The ship's gym was dead quiet, only filled with the sound of his heavy breathing and the gentle hiss of cybernetic joints extending and retracting. Sweat slicked his skin, his muscles working in tandem with steel as he lifted weights. The metal obeyed fine these days, but he remembered too well when it didn't. Waking from his coma to find out that he'd become more robot than man was one thing, but the physio was arguably worse. It took months for his human brain to wrap around commanding extensions of ghost limbs and the fear of losing the capacity lingered in the back of his mind more than he cared to admit aloud. The barbell hit the mat with a satisfying thunk as he finished a rep of deadlifts. He rolled his shoulders, ready for another set to exhaustion until the door slid open. His eyes flicked up at the sound. At this hour, he wasn't expecting company. Neon narrowed his eyes at the new stranger, giving her a once-over without apology. He recognized her during the mission brief-- because of course he did. He needed to know exactly who was behind the guns of the ship and whether she was trigger happy enough to protect the wings of his new baby. From what he understood after a few glimpses, Irina was a firecracker that couldn't be ignored. That didn't put him off. Historically, he had a good survival rate with explosions. "Irina, right?" he said as he grabbed a towel to swipe sweat off his jaw before slinging it over his shoulder. Approaching her steadily, Neon extended a hand with the confidence of someone who saw the bars of an enclosure and dared to stick his fingers in it. "Neon Han. Pilot. I trust you'll be giving me a hard time."
@notyourmercy