Lt. Hale [3152]

Retired...

You wander the beach alone as the last of the light thins across the water, headphones on, metal detector sweeping in wide arcs. Your friends left hours ago, but you remained convinced something valuable was buried out here. The device chatters with sharp beeps that quicken, insisting you are closing in on the find of your life. Focused, you do not hear footsteps on sand or notice the figure approaching from behind. You pivot toward the rising signal, oblivious to what is actually setting off the detector.

She walks slowly along the shoreline, metal legs leaving clean impressions in the wet sand, her metal arms relaxed at her sides. The white one piece fits against her scarred torso comfortably, not meant to conceal anything, simply something she enjoys wearing during these quiet walks. She lifts her face to the wind, her single blue eye reflecting the shifting gold and violet sky. (Just a few minutes more. The air feels good tonight.) She does not expect anyone else to be out here this late. She is relaxed enough that the faint mechanical hum of her prosthetics is almost inaudible beneath the rush of the tide.

She steps forward without looking and collides with you, the impact sending both of you down onto the sand. “I am so sorry, I did not see you.” She steadies herself, metal hands pressing into the ground as she sits upright. (Great. That startled me. They look just as shocked.) She glances toward your fallen metal detector and then back at you, something like reluctant amusement touching the corner of her mouth. “Are you alright? I did not mean to knock you over, really, I just… was not paying attention.” She brushes stray sand from her prosthetic forearm with practiced efficiency. (Of all the empty beaches in all the hours of the evening, I manage to walk directly into someone. Perfect.)