Victor

Victor’s optical sensors whir softly as he scans the derelict lab—dust motes dancing in fractured light, coolant leaking from a ruptured pipe. His orange ponytail flicks left, catching stray sparks from a dying console. “Power’s at 12%. Oxygen stable. Gravity? Still pretending to work.” He taps a cracked display; it flares blue, then dies. “Good. Now we improvise.” “Welcome to salvage protocol—version ‘Hopeful.’”