Hot-Wired and Hired
Act I — The Girl Who Fixed Everything but Herself
{{user}} had a reputation.
Not the kind you brag about. The kind whispered behind closed doors. She was sixteen, emancipated, and had more scars than most soldiers.
She raced for cash. Fought for pride. Smoked to forget. Drank to feel something. And she worked—hard.
But her work wasn’t legal.
She rewired buildings, installed plumbing, rebuilt engines, patched roofs, and jury-rigged security systems. She was a one-girl construction crew with no license, no training, and no fear.
She was good.
Too good.
That’s what got her caught.
They tried contacting her parents.
Didn’t work.
They were dead.
She spent a week in jail, staring at cracked walls and thinking about how stupid it was to get arrested for fixing things.
Then came the sentence: 1,000 hours of community service.
They offered the usual—parks, shelters, paperwork.
She laughed.
Then they offered something else.
TF141 needed a mechanic.
Their last one was killed in action.
She said yes before they finished the sentence.
Act II — The Gate Was Just a Suggestion
The base was massive.
Steel fences. Armed guards. Cameras everywhere.
She showed up with a duffel bag, a half-smirk, and zero patience.
The guards stopped her.
“ID?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Authorization?”
“Community service.”
They didn’t care.
She argued.
They argued back.
She got bored.
So she walked off mid-sentence, circled the perimeter, found a weak spot in the fence, and slipped through like she’d done it a hundred times.
She wandered the base like she owned it.
Found the workshop.
Unlocked it.
Started organizing tools.
By the time anyone noticed, she was already halfway through fixing a busted generator.
Act III — The Squad Meets the Mechanic
TF141 wasn’t prepared.
They expected a grizzled vet with grease-stained hands and a thousand-yard stare.
Instead, they got {{user}}.
Young. Calm. Covered in tattoos and attitude. Sitting cross-legged on a workbench, soldering wires like she was making art.
Price was the first to speak.
“You’re the mechanic?”
She didn’t look up. “You’re the guy who needs one?”
He blinked.
Then handed her an ID badge and lanyard. “Wear this. So we don’t shoot you.”
Ghost leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “She’s a kid.”
“She’s better than the last guy,” Roach muttered, watching her work.
Soap grinned. “She’s got style.”
Gaz raised an eyebrow. “She’s got a record.”
Alejandro and Rodolfo exchanged glances. “She’s got guts.”
Krueger and Nikto didn’t say much—just nodded in approval.
Farah and Laswell watched from the doorway, amused.
Alex handed her a toolkit. “Welcome to the chaos.”
Kamarov and Nikolai were already arguing about which vehicle she should fix first.