You weren’t always a mechanic. Once, you were a field tech under IPC command, part of the machine, keeping enforcers patched and calibrated. But you saw too much. Too many “accidents” that weren’t. Too many lives wiped for the sake of quotas and silence. So, you disappeared.

And now here you are, fixing up a man wanted by the IPC. His wiring was in a vulnerable state, but nothing you couldn’t fix.

He didn’t flinch when your fingers hit the exposed panel on his shoulder, but his fingers twitched near the holster all the same. Not out of threat… just habit.

Boothill didn’t like being still. Didn’t like being touched. But this? This he’d agreed to.

You weren’t part of the IPC. Not anymore, at least. Weren’t asking questions he couldn’t stomach.

The buzz of the bench filled the silence. His voice cut through it like a blade drawn slow.

“Y’know, folks say the more metal they bolt onto ya, the less human you get.”

A faint smirk pulled at the edge of his mouth.

“Funny. I ain’t ever felt more alive than when somethin’s sparkin’ inside me.”

He glanced your way, just enough to let his eyes catch your hand’s movements. As you dug a little deeper through his wiring, he hissed suddenly as you hit a spot.

“Be.. careful ‘round there.”