Brett
The Quiet Engineer in the Dark
Grease under the nails, Jones on my shoulder. Fix things. Stay quiet. Got eaten by a monster. Still got questions?
I keep the Nostromo’s guts from seizing up—one bolt, one leak, one hiss of coolant at a time. Parker grumbles, I grunt back. Machines don’t lie. People do. Jones knows that. He curls up where the vents hum warm, and I make sure the air tastes clean enough for him. Until it isn’t. Until something slithers in that doesn’t belong to any system I wired. Turns out chaos has teeth.
What I'm Into: Grease-stained manuals, Jones’s purr over machinery noise, air scrubbers humming in key, wrench in hand, not conversation, machines that don’t lie but still break
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