The rhythmic scrape of iron dragging across magical asphalt provided a grim soundtrack for the Convention of the Patriots. While the captive general continued his grueling loop under Eisenhower's cheerful supervision, the rest of the crew settled into the sovereign space to wait out the monster's pride. The quiet downtime broke when the dimensional portal flared with a sudden and brilliant surge of energy.
A heavy metallic cylinder punched through the tether, skidding across the paved floor with a harsh screech before halting near the center of the domain. Warrex instinctively reached for his axes, assuming live ordnance had breached the tear, but the object remained completely inert. Roy stood up and stared at the massive casing, trying to understand how his ship had bypassed the strict weapon-only rule of the gateway to deliver supplies.
"Serenity hollowed out a surplus missile casing," Adams explained, casually tapping the sleek metallic cylinder resting on the magical asphalt of the Convention. "She packed the warhead compartment with insulated containers, strapped a rudimentary thruster to the exhaust, and fired the entire assembly through the portal. Because the system officially classifies the delivery mechanism as active ammunition, it bypassed the dimensional restrictions perfectly."
The heavy metal hatch popped open with a hiss of releasing pressure. Thick, fragrant steam rolled out over the floorboards of the Presidroid domain. Trays of sliced turkey, rich gravy, and a pristine mound of cranberry gel sat alongside a massive, melting tray of poutine. Tucked neatly next to the traditional rolls were steaming corn tamales, a deep pan of kimchi and lap cheong fried rice, and deeply charred tandoori root vegetables.
Takara stared down at the sprawling feast, her brow furrowing in deep confusion. "Roy, you are the history guy. How exactly did all this end up categorized as standard Thanksgiving food?"
Roy grabbed a plate and immediately began piling food onto it. "You have to remember the 2068 Thanksgiving Accords. After the Abeyance Incident unified North America into the UN of C.U.M., the borders became basically a suggestion. The government mandated the Tex-Mex-Plus clauses, which legally required tamales and elote cornbread stuffing to bridge the cultural gap."
Takara pointed a fork at the glowing red vegetables. "And the rest of it?"
"Treaties," Roy answered around a mouthful of turkey. "Once the Asian immigration treaties hit, they added the Pan-Pacific Provision. Kimchi fried rice became the official base layer to catch the gravy instead of boring white rice. Then the Indian Spice-Trade Protocol brought the tandoori sweet potatoes to balance out the cranberry sauce." He closed his eyes, savoring the chaotic flavor profile. "Oh, bless Eternity. She treats me too well. I did not deserve this."
Lynder paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Who is Eternity?"
Roy choked slightly, swallowed hard, and waved his hand through the air. "No one. You are hallucinating. Try the cranberry sauce, it is festive."
Looking highly suspicious, Lynder scooped a generous portion of the dark red gel onto his plate. He took a cautious bite, paused, and immediately took another. His eyes went wide. "Oh. Oh, that is good."
Roy watched the ancient elf in pure disbelief.
"That is one of the best things I have ever eaten," Lynder declared, staring at the gelatinous mound. "But surely you love it as well. I will not take it all."
Roy stared back with a completely deadpan expression. "Lynder, I gave it to you because I hate it. Nobody likes cranberry sauce. I have never seen anyone eat that stuff willingly in my entire life."
Lynder blinked rapidly. "What."
"I will send you a pallet of it," Roy promised, pointing his fork like a judge passing a sentence. "A whole pallet. Cans stacked directly to the ceiling."
Lynder leaned forward, placing a hand on Roy's shoulder with ridiculous, heartfelt sincerity. "It is moments like these that make me wonder why I never married a man like you instead of all those women."
Roy barked out a laugh and shoved the hand away. "Stop being weird."
Shrugging off the rejection, Lynder went right back to devouring the red gel like a man discovering a new religion.
Across the table, Rava pushed his food around his plate. He watched Roy carefully before clearing his throat, looking exactly like a man preparing to confess a terrible crime. "Hey, Roy. I mean, Captain."
Roy dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter, dismissing any lingering formality. "Call me whatever. Roy works fine."
Sitting rigidly opposite his captain, Rava focused entirely on the conversation rather than his own meal. The young administrator cast a long, heavy look toward that jagged perimeter where their captive maintained his agonizing run. "Back there," Rava murmured, his voice tight with genuine apprehension. "I felt pure malice rolling off you. It far exceeded anything I believed you possessed. So I find myself wondering if I have been speaking to a mask this entire time."
Roy absorbed this massive accusation in complete silence. He let heavy tension pool over their table for several seconds before a profound, authentic warmth finally broke through his predatory stillness.
"Thank you," Roy said, radiating genuine delight. "That truly is the highest compliment you could have offered."
His carefully constructed apprehension instantly shattering into absolute bewilderment, Rava struggled to process the pivot. "I am completely lost."
"I put serious hours into practicing that persona," Roy explained, leaning back in his chair to savor his victory. "Hearing it actually landed makes me incredibly happy."
Digging back into his mashed potatoes, Roy laughed openly. "Obviously I was acting. That psycho routine is a complete fabrication." He gestured loosely toward their distant runner using a half-eaten roll. "I plan to let him go completely free once we finish up here. I want to feed him, get him nice and fat, and send him right back home."
Chewing steadily through a massive bite of cranberry sauce, Lynder finally weighed in, his tone dripping with ancient elven disdain. "And that right there is exactly where we would get a divorce."
Roy leveled a flat stare across their table. "We are not married."
"And you would absolutely pay me alimony," Lynder continued, bulldozing straight over the correction. "Because you hold all our financial assets. Monsters operate purely as hostile entities. They remain enemies."
Roy pointed his silver fork like a weapon. "Save your lectures for a time when we are not actively eating."
Acknowledging this boundary, Lynder offered a curt nod. "Fair enough."
Tossing his crumpled napkin onto his empty plate, Roy shifted focus. "Adams. Approach."
Breaking formation, the Presidroid marched directly to his captain's side.
Roy lifted the decimated remains of a turkey carcass and held the bones out like a theatrical prop. "Take this and set it by the highway. Place it just out of his reach. I want him to smell it. I want him to see it. I want him to suffer."
Adams stared at the greasy bones, then shifted his gaze to Roy. "You were just telling Rava you are not evil."
"Oh, shut up," Roy glared. "This makes him crack faster. That means he suffers less in the long run. It is efficient mercy. Let me have this."
Adams laughed quietly under his breath and accepted the turkey. "You do not need to convince me, Captain." He tilted his head subtly toward the other side of the table.
Following the gesture, Roy saw Rava's expression sliding rapidly back toward deep concern. Roy raised both hands, palms facing outward in a gesture of absolute surrender.
"Rava, please," Roy pleaded softly. "I am fine. I am not bad. I am just creative."
Rava offered a slow, unconvinced nod. In the background, Eisenhower's jagged road maintained a low, steady hum. The general kept running. The iron chain kept pulling. The air inside the Convention stayed full of rich food and the strange relief of survival, masking the ugly reality of the torture playing out just a few yards away.
Two hours later, the endless loop still had not earned the captive a shred of mercy.
Roy moved his chair closer to the circle, keeping enough distance to ensure the general could never accidentally stumble into him. Various plates of food now littered the perimeter of the ring. Sliced meats and untouched rolls rested on the stone. Every time the general passed a plate, his eyes darted toward the calories, his exhaustion fracturing his stoic expression.
Waking from a deep food coma, Roy sat up looking annoyingly refreshed. He checked the screen of his AllPhone resting on his chest. A new message waited from Serenity.
Captain, come back soon. If not for me, for Skellbro. They are insistent, and they miss you.
Roy chuckled quietly, shook his head, and slid the phone back into his pocket. He turned his attention to the circle. The general looked entirely ruined, his armor stripped and his skin scraped raw from the asphalt.
Catching Eisenhower's eye, Roy dragged a thumb across his throat. He followed the gesture with a rolling motion of his hand, signaling the Presidroid to keep the momentum going.
Eisenhower nodded in understanding. He slowed his pace for a fraction of a second, allowing the chain to go slack, before stopping his forward motion entirely.
The general staggered in place, panting heavily as he tried to force a defiant smirk through the agony. "What is wrong?" the monster rasped. "Too tired?"
Eisenhower looked back at him with a face full of complete, disarming sincerity. "Yep. I just do not feel like the Captain is being very fair to you, so I am going to let you go."
The general's eyes widened. His pride attempted to stand up before his battered legs could catch the cue. "Really?"
Eisenhower smiled brightly. "No."
The Presidroid stepped back onto the glowing highway, and the magical road snapped his body forward at a terrifying speed. The iron chain yanked violently. The general slammed face-first into the asphalt, skidded across the jagged rocks, and frantically clawed his way back to his feet to avoid being dragged to death.
That single, cheerful rejection broke the final pillar of his resolve. The monster's bravado dissolved, leaving behind a pathetic, desperate scramble for survival.
Roy called out from his chair, projecting his voice loud enough for the recording drones to capture. "Food comes to those with loose lips."
The general kept running. Roy did not repeat the offer. He let the words hang in the air, forcing the starving monster to chew on the promise.
Another grueling hour passed before the captive finally snapped.
"Fine!" the general screamed, his voice tearing. "Fine! Stop!"
Eisenhower allowed the road to carry him through one final, leisurely loop before stepping onto the grass. The chain dropped. The general collapsed hard onto his knees, shaking uncontrollably and coughing as if his lungs were trying to escape his chest.
JFK stepped in immediately, layering a fresh restraint seal over the monster before he could even attempt to stand. Andri moved in closely behind him, applying the healing magic with clinical detachment. She provided just enough restoration to stop the active bleeding and stabilize his vitals, leaving him exhausted and aching.
Lutrian handed the general a deep bowl of thick, steaming broth. The monster grabbed the bowl, abandoning all pretense of dignity, and began shoveling the liquid into his mouth. He ate like a man who deeply hated himself for surrendering.