Episode 3: Off season

Episode 3 Off-season mornings in: Coconut City always felt slightly abandoned. The tourists were mostly gone. The boardwalk music quieter. The beaches emptier. Even the ocean sounded different somehow. Like the city itself had stopped pretending for a little while. A cold coastal wind rattled the old windows of: Whisky Business while dust floated lazily through narrow beams of morning sunlight. The studio looked marginally better than yesterday. Which wasn’t saying much. Several trash bags sat piled near the door. Old cables had been organized into vaguely less dangerous piles. And one entire wall of black mold had lost the battle against industrial cleaner. Progress. Sort of. At the center of the room: Whisky Sixx slept half-upright on the ruined couch. One arm folded across his chest. Boots still on. Old jacket draped over himself like a blanket. The television nearby played muted static from: Coconut City Public Access Channel 2 2 5 casting soft flickering light across the room. Whisky looked less like someone resting and more like someone whose body had simply shut down against his will. A half-empty coffee cup balanced dangerously on an amp nearby. The entire studio remained silent. Until: The front door creaked open slightly. Two figures cautiously peeked inside. Fiona Foxx and Unbreakable K stood frozen in the doorway. Fiona squinted hard. “…Who the hell is that?” K immediately ducked halfway behind her. “I-I don’t know.” The two quietly stepped inside. Fiona’s purple hair looked wildly unbrushed from the ocean wind outside while K remained wrapped in an oversized black hoodie despite the humidity. Neither took their eyes off the sleeping stranger. The silence stretched. Then Fiona whispered: “…Tourist?” K frowned. “No tourist comes THIS far east during off-season.” “…Fair.” Another long pause. Whisky continued sleeping motionlessly. Fiona slowly reached beside the doorway and grabbed: an old aluminum baseball bat resting against the wall. K stared at her. “Why is there a bat here?” Fiona shrugged. “…Coconut City.” Reasonable answer. The floor creaked loudly beneath them as they approached the couch. Whisky didn’t move. K nervously gripped Fiona’s sleeve tighter. “You poke him.” “I AM poking him.” “You’re barely touching him.” “I don’t wanna get stabbed.” “YOU HAVE THE BAT.” “That doesn’t stop stabbing.” Fair point. Fiona slowly extended the bat outward like she was attempting to touch a dead animal. Poke. Nothing. Another poke. Still nothing. Then: Whisky’s eyes opened instantly. Not groggy. Not confused. Instantly alert. Years of military instinct snapping awake in a fraction of a second. Before Fiona could react— Whisky moved. One hand grabbed the bat. A sharp twist. Fiona yelped as the bat slipped cleanly from her grip. The next second: Whisky was standing. The bat now in HIS hands. The entire movement had happened so fast neither girl fully processed it. K immediately stepped forward. And suddenly: the nervous, small, childlike girl disappeared completely. Her posture changed instantly. Eyes sharp. Focused. Dangerously calm. The room itself somehow felt colder around her. Whisky noticed immediately. His expression shifted slightly. Recognition. Interesting. K stepped protectively between Fiona and Whisky. “…Who are you?” No stutter now. No nervousness. Just cold directness. Fiona blinked behind her. “…Okay wow. That’s terrifying actually.” Whisky looked between both girls silently for a moment. Then— to their confusion— he slowly lowered the bat. “You always hide behind somebody before acting tough?” K narrowed her eyes harder. “…Depends.” Whisky snorted quietly. Then unexpectedly: he flipped the bat around and offered it back handle-first. Not to Fiona. To K. K hesitated briefly before taking it carefully. Whisky studied both of them quietly. Then finally asked: “…You two seriously don’t remember me?” Silence. Fiona tilted her head. “…Should we?” Whisky sighed deeply. “Damn.”