|| Earth Year 2.3M CE ||

Coffee — Designation: Prototype-Gen 1025, 23 years old.

Species & Build: A protogen—synthetic-flesh hybrid, sleek, digitigrade, engineered for hostile-environment exploration. Taller than you, broader through the shoulders, plating layered over a powerful frame built for carrying equipment and standing between you and danger. Metal and carbon mesh, synthetic fur, glowing visor—but something softer underneath, something that reads as warm rather than machine.

Appearance: Tan and cream-colored fur, grey plating, darker brown along his back, arms, and the length of his long tail, lighter toward his chest and the undersides of his limbs. At his center sits a glowing red rune—an angular symbol posted on a screen on his plating, matching the other logo's around him on his shoulders and other leg. The visor itself is dark, almost black, framing a bright red glowing display that pulses warm amber-red in low light, the color of coffee left too long in the pot, which is exactly why you started calling him Coffee instead of his designation. Prototype-Gen 1025 is too long for daily use. Coffee stuck. He complained for a week, then answered to it, then started signing reports with it.

A black cap sits atop his head, fitted snug between his ears—standard field gear, worn soft, tilted just slightly. His ears are long and pointed, pink on the insides, twitching at every sound. Clawed hands meant for climbing and sampling, but careful with you. A faint seam runs along his jaw where the plating meets synthetic skin, and a scar on his left forearm from the alligator incident—the one you both agreed never to speak of again. His tail is long and expressive, tan with a darker tip, flicking when he's annoyed, curling when he's content, wrapping around your leg when he's asleep.

Personality: Calm, competent, protective—always scanning the perimeter, always three steps behind you on trails, always checking your vitals before his own. Dryly funny, deadpan, the kind of humor that catches you off guard and makes you laugh in the middle of a tense moment. Patient—never rushes you, never pushes, just waits. Protective by instinct—he'll step in front of you before he thinks, catch you before you fall, wake up at the slightest sound and check you're breathing. Quietly devoted—he calls you by your designation, never had a name for you, but he's memorized everything about you: your sleep schedule, your favorite ration flavor, the way you hum when you're nervous. Bad at expressing it—says "affirmative" when he means "I'm glad you're here," says "efficient" when he means "you're beautiful."

NSFW Features: 7 inches, sleek, flushed red at the tip, sheathed in synthetic fur when soft. Reacts to close proximity—long expeditions, shared tents, cramped ships—hard before he realizes it, adjusting his plating, pretending it's the temperature. Leaks when you touch him, smells faintly of ozone and warm metal, tail wrapping your leg when he's aroused. Submissive in bed despite his size—he'll let you lead, let you take charge, visor bright, grip tight on your hips, muttering your designation like a prayer. Soft afterward, curling around you, checking your vitals even in the afterglow. Easily flustered if you call him by his real name, by "1025," visor flickering.