The Adventures of the "Four Muskytears"

🪶 Dimensions and Divinity [5/7] 🪶

Jester's POV:

After the sun went down, all we had was 69's head repaired.

Everything else was still scattered out in front of our pickup truck.

Stick was toying with some of the broken pieces, welding them together with some sort of tool he brought along with him.

Polar was crouched beside 69's visor, rubbing her snout against the glass in an attempt to wake him up.

I sat there, keeping watch as the night sky continued to darken.

"This is gonna take me a while," Stick mumbled, fumbling with a torn wire. "Can either of you explain why it took so long for me to find you guys? I genuinely thought you all died."

I shrugged. "I was summoned by the sound of violence. You know me, Stick. All jokes aside, I think Polar's the only one conscious enough to tell the story..."

At the mention of her name, the cub's ears perked up, swiveling toward us. "Pardon?"

"Tell us what happened," I demanded, gesturing to the rest of 69's broken body. "How did 69, out of the four of us, get obliterated by a buck out of all things? Surely there's more to the story."

I leaned in toward Polar, intimidating her. "C'mon, tell us. I'm dying to know."

"That's enough, Jester." Stick snapped, grabbing me by the sleeve and yanking me away from her. "It doesn't matter what happened, 69 needs to be repaired and Polar's probably traumatized. They both need some time."

I groaned, leaning on the side of the pickup. "Ugh, you're both so SOFT. Why can't we just get this over with so we know what we're dealing with when we go back in there?"

"You can't be talking!" The engineer retorted, glaring at me from behind his helmet visor. "One, I could feel your empathy from a mile away before I even got to you. Two, we're not trying to give anyone else any more stress. So just shut up, sit down, and let it be."

If pure shock wasn't displayed on my drama mask, I don't know what was.

I never heard Stick break like that, even in the worst case scenarios.

When he ever was mad, he just stayed silent.

He changed.

And I could tell.

Polar was equally as stunned as I was, even though Stick's hurtful words were not directed at her.

An unwelcoming, cold blanket of silence settled in between the three of us, isolating all of us in our own separate mental islands.

That took a toll on the rest of us for the remainder of our time together.

⭐️☁️⭐️☁️⭐️☁️⭐️☁️⭐️☁️⭐️☁️⭐️☁️⭐️☁️

Days passed, and we were back on the move.

This time, I was driving the pickup, 69's fully repaired upper half sitting in shotgun with me.

Stick sat in the back, tinkering with fragments of the mercenary robot's legs and torso.

You may be wondering, "Jester, where's the squeaky toy- I mean, Polar?"

I'm going to say this as bluntly as possible, and I don't care if you try to get me cancelled for it.

She's in the back.

Like, the back back.

The place where everything too big to fit inside the car gets placed outside.