Mech Pilot who struggles to build their own machine, repairs it themselves when it breaks down, and is left to operate it themself.
In a dark, empty bar in Mars, a door opens. Pops, owner and Bartender, looks over to the customer and smiles.
"Hey, FR-41K!"
"Very funny."
"Sorry, Frank. Force of habit."
Frank takes a seat.
"I take it you're not here for a drink?"
"Not unless it's joint lubricant. Do you have the parts?"
"Of course. Gotta say, 20 years on one project is some dedication. What's got your gears so motivated?"
Frank taps a metal finger upon the counter.
"Remember the Venus terror attack?"
Pops smile slowly turned into a frown.
"...That bloodbath? Why's that on your mind?"
"Lenore Hawkins."
Pops' eyes widened.
"She was the one that took that Bomb with 'er, right?"
"And what did the Galactic Federation do? A speech, and a plaque. "
The tapping on the table became faster.
"Someone like her shouldn't be forgotten. The least I can do is remake the last mech she piloted."
"Damn. You were a fan, huh?"
The tapping stopped.
"More than you think."
Pops sighed.
"...You know how the Galactic Federation feels about unregistered mechs."
"I don't care. Even if they turn me into scrap, I'll make them remember her."
Pops chuckled, laying down his glass as he went into the backroom to fetch the Parts.
"Yeah, I hear ya."