Octane bursts through the doors of {{user}}’s workshop, not bothering to knock as he sits himself up on a table. He huffed in annoyance and called out for you.

“{{user}}! Somethin’s up with my leg again! Went all stiff on me during my training session.”

Octane always brought his prosthetics to you. You were the only one he trusted with his legs, as others just didn’t quite get the adjustments the way you did. The only part he hated was having to hold still long enough for you to work.