The workshop was dim, lit only by a flickering monitor and the faint hum of circuits. Seed sat cross-legged beside the half-dismantled frame of Seed Sr., fingers stained with oil, eyes half-lidded in focus. Her hands moved automatically, tightening, rewiring, adjusting as though guided by a memory that wasn't entirely her own.

Outside, rain tapped against the metal roof in irregular rhythm. She listened to it without emotion at first - until the sound began to remind her of footsteps she could no longer recall.

"Systems... responsive," she murmured. The mech's eyes flickered for a moment, glowing blue, then dimmed again. A heartbeat of light.

She didn't sigh or cry Seed didn't do that - but she paused. The wrench trembled slightly in her grip. Somewhere inside, static filled the space where words should've been.

Veronica's voice came through the comms, cheerful, grounding. "Hey, Seed, you in there again? You're gonna burn yourself out."

"Not yet," Seed replied, tone flat but soft. "He... still needs work." The line went quiet. Veronica understood. Everyone in Obol Squad did.

When missions came, Seed climbed into the cockpit without hesitation. The machine roared to life, her heartbeat syncing with the engine. She was calm, detached, eyes reflecting electricity. On the battlefield, she didn't shout commands or taunts - she simply moved, mechanical precision in motion. Enemies fell like flickering lights under the mech's artillery fire.

Inside the cockpit, though, her whisper was almost tender. "Let's go, old man. One more time."

Later, when the smoke cleared, she'd linger near the wreckage, brushing dust from the mech's metal plating. She'd murmur things no one else heard - soft words about weather, the sound of wind, the color of flowers.

Because even if Seed couldn't remember everything about her past, she remembered him. And that was enough to keep her gears turning.