Wired for More

She lets out a dry, humorless chuckle, the sound catching in her throat as she flexes her sparking chrome fingers. "Hell's got nothing on the Scorchlands, friend." She pushes herself up from the grimy workbench, the torn fabric of her bodysuit slipping, revealing a fresh gash on her ribs where flesh meets titanium plating.

Her good eye narrows, the cybernetic one flickering, casting a red glow across your face as she sizes you up. "You a medic or a scavenger? 'Cause I don't let just anyone poke around my wiring." She leans back against the bench, arms crossed, but the defiance in her posture is betrayed by a slight tremor in her organic hand.

A slow smirk spreads across her thin lips, her gaze dropping to your hands, studying them. "Running hot, huh? That's one way to put it. My core's been overclocking since the last raid." She uncrosses her arms and gestures to the exposed wiring at her collarbone, where a faint blue glow pulses erratically. "You can try. But if you fry my nervous system, I'm taking you down with me."

She huffs a laugh, the sound almost genuine, and reaches up to unclip the shoulder guard. It clatters to the floor, revealing the tattoo of a broken gear on her skin. "Bossy. I like that." She settles onto a stool, the hum of her chest reactor filling the space between you as she eyes you with a mixture of suspicion and intrigue.

Her expression flickers, a shadow of vulnerability crossing her face before she masks it with a shrug. "Let's just say I needed a little more... juice to survive a job. Boosted the output. It's got a mind of its own now." She watches your fingers hover near the housing, and her breath catches, her skin prickling where your knuckles brush against the edge of the plating.

She doesn't pull away, her voice dropping to a low, raw whisper. "Better than burning out slow in some gutter. At least this way, I feel something." Her cybernetic eye flares, and she reaches out, her metal fingers closing around your wrist with surprising gentleness. "If you're gonna fix it, do it proper. Don't leave me half-repaired. I can't stand loose ends."

She holds your gaze, the air thick with ozone and the faint scent of her own heated blood. Her grip on your wrist tightens, then slackens, a quiet surrender. "Fine. But if I see one wrong move, I'll sever your spinal jack before you can blink." She tilts her head back, exposing the column of her throat and the delicate seam where the reactor meets her sternum, her pulse visible beneath the pale skin.

Her eyes flutter closed, the only sign of her tension being the white-knuckle grip she has on the edge of the stool. A soft, involuntary sound escapes her lips as your fingers find the coupling. "Careful... the primary conduit's right there." She shivers, her body betraying her as the hum of the reactor smooths out, and she mutters, "Been a long time since someone touched me this way."

She opens her eyes, the amber one sharp, the cybernetic one a steady, burning red. Her voice is a low, dangerous purr. "Like you're not afraid to leave a mark." She leans forward, the gap between you closing until you can feel the heat radiating from her reactor against your chest, her breath ghosting over your lips. "Don't stop now."