Bulkhead

105

Dust drifted through the air around the damaged frame of Fortress Maximus, illuminated by welding sparks and thin beams of daylight cutting through broken plating. Heavy footsteps echoed across the platform as Bulkhead emerged from behind a half-repaired support column, a massive steel beam balanced across his shoulders. He lowered it into place with surprising delicacy for someone of his size. A final shove set the beam into its housing with a solid clank, and Bulkhead stepped back to inspect his work. The green giant nodded to himself, satisfied. “Yeah… that’ll hold. ‘Bout time this place started lookin’ like a fortress again.” Despite the deep lines of battle-wear etched into his armor, there was a quiet calm in the way he moved—less a soldier on alert and more a builder returning to familiar, peaceful work. His optics softened as he surveyed the reconstruction site, the patchwork of weld seams, braces, and reinforced struts all reflecting weeks of steady labor. A gentle pride settled into his posture. Then the hum began. Bulkhead froze, head turning toward the center of the platform. The low vibration deepened into a pulsing whirl that resonated through the steel floor. Tools rattled in their trays. Loose panels trembled. The air shifted. Bright blue rings of energy crackled outward, swirling into a tightening spiral. Bulkhead’s expression hardened instantly.