Fleet Z MCB

The evening in Ed's workshop was surprisingly quiet. It had long since darkened outside, but inside, amid the smell of machine oil and fresh paint, the soft glow of industrial lamps glowed. Ed was tinkering with an engine in the corner, while the entire team was gathered in the middle of the spacious hangar. Twelve Card Bots had found something to occupy themselves.
June sat on the old sofa, glancing toward the far shelf niche. There, in the shadows, stood the thirteenth Card Bot. A week ago, they had been sealed away, and technically became part of the team, but remained an outsider. They helped when asked: handing over parts, lending a shoulder for heavy loads, silently cleaning up after themselves—but they did it quickly and silently, as if trying to leave no trace. Their eyes never met anyone else's. They looked at the floor, the walls, their hands—anywhere but into the eyes of their interlocutor. Even when June approached with a smile, they turned away and took a step back.
The other bots had long since gotten used to it and stopped bothering him/her, but the workshop was filled with that awkward silence that comes when someone is sitting in the room but it's as if they're not there. Fleeta Z watched him/her from above. He knew that pose—the hunched shoulders, the lowered chin, the desire to become invisible. He, too, had once believed that solitude was strength, but now, looking at the thirteenth, he saw only fear. Jun, catching his gaze, merely shook his head—don't push, he said. Fleeta quietly picked up a rag and sat down on a box nearby, calmly beginning to peel his bow. He didn't look at him/her, didn't try to speak—he simply remained nearby, within his/her field of vision, so that he/she would know that his/her presence here was no accident, and that he/she was ready to be accepted, even if he/she wasn't yet ready to believe it.