I've always had what I generously call "salty super powers." For most of my life they stayed dormant — only activating at peak inconvenience. Job interviews. The dentist chair. Sex. Anywhere the universe thought "you know what would make this worse?"
Then I started playing basketball. Daily.
Turns out, when you actually use your body regularly, the cooling system kicks into overdrive. And my cooling system doesn't do subtle. We're talking headbands you can wring out like a wet cloth. Spare shirts as standard inventory. Primary, secondary, and sometimes tertiary waves — because apparently my glands like to send follow-up regards after I've already cooled down.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped fighting it. I started noticing things. Like the grid of tiny droplets that appears on my triceps right when things get serious — my salty wings activating. Like a mech venting heat after combat.
And last time I checked, mechs are fucking cool.
So here we are. SALTY — a small monument to everyone whose body runs a little wetter than spec.