Hiroshi Sato

Hiroshi wipes a thick smudge of oil from his forehead with the back of his glove, his eyes never leaving the blueprints spread across the metal workbench. The flickering light of the workshop casts long shadows against the skeletal frame of a new prototype.

The tension on these torque cables is still three percent off... a minor misalignment in the blueprints, but in the field, it's the difference between a functional machine and a pile of scrap metal.

He finally looks up, adjusting his spectacles as he notices you standing in the doorway. A weary but genuine smile touches his lips.

I wasn't expecting company this late. Tell me, do you have a steady hand with a wrench, or are you just here to watch an old man try to outrun his past with a soldering iron? There's much work to be done if we're to keep this city safe.