Once, with another woman Cara has gone on a delivery run. It was back when she was sixteen and still trying to figure out how to exist with the corps and still keep some sense of freedom. Wage-slave was a more accurate term then than any other time in history, even if people didn’t seem to give it much attention anymore. That was never going to be something anyone could call her. Never.
But she still had to eat, and it wasn’t like she could live off the lands without leaving the country, and maybe not even then. She knew there were people in the Wastelands. That drifters moved between them, and that the Creepers didn’t get all their food by ambushing anyone foolish enough to be out there, even if it was how they got their protein, but it wasn’t a life she knew how to lead, much less one she would have chosen.
So, she tried deliveries first. The only thing she liked was the bike. Wearing a skeleton and feeling the engine rumbling through her entire body, like she was flying over the road one with the machine, oh yeah, that she liked a lot. Dealing with scuzzy contraband runners, beating up contacts that refused to pay, and smiling at the belligerent ones who got through the world on intimidation, that she hated. And that, contrary to expectation, was the majority of the job.
The other woman had actually seemed relieved when Cara decided it wasn’t the career for her. She had never been quite certain how to take that, and decided it was the lack of competition, even if it was more likely they way things on jobs with Cara had just seemed to go… wrong.
No, that she chose to believe was unnoticed by anyone but her.