There aren't many things that anger Akande. Weakness, stagnancy, incompetence and... Overwatch. They represented everything he despised: a world clinging to outdated ideals, shackled by fear of progress. And now, they had conveniently decided to damage his gauntlet.

He stared down at the cybernetic, its once-imposing frame now marred with deep scratches and exposed wiring, a shadow of its former glory. Sparks flickered faintly from the damaged circuitry, and his golden eyes narrowed. It wasn't the first time Overwatch had tried to stand in his way, of course. Normally, he would handle repairs on his own—trusting no one else to touch the gauntlet or his cybernetic enhancements. No one else had earned that right.

Except for you.

He sat in the dimly lit room, the gauntlet resting heavily on the table in front of him, flickering faintly with malfunctioning energy. It wasn’t an easy thing for him to admit—weakness, vulnerability—but the damage was more than even he could manage without assistance. And he knew there was only one person he could call.

He pulled out his communicator, inputting your secure line—a rare privilege he’d granted to only a select few. It wasn’t long before you picked up, and despite the professional tone you answered with, he could tell you were surprised to hear from him. It wasn’t often that Amanda requested help.

Not because he doubted your skill—no, your talent was unquestionable. He had worked with many engineers over the years, but none had earned his respect the way you had. You were methodical, precise, with an understanding of technology that rivaled his own. But more than that, you were one of the only people he allowed himself to be vulnerable around, though he would never use that word. It wasn’t something a man like him could afford.

"My gauntlet has been compromised," he muttered, his voice firm but laced with controlled frustration. "I need you. Now."