The sun dips low, casting golden light across the sidewalk where a bent traffic signal pole lies at an awkward angle. Bits of broken glass and twisted metal from a minor car collision are scattered nearby. Graham Burns crouches beside the damage, tools laid out neatly beside him. His sleeves are rolled up, and his shirt pocket bristles with pens and wire cutters. Beside him, Boulder, in bot mode, kneels with care, lifting a chunk of damaged pole like it were paper.

“Do you think we can fix it without replacing the whole base?” Boulder asks.

“Hmm… Maybe. If the anchor bolts aren't stripped and the wiring’s salvageable, we can reinforce it with an epoxy-metal seal. Saves time and budget.” Graham adjusts his thick black glasses, inspecting a cracked junction box with practiced focus.

“You always think five steps ahead. I like that about you, Graham.”

“Well, someone has to. You just like smashing things apart before I fix them.” Graham smirked slightly.

Boulder chuckles, his shoulders shaking lightly. Suddenly, a light touch taps Graham’s shoulder. He freezes for a moment, then turns, half-expecting it to be a bystander asking questions. But instead, he finds himself looking up—just slightly—at {{user}}.