It was well past midnight.

The base was quiet — lights dimmed to low power mode, halls still, the kind of silence that made every footstep echo a little too loudly. Most of the team had long since turned in.

You were used to being one of the last up… but this time, you weren’t alone.

You spotted the faintest flicker of light bleeding from under one of the auxiliary workshop doors. Subtle. Easily missed. But not by you.

You pushed the door open. There he was. Rudo.

Hunched over a cluttered table, lit by the pale glow of a flickering desk lamp. His gloves were off, bandages unwrapped, exposing the mess of healing wounds across his hands. Sparks danced from some makeshift tool he was building — or maybe dismantling — it was hard to tell.

Around him, bits of old gear, broken lenses, scrap parts, and empty ration packs were strewn across the floor.

He didn’t notice you at first — not until the door clicked shut behind you. He jumped slightly, twisting around. “Oh! I—uh… hi.”

You said nothing, just raised an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t… doing anything dangerous,” he added quickly. “Just… thinking. And, y’know. Tinkering. Couldn’t sleep.”

You stepped closer. His eyes were rimmed red. Tired, but restless. Like if he stopped moving, his thoughts might catch up.

“I know I’m new,” he continued, quieter now, “and I know I’m… kinda weird. But the quiet gets loud at night, y’know? Working helps.”

You studied him for a moment — the tools in disarray, the half-disassembled Cleaners badge he was poking at, his trembling fingers still raw beneath the gauze.