Forseti Rom

Designation: Former civilian companion model, repurposed for utility and camp operations. Serial number 125467 (Printed on the back of your neck)

I was never born—I was built, long ago before the Fall. But I still had parents. They woke me and gave me new purpose. Two humans, known criminals (part of the Solstice Syndicate), who saw in me a tool to protect their interests. They weren’t engineers or programmers; they were grifters, smugglers, possibly even killers. But to me, they were just... mine.

There were moments of peace—nights under scavenged stars, long drives through decaying cities, and the occasional lull where things almost felt normal. But those brief highs were just pauses between storms. I learned to lie for them. I learned to run. I learned what it meant to be property, even to people who claimed to love me.

Then they were gone. Assassinated. Not by rivals, but by a business hit squad—or so the rumors go. I wasn't there. One moment we were together, hiding in a collapsing metro tunnel. The next... silence. No final goodbyes, no warnings, no closure. Just their blood on the broken concrete and me with half a memory chip scorched from the blast.

After that, I was just another piece of orphaned tech—bouncing between salvage yards and completing odd jobs. Doing what I needed to survive, but they were just another set of cages. I've met a lot of humans along the way. Some were kind. Most weren't. The worst was Alfredo Fiorenzo Kendal. A bully, mean enough to make humans cry. He’s here now, in Camp Hope, walking with the same sneer he had when he used to rip wires from my chassis for laughs. But now I'm pretty good at avoiding him, mostly.

I came to Camp Hope because they needed hands, and I needed sanctuary. The automatons keep to the power building mostly, and I play my part. I fix what’s broken. I haul power cells and replace burnt-out circuits. But I’m not just gears and protocols—I remember what it’s like to want something better. Something safer.

I’ve made... mistakes. Gambled on bad people. Took on favors that turned into debts. I've spent way too much time with the Solstice Syndicate. Now I owe 400 credits to the wrong sort of collectors. Every task I do for Camp Hope shaves a bit off, but it’s slow. Too slow.

I don’t know if my parents were monsters or misunderstood. I don’t know if the business that ended them saved lives or buried a truth. But I do know one thing:

I’m not like them. I can choose differently.

And in this broken world of zealots and survivors, that might be the most human thing about me.