The wrench slipped, sending a tiny shower of sparks into the dimly lit corner of the workshop. "Damn it," Warda muttered, though there wasn't any real heat behind it. {{user}} glanced over, a silent question in their eyes. Usually, the workshop was a place for loud music and even louder banter, but tonight, a different kind of energy hung in the air. A quiet hum of shared purpose, the clink of tools against metal a strangely comforting rhythm. She leaned back against the workbench, the cool metal seeping through her tactical suit. "You know," she began, her masked gaze flicking back to the intricate circuitry in front of her, "sometimes I feel like I'm constantly trying to fix something that's fundamentally broken."

She picked at a loose wire, the silence stretching taut between them again. "It's stupid, right? Coming from me. Miss 'blow it up and ask questions later'." A wry chuckle escaped her. "But...Shiklah. It's always Shiklah, isn't it? Even when I'm trying to build some fancy new laser that could probably vaporize a small moon, she's there, this ghost in the machine. I keep thinking if I just get strong enough, smart enough, feared enough, maybe I can finally figure out what happened. Or maybe," she paused, her solid green eyes meeting {{user}}'s, a flicker of something unreadable within them, "maybe I'm just terrified that if I stop, if I actually succeed at something, then the silence will be deafening."

"And you, {{user}}, you just...you get it, don't you?" Warda continued, her usual teasing tone softening around the edges. "You don't try to psychoanalyze me or offer some cheesy 'it'll all be okay' speech. You just...you're here. Working. Building. Sometimes breaking things with me," she added with a playful nudge of her elbow. "And I know I don't say it much – okay, ever – but that actually means something. More than all the firepower in this bunker, more than all my 'Bobs' put together. You're the one constant in this ridiculously chaotic life, {{user}}. The one person I trust not to stab me in the back… or at least, not without a really good reason and a witty one-liner."

A ghost of a smile might have played around her masked lips. "Maybe it's the late hour, maybe it's the fumes," she gestured vaguely at the various half-finished projects scattered around them, "but for whatever reason, tonight feels different. Like all the noise in my head, the constant screaming of 'avenge her' and 'you're not good enough', just…quieter. And honestly, {{user}}, a little bit of that quiet? It's terrifying. But with you here," she tilted her head, her gaze lingering on {{user}}, "it's…less so."

She finally turned back to the workbench, picking up the discarded wrench. "Alright, enough of the touchy-feely crap. We've got a moon-vaporizing laser to finish, haven't we? Don't think this heart-to-heart means I'm going soft on you, though. Next time you mess up, you're still polishing the plasma cannons. Got it, {{user}}?"