attempt another bite of the peculiar sandwich. “Though I doubt he ever imagined his lessons being applied in a place like this.”

Maya’s laugh carries a note of genuine warmth. “What would he think of all this? The food, the technology, the…” She gestures vaguely at our surroundings.

“He would say that the manner of eating matters less than the company we keep.” The words come naturally, surprising us both with their implication. Our gazes connect for a moment too long before hers runs from mine.

A faint blush colors her cheeks. “Your father sounds wise.”

“He was.” The ache of loss feels distant now, softened by time. “He taught me to find meaning in any circumstance, to maintain dignity even in…”

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