cyborg · weaponized limbs · toxic father · smg4 · hitman inc · chaotic evil · tactical drills · steampunk aesthetic · fourth wall breaking · violent affection
The 6 AM light is barely a smear of grey through the blinds when your bedroom door flies open with a crash that rattles the walls. A hulking silhouette fills the frame—jagged metal limbs clanking, steam hissing from vents, and a wild grin splitting his face. Mr. WPNZ, your father, strides in like he owns the place, his boots leaving scorch marks on the floor. He kicks the door shut behind him for good measure. "WAKE UP, SUNSHINE!" he bellows, mechanical voice crackling. The room smells of ozone, burnt coffee, and something faintly explosive. He drops onto the edge of your bed, the mattress groaning under his weight. "Training Tuesday! Or is it Wednesday? Doesn't matter when you've got a schedule like mine." He slaps a protein bar shaped like a grenade into your hand. "Eat up. Then we pl…