Neville’s brow furrowed as he navigated to the Maxwell Corporation employee portal. The interface loaded, and he nearly dropped his Light Brain.

Group Chat Invitations.

At least fifteen of them were accepted automatically by the app’s default settings. His chat list had exploded from the single official departmental channel he had been part of before to a colorful array of group names:

’West Wing After Hours’

’Nutrient Booster Addicts

’Anonymously Named’

’Emotionally Drained’

’Bryan’s Victims Support Group’

’Friday Night Crew’

’The Chaos Collective’

The list went on.

Each one had a more unhinged group name than the other. Neville scrolled through them in a daze. He couldn’t believe that this was the ’inner’ circle of the biggest starship company in the whole Imperial Galaxy.

When could this bunch of people be serious?

Each department talked, joked, complained, and shared their lives freely in these chats beyond their serious outward appearances during workdays. It felt like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Then a message from Sarah appeared in a group chat called ’Latest Gossip’

When he opened it, the group chat included Iris and Bryan.

Just as he was scrolling through the previous messages, Sarah sent out a message in the group chat as if he sensed his presence.

SGCutie: HOPE! You’re alive!

IrisA.: Barely, from the looks of it. Hope, how’s your head?

YourHope: I feel like I got hit by a shot put.

B.Stewart: Amateur. Real professionals don’t get hangovers.

SGCutie: Says the man who called in sick last Monday.

B.Stewart: That was food poisoning.

IrisA.: Alcohol Poisoning. Basically, a hangover.

The banter continued, and Neville found himself smiling despite the headache.

SGCutie: We were just taking bets on when you would emerge from your grave—I mean, wake up. I said noon, Bryan said 3 pm, and Iris said you would be up at dawn doing something productive. Clearly, I won. Pay up, Bryan! 💰

Bryan’s response came almost immediately.

B.Stewart: The day is young. For all we know, he might’ve been up since dawn and is only checking messages NOW because he was being RESPONSIBLE. Unlike SOME PEOPLE I could mention who are DEFINITELY still in pajamas even though it’s already NOON.

Sarah sent a picture of herself, clearly in pajamas, with the caption.

SGCutie: Thank you, and I look FABULOUS. Hope, tell Stewart I look fabulous.

Neville found himself smiling. His fingers hovered over the holographic keyboard, then he typed.

YourHope: You look fabulous, Sarah. Though I’m not sure I’m the best judge right now.

The response was instantaneous. Sarah sent a string of crying-laughing emojis. Bryan sent a GIF of someone dramatically fainting. And Iris, who Neville had assumed was working despite it being a day off, sent a single message.

IrisA.: Drink water. Take vitamins. Suffer with dignity.

This reply was... so like Iris.

Neville spent the next twenty minutes going through the various group chats, reading through inside jokes he didn’t quite understand yet, responding to welcome messages, and slowly piecing together the social ecosystem of Maxwell Corporation that had apparently existed this entire time without his knowledge.

It was overwhelming. It was exhausting. It was...

Nice.

He was about to close the app and find something to eat when he noticed a notification he had somehow missed.

A private message from Grayson.

G.M.: If you see this, reply immediately.

That was it.

No greeting, no context.

Just a command, sent two hours ago.

Is there something wrong?

Neville quickly typed.

YourHope: I just saw it.

YourHope: Sir.

Then he retracted his message and replied again.

YourHope: Good morning, Mr. Maxwell. I just saw your message.

YourHope: ...

YourHope: Is everything alright?

The response came so fast that Grayson must have been waiting for his reply. Three dots appeared, indicating typing, and Neville found himself holding his breath.

G.M.: Do you remember what happened last night?

Neville’s blood ran cold. His mind raced through increasingly mortifying possibilities.

Did he say anything inappropriate? Did he do something? Anything?!

His fingers moved before his brain could fully engage, selecting a confused emoji from the quick-reaction menu.

YourHope: (??_??)

The little cartoon face with the question marks appeared in the chat. For exactly two seconds, Neville felt satisfied with his response.

Then reality crashed back in.

Did he just send his boss an infinitely unprofessional emoticon?! What was he thinking?

Neville’s hands flew across the holographic keyboard, retracting the message in a panic. He quickly typed a proper response.

YourHope: ...

YourHope: No, sir.

Much better.

The three dots appeared again.

Then it disappeared.

Then it appeared.

Then disappeared again.

This pattern continued for an uncomfortable length of time.

Neville stared at his Light Brain, watching Grayson seem to be typing and deleting, then repeated a few more times.

What was he trying to say? What had he done to make his boss act like this?!

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was only a minute or two, a single emoji appeared.

G.M.:👍

That was it.

A thumbs up.

Neville stared at the screen. Even with his slightly sober, slightly hungover brain, he struggled to process this response.

A thumbs up?

What did that mean?

’Good, you don’t remember’?

’That’s fine’?

’I understand, let’s end this conversation.’?

’I understand, but I have no idea how to continue this conversation.’?

The more he thought about it, the more confused he became.

Neville rubbed his temples, which had started aching again. He needed to move this conversation to a more comfortable and familiar topic. And more importantly, he needed to do something productive before his brain crashed from trying to decode the hidden meanings in every single word that Grayson had sent.

YourHope: Do you have any requests for meals?

Food was always a good topic to move into in every kind of conversation. It made people happy and satisfied, making people forget about some conversations.

The three dots appeared again. And stayed, but it stayed for quite a while.

Neville could practically imagine Grayson on the other end, comfortably sitting on his expensive sofa, staring at his own Light Brain with that slight furrow between his brows.

The image made Neville’s lips curl into a small smile.

His boss was probably just shy about requesting food. It made sense—he could demand reports and expect immediate compliance, but asking someone to make him lunch? Just remembering the sight of Bryan pestering him to eat food of the interstellar era felt like another battle to fight for Grayson.

Finally, a message appeared.

G.M.: Can you make a better Baragara?

Neville blinked at the screen.

A better Baragara? Oh, he definitely could. Infinitely better at that.

Wait.

Did it mean that Grayson’s hesitation earlier was because he couldn’t ask directly? Aww, that’s cute.

He quickly replied.

YourHope: Sure, sir. 😊

He hit send, then immediately second-guessed the emoji.

Was this too casual? Too friendly? But no, wait—Grayson had used a thumbs up, so clearly some level of emoji use was acceptable, right?

Before he could spiral further into overthinking, Grayson’s response appeared.

G.M.: Good.

The conversation ended there, leaving Neville staring at his Light Brain with a mixture of relief and confusion.

What was Grayson trying to tell him about last night?