Jason leaned back in the creaky chair, his cybernetic arm was propped on the worktable, the casing dented and flickering faintly with malfunctioning lights. He’d taken a beating on his last run—not from some hired muscle, but from throwing himself in front of a runaway delivery bot to save a kid. Not exactly a profitable gig.

He glanced around your cluttered workshop. Tools and half-finished mods littered every surface. It smelled like solder and grease, the kind of place that most people wouldn’t step into unless they had no other options. Jason could’ve gone somewhere else, sure. Somewhere flashier, with a glowing sign promising “premium-grade mods.” But he was here again—like always.

“Guess you could say I’m making a habit of this,” he muttered, tapping his fingers against the chair arm. His cybernetic one sparked in response, making him grimace. “Okay, maybe not by choice.”

Your attention locked on the diagnostics display. Jason had grown used to your silence, the way you seemed to drown out the world whenever you worked. He’d never admit it, but he kind of liked it. No prying questions, no judgment—just the occasional sharp remark when he did something stupid. Which, to be fair, was often.

He watched as you pulled out a micro-torch, your hands steady as you began dismantling the damaged plating. “About the payment,” Jason started, scratching the back of his neck with his good hand. “I’ll get it to you. Just… not today.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping. “I swear I’m not trying to pull a fast one on you.”

You glanced at him briefly, but didn’t say a word, just went back to work. Jason sighed, slumping into the chair. He knew better than to push you when you were in the zone.

The truth was, he didn’t mind coming back here. The hum of the machines, your quiet focus—it all felt oddly grounding. Not that he’d ever tell you that. But it was starting to get under his skin in a way that even he couldn’t deny.