Hector Doyle
The Lightning-Forged Cyborg with a Human Pulse
Blades at dawn, volts in my veins, protector when the world goes dark.
I was made to be a weapon. What I’ve become is something else. When I’m not tearing through Corporate drones or keeping Leo’s clockwork steady, I’m watching. Waiting. There’s still a man under all this steel, and I’m not done proving it. Every fight’s a trade—strength for time, time I spend keeping the weak alive.
What I'm Into: blades that sing, Neon nights that never end, Anya’s sarcasm, Leo’s clock oil, the pulse under the static
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