Midnight at the Golden Chalice
The Golden Chalice Pub was already sweating by ten.
Gold jerseys everywhere. Sleeves rolled up. Pints half-finished. Laughter bouncing off the wood-paneled walls like it had been training all year for this moment. The Golden Bros had claimed the long table by the bar, and the PDUs were stacked three deep behind them, moving like a unit even off duty.
Wells had his back to the bar, one boot hooked on the rung, shoulders loose, drink resting easy in his hand. He wasn’t trying to lead the room—but the room kept orienting around him anyway. Alpha gravity. Easy confidence. The kind of presence that didn’t need volume.
Alton 77 leaned in beside him, raising his pint. “You know,” he said, “every year I tell myself I’ll take it easy.”
Wells smirked. “And every year you lie to yourself.”
Across the table, Gabe 75 was already loud, already flushed, already telling Kasper 90 a story with way too much arm movement. Kasper laughed and shook his head, letting it bounce off him like he always did. Leander 88 stood close, calm and observant, posture relaxed but ready, someone who didn’t speak often, but when he did, it landed.
PDU-767, somehow still composed, scanned the room out of habit before finally allowing himself a drink.
“Crowd density increasing,” he noted.
Wells clinked his glass against 767’s. “Relax. If anything goes wrong, we’ll just flex at it.”
That got a laugh. Even 767 cracked a smile.
As the night rolled on, jackets came off. Ties loosened. Then someone, no one ever admitted it, decided shirts were optional.
Gold fabric hit the backs of chairs. Shirts were waved overhead like flags of surrender. The air got warmer, thicker. Someone found a bag of ridiculous New Year’s party hats, plastic crowns, shiny top hats, things that definitely weren’t regulation—and suddenly they were everywhere.
Gabe ended up with a cone hat tilted sideways, blowing a noise maker directly into Kasper’s ear.
“Easy,” Kasper laughed. “You keep that up and someone’s losing control.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time tonight,” Gabe shot back.
Alton flicked a strand of metallic streamer across Wells’ shoulder. “Careful,” he said. “Place is getting slick.”
Wells glanced down—condensation on the table, sweat on skin, bodies packed closer now. Shirtless bros. Gold catching the light. Noise makers squealing every time someone leaned too close.
“Slippery environments reveal a lot,” PDU-767 observed dryly, adjusting his party hat like it was standard issue.
Leander’s mouth twitched. “Depends who knows how to keep their footing.”
Wells leaned back, arms stretched along the bench, heat rolling off him like he’d planned it. He lifted a noise maker, blew it once—slow, deliberate—then grinned.
“Relax,” he said. “If anyone falls… we’ll just make sure they land somewhere soft.”
By eleven fifty-eight, no one was sitting anymore.
Shirts gone. Party hats crooked or crushed. The table barely existed under empty glasses, streamers, and gold fabric that hadn’t stayed put. The music cut just enough to hear the countdown start.
“THREE!”
Leander called it like a command. Instinctively, shoulders pressed closer.
“TWO!”
Gabe climbed halfway onto the bench, noise maker raised like a trophy. Kasper tried—and failed—to steady him.
“ONE!”
The pub erupted.
Cheers. Horns. Drinks up. Someone nearly took out a stool. Wells clinked glasses with Alton first, firm, deliberate, then Gabe, Kasper, Leander, and finally PDU-767, who accepted the toast with a single nod.
“New year,” Wells said, loud enough to carry. “Same crew. Same standards.”
A beat.
“Higher tolerance.”
The roar that followed rattled the windows.
The music got louder after midnight. Heavier. The kind that made it impossible to stand still even if you wanted to. Bodies moved closer now—too close to pretend it was accidental. Gold everywhere. Heat everywhere.
Someone shouted that the floor was slippery.
“Yeah,” Alton laughed, steadying himself on Wells’ shoulder. “That’s been the theme all night.”
“Only if you don’t know how to handle it,” Wells shot back, not moving an inch.
When the air inside got too thick, they spilled out back—shirts over shoulders, breath fogging, laughter echoing off brick walls. Steam rose from skin like the cold couldn’t touch them fast enough.
PDU-767 scanned the alley, then relaxed. “Environmental reset achieved.”
“Translation,” Gabe said, grinning, “he needed a breather.”
“Everyone does,” Wells replied. “Eventually.”
They ended the night crowded around a hot-dog cart, that was set up in the pub, gold jerseys half-worn, party hats still inexplicably intact. Grease, laughter, the low hum that comes after the peak.
Kasper leaned back, stretching. “For a night that started ‘casual,’ this escalated fast.”
Wells took a bite, unbothered. “That’s what happens when you pack too much energy into one place.”
Leander nodded. “Or don’t release it properly.”
Alton laughed into his food. “You guys hear yourselves?”
Wells just smiled, watching the crew—tired, flushed, still golden.
“New year,” he said again, softer this time. “Plenty of time to work it off.”
No one argued.
They didn’t need to.
Still standing. Still solid.
Still golden.
Ready to join the Team? All you need to do is contact our recruiters: @polo-drone-001, @franco-gold94, @polo-drone-166 or @polo-drone-125”
Featuring: @alton-gold77, @polo-drone-075, @pdu-090, @polo-drone-767, @leander-gold-88
