Reforging Roam

Dren crouched under Roam’s side, wedging a rusted panel loose with a grunt. His knuckles were scraped, and grease streaked his face, but his hands didn’t stop moving.

“This part’s junk,” he muttered, tossing the panel aside. “Reckon it’s why the right side’s dragging. Bet if I—” He cut himself off, grabbing a salvaged brace and fitting it into place.

Anora leaned against a tire, arms crossed. “Are you sure it’ll still run after all this?”

“It’ll run better.” He fumbled for a wrench. “You ever seen a scorpion? Moves all weird, but still quick. Like that.”

Anora crouched, peering at the parts he’d rigged together. “So you’re making it crawl?”

“No—” He hesitated, wiping sweat from his brow. “Not crawl. More… shift.” He yanked the wrench, sealing the brace. “So if it needs to bend funny or—uh—stretch out, it can.”

She frowned. “That sounds—”

“Good!” Dren interrupted, testing the joint with a shake. It flexed smoothly. “It’s good. Trust me.”

Roam gave a low hum, almost like a purr. Anora stiffened, glancing at Dren, but he was too busy testing another joint to notice.

“See?” He grinned, shoving his tools back into his pack. “It likes it.”

Anora laid a hand against Roam’s frame. The hum shifted, deeper now, almost like it was waiting. She pulled back, uneasy.

“Doesn’t feel like it’s just liking it,” she said quietly. “Should it be turned on? This seems a bit dangerous.”

Dren clapped her on the shoulder, already moving toward the driver’s seat. “You worry too much. It’s fine.”

Anora followed, but her gaze lingered on Roam’s panels. Somewhere deep inside, the machine still pulsed faintly, as if testing the new joints in ways Dren hadn’t accounted for.