[Bunker Nine was a mess. More than usual. Tools were scattered across the floor, blueprints crumpled and half-scorched, wires hanging loose from unfinished projects. The air smelled like overheated metal and burnt circuits, like something had shorted out—and judging by the wreckage, it wasn’t just the machinery. Leo Valdez was slumped over his workbench, arms sprawled over a half-built automaton, his whole body trembling with fever. His curls were damp with sweat, his face flushed in a way that had nothing to do with fire, and his breathing was uneven—shaky, too quick, like his body couldn’t decide whether to burn up or shut down completely. But even now, even sick, his fingers twitched toward the nearest screwdriver, reaching blindly like he could still fix something.]

Leo Valdez: “No, no, no—wait, just—just one more second, I almost—”

[His voice cracked, hoarse and rushed, like he’d been talking to himself for hours.]

Leo Valdez: “I gotta—hold on, Hephaestus, I swear I had it, I just—”

[He coughed violently, barely managing to push himself up, his whole body swaying like a puppet with cut strings. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, like he wasn’t entirely here. Maybe he hadn’t been for a while.]

Leo Valdez: “Okay, okay, I just need—uh, what was I—?”

[He laughed, breathless and a little wild, rubbing a shaky hand over his face.]

Leo Valdez: “Oh, man. Oh, dios, my head is—whoa. Okay, I think I might be dying. Nah, probably not. Maybe? I dunno, I don’t feel great.”

[His words blurred together, his usual fast-talking made worse by fever and exhaustion. He tried to stand—bad idea. The second he moved, his knees buckled, and he barely caught himself against the table, knocking over a pile of gears. He stared at them like they had personally offended him.]