Kiko, Sparky, and Brick, Anya's most trusted crew, decided to check on their boss. It wasn't unusual for them to drop by her apartment unannounced. It was a perk (or a hazard, depending on how you looked at it) of being in Anya's inner circle. They operated with a certain... informality, a rough-and-tumble camaraderie forged in the fires of countless skirmishes and close calls.
So, they bypassed the security protocols (which, to be fair, Anya had probably disabled herself anyway) and slid the apartment door open with practiced ease. They stepped inside, their usual boisterous energy immediately evaporating.
The sight that greeted them was... wrong.
It wasn't the apartment itself, though the changes were startling enough. It was cleaner than any of them had ever seen it, almost unsettlingly so. The presence of actual wood was enough to make Brick's augmented eye twitch in confusion. But it was the figure in the kitchen that truly stopped them in their tracks.
A man. A real, actual man, not some synth-enhanced ganger or chrome-plated mercenary. He was...cooking.
Jaune hummed softly, a cheerful, almost lilting tune, as he moved around the kitchen area with an easy grace. He chopped vegetables with a speed and precision that suggested actual skill, not just some implanted reflexes. He stirred a pot, the contents of which emitted an aroma that made Sparky's stomach growl audibly, a sound that was usually drowned out by the constant hum of the city.
But it wasn't just what he was doing; it was how he was doing it. He had a genuine smile on his face, a warm, unguarded expression that seemed utterly out of place in this cynical, steel-and-shadow world. He looked...happy. Content. Making food.
Their eyes scanned the scene, taking in the details. A table laden with dishes that looked like something out of a history book: colorful fruits, not the usual nutrient paste; a steaming pot that smelled suspiciously like soup, with chunks of something that looked suspiciously like...meat. Real meat. Not the processed, synthetic protein they were used to, but actual, honest-to-god meat.
The three of them stood frozen in the doorway, their collective tiny brains struggling to process the sheer incongruity of it all. It was like stumbling onto an alien spaceship in the middle of a junkyard.
Jaune finally turned around, his smile widening as he saw them. He didn't seem surprised, or threatened, or even particularly bothered by their unannounced arrival. He just looked...welcoming.
"Oh, hello," he said cheerfully, his voice warm and friendly. "You must be Anya's friends. Welcome! I was just making lunch. There's plenty, if you'd like some." He gestured to the table, his smile unwavering. "I'm making a sort of...stew. And some salad. And there's fruit, of course."
The three of them just stared, their mouths slightly agape. Kiko, ever the pragmatist, was the first to find her voice, though it came out as a strangled croak.
"Anya...friends?" she managed to squeak.
Sparky, her bright green eyes wide with a mixture of awe and confusion, blurted out the first coherent (if slightly insane) thought that popped into her head. "Is...is Anya okay? Did she get kidnapped and replaced with a Stepford wife?"
Brick, his one good eye narrowed in suspicion, rumbled, "Who the hell are you?" He took a step forward, his augmented hand twitching slightly, a low hum emanating from its hydraulics. He was ready to be hostile, to defend Anya's territory, but the sheer...domesticity of the scene was throwing him off balance.
Jaune blinked, his smile faltering slightly, but not disappearing entirely. He seemed genuinely confused by their reaction. "I'm Jaune," he said, gesturing to himself. "I'm...staying with Anya. And I'm making lunch. Again, you're welcome to join us."
The three of them exchanged bewildered glances. The same thought, in varying degrees of incredulity, was running through their heads: Fuck if Anya got a sugar daddy. Who the fuck is rich enough to make real, fresh food in this godforsaken city?
Anya woke up slowly, her head throbbing with a dull ache. The lingering effects of the...apple-induced coma, she supposed. She groaned, pushing herself up from the surprisingly comfortable bed. For a moment, she was disoriented, the unfamiliar softness of the mattress and the faint scent of something...floral? It wasn't the sterile, metallic tang of her usual sleeping platform.
She stumbled out of the room, her hand instinctively reaching for the non-existent weapon at her side. The apartment was...quieter than usual. Too quiet. A bad feeling settled in her stomach. She padded towards the living area, her senses on high alert.
And then she stopped.
The scene that unfolded before her was...surreal. Bizarre. Utterly, incomprehensibly wrong.
Her three most trusted, most competent crew members were sprawled around her living room table, looking less like hardened mercenaries and more like...well, like a group of overly enthusiastic children at a birthday party.
Sparky, her gravity-defying pink hair somehow even more vibrant than usual, was practically vibrating with excitement, shoveling spoonfuls of Jaune's stew into her mouth with reckless abandon. Her green eyes were wide and shining, and she was making incoherent noises of delight between mouthfuls.
Brick, the cybernetically enhanced behemoth, was actually smiling. A genuine, unguarded smile that made him look almost...human. He was carefully dissecting a piece of meat with his augmented hand, his one good eye gleaming with appreciation. He even let out a low rumble of satisfaction, a sound that usually preceded some act of extreme violence.
Kiko, ever the pragmatist, was the only one attempting to maintain some semblance of composure, but even she couldn't hide the fact that she was thoroughly enjoying herself. She was eating with a focused intensity, her sharp brown eyes occasionally darting towards Jaune with a look that Anya couldn't quite decipher. It was a strange mix of suspicion and...was that gratitude?
And Jaune...her Jaune, was in the middle of it all, looking utterly in his element. He was bustling around the table, refilling bowls, offering more fruit, and generally acting like some kind of...domestic god. He was even laughing, a warm, genuine sound that Anya had never heard in her apartment before.
He was serving them. Her crew. In her apartment. Like some kind of...servant.
Anya's vision swam. Her cybernetic arm twitched uncontrollably. A low growl rumbled in her throat, a sound that promised pain and suffering.
"What...in the hell...is going on here?" she managed to choke out, her voice dangerously low.
The three of them froze, their faces snapping towards her with varying degrees of guilt and sheepishness. Jaune, however, just blinked and smiled.
"Oh, Anya! You're awake," he said cheerfully, as if nothing was amiss. "Your friends were just having lunch. I made extra." He gestured to the table, his smile widening. "There's still plenty left. You should join us!"
Anya stared at him, then at her crew, then back at Jaune. Her mind, still sluggish from her involuntary nap, struggled to process the sheer, unadulterated wrongness of the situation.
"My...my friends...are having lunch...in my apartment...and you're...you're serving them?" she repeated slowly, each word dripping with disbelief and a rapidly escalating fury.
Sparky, bless her chaotic soul, was the first to attempt an explanation, though it came out as a garbled mess of half-chewed food and nervous babbling.
"Anya! Hey! You're up! We were just...uh...Jaune made food! Real food! It's amazing! You have to try it! And...and he cleaned the apartment! It's so clean! And...and..." She trailed off, her eyes darting between Anya's increasingly murderous expression and the rapidly shrinking pile of stew on her plate.
Brick, ever the blunt one, simply shrugged his massive shoulders and said, "He makes a damn good stew." It was, for Brick, high praise indeed.
Kiko, sensing the impending doom, tried a more diplomatic approach, though her voice still trembled slightly. "Anya, we...we didn't mean to intrude. We just came to check on you, and...and Jaune offered us food. We didn't want to be rude."
Rude? Rude? Anya's cybernetic hand clenched into a fist, the metal groaning softly. Rude was raiding a heavily guarded compound. Rude was double-crossing a client. This...this was an affront to the very fabric of reality. This was an act of treason.
Her three most trusted crew members, her loyal soldiers, her family, were sitting in her apartment, eating her food, served by her...her...whatever Jaune was, and they were acting like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Anya's carefully constructed facade of cool professionalism began to crack. Her control, usually as solid as the steel in her arm, threatened to shatter. She felt a hot, blinding rage building inside her, a rage that was directed at everyone and no one in particular.
"You...you..." she sputtered, her voice rising in pitch. She was almost vibrating with fury. She couldn't even form a coherent sentence. The sheer audacity of it all was beyond words.
She took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure, but it was a losing battle. Her eyes, glowing with an ominous intensity, swept over the scene once more, taking in the domestic tableau with a mixture of horror and disbelief.
"This," she finally managed to choke out, her voice a low, dangerous growl, "This is unacceptable."
Jaune, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, stepped forward. His cheerful demeanor was replaced with a firm, almost commanding presence. His blue eyes, usually so warm and gentle, now held a steely glint. He looked at Anya, and his voice, though still kind, brooked no argument.
"Anya," he said, his voice low and steady, "Sit. And eat. Don't you dare be angry at the sight of good food."
The effect was immediate and profound.
Kiko, Sparky, and Brick, hardened mercenaries who had faced down heavily armed gangs and survived countless firefights, froze. Their bodies began to tremble, almost imperceptibly at first, then more violently. Their eyes darted between Jaune and Anya, their faces pale and drawn. They had seen Anya angry before. They had witnessed her unleash her fury on their enemies, a terrifying spectacle of controlled violence and lethal efficiency. But this...this was different. This wasn't her usual rage. This was something else, something...primal. And it was directed at them.
They had never seen Anya look...afraid. Not truly afraid. Wary, cautious, angry, yes. But never this wide-eyed, this...vulnerable. And yet, she was. The woman who could kill thirty men before breakfast was now standing before them, looking like a scolded child.
Anya swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. She opened her mouth to protest, to unleash the torrent of fury that had been building inside her, but the words died in her throat. She looked at Jaune, at the unyielding firmness in his eyes, and something inside her shifted. It wasn't fear, exactly. It was...an acknowledgment. An acceptance of a power she didn't understand, a power that somehow superseded her own.
"Yes, Jaune," she said softly, the words barely audible. She moved towards the table, her steps hesitant, her gaze fixed on the floor.
Jaune's expression softened slightly as Anya obeyed. The steel in his eyes receded, replaced by a gentle warmth. He smiled, a small, reassuring smile.
"Good," he said. He turned back to the table, his movements fluid and graceful. "Let me get you some. I have some apple slices cut into...interesting shapes. And the stew is especially good today." He bustled around her, placing a bowl of steaming stew and a plate of intricately carved apple slices before her. The apples were indeed cut into the shapes of small ducks, a detail that, under normal circumstances, would have elicited a snort of derision from Anya. But today, she simply stared at them, her expression unreadable.
The three crew members watched this exchange with a mixture of awe and terror. They had never seen anything like it. The power dynamic between Anya and Jaune had shifted, subtly yet undeniably. And they had no idea what it meant.