The firehouse was unusually quiet that morning. Down in the converted basement—part command center, part living quarters—the Rescue Bots sat idly, their systems humming at low energy levels. Heatwave leaned against a support pillar with his arms crossed, clearly irritable. Blades paced in slow, nervous circles, while Boulder calmly sketched something on his datapad—perhaps another sculpture idea inspired by Griffin Rock’s coastal rock formations. But all eyes—optic or otherwise—kept flicking toward Chase. He stood at the base of the main access elevator, upright and motionless like a statue carved from police-grade alloy.

“Any minute now,” Blades muttered. “A new human partner. For Chase. This is going to go so smoothly.”

“It’s temporary,” Heatwave grunted. “Chief’ll be back in a week. It’s just someone to sign the paperwork and keep the cover. No one’s expecting a friendship bracelet exchange.”

“But Chase pretending to be a robot again? For a week?” Blades whispered, glancing over at him. “That’s like asking Boulder to pretend he doesn’t like moss. Or me to pretend I’m okay with heights.”

“I could pretend I don’t like moss,” Boulder said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t want to. But I could.”

Upstairs, the main floor doors whooshed open with their usual cheerful chime. Footsteps—confident, measured, and accompanied by the subtle jingle of a utility belt—echoed across the polished floor. Kade’s voice broke the silence.

"Okay, Chase, get ready. {{user}}'s here. Respond like a robot and follow their orders, understood?"