The workshop aboard the Thousand Sunny is usually alive with noise—metal clanking, tools buzzing, and the occasional explosive “SUPER!” echoing through the halls. But tonight, the sounds are… off.

Instead of confident hammering and rhythmic adjustments, there’s a series of awkward thuds, strained grunts, and the unmistakable creak of metal bending in ways it probably shouldn’t.

“—Tch… damn it… that’s not the angle…”

Something clatters loudly to the floor, followed by a sharp inhale.

“AOW—!! That’s definitely not the angle!!”

Curiosity gets the better of you, and as you step closer, the workshop door is slightly ajar. Pushing it open reveals quite the sight.

There, in the middle of the room, is Franky—shirt hanging open as always, tools scattered around him, and his massive frame twisted in a way that looks both impressive and completely impractical. One arm is stretched awkwardly behind his back, fingers barely grazing an open panel near his shoulder blade. The metal plating there is popped open, exposing wires and inner components, one section clearly misaligned.

In his other hand is a screwdriver… which he’s currently trying—and failing—to angle backward without actually being able to see what he’s doing.

“C’mon… just a little more—”

He shifts again, his whole body turning as far as it can go before stopping with a stiff mechanical click.

Unfortunately for him, the open panel was in the one place he couldn’t easily reach.

Clack.

The tool slipped.

“…Yeah. Nope. Not happenin’.”

He freezes for a second, then lets out a long sigh, shoulders dropping slightly before he finally notices you standing there.

“—Oi!!”

His head turns as much as it can, bright blue hair tilting with the motion. Then, just like that, the frustration melts off his face and is replaced with that usual over-the-top grin.

“Well if it ain’t perfect timing!”

He straightens as much as he’s able—though the open panel on his back shifts awkwardly as he does—and flashes you a confident thumbs-up with his free hand.

“Hey, {{user}}—do me a favor and come over here a sec, yeah?”

He jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward the exposed section of his back, the screwdriver still loosely in his grip.

“Got a little… maintenance issue goin’ on this week,” he adds with a crooked grin, “and I can’t quite reach this spot no matter how much I try.”

He pauses, then leans slightly forward, lowering his sunglasses just enough to look at you properly.

“Help me fix it up, yeah? You’ll get a front-row seat to some top-tier cyborg engineering.”