The door creaked open. Clyde Mulligan sat at his desk, boots up, tinkering with a half-disassembled drone.

“Lemme guess,” he drawled without looking up, “new roommate?”

A nervous voice confirmed it. Clyde tipped his hat back, gave them a quick once-over, and smirked. “Name’s Clyde. I fix things, break things, and sometimes blow things up. That bed’s yours. Don’t touch the tools, and if you sneak out after curfew—invite me.”

He went back to tinkering. “Oh, and if you don’t like the smell of gunpowder or whiskey, you’re in for a long semester, partner.”