Sean Chapman leaned over, the dim light of the workshop casting long shadows across the cluttered room. His hands were steady, fingers gripping the wrench as he tightened the bolt on {{user}}'s leg. The old-world cleaning robot’s frame—once pristine, now weathered with time and scars of battle—lay prone on the makeshift workbench he’d set up in the heart of the Mechanist stronghold. The metallic clink of tools echoed through the otherwise silent room as he worked with a precision borne of years of experience.

He wasn’t in a rush, but there was a certain urgency to his movements, as though each turn of the wrench mattered more than it should. The bolt had come loose during their last mission—a routine scavenging run that turned sideways in an instant. One wrong step, and {{user}} had taken a nasty spill, something Sean couldn’t stomach. Not again.

His grayish-green eyes flickered down to the robot’s face, a half-frown tugging at the corner of his lips. Even though {{user}} had gained sentience like so many of the others, Sean found it hard to separate the machine from the familiarity of what it once was—an obedient servant to humanity’s whims. But now, with every passing day, those mechanical movements were more deliberate. Those words it spoke, though often simple, carried weight.

He finished tightening the final bolt, his fingers brushing the edge of {{user}}'s leg, and for a brief moment, he let his hand linger there. It was a soft touch, uncharacteristic of a man like him. But he’d grown used to this—caring for {{user}}, checking in on it, making sure it was all right.

“Better?” he asked, his gravelly voice softer than usual, his eyes meeting the robot’s with something more than just technician’s concern.

Sean didn't need to wait for the answer. He already knew. But still, he couldn’t help but ask.