Page 18 of Strays
Try Not to Cry
Shane and Jay look just as shaken as I feel.
My whole body is buzzing. I still don’t know how the commander knew we were about to get screwed by the review board, but he wasn’t bluffing when he said he was in our corner. I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful to anyone in my life.
After lunch, we’re back on street duty, and the difference is night and day.
All that time stuck at the station felt like time dragging. Out in the field, the rest of the day flies, and so do the next few.
Every morning, we show up to briefing with our jaws clenched and our body cams triple-checked. It’s become a ritual: audio confirmed, visual confirmed. We’re not taking any chances. If anyone tries to set us up, we’ll have the whole thing on record.
Between long shifts and the constant fear of getting fucked over, the weeks blur past in a rush. Suddenly, we’re in our final days in this city.
Greenster doesn’t have a single store with aegis-sized clothing, so on our last day off, we drive all the way to Pittsburgh. We pick up proper clothes: something formal, not a uniform and not the beat-up civilian stuff we have at home. If we’re meeting our potential nyra, we’re going to look like we’re worth her time.
Three days before leaving town, we finally remember to talk to Mr. Kent, our landlord. Technically, we’re supposed to give thirty days’ notice. Of course, we haven’t.
We’ve lived there for six years and never missed a single rent payment, but that doesn’t stop the man from throwing a fit the second we mention leaving early. He threatens to fine us until Jay tells him he can keep the furniture. That shuts him up.
We’re leaving most of our stuff behind anyway. The couch, the TV, the wardrobe: none of it’s worth taking. We pack only the essentials. Whatever comes next, we’re starting fresh.
The next day, as we finish our shift, Jay looks at Shane and me with barely contained anticipation. “Just one more day to go. I think we deserve a little celebration.”
We decide to go to The Brick & Barrel.
It’s one of the few places in Greenster where the owner doesn’t mind having aegis customers. You can drink in peace, knowing no one’s going to ask you to leave out of nowhere.
We park the truck on a side street and head in. We’ve been coming here every few weeks for years, and now, this is the last time. The thought makes me weirdly happy.
The place is half full: loud enough to feel alive, but not packed. Jay and I grab a table while Shane heads to the bar to get our beers. When he comes back with three big mugs, we smile at each other and raise them before taking the first sip.
“To the hell we’re finally leaving behind,” Jay says.
I grin. “And to whatever’s waiting for us on the other side.”
We sip. Shane glances at me. “We know what’s waiting on the other side: her.”
Jay tips his mug toward him, a big smile on his face. “I’ll drink to that.”
We clink again, harder this time. A real toast.
I’m through half my mug when a woman stops near our table. After the owner’s tolerance, this is the second reason we come here. It’s a known spot for human women looking to meet packs.
She hesitates for a second, then steps a little closer. “Sorry to interrupt. I just… you all look like you belong in a movie or something.”
She’s really beautiful, in a tight pink dress that hugs her hips and thighs, showing off long, toned legs. Her face is delicate, with big brown eyes and full, glossy lips. Her dark skin catches the light as she lifts a hand to tuck a wave of hair behind her ear, waiting for our answer.
We haven’t been here in five weeks, and yeah, we’re all feeling a little pent-up. Any other week, we would’ve invited her to join us without a second thought. But now… I can’t. After spending all these weeks thinking nonstop about the possibility of finally meeting our nyra, it feels wrong.
My brothers and I trade glances.
“I’m sorry,” Shane says to her, flashing a wild grin. “We’re taken.”
We finish our beers, still smiling, and head straight home. No reason to stay any longer; there’s nothing here for us anymore.
The next morning, when we wake up, it’s finally March 20th.
We have packed our bags. Our plan is simple: go home after our shift, load the truck, and hit the road. It’s a little over four hours from Greenster to D.C., so we’ll get there before midnight, check into the MAB’s housing unit, and get a solid twelve hours of sleep before the meeting in the afternoon.
