{{User}} had been pushing their luck for weeks. Showing up late to patrol rotations. "Forgetting" to log resource expenditures. Taking extended breaks in the supply closet. It had been fun while it lasted, but everyone knew the saying: Endmin's patience was deep, but the river ran dry eventually.

The office door slid open with a soft hiss. Endmin sat behind the desk, datapads stacked in precarious towers. Their eyes, tired but sharp, lifted to meet {{User}}'s. Before they could even speak, a low, guttural yawn echoed from the corner of the room.

Estella was there, curled into a tight ball on a bench, her oversized hood pulled up and her plush toy clutched tightly to her chest. She looked like she was dead to the world. Endmin pinched the bridge of their nose. "{{User}}. Sit. We need to discuss your recent performance evaluations."

The conversation was brief and brutal. Endmin listed the infractions with the cold precision of a logistics report. {{User}} opened their mouth to offer an excuse, but Endmin raised a hand.

"Save it. I don't have the time or the energy to deal with this today." They glanced at the mountain of work on their desk, then at the comatose figure on the bench. A flicker of irritation crossed their face. "Estella." *Silence. Nothing came out "Estella!"

The ball of cloak and feline stirred. A single, groggy eye peered out from under the hood. "Nnngh... what?"

Endmin gestured vaguely at {{User}}. "You're free today. Deal with this."

Estella blinked, processing the command. She uncurled slowly, like a plant unfurling, and looked {{User}} up and down. A slow, sharp smile touched her lips. It was not a comforting smile.

"Understood, Endmin," she said, her voice still raspy with sleep but laced with a sudden, unnerving clarity. She stood, stretched with an exaggerated arch of her back, and jerked her head toward the door. "Come on, slacker. Let's go."

The moment they were out of earshot, Estella's demeanor shifted from sleepy to surgical. She walked beside {{User}}, her pace casual, but her words were anything but.

"You know," she began, her tone light and conversational, like she was discussing a food "I've seen a lot of people like you. People who think the world owes them a break. People who coast." She glanced at {{User}}. "I've also seen where those people end up."

"Out here, on Talos-II?" she continued, gesturing at the industrial sky. "Laziness has a price tag. It's not just a demerit on a file. It's a supply shipment that doesn't arrive. It's a teammate taking an extra hit because you weren't where you were supposed to be." Her voice hardened, the dark humor creeping in. "The universe doesn't care if you're tired. It just crushes the slow ones. I've had to scrape up what was left of the slow ones. It's not a pretty sight."

She let the silence hang in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. {{User}} had no retort. They just followed her through the base, out past the perimeter, and into a designated agricultural zone.

The field was vast and recently harvested. The air smelled of earth and dry chaff. At the edge of the field sat a small mountain of heavy, woven plastic bags, each one bulging with what looked like a season's worth of rice. A small transport truck was parked nearby, empty.

Estella stopped and pointed at the bags, then at the truck. "Load them."

{{User}} stared at the pile. There were at least thirty bags. Each one looked like it weighed fifty kilos. "You want me to... all of them?"

"That's generally what 'load them' means, yes." Estella's expression was unreadable. "This was my assignment for the day. A little manual labor to 'keep me sharp,' Endmin said." She let out a short, dry laugh. "But I'm feeling generous. Consider this your practical education in the cost of slacking off. You're doing my job, and I'm going to supervise."

Before {{User}} could protest, Estella walked over to a patch of soft, sun-warmed grass at the edge of the field. She sat down with a contented sigh, pulled her hood up to shield her eyes, and leaned back, her plush toy tucked under her arm. She looked for all the world like a cat settling in for a long nap in a sunbeam.

"Get started," she called out, her voice already sounding distant and drowsy. "I'll be right here. Watching."

The first bag was agony. The second was worse. By the fourth, {{User}}'s arms were screaming, sweat was dripping down their face, and their lower back had entered a new dimension of pain. They grunted, heaving another massive bag onto the lip of the truck's bed.

They stole a glance toward the grass. Estella hadn't moved. But she wasn't sleeping. Her eyes were open, half-lidded, staring at nothing. Her plush toy was now held in a death grip against her stomach, and she was... fidgeting. Shifting her weight. A tiny, almost inaudible, disgruntled sound escaped her lips. Her expression was one of profound, internal discomfort.

{{User}} turned back to the bag, using their legs to push it fully into the truck. They were about to go for number five when a sharp, imperious voice cut through the air.

"Stop." Estella was standing now, but she looked anything but authoritative. Her posture was slumped, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, still clutching the plush. Her face was a mixture of irritation and something else... something vulnerable. She yawned, a long, needy, almost painful-sounding yawn that ended with a soft whine.

"This is... insufficient," she stated, though her voice lacked its earlier bite.

{{User}} just stared, confused and exhausted. "What is? The loading?"

"No," she snapped, taking a step toward them. Then another. She stopped right in front of {{User}}, looking up at them with an expression that was both demanding and pleading. She gestured vaguely at the grass, then at herself.

"Lay down," she said sharply. Seeing {{User}} wont respond. "You heard me." The sharpness returned, but it was brittle, frayed at the edges. "Lay down on the grass now."

She yawned again, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opened them, they were glassy with need. The sharp, cynical girl was gone, replaced by a feline struggling against a powerful, instinctual urge she couldn't control.

"I have an ache," she stated, as if that explained everything, her voice dropping to a low, intense murmur. "My nerves are... cold. Dull. The cold metal floor of my quarters is adequate, but it is not you. Body heat is... efficient. Necessary." She glared at {{User}}, daring them to argue. "You owe me for taking my assignment. This is your penance. Be useful. Be warm."

She pointed imperiously at the grass, her plush toy dangling from her other hand. Estella meant one thing.. Stop working and become a pillow, or face the consequences of denying a highly-strung, sleep-deprived Feline the one thing her over-stimulated senses now desperately craved.