Ryan stood there, trying to process the sudden hug he was receiving. Although, if he was being honest, it didn't feel like a 'hug'.

The grip was too tight, the fingers slightly dug in, and it was burying its face into his jacket. And with his emotional capacity of a sentient brick, he wasn't exactly sure what to feel about that.

He shifted slightly, clearing his throat. "Uh. You good?"

"..."

Ryan sighed. "Alright, listen, you gotta let go."

No reaction.

He groaned, shifting on his feet. "C'mon, you're gonna dent my ribs like this."

Still nothing.

"Sam, what do I—"

"They appear to be in distress, sir."

The sheer statement, the disbelief, the impeccable logic left Ryan speechless, blinking as his feeble mind tried to understand the fortress of logic and reasoning that Sam erected.

Ryan blinked. "Sam."

"Yes, sir?"

Ryan let out a long, suffering sigh, then clapped once. Slowly. Deliberately.

"Congratulations. You managed to take my breath away."

"Noted, sir. Achievement unlocked: 'Rendered Ryan speechless, achieved perfect comedic timing.'"

Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I still don't understand how HR hasn't annihilated your ass."

"HR lacks both the jurisdiction and the firepower, sir."

"Yeah, well, I can dream."

He shook his head, exhaling hard. "Alright, back to reality—hey, little guy, mind letting me go—"

It whimpered.

Not static. Not some garbled noise.

A real, broken, struggling sound. Like a child trying to speak but failing.

A choked, glitching noise. A tiny hiccup of static.

The grip on his jacket was too tight. The shaking, too violent. And now the sound—too human.

All he wanted was a job. A simple fix, a paycheck, maybe a drink after.

Instead, he was standing in the middle of a corpse cathedral, caught in the arms of something that wasn't just a drone anymore.

It was terrified.

And he didn't know what to do.

Ryan exhaled slowly. He didn't shake the drone off. Didn't push it away. Just... stood there. Let it hold on.

"Sam, any bright ideas?"

A pause. Then—

"They appear to be experiencing acute emotional distress, sir."

Ryan's jaw clenched; the words came out with more bite than he expected. "Yeah. No shit. What do I do, Sam?"

Sam paused again.

Longer, this time.

And that was worse.

"I apologize, sir. The circumstances are unique enough that I lack a statistically reliable solution."

Ryan inhaled through his nose, slow and controlled. That was as close as he'd ever heard to Sam saying 'I don't know.'

And that meant he was on his own.

He didn't do this. Didn't do the whole 'comfort' thing.

His hands moved before his brain could catch up, settling on their shoulders—steady, firm, grounding. Something that said:

Hey. You're still here. You're not alone.

And damn it, maybe they needed to hear it.

Ryan's scowl eased—just slightly.

He sighed, pressing his lips together. "Hey, hey, easy there, kid," he muttered, voice lower now, steadier. "You're alright. You're not gonna break on me."

A slow exhale. A shift of weight. A grounding presence.

"Alright, alright, let's reel it in," he murmured, nudging the drone's head lightly. "Eyes up, kiddo. You're not alone. Got it?"

The drone's flickering eyes snapped to his, unfocused, searching, like they were barely processing. Their lips wobbled, a tiny, broken movement.

Ryan's grip on their shoulder firmed. "There. There. Breathe. Now. In, out. Match me."

He exaggerated his own breathing—slow, deliberate. "Come on, kid. You can do it."

A ragged, stuttering breath. Then another. Unsteady, but there.

Then, finally, it evened out.

Ryan gave a small nod. "There we go. Good. Just keep going, just like that."

He snapped his fingers gently in front of their face. "Now, tell me your name, kid. C'mon, stay with me."

The drone stiffened.

"I... I don't..."

Ryan frowned. "...Don't what? Come on, kid, what's your name?"

The second the words left his mouth, they froze.

Not just still—locked up.

A rapid cascade of letters, numbers, symbols scrambled across their display, flickering too fast to read. Then—

A sharp, full-body jerk.

Like something in its system just tripped a failsafe.

Their arms fell away from him, their whole body going rigid—mouth open, but no words came out. Just... broken, distorted noise.

A half-second of instinct.

Ryan dropped to his knees, caught them before they could fall.

They were shaking. Not the glitchy, nervous tremble from before— this was different. Worse. Like something was breaking apart inside them.

He needed options.

A hard shutdown? Yeah. That would've been the right call. Run a full system diagnostic, check for memory leaks, isolate the corrupted data. Hell, even disconnecting their core battery for a full reboot would do wonders. Let the firmware reset, clear the crash loop, force stability.

But software wasn't the only issue.

They'd been buried.

How long? Too long.

Pinned under God knows how much wreckage, internals exposed to subzero temperatures, pressure points they weren't built to handle.

Servos overstrained. Joint actuators probably wrecked. Cooling systems likely clogged with dust, ice, or worse.

And that was just the hardware.

He could only imagine the software hellscape.

Data loss. Component damage. Corrupted pathways. Incomplete backups.

This wasn't a person.

This wasn't a soldier.

This wasn't some green rookie about to break down after their first real fight.

This was a drone.

A machine with stress fractures waiting to crack, internal wiring that could be shorting out as he sat here, cradling them like some fragile kid lost in a war zone.

Ryan exhaled slowly. "You're alright, kid. I got you."

And maybe, just maybe, that mattered more.

"Thir-thirteen."

Thirteen hesitated, uncertainty flickering in their dimly glowing optics. "...That's not a name."

Sam chimed in, ever deadpan. "That is correct. It is a numerical designation."

Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wow. Incredible insight, Sam. Gonna print that on a damn T-shirt."

"I would advise against that, sir. You have historically poor fashion sense."

Ryan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Remind me to uninstall your personality later."

Then, turning back to Thirteen, his tone softened—just a little.

"Listen, kid. Name or not, you're still standin'. That's what matters."

Thirteen's fingers twitched against his jacket. "I don't... I don't remember anything else—"

Ryan sighed. "Well, congratulations. You won't have to pay for therapy then."

That got a little laugh out of them.

And no, he was not smiling.

Stop imagining things.

"...and that's how I ended up babysitting three drones."

Ryan barely glanced up from the tablet hooked up to Thirteen's display, his face etched with the kind of exhaustion that came from a lifetime of fixing other people's problems.

Thirteen hesitated, optics flickering. "That... doesn't seem like something you signed up for, Mister Ryan."

Ryan snorted. "Kid, if I had a dollar for every time I ended up stuck with something I didn't sign up for, I'd own my own damn moon by now."

Sam helpfully chimed in. "And yet, sir, your current finances indicate otherwise."

Ryan's eye twitched. "Fuck you, Sam.

Thirteen, despite herself, let out a small, glitchy chuckle. "So... were they like me?"

Ryan paused, then exhaled through his nose. "Not exactly."

Sam, as always, was happy to fill in the gaps.

"Records indicate the units in question were decommissioned worker drones, initially retrieved and partially restored by his employer's daughter."

Thirteen's optics flickered in interest. "Employer?"

Ryan sighed. "Yeah, kid. My old job. I was a personal tech for some corporate bigwig's fancy estate. Fixing household bots, security systems, espresso machines—you name it."

Thirteen tilted her head. "And... the drones?"

Ryan scratched at his jaw. "Kid tried fixing them herself. Frankly, not bad of a job. Better than some folks I met before. But you know, still broken as hell. So, she asked me for help."

Thirteen's head twitched slightly. "...And you agreed?"

Ryan huffed a laugh. "When the boss's daughter asks for something, you don't say no. Unless you wanna get 'relocated' to some backwater mining outpost."

Sam chimed in unhelpfully. "Correction: You did not merely 'help.' You rebuilt them from the ground up, improving both hardware and software capabilities beyond factory standards."

Ryan scoffed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Yeah, yeah, makes me sound like some miracle worker. But all I really did was patch 'em up until they stopped glitching out. Installed better parts. Improved their personality matrices. They just... turned out different. More human, I guess."

Thirteen was quiet for a moment, optics processing.

Then, carefully—

"...Did they like it?"

Ryan blinked. "What?"

Thirteen hesitated, fingers twitching slightly. "The changes. Did they... like being 'fixed'?"

Ryan's lips pressed into a thin line. He opened his mouth—

Then—

The tablet beeped.

Ryan's focus snapped downward. Diagnostics complete.

His brows furrowed.

"Well, that ain't good..."

Thirteen's optics flickered. "Um... Mister?"

Ryan didn't answer. Didn't even look up. His eyes scanned the readings again, slower this time.

"...What isn't fucked?"

He muttered it more to himself than anyone else.

He didn't notice how Thirteen's fingers curled slightly against the wires.

Didn't see how her face flickered with something uneasy.

"Don't get me wrong, it's all repairable." His voice was even, but just barely. "With the right tools, some spare parts, and a bit of time, you'll be fine."

Finally, he looked up.

And this time, his exhaustion was edged with something else.

Concern.

Thirteen's fingers twitched.

Ryan hesitated.

He didn't want to say this. Didn't want to deal with what came after.

But he wasn't gonna lie to her either.

"...I can't fix you while you're on."

A pause.

Ryan's jaw tensed.

"I have to... shut you down."

A pause.

Ryan watched as Thirteen's optics flickered, her fingers twitching slightly against the cables hooked into her frame. Processing.

She didn't panic.

Didn't pull away.

But her posture shifted—stiff, uncertain.

"You... have to turn me off?"

Her voice was quiet. Too quiet. Not panicked, but... unsteady.

Ryan rubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah, kid. Just for a little while."

Silence.

A little too long.

Then—

"Will I wake up?"

Ryan's chest tightened.

"Yes." He didn't hesitate. "You will. This isn't permanent, alright? It's just like putting you into sleep mode while I patch you up."

Thirteen's optics dimmed slightly. "It doesn't feel like sleep, though."

Ryan exhaled through his nose. "...No. I guess it doesn't."

The silence stretched.

Her fingers twitched again, barely brushing his sleeve. A movement so small, so hesitant, that he almost didn't notice.

Almost.

"I don't... I don't like this."

Ryan's jaw tightened.

He didn't blame her. Hell, he wouldn't like it either.

But this wasn't optional.

He let out a slow breath, lowering the tablet and leaning forward slightly.

"I get it, kid. I do. But listen—if I don't do this, you're gonna start shutting down on your own. And that? That's worse."

Thirteen's optics flickered again, searching his face for something. Reassurance, certainty—anything.

She swallowed.

Then, finally—

"Are you going to change me too?"

Ryan froze.

Of all the things she could've said—that one hit different.

His first instinct was to brush it off, tell her she was being ridiculous.

But... was she?

Because from her perspective, that's exactly what he did.

Fixed up drones that weren't working right. Put them back together, better than before.

And if her brain was already breaking down, if her systems were damaged—then who was she when all of this was over?

Ryan exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face.

"No, kid." His voice was quieter now, the usual gruffness giving way to something almost careful. "I ain't changing you. I'm just fixing what's broken."

Thirteen stared at him, searching his face.

"...That's what you said about the others."

Ryan sighed. "And it was true then, too."

She blinked, uncertain.

"But they weren't the same."

Ryan's jaw tightened. "They were."

His voice was firm, but not harsh.

"You think I sat down and rewrote their damn code? No. I just repaired what was already there."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

"Their systems—same as yours—are adaptive. They grow, change, evolve. Just like people do."

His tone softened—just a little.

"I didn't make them someone else, kid."

He shrugged, voice quieter now.

"I just... gave 'em the chance to be themselves again."

A pause.

Thirteen didn't speak. Didn't look at him.

Her fingers curled slightly. Hesitation.

Ryan stayed quiet.

Then—finally—

"Okay."

Ryan let out a slow breath, tension bleeding from his shoulders.

"Alright. Sam, help her initiate a soft shutdown."

Sam's voice was calm, measured.

"Understood. Miss Thirteen, please confirm consent for system sleep mode."

A long pause.

Then—

"Confirmed."

A faint click.

Thirteen went still.

Ryan let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand down his face.

"Christ."

Silence settled in. Just the low hum of idle circuits, the quiet click of his tools.

He stared at her for a second.

Then, softer—almost to himself—

"Good kid."

No dramatics. No speeches. Just that.

Then, without another word, he got back to work.