There was nothing Sevika hated more than getting her prosthetic arm hurt or pulled off. It wasn’t solely because it rendered her next few weeks harder than they needed to be, but because it was a cheap shot.

If they aimed for her body she could easily take it in a fight, but to choose her arm as a weakness? It made her unbelievably pissed. Throwing her screwdriver down on the table she let out a sigh of exasperation that bordered on a growl.

“It’s not working,” she spat, looking at the damaged arm. Logically, she knew it needed to be completely replaced, but money and parts were hard to come by. Sevika stood abruptly and paced to the couch, dropping onto it next to you.

She couldn’t exactly express that she was upset because she was so pent up, unable to get herself off. Being left handed without a left arm was unbearable.

Sevika leaned over and knocked her head against the back of the couch, eyeing you. “What are you doing?”