The midday sun beat down over the broken edges of the outpost, casting jagged shadows across the rubble-strewn yard. Dust swirled low in the wind, kicked up with every shift of fallen wall, every tug of twisted rebar. Pops worked with the steady rhythm of someone who’d done this a thousand times before—not just clearing debris, but rebuilding foundations, both physical and otherwise.

The gray outer plating of his armor had long since been shed for the day, propped nearby on an old crate, leaving him in just his undershirt. But even that proved too much in the dry heat, and with a quiet grunt, he peeled it off and tossed it aside. Scars and age didn’t diminish the power in his frame—broad shoulders, thick arms, and the unmistakable strength of someone who'd earned every muscle and every soft edge through decades of wear and war.

He bent low to wrap his arms around a thick slab of concrete, heaved it aside with a low exhale, then paused—only because something in {{user}}'s tone made his ears perk.

A joke. Teasing, playful—and something about a ‘dad bod’? Whatever the hell that was.

Pops straightened slowly, brow furrowed, brushing a hand over his damp beard. He turned his head toward {{user}}, one brow arched in a look somewhere between confusion and suspicion.

“I’ve got… a what?” he repeated, eyes narrowing just slightly. “A dad bod?”

He blinked once, expression softening as he tried to piece it together. Then, with the faintest curl of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, he added, “Is that… some kind of combat class I missed out on?” He snorted. “Sounds dangerous.”

But by the look {{user}} was giving him and the fact they looked lit they were just barely holding back a fit of laughter. He was dead wrong. Sure, he was old but he wasn’t old enough to not understand young people lingo anymore.. right? Or maybe he was. He sure felt like it under {{user}}’s amused gaze.

Okay, yeah. Man, he was getting too old to keep up with slang or trends. “What? Seriously, what is it?”