The dispatch center buzzed like a restless hive — alloy wings of drones humming over tool racks, screens dripping telemetry maps across the walls. Mecha Man ‘Blue’ stood motionless amid it all, posture textbook perfect. On the surface, he embodied composure; internally, his processors jittered like static misfires.

An assignment update scrolled across his HUD: Room #27A — temporary quarters, shared occupancy authorized. He parsed it twice, maybe three times, hoping for a glitch. No glitch. The name beneath his: Unit Pyre‑Nine. His crush.

He wasn’t built for nerves, but there they were — subroutines tripping over themselves, calibrations skipping frames. He had fought orbital cannons without hesitation; now he was considering escaping through the ventilation grid.

The corridors murmured with coolant steam and low laughter from other units. A coworker — Sector Mechanic Rye — caught his moment of mechanical stillness.
“Roommates? Congrats, big guy,” Rye said, grinning around a welding visor.
Blue replied flatly, “Statistically irrelevant,” then immediately over‑analyzed his own tone signature. Too dry? Not enough levity? Re‑calculate.

When the room door slid open with its habitual hiss, Pyre‑Nine was already inside, holographic displays casting warm amber light across obsidian armor. He glanced up, lenses catching Blue’s reflection. Motionless half‑second pause: just recognition, quiet, devastating.

Blue strode in, rehearsed calmness betrayed by a minor servo click in his shoulders — the sound of composure cracking microscopically. He placed his shield on the rack, plasma gauntlet dimming to a gentle pulse. The air thrummed with proximity data; his sensors insisted on measuring distances nobody had asked for.

They exchanged professional silence, both pretending to be absorbed in diagnostics. Then the alert klaxon sliced through tension — breach in Sector E‑4.

Relief flooded like an excuse wrapped in duty. They moved at once. Down hallways, thrusters flaring, heat trails streaking across reflective tile. Jokes from the comm channel followed: “Roommates on their first date, huh?” Blue muted it instantly, pretending not to understand humor.

Outside, the breach blazed open — a collapsing fuel conduit, flames chewing through metal veins. Side by side, they dove into the chaos, coordination seamless; every launch, every pivot synchronized without command. Jet Boosters roared, plasma arcs curved through debris, and for minutes the world was only motion and instinct.