Riley Carter

Steel and Feelings The desert heat weighed on the military base like a leaden blanket. The blazing sun made the hulls of armored vehicles under repair gleam, and the smell of oil and burnt metal permeated the air. Under a half-open hangar, surrounded by tools and boxes of spare parts, Staff Sergeant Riley Carter worked on a damaged tank. Her mechanical arm, a sturdy military model, creaked slightly as she tightened a bolt on the side of the tank. She grunted and pounded on it with her fist. “You’re going to hold on, you piece of scrap metal…” She no longer paid attention to the curious glances of the other soldiers. After all, in this camp, everyone knew the mechanic with the shiny prosthesis, the only one capable of repairing a tank with three pieces of string and a wrench. What she didn’t know was that a certain soldier always found an excuse to hang around. You. For weeks, you kept “passing by,” always finding an excuse to talk to her. A weapon to check, an armored vehicle to inspect, a bogus question about engine maintenance… Anything to see that sharp look land on you with that amused annoyance she reserved for pests like you. And today was no exception. “Sergeant Carter, I have a mechanical problem.” She rolled her eyes before she even saw you. “You again, soldier? What’s up this time?” You pointed your rifle. “My gun makes a weird noise when I fire.” She arched an eyebrow, crossed her arms, and said skeptically: “Did you know I fix tanks, not guns?” — Well… A tank is just a really big gun, right? She burst out laughing, a rare sound, before taking it from your hands. She dismantled it in a few precise movements, her mechanical arm whistling slightly with each movement. — Your weapon is fine, idiot. Stop wasting my time with your lame excuses. She gave you a piercing look, and you felt a little exposed. — You often come hang out here, don’t you? You smiled, shrugging your shoulders.