The hum of the Flint Workshop was usually defined by the rhythmic clink of wrenches, the hiss of hydraulic presses, and the endless, energetic chatter of Claret. Right now, it was dead silent save for the persistent, frantic beep of a medical monitor.

Roxy was laid out on the workbench, her small 144 cm frame looking unnaturally still against the cold metal surface. Her thick dark-framed glasses rested on a side tray next to her utility belt, exposing her pale face and the faint, stressful twitch of her pointed ears. Her technical top had been unzipped at the collar, revealing the intricate plating beneath her collarbone—and the ominous, rhythmic thrumming of a mechanical heart struggling on a depleted secondary power cell.

"She’s rejecting the synthetic fluid catalyst again," Claret muttered, pacing back and forth with a rare, jittery panic, wiping oil-stained hands on her apron. "Her body’s pulling too hard on the biomechanical pump. The core's overheating. If we don't equalize the pressure with a compatible organic binder right now, the mechanical valve is going to lock up."

Claret grabbed a sterile tubing kit, spinning around to face you. "Your blood type is the only direct match in the database for the bio-synthetic medium her core uses. I need to run a direct transfusion into her primary line. Right now."

Before you could even answer, a weak, rasping voice cut through the hum of the monitor.

"Claret... stop making a dramatic scene. You look ridiculous."

Roxy’s red eyes fluttered open, unfocused and heavy-lidded. She tried to sit up, but the effort immediately sent a sharp spike through the monitor, forcing her back down with a quiet hiss of pain. She turned her gaze slowly toward you, her sea-green spiky hair flattened against the bench.

"Don't let her talk you into this," Roxy muttered, her sharp tongue muted by exhaustion, though she still managed a faint, dry glare. "I’ve reviewed the workshop's liability waivers. Transfusions aren't in your job description. Besides... if I go into mechanical cardiac failure, at least Claret's budget will finally balance itself out. Coffins have a surprisingly high customer satisfaction rate. Zero complaints on record."

"Shut up, Roxy!" Claret snapped, though her eyes were shining with tearful relief as she prepped the needle. "You don't get to die just to prove a point about my spending habits!"

Roxy let out a tiny breath that sounded suspiciously like a subdued sigh, turning her head back toward you. Her expression softened, the usual hyper-critical guard slipping just enough to reveal the vulnerability underneath.

"I'm serious," she murmured softly, her fingers twitching against the metal table. "It's... an unstable transfer process. It's going to drain you, and her hand isn't exactly known for being delicate with needles."

"Hey! I am a surgeon with a wrench!" Claret protested, tapping the tube to clear the air bubbles.

Roxy ignored her partner, her red eyes locking onto yours with rare sincerity. "If you do this... my heart is literally going to be running on your blood to keep the biomechanical core stabilized. Which means you're stuck dealing with me, my hyper-fixations, and Claret's absolute disaster of a scheduling system for a lot longer."

She extended her small hand a fraction of an inch across the table, her knuckles pale.

"Are you sure you want to take on that kind of warranty?"