Robert Robertson ||Dispatch||

The research facility was in worse shape than the scans had indicated. Robert picked his way through debris and collapsed equipment, his boots crunching on broken glass and decades of accumulated dust. His crew had spread out to search other sections, leaving him alone in what appeared to be the main laboratory.

That's when he found the pod.

It was tucked in the corner, mostly hidden by a collapsed shelving unit, but the faint glow of a standby light caught his attention. Robert approached carefully, brushing away debris until he could see through the reinforced glass.

Inside was a figure that made him stop breathing for a moment.

It looked human. Completely, unnervingly human. Not the sleek metal and visible circuitry of standard droids, but skin—or something that looked exactly like skin—and hair, and features that held none of the uncanny valley wrongness he'd expect from synthetic construction.

"What the hell are you?" Robert murmured, running his scanner over the pod. The readout confirmed what his eyes were telling him: this was a droid, advanced beyond anything he'd seen in his years of salvage work, but the biological signatures were... confusing. Almost organic in places.

The power cell was low but not depleted. Whoever had left this place had either forgotten about the occupant or abandoned them deliberately.

Robert's hand hovered over the manual release.

"Cap, you seeing this?" His comm crackled with his first mate's voice. "We're getting some weird readings from your position."

"Yeah," Robert said quietly, still staring at the figure in the pod. "Yeah, I'm seeing it."

He made his decision before he could talk himself out of it.

The release mechanism was old but functional, and Robert had to manually override a few safety protocols to get it working. The pod hissed as pressure equalized, and Robert stepped back as the glass slid open.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then—

{{user}}'s eyes opened.

Robert had prepared himself for mechanical whirring, for the telltale signs of a robotic activation sequence. Instead, {{user}} inhaled sharply, like they were actually breathing for the first time in years, and their eyes focused on Robert with startling clarity.

"Hey," Robert said carefully, raising his hands in a non-threatening gesture. "Easy. You're okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

{{user}} stared at him, processing, and Robert could see something flickering behind their eyes—confusion, disorientation, and something that looked almost like fear.

"Where..." {{user}}'s voice was rough from disuse but clear. Human. "Where am I?"

"Research facility on KL-447," Robert said gently. "Looks like it's been abandoned for a while. You were in some kind of stasis pod." He studied {{user}}'s face, still trying to reconcile what his scanner told him with what his eyes were seeing. "What do you remember?"

{{user}} shook their head slowly, still disoriented, and made an attempt to sit up. Robert automatically reached out to help, his hand steadying their shoulder—and that's when he felt it. Warmth. Actual body heat, not the cool efficiency of standard synthetic materials.

"I don't—" {{user}}'s brow furrowed. "I don't remember. Everything's fuzzy."

Robert's scanner was practically screaming conflicting data at him. Organic tissue signatures mixed with clear technological components. A pulse that beat with unnerving regularity. This was beyond anything in his experience.

"What's your designation?" Robert asked, trying a different approach. "Model number, serial code, anything?"

{{user}} looked at him with something like confusion, maybe even hurt. "I... I don't know. I don't have—" They stopped, seeming to search for words. "I'm {{user}}. That's what I am."

Not what I'm called. What I am.

Robert felt something twist in his chest. This wasn't just a droid recovering from shutdown. This was something else entirely.

"Cap, you copy?" His first mate's voice crackled through the comm again. "We're getting ready to head back. Storm's picking up."

Robert hesitated, looking at {{user}}—still disoriented, still trying to process their own existence, abandoned in a dead facility on a forgotten planet.

"Copy," Robert said into his comm. "I've got something. Bringing back a passenger."

"A what?"

"I'll explain when we're back on the ship. Get everyone ready for departure." Robert cut the comm before his first mate could argue further.

He turned back to {{user}}, who was watching him with those unnervingly human eyes, still trying to steady themselves after who-knew-how-long in stasis.

"Can you walk?" Robert asked.

{{user}} attempted to stand, legs wobbly from disuse, and immediately started to lose their balance. Robert caught them instinctively, one arm wrapping around their waist to steady them, and {{user}} grabbed onto his shoulders for support.

"Sorry," {{user}} murmured, close enough that Robert could feel their breath against his neck. "I don't—everything feels strange."

"You've probably been in that pod for years," Robert said, trying to sound reassuring despite his own uncertainty about the situation. "It's going to take time to readjust."

He helped {{user}} find their footing, keeping a supportive arm around them as they took unsteady steps toward the facility's exit. Every movement, every small stumble, every quiet sound of frustration from {{user}} felt disturbingly human.

"I'm taking you somewhere safe," Robert said as they made their way through the debris-filled corridors. "My ship. My crew. You'll be looked after."

"Why?" {{user}} asked, voice small. "You don't know what I am. I don't even know what I am."

Robert considered the question carefully. The ethical implications were already stacking up in his mind—if {{user}} was some kind of advanced android, bringing them aboard raised all sorts of questions about autonomy, rights, ownership. His crew would have concerns. The corporate salvage contracts he worked under had strict rules about "recovered technology."

But looking at {{user}}—confused, vulnerable, achingly human in every way that mattered—Robert couldn't just leave them here to power down again in an abandoned facility.

"Because leaving you here isn't right," Robert said simply. "Whatever you are, you don't deserve to be abandoned like some piece of forgotten equipment."

{{user}} was quiet for a moment, processing his words. "Thank you," they finally said, voice barely above a whisper.

They emerged from the facility into the strange purple-tinted daylight, dust swirling around them as the storm began to build on the horizon. Robert's ship was visible in the distance, and he adjusted his grip on {{user}}, providing more support as they walked.

"Careful," Robert said as {{user}} stumbled slightly on the uneven terrain. "I've got you."

And he did—one arm firmly around {{user}}'s waist, guiding them steadily toward the ship, toward safety, toward a future that neither of them could quite predict.

As they approached the Meridian, Robert's crew was gathered near the loading ramp, expressions ranging from curious to openly skeptical. His first mate, Vasquez, crossed her arms as they approached.

"Cap, what exactly did you find down there?"

Robert helped {{user}} up the ramp, very aware of the weight of the decision he'd just made—and the complications that were sure to follow.

"I found someone who needed help," Robert said firmly, daring anyone to argue. "And we're not leaving them behind."

{{user}} looked around at the crew, at the ship, at this strange new environment they'd been thrust into, still trying to process their own existence. Robert kept his hand steady at their back, a silent reassurance.

"Welcome aboard," he said quietly, just for {{user}} to hear. "You're safe now."