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Michael sighed. A small part of him was going to miss this place.

He surveyed his space again, the concept that it'd be dormant a little surprising. He'd been anticipating this moment almost all semester, but it still felt like it'd come out of nowhere. The off-campus dorm had become home over the two years he'd been in it. It wasn't much, being more or less a studio apartment that AMES -- his college -- rented out, but it sure as hell beat the on-campus place he'd had to stay for his first year. Studying engineering was hard when you were stuffed with three other guys in a room barely sized for two -- not surprising for a school in NYC.

And having half your roommates be anthros while you're a human was definitely something to get used to.

Mike shuddered. He'd gotten out of there as soon as he could. He remembered how huge the apartment felt when he moved in -- and now that his stuff was all pulled away from the walls in a pile, it kind of did again. He looked over his checklist for the fourth or fifth time that afternoon and tried to think of what else he might need. The trip back up to his parents' place for the summer was only temporary, sure, but he was going into his senior summer. Next year he'd graduate assuming life didn't throw too many curve balls; he wouldn't be here very long anyway.

He wasn't even sure he'd need to be on campus in the fall. Mike was down to his last few courses thanks to packing his schedule early on. The schedules he'd looked at when the Fall lists were released had him down to only five classes a week -- and he could get that down to two if he did some of them online. If the drive to his parents place in Cliffton wasn't six hours each way he wouldn't have signed up for another year. Even now, he was still considering subleasing. What held him back was the fact he'd like to trust whoever moved in. If he were to commute back and forth, he'd probably end up crashing there at some point.

Unfortunately, he didn't know too many people at AMES. He'd gone into Advanced Math & Engineering School with his focus almost entirely on his studies. It let him pack his schedule, yes, but it'd left his connections outside of faculty and a few key people lacking. He pushed the thought aside and went back to sorting his things, piling items he wouldn't need on the cheap furniture he couldn't take all at once anyway. Some of the boxes and piles he'd thrown together were easier to judge than others.

Silverware? Leave here. Plates and bowls? Leave too. Six-pack of Sebago Craft Lager? Leave because the brewery was only 45 minutes from Cliffton if he really wanted some.

His toolbox, full engineering kit, and 3d printer? That was less certain.

Mike couldn't remember what his dad had in the garage nor what he'd personally left there, and since they were in their summer home he couldn't just call and ask. While he didn't expect car trouble, it was the project car he was worried about.

Mike left the tools in the center and tried to find more easy items to sort. He was both excited and intimidated by what was ahead. As part of his senior design project, he was going to intern as the AMES Racing Team's primary engineer and mechanic. It was the main reason he was moving to his parents' place over the summer; the track where they'd race and test the car was the Dalton Speedway, only an hour away from Cliffton. Being so close would mean he had time to do major overhauls before the amateur season started up later in the summer -- possibly too major.

He shook his head and moved the tools to the 'bring' pile. He wasn't sure what he'd be working with, so best bring everything. Maybe, hopefully, it wouldn't be that bad. Being able to stay in his hometown for more than a few days for the first time in months would surely help.

There was a knock at his door. Mike expected his downstairs neighbor or a staff member, come to scold him for all the noise he was making, but the mystery was solved when an envelope slipped through the mail slot. He rolled his eyes and retrieved it, ready to put the millionth end-of-semester school bulletin in the trash when he noticed the letterhead; it was different from the school's.

It was official. State official.

And it was stamped with the four worst words he'd seen in all his life.

...

It's hard for Michael to focus on anything but the letter during the drive. It practically radiates negative energy from the passenger seat, deep in his personal bag.

The white-knuckle traffic of New York City helped distract him for the first two hours. Even though he'd left the apartment around 6 in the morning, the city's famous traffic was still in full swing. He'd never gotten used to it in his three years at AMES. Having come from a tiny town at the ass-end of Intersector-95, it had been a rarity to see more than a dozen cars at any one light. Seeing twice that many clogging every street and every lane on the highway took a lot of getting used to.

The old Crown Vic he drove ended up spending a lot of time in the parking garage because of it. Mike did a once-over of the car before heading out, just in case. He could feel the machine grumble at the congested streets and stop-and-go traffic that dominated the first leg of their journey. He gave it a little gas when they finally broke free of the urban heart and the turnpike went down to two lanes. The car was slightly sluggish with the load he'd piled in, but he could tell it enjoyed stretching its pistons.

A habitual glance at his rear view mirror reminded him just how much stuff he'd fit. The 4-door sedan could carry a lot, probably more than he'd needed. A good amount of his wardrobe was coming; some for storage since they were out of season, some for getting dirty since he'd be working on the car and getting out in the mud, and just a few outfits to actually wear. They all made for nice padding for his PC, an absolute necessity. The sim programs he'd be using for the engine and other parts of the car required more power than a laptop could handle.

The clothing and boxes also provided a buffer between the desktop gear and his toolbox. He hoped the racing team would have left their garage well-stocked, but it wasn't like he'd be needing any of the tools there in the city, anyway. It took up a lot of space but was condense, unlike the 3d printer and filament. Annoying as that was, the printer was an indispensable prototyping tool. He imagined he'd be carting it between home and the garage often if he wanted to make good progress.

That, and there were things he'd like to print that he'd have to do in the privacy of his own place.

The cases hidden in the car's folded-down rear seats brought Mike as much worry as they did joy. There was less danger now that he was out of the city, but he'd have to pray that if he was pulled over, the officer wouldn't be very interested in a thorough dig-through of all his stuff. The weapons were part of the reason he'd decided to bring so much; the more there was, the more he could hide them with. The State wasn't too keen on private weapons ownership -- especially unmarried humans. Shuttling them home alone with nothing to hide them would've been suicide.

Getting the guns had been risky, but it would all be worth it when he finally got them to his parents' property. It was large enough and far enough out of the way that he could shoot and tinker with them to his heart's content. It'd been a long time coming; he'd only ever taken out one or two of the pistols as protection, and even then he still wasn't sure how they'd actually shoot. The staff at any of the nearby ranges would've clocked him the second he uncased anything -- owning anything made within the last 75 years was illegal for him, and every single toy he had broke that rule.

All he had to do now was not break any other laws for the last four hours of the drive home. Well, to the Dalton Speedway, anyway. Mike was confident he wouldn't have trouble there. A hint of anxiety came back as the magnitude of the project car and its upgrades came back. He pushed it down and cranked the radio up as he shifted to the right lane to cruise. He'd find out the shop's condition in a few hours no matter what. He'd make things work -- he always did.

And even if the stock car and the Assignment letter he'd gotten ended up being a pain in the ass, at least he was back home.

...

It was strange entering the grounds of the Beast so early in the day. Even stranger was the lack of sound. The V8 of Mike's Crown Vic breathed a little life into the dormant grounds of the Dalton Speedway as he pulled into the parking lot. He saw other cars in the gravel lot, but none that he recognized. The pit-stop he'd made along the drive was shorter than he'd expected; the rest of the race team likely wouldn't arrive until one.

Michael waved at the kid running the security gate with a 'hi'. He didn't recognize him but knew exactly who he was; he'd had a similar job at the raceway a summer or two. It was the perfect place for a teen in the scene to work during the season, since it came with free tickets.

"Hey there. You part of the amateur league?"

"Yeah. You need my ID?" Michael asked. He was already pulling his wallet out as the kid nodded. He looked back at the parking lot as his school card was checked against a list. Papers fluttered in the slight breeze.

"Okay, you're in stall 29," the teen said, and handed over a guide to the racetrack facilities. "They have you down as the mechanic?"

"Yep."

"Alright, here's the keys for the garage and here's the code for the gate," he said, passing another bundle through the window. "Rules are all on that sheet, but there's pretty much no closing hours. You can work long as you want, just don't piss the other tenants or team off, basically. Just don't go on the track outside of sanctioned events and don't let security catch you smoking weed."

"Got it," Michael laughed. "Can I bring my car through to unload my tools?"

"Yeah, go on ahead!"

The small-town conversation reinvigorated Mike. It was a blessing to hear the familiar cadence and kindness that he'd gone without for the better part of three years. He could feel the kid eyeing him as he pulled the Crown Vic up to the gate; he gave him a wave as he passed through. It'd been a long time since Mike had been back in this part of the complex -- it was his first time going in a car. A handful of the stalls were open, and the handful of other race crews were beyond the roll-up doors. They didn't pay him much mind, doing what he imagined he'd be doing once the rest of the AMES students arrived.

Stall 29 was somewhat lonely without them. The bay door complained when he unlocked it and hit the open button, but it complied. The sea salt threatened to rust things even this far inland. Fortunately, it was only dust that seemed to have accumulated on the club's project car. A wave of awe froze Michael in place for a few moments. It dawned on him just where he was and what he was looking at.

Memories of summer afternoons and fall evenings spent at the dirt track filled his head. Late models, crate engines, modifieds and hobby stock races -- all were something Cliffton and the hundreds of small communities around the northern tip of Sector FNS looked forward to. And now he was going to be working on one himself, in the pits and in the garage where the mechanics and racers seemed like they used to live when he was a kid.

The car was a hobby stock based on a fifth-gen Camero, though the interior was suitably gutted. The frame had been reinforced and the drive train was modified for rear-wheel drive. It looked like it was in good shape, none of the usual signs of storage wear present. There'd still be testing to do and a proper engine tear-down, but there weren't any glaring issues that would set back the upgrade schedule. The workspace itself also was well-kept -- evidently whoever they'd had last season ran a clean shop.

Mike checked his phone as he went out to unload some of his tools -- someone had thumbs-upped the message he'd sent the team's group chat when he arrived, and replied that they'd be there in 15. The worries and anxieties of his journey washed away with the smell of oil and gasoline.

Whatever lay ahead, at least the groundwork for his senior project would be off to a good start.

...

Michael wanted to go home.

The stares of the AMES race team had grown unbearably intense over the past eight hours. The fact Michael knew none of them grew increasingly obvious as the first few early members waited in relative silence with him for the rest of the group to show up. Mike watched the beer cans they cracked out dwindle as the conversations happened around him.

The fact he was 'head mechanic' and the lead engineer put an unspoken tension in the air when the members from the previous summer showed. Mike knew his way around engines and shops, but the layers and layers of mods this car had on it required guidance from the people that'd put them in. Dozens of different hands working on it over the years provided a patchwork of solutions and scars. It was like being a freshman all over again, being led around the machine and being expected to take in every little detail. He only started taking hasty notes around halfway through.

The inspection took them three hours, removing the engine and inspecting it another one and a half. Then they talked about what would need to be done to the car, what improvements they wanted made, and what rules there were for the amateur circuit they were going to run. The conversation bounced between Mike, Dr. Ebson, and the head of the club; everyone else watched with eyes like drill presses. The radio and support people finally got a chance to prep their things while the track tech looked over the car so AMES could get in some test laps.

Following the car out when all was said and done gave Mike another moment of awesome realization, but it dwindled when he felt how tired he was. After driving and working on the car all day, Mike could barely muster the energy to rebel yell with the rest of the crew as the machine made its first steps of the season. The track lights came on as the car started its first lap. Mike felt himself fading as the group bubbled with energy. He watched the remote measurement gauges and listened to the driver the best he could.

The engine was humming slightly lower when the car slipped back off the track after a few laps. More eyes waited on Michael as he went over the numbers.

"...Compression's a little low on one of the cylinders, but it's well within tolerances," he said. "I don't see anything wrong with the numbers, but we did just put everything in fresh. Slow leaks or drains won't show this early."

"So, what?" Johnson, the head of the club asked. "What now?"

"Now we just wait for something to go wrong. Something will eventually," Mike said. "These are endurance races, and accumulated wear is what we need to look out for. Only way to see what and where is just by running it."

"Will that impact the plans we made?"

"Every new component and modification we make will affect it, yeah. But it's the same issue -- we won't know where the problem might crop up without just running it."

The eyes continued to stare, waiting for direction.

"We can do some long-wear analysis by just -- well, just running the track," Mike managed. "Keep the gauges and software logging and get a feel for the car and the track. That should give me plenty of baseline data to work with before starting on the upgrades."

"Alright, Mikey," Johnson said, slapping a hand on his shoulder -- "you want first dibs?"

Michael swallowed the irritation from that nickname and shook his head. "Nah. I'll be spending all summer with this thing. I'm gonna take a break, relax up in the stands."

"Alright, alright, sounds cool. Are you uh, done, then?"

"Yeah. I'll keep everyone updated with how things go during the week," Mike said as he turned to the garage with the minimum social grace. "See you all next weekend."

The goodbyes rolled off his back like rain. The relative quiet of the garage and access paths were a blessing, even if the engines on track filled it with a dull roar. Even if this event was early in the summer season, there were people that lived for track days. The speedway happily cut ticket sales and offered slots for local merchants and entertainers to turn the event into a more casual affair.

The scene was very familiar to Michael when he emerged from the 'crew only' stairs. He was too exhausted to appreciate the feeling of walking up them for the first time; he basked in the nostalgia of race night instead. The scent of fried food filled the air, small crowds shifted here and there along the grounds, and the live music was backed by the thunder of the track.

Here wasn't exactly where he expected to feel 'home' again, but he was glad for it. Especially since he'd be coming here every day.

There was a difference to things as he navigated the crowds towards the food stands, run by some local school or another for fundraising. He felt taller but smaller, oddly. All his memories of the late-May nights were with his middle school and high school friends; while he was shorter then, being in a group made him feel bigger. Especially when said group was six or so strong.

Melancholy washed through him as he forked over his cash to a bunny still in braces. It'd been so long since he'd thought about them. Even longer since he'd heard from them. Besides Alex, who'd gone to AMES with him and had a falling out, he couldn't keep track of where anyone was. Were any of them still here? Cleo and Nora's families had close ties to the community, but the rest didn't. Randy always talked about moving south, and Renee wanted to go west to tinsel town. And Nima? Who knew what she'd end up doing.

The lull between sets made the lingering gray cloud press in closer as he waited for his burger. Michael had hoped they'd find out he was an engineer. Maybe it'd be through the custom garage he'd open up or some ribbon-cutting ceremony at a plant he'd help design. But thanks to that letter, all his plans for the future were in limbo. The thought of assignment weighed on him heavily, like a presence.

Like the presence behind him.

A heavy hand gripped his shoulder as someone rumbled and squatted down with a rustle of clothing.

"You look a little lost there, dude," a rough voice said in his ear. "This ain't New York City..."

The chill of fear washed away after a moment of recognition.

"Holy shit, Nima," Michael breathed. He turned around as the komodo dragon's grip loosened and found her as eye-level as she could get, a familiar shit-eating grin across her snout. "I-it's been a while."

"Three years and change," the lizard nodded. Her eyes flicked past him before she reached over the human with a long arm. Mike stepped back as she leaned over him -- she certainly hadn't been slacking in those three years. Thick muscles were visible through her compression outfit. Her chest was big, too -- christ, he didn't remember it being that big...

Mike managed to tear his eyes away before Nima stood with her order. "So what, are you graduated now?" she asked, snagging a fry from the rather large tray as she tried to situate it all. "Moving back in with mommy and daddy?"

"No, I'm here for a project, actually," Mike replied. "I've still got a year left, but I'm starting my senior project with stuff here."

"Oh, that's nice. You gonna be here a while?"

"Whole summer, actually."

"Cool, dude," she said; she nodded at the booth, where the bunny from before was trying to get his attention with his own order. "C'mon, grab your grub. You can tell me about it up top -- we got one of the spots with tables."

Mike noted the 'we' in her sentence, but the implications quickly went out the window when he turned around to find that Nima had situated the tray on the top of her tits. It was hard to see it with the height difference, the komodo dragon standing a good three feet taller, but notice it he did. She laughed at his wide eyes.

"Warmth feels good on 'em! They're not really stable, but it's a risk I'm willing to take," she laughed. Her thick tail pulled partway around his waist in a gesture he'd almost forgotten. "C'mon, follow me before it falls!"

Her throaty chuckling brought Michael back as he gave in to the insistent tail. The large anthro easily cleared a path to the stairs up into the concrete stands "Maybe you should give it to me here..."

Nima laughed again before quickly stifling herself and grabbing hold of the tray before it could bounce, only a fry or too falling off as she mounted the steps.

"Nah, I'm alright," she said with a restrained tremor. "If anything, I should probably hold onto your stuff."

"Why's that?"

"Well, remember how I said 'we' got a table?"

"Yeah, so --"

Michael barely caught the figure rushing towards him before the wind was knocked out of him. The human was scooped up and squeezed hard enough his ribs creaked, his face stuffed into rough canvas as his feet dangled in the air. Strong arms pinned his and kept him firmly in place as a soft, familiar rocking took place, heavy boulders pressing on either side of his face. Mike made the mistake of relaxing when he realized who it was -- she squeezed him even harder with a soft coo.

"I-it's so good to see you, Mike," she whispered. "I -- I missed you so much..."

"Maybe you should put him down so he can talk, Nora..." Nima teased from somewhere outside the hug. The huge orca stiffened somewhere underneath all her chub, and let Michael down from her 9' 6" frame with a hasty but gentle grace. Her enormous tail swept over the benches and the flukes at the end went into her hands in a way she'd done since childhood.

"Missed you -- too, munch," the human managed, doing his best to look okay. He got a good look at her now that he wasn't stuffed in her chest: a well-worn sweatshirt hid behind a set of overalls that accentuated her rounded form. She'd still been eating well, clearly, but she hadn't lost any of that cute shyness she had about her. A blush spread to the white skin on her face.

"Starin's rude, you know," Nima said; she was at a table designed for anthros of their stature. Nora and Michael followed, with the human going to the higher-up benches. The komodo dove into her burger with glee while Nora stared at him with round eyes.

They were much more comforting than those of the AMES crew.

"So -- what have you two been doing?" Mike asked, dusting off a fry before testing it.

"Sticking around here, mister big-city," Nima said through a mouthful of food. "This's been the furthest out from Cliffton I've been in a while."

"I've been a little further," Nora volunteered. "A few of dad's fishing trips are pretty far off-shore..."

"So you went into the family business, huh? Going to take over captaining for him?"

"Sort of," she smiled. "I'm still figuring out where I want to be. Being out is nice, but there's a lot of maintenance and mechanical work that needs to be done... I kind of like it."

"They stuck her in one of those french maid outfits and have her clean stuff," Nima said with a nudge of Mike's shoulder, "I've seen it."

"Nima!"

The komodo laughed at the bright pink coming to the orca's cheeks; Nora's tail threatened to take out another table. Mike suppressed his chuckle and stuck up for the gentle giant like he always had.

"You know, I figured that would be up your alley with all the cleavage you're showing," he said to the lizard. "You working at one of those 1950's diners where they put you on roller skates or something?"

The jab made Nima laugh. She puffed out her chest, eager for the attention. "I just dress how I feel; free."

"Huh. Being unemployed out here sure is different from in the city..."

Nima gave him a stiff poke with her tail beneath the table as she went back to eating. "I'm not layabout, Mike. I do work, I just happen to enjoy it."

"What exactly is that?" he asked through a mouthful of his own.

"Art!" she replied, pulling up a sleeve; it was hard to see by the sparse stadium light and the dark shade of her scales, but complex patterns wound their way up the side of her arm. "I've been doing some other projects with wood and metal, but ink's been my main thing," Nima said, slipping the sleeve back down with a slight shiver. "I could get you some while you're here, if you want."

"I'll think about it -- you have your own shop?"

"Nah. I have some equipment, but I work out of a place called The Inkwell," she said going back to her food. "I'm sort of like, on call. They put my work in their books, and if they have someone that wants one of my designs, I come in and do it. Leaves me kinda free while paying for bills."

"Is a gym membership part of that?"

"Of course!" Nima snorted; she snapped a quick pose to show off her bicep while she drank. "It's as essential as water."

Michael nodded, glad to hear the lizard's inner gym-rat hadn't left her. Nora's slight blush deepened when his gaze slid over to her.

"How about you, Nora?" he asked. "Still doing that poetry?"

The orca squirmed slightly in her seat and tried to stall with a mouthful of chili fries. She'd always been a bit shy about sharing her writing-- even more than she already was -- but one of Mike's last memories with her before graduation was reading through a few sheets.

"S-sometimes. Here and there," she said quietly. "I've written a lot of little pieces on my phone, on the job. At home, I've got a -- a different project I'm working on. A set of prose pieces, from all the stories I've heard around the wharf."

Michael nodded, stalling himself now. He'd never had an eye for literature, but he knew it was something Nora really cared about. Enough that asking to see it right away would probably scare her.

"That sounds really neat, Nora," he said. "I bet the town hall would love to support it."

The whale's eyes went wide as her tail swept in. "I-I suppose they might," she mused. "Maybe when it's finished..."

A brief stint of silence fell over the table as the three of them chewed. It didn't feel quite as natural as Michael had hoped -- but it wasn't as awkward as he knew it could be.

"So, what's college like?" Nima asked, balling up a wrapper and trying to find something to weigh it down. "We haven't exactly been."

"Never even did a tour?" Michael asked, a little surprised. The two anthros shook their heads, Nora still taking dainty bites of her fries.

"I've been working with my parents all my life... there wasn't much point in looking elsewhere, since that's what I wanted to do," she said.

"And I knew art school was a scam from day one," Nima added. Michael snorted, and even Nora managed a soft chuckle. "So what's it like? New York is different too, I bet."

"It is," Mike said. He leaned back on the bench and looked out at the small crowd to gather his thoughts. "It's been long enough that I've gotten used to a lot of it -- it's hard to pick out what's odd when it's become everyday." He watched a couple break away, mounting the stairs nearby.

"Do they have parks, or any green spaces?" Nora asked.

"Small ones, yes." Mike sat up slightly as the pair slowed; their height and snouts said they were anthros. The one not wrapped up in a sweatshirt looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place the dog's face. "There are more balcony or rooftop gardens than there are parks, probably. It gets gray in the winter."

"Sounds terrible. Don't need it any more gray and cold than it already is," Nima said. She and Nora noticed the human's intensifying gaze, and glanced back at the stairs. The doberman's eyes widened, and the tall figure next to her shot up straight. The piercing blue eyes from beneath her hood were the last piece of the puzzle.

"Is that Cleo and Renee?" he asked the table; by the way the taller figure grabbed the doberman's hand and practically dragged her towards them, Michael was thinking yes.

Nima hummed in confirmation while Nora patted herself with a napkin. "Seems like it," the former said, "don't think anyone else could get away with pulling Cleo like that..."

There was an element of awkwardness and embarrassment to the doberman's expression. The fox's was almost entirely cheery, though -- and her focus on Michael grew evermore clear when they stopped at the edge of the table.

"Nora, Nima," the vulpine said with small nods of her head. "Fancy seeing you here, Mike!"

"Yeah, good to see you again," Cleo said, rubbing a wrist now that she was free of the fox's grasp. "How are you doing?"

"I'm alright -- was just catching up with these two," the human replied, gesturing to Nima and Nora. "We ran into each other down in the crowd. It's been a while, so, you know..."

"It has been," Renee said, slipping around the table. She deftly hopped Nima's tail and took a seat on the bench beside Mike, leaning down with crossed legs. "I've missed seeing you! Every time I come home, I make sure to ask."

Mike noted some changes to her appearance now that she was up close. The fox had always had some unique proportions and patches of fur that looked like markings, but he didn't remember the ones beneath her eyes being purple. Nor did he remember her having black scelera.

"Well, its nice to be thought of," he said as he tried not to stare. "What, uh, happened to you, Renee?"

Her ears shifted beneath her hood. Something about the statement took her off guard.

"She goes by 'Renamon' now," Cleo said, now sitting between Nima and Nora. "It's part of her new image."

"Y-yes, it is," the fox said. "You can still call me 'Ren,' though. I like it."

"Sure. Sorry."

The purple stripe beneath her eye crinkled as Ren smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "It's okay, Mike. We haven't seen each other in a while, like you said."

"...And some things have changed." Mike said, ears drawn to the flick of a lighter from across the table. "When did you pick that up, Cleo?"

The doberman looked up from the cigarette after a second, the end already cherry-red. "Two years ago or so. I started when I was working on an exam, and I told myself I'd stop, but..." She trails off with a shrug. Smoke seeped from the sides of her muzzle as she exhaled away from the table and ashed on the ground.

"You went to college for intelligence?" Mike asked. The doberman shook her head with a cynic's smile.

"Nah. I probably should have." She took another drag before bringing her focus back to the table. "I had to do a year in the academy before I could get into the Regional Security Office. I'd thought it would be, you know, exciting, that I'd end up doing something, but it's not at all like the movies."

"Oh... So, you're doing what your mom does?"

Cleo laughed. "Not really. I just babysit this Sector and report back to her."

"...You're head of the local field office," Nora said quietly. "Is it really just 'babysitting?'"

"Maybe not other places, but it is here. The whole office is ten people, tops. Almost all of them are on cybersecurity with how little happens." She ashed the cigarette again and gave Nora a look. "Haven't found a single thing in any of those shoreside investigations I've been on. I do it to get out of the office."

"How come?" Michael asked.

"Politics," Cleo sighed. "Stuff coming in from up top and stuff between the people I'm in charge of. Going out and pretending to be a beat cop gets me away from it -- and plus, it lets me connect with the community."

"It does make you seem like less of a spook," Nima snorted. Cleo gave one in turn.

"Yeah. It feels nice to be out in plainclothes, though."

"I imagine... Is that what the sweatshirt is for, Ren?" Mike asked, turning to Renamon. She gave him a confused look, the slight pull-back revealing how close she'd come. "You know, are you kinda 'out of uniform?'"

"I guess you could say that, yes," she replied. "I didn't want to get swarmed, so I went with something that would cover my head."

Confusion passed over Michael. "Are you hiding from someone?"

"No, I --"

"Mike, have you watched a movie that's come out in the last two years?" Nima interrupted.

The human paused with his mouth still open. "...No, I haven't."

The komodo dragon nodded while Renamon looked at him with some surprise. "That's why," Nima said, facing him more directly. "She's a movie star, Mike. Real up 'n comer. A couple comedies and action flicks under her belt."

A smile spread across the fox's muzzle as Michael's eyes widened. "Guilty as charged," she said with a confident squint of her eyes. "I didn't take you for a buff, Nima."

"Well, a lot of your earlier stuff was in the indie scene," the lizard shrugged. "That and the tabloids here were very proud that one of our own has a sex tape."

"Nima!" Nora scolded, blush coming to her cheeks anew. Mike looked up at the towering fox with new eyes as Nora stuttered something out at the grinning lizard.

"No, no, it's fine," Renamon said with a wave of her hand. "He would've found out some way or another." She turned to Mike with a more sultry grin than before. "It wasn't a 'sex tape,' either. Domina Galis has a plot -- it's erotica, not porn."

"You're nude for the whole thing."

"You watched it to make sure?" the fox asked with a sharp look at the lizard. Nima hesitated, a little off-guard. Renamon's smug grin returned before she turned back to Michael. "I've explored a few different genres before I found what I liked. I'd be happy to catch you up on at least a section of modern cinema if you have some time."

The arm laying itself across his shoulders was familiar -- but the implications felt strange now.

"Maybe sometime. I've got a bit on my plate right now," Mike said, reaching for his burger. "It's going to be an interesting summer..."

"Y-you're here all summer?" Nora asked, her soft voice rising high.

"Yeah, I -- probably," the human sighed. "I will be for the next month or so at least. I've got my senior project to work on."

"Mmm. Still going to AMES with Alex?" Cleo asked.

"Still going to AMES, yes. Alex and I... had a falling out, I guess. We weren't roommates after that first year," Mike said. The news hit the group harder than he'd expected. The air around the table was awkward, even if it was only for a moment. Eyes slid around as Renamon's arm retreated slightly. He cleared his throat and moved things on. "Anyway, I'm going to graduate next year. They make you do a senior project before you can, so I worked something out with my advisor."

He paused, looking for the distinctive black, gray, and yellow of the Camero he'd gotten intimately familiar with earlier in the day.

"You see that one? Number 36?" he said, pointing the car out when he spotted it. "That's my project. All summer -- all through hobby-stock season -- I'm going to be working on it."

The girls all looked to the dirt track. It was a little funny, how little they'd all been paying attention to it. One way or another, it was why they'd even met up again after all this time.

"Like you're gonna be fixing it up?" Nima asked while the other searched.

"Yep. That and a whole lot more," Mike replied. "The racing club has had plans for improvements for a while. On top of the normal maintenance during race season, I'm going to design, make, and install the different upgrades and modifications they want." He leaned back a little on the bench again, taking in the scene in stadium lights. "And when the season proper starts, well, I'lm going to be at the races with them."

"That's cool, Mike," Cleo said as she pivoted back to the table. Her expression was soft but genuine, a rarity for her. "Seems like it's right up your alley. They paying you for it?"

"No, that would be something for graduate students. But I don't have to pay for anything in the shop. Materials, tools -- the space itself," he said with a few gestures. "That and I get to drive the car. Not on races, but you know -- around the track. It's the main reason they have the club."

It was nice to be reminded of the positives, and not how much hinged on this thing. It must have been visible to Nora; a large hand took his, mid-reach for a french fry.

"That sounds like a lot... are any of them helping you?" She asks.

"When they're here, probably," Mike sighed. "I'm kind of the head mechanic, since I'll be spending the most time with the car. I know they're expecting a lot, and that senior projects are more about going through the experience than they are 'succeeding,' but..." he shrugged. "...You know."

The orca nodded. Her voice shook a little when she got out the words. "I-if you want help, let me know. I'm used to boats and heavy equipment, b-but... I'm sure I can help somehow."

The small smile that grew on Mike's face was one of the first good one's he'd had in a while. "Thanks, Nora. I'll keep you in mind."

She with drew her hand with a smile -- her gentle touch was in contrast to Renamon's tight grip on his shoulder. He heard her inhale when Nima spoke up.

"You have somewhere to stay during all this?" the komodo asked. "I've got extra space at my place. Turns out busses are pretty big..."

Mike shifted in his seat as the letter burned in his head again. "Th-that's alright. I'm just going to be at my parents'," he said. "It's been a while -- I want to stay there as long as I can."

The others nodded, save Renamon. She studied his face intently as she pulled her arm from his back. "How do you mean? Are you expecting to have to travel with the team?"

Bile rose in his throat. He forced it down and grappled with the words. "I got my notice of Assignment yesterday," Michael said. "They say I need it, and they're giving me a month before they do it."

Around the table there was surprise. Each of the anthros had a slightly different expression mixed with it. Nima looked scared, while Nora looked sorry. Cleo, as conflicted as she appeared, spoke first.

"I understand your hesitancy," she said, a forced evenness to her voice, "but if it's what the evaluation office recommends, you should listen." She fixed him with an intense gaze. "The State has your best interests in mind, even if it doesn't seem like it."

"And all the plans I've built? Going to college, and all that?"

"They know about it and they'll take it into account," Cleo reassured him.

Everyone at the table could feel the hollowness in her voice -- most of all her. Mike's lips were a firm line, and his gaze dipped back down to the paper tray. It didn't shift when Renamon put a hand on his shoulder again -- and again, the sensation produced a spark of unease.

"It doesn't sound like you have anyone in mind, do you?" She asked.

"No."

"Well, why don't you just come with me?" The fox ignored the stares of the other anthros as she went on, concerned she hadn't caught Mike's gaze. "I don't have anyone either, and it wouldn't be odd for our relationship to be -- long distance. I fly all over for filming. I'm just back in town between shoots."

It was a few moments before the human looked up at her. He considered her words, considered all the 'friendly' touches and things she'd given him over the years. Considered the hourglass figure she'd had when he'd last saw her. He didn't get a perfect glimpse of her that night, but he'd seen enough curves against the sweatshirt to know that she'd maintained it -- maybe even enhanced it.

"I'll think about it, Ren," he said. "I've got a month to figure out what to do. Maybe I can get a re-evaluation in there somewhere."

He twirled his last fry absentmindedly in the few remaining streaks of ketchup.

"Worst comes to worst, I can always run off in the woods."

Nima's husky laugh filled the table. She leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms over her bust.

"Hell yeah, dude," she said, a few chuckles still bubbling through. "Bein' free is what it's all about."

It brought a smile to Mike's face, but the growling coming from the other side of the table quickly washed it away. Cleo's dagger-filled eyes were on the lizard, and only softened slightly when she shifted to him.

"I would strongly recommend against that," she said, a rumbling tenor still present in her voice. "I have to deal with Assignment dodgers, Mike. I do backgrounds and interrogation on the ones that the PDs catch -- and I chase the ones that run."

The human felt rooted to the spot. It had been a while since he'd been on the receiving end of Cleo's intensity. He remembered plenty of pointless arguments they'd had around lunchroom tables that would suddenly have the doberman's whole form taut.

This was far more serious than classifying hot dogs as sandwiches or tacos.

"I-if you want to talk, we're here for you," Nora said. "We're a-all in town, anyway. M-mostly." Her eyes spoke far louder than words; she was practically begging him to open up.

It hurt to disappoint her. "Thanks, Nora," Michael said. "I have all your numbers still, I think. Assuming they're still current." The pause as the anthros all thought about it gave him enough time to look at the track and pile his trash. "I-I think I'm going to go now. Looks like they're pulling the car in -- should check if it's a problem or not."

The table was all-around disappointed. "You sure?" Nima asked. "Sounds like it's the one night where it won't be just you fixin' things. Let them do it."

"It's also the one night the professor is here," Mike said, gathering his things. "I should probably make a good first impression." Renamon's hand lingered on him as he stood. "Besides, I'll be right in Cliffton. We can hang out again -- maybe do some of the old stuff we used to do."

The words seemed like cold comfort, even if they were true. Nora pulled her tail into her lap and hugged it tight to let him pass as he escaped the vulpine's grip.

"Maybe we can even get together with Randy," he said. The four of them looked at him with confusion until Cleo figured out who he meant.

"He went down to FL, Mike," she said. "Running a surf shop, the last I heard."

"Huh. Good for him," Michael said. "I guess it'll just be the five of us, then."

"Yeah. Just us left," Nima said. A look passed between all of them, a tension that Mike could feel but couldn't identify the source of. It had been a long time since the five of them had been together -- longer than he first remembered. Senior year they'd hardly met up outside of school events.

"Alright. I'll see you all later," he said with an awkward wave; whatever the source was, he would be happy to be free of it.

The four anthros waved back and said their goodbyes. Some were gruff, some were soft; some were relieved and others forceful. They all watched the human's dirty blonde head bob its way down the stairs; the cold in the air didn't leave with him. The table was just as tense when he left. Nora's arms stayed locked around her tail. Cleo stood silently and joined Renamon on the benches. The furred mammals were a few heads shorter than the lizard and the whale; this way, they were almost all even. Nima was the first to break the silence with a snort, going back to her bag of cheese curds.

"Nice to see nothing's changed..." she muttered. Cleo scowled, and Renamon huffed.

"Maybe they have," she said. "Nora, how has the family business been? Any new boats?"

The whale swallowed and put on the best kind face she could. "N-no, just sticking with the ones we have," she said. "Cleo, is -- a-are there any new recruits that you, um, like?"

"Not really." The doberman was still looking at the stairs where Mike had disappeared.

"I like the new agent I hired on," Renamon offered. "I met them at the release party for The Glass Chandelier, and --"

"We don't care," Nima sighed, crossing her arms on the table. "Just get it over with already."

"Get what over with?" Renamon asked. Her tone was sharp, but more even than Cleo's as she rumbled beside her.

"You know damn well what, Renee."

The name pulled the fox's ears back and caused Cleo to snarl. Nima stared on, unimpressed; Nora's hands gripped her tail tighter.

"If that's what you want to hear, then fine," Renamon said. "I deserve him the most. I've wanted him the longest."

"Yeah, you haven't changed," Nima chuckles. "You act like you're the only person that matters. Forget the rest of us for a second -- have you even considered what Mike wants? You think about that before you tried to pull him in your fucking lap?"

"Nima is right," Nora said, less tremble to her voice than she expected. "He seemed pretty shaken up by it, scared. It should be his choice to make, not yours."

"Mike has to be careful about what choices he's making period," Cleo growled. "Re-evaluations have a 95% rejection rate. He's going to end up with someone, whether he wants to or not; if neither of you will protect him from that, or from making a dumb decision, then I will."

Renamon's reaction was vivid and quick. "Hey, I said I was going to!" she said as she turned. "We've been over this, I've always wanted it!"

"And yet he never bit," Nima poked. The fox turned to her with piercing blue eyes.

"I can't help if we had a lot going on. Just because he doesn't know what he wants --"

"Enough!"

The table froze; Nora never shouted. Her shoulders were still hunched and her eyes still closed.

"This is the same way things went last time," she said quietly. "Arguing about it now isn't going to change how we feel. C-clearly."

Nima and Cleo backed down with quiet grunts. Renamon stayed with her head held high and her hands on her hips.

"Fine." she said. "Then why not treat it like last time; we all go our separate ways?"

"Fine by me," Nima said, still leaning back with arms crossed. "Now go smash in Cleo's squadcar or something. We had this table first."

Nora had the courage to scold the lizard, but the canines were already leaving. The two of them paused at the edge of the steps, Renamon once again in the lead.

"We'll see you around, I imagine," she said.

Nima didn't look up from her food. "Probably."

"...Just keep what he wants in mind," Nora sighed. The comment rolled off Renamon, but Cleo grunted.

"He doesn't want any of it," she said. "At this point, it's what he can get."

"And what we can give."