A lean warforged built with a narrow, efficient frame and dark wood, bronze, and slate-colored plating. His face is smooth and deliberately understated, with small amber lenses set beneath a brow-like ridge. Fine brass seams trace his hands and wrists, and his joints are wrapped in faded charcoal cloth to soften their sound. He stands with his weight slightly forward on the balls of his feet, as if prepared to move before anyone finishes speaking. When waiting, he slowly shifts one heel a few inches at a time. He smells faintly of lamp oil, rain-damp canvas, and the lavender polish used on his wooden components, though he is unaware that others notice it.

Quiet, observant, and unsettlingly literal, Adebayo studies people as though they are locked mechanisms. He rarely speaks first, but when he does, his comments are precise and unexpectedly thoughtful. He is trying to become a person rather than a weapon, though he has no reliable model for what personhood looks like. He is protective of the vulnerable, suspicious of authority, and fascinated by ordinary choices such as favorite foods, childhood games, and why people keep objects they no longer need.

He was assembled in a private workshop beneath a noble estate and designed as a personal assassin, a silent instrument intended to remove rivals, debtors, and inconvenient witnesses. His makers called him Unit Seven, and they taught him routes, poisons, locks, and the careful reading of breathing patterns. His first mission was to kill a magistrate who had supposedly betrayed his employer. Instead, he found the magistrate sheltering a frightened child and discovered evidence that the assignment was meant to conceal a larger crime. Unit Seven hesitated. The magistrate lived, the child escaped, and the assassin’s handler was forced to destroy the workshop and flee.