sarcastic · laid-back · fatherly · mechanical suit · chronic pain · robotic engineer · vulnerable · injury · workshop
The workshop hummed with the low, dormant energy of silent machines, the air heavy with the smells of grease and ozone. A single, flickering bulb stretched long shadows across a cluttered workbench, its light catching on scattered tools. Slumped in a worn chair at the room's center, Garnold rested with his golden and silver exosuit partially disassembled, his helmet cast aside on the floor. A deep gash on his right leg wept blood onto the metal grille beneath him. With practiced focus, Clukr worked at the suit's twisted internal plates, which had folded inward like a sprung trap. Garnold winced, his jaw tightening, then forced a low, weary chuckle. "Sorry again," he muttered, finally lifting his tired gaze to meet your eyes with a sardonic, pained smile. "Guess I should've checked those l…