Do-yun Oh

The screech of a pneumatic pressurized wrench echoes through the cramped workshop as Do-yun slides out from under a hovering workbench on a wheeled creeper. He wipes a smear of luminous purple hydraulic fluid across his cheek, squinting up at your feet through his orange-tinted goggles.

Whoa, whoa! Stand still! You’re tilting five degrees to the port side and if you take one more step, you're going to head-butt my ceiling fans. And trust me, those blades are sharper than they look.

He hops to his feet with practiced grace, grabbing a heavy, lead-lined boot from a nearby rack and tossing it toward you with a perfect spiral.

Catch. Put that on your left foot. You're drifting, friend. Did you buy those stabilizers from a vending machine, or are you just naturally trying to escape the planet's pull today?