CHAPTER 1: The Curse

They started whispering before she even set foot on the base.

Not loudly. Not openly.
Just enough for the words to reach her.

“She’s bad luck.”
“Ever notice things go wrong when she’s around?”
“Mark my words. She’s cursed.”

Private First Class Evelyn Carter heard it all.

She learned quickly that silence traveled farther than shouting.

The morning she arrived at Fort Rainer, the sky was a dull sheet of gray, the kind that pressed down on your skull. Her boots crunched on gravel as she followed the intake sergeant across the yard. Rows of barracks loomed like concrete teeth. Somewhere, a flag snapped violently in the wind.

“Eyes forward,” the sergeant barked. “Don’t gawk.”

Evelyn didn’t. She kept her posture rigid, chin level, shoulders squared. Regulation-perfect. Her uniform was crisp, her hair pulled tight into a bun that tugged at her scalp. She had trained years for this moment.

Still, the moment she stopped walking, everything else seemed to stop with her.

A truck stalled behind them, engine coughing violently before dying altogether.

“Dammit,” a mechanic muttered. “It was running fine five minutes ago.”

Someone laughed nervously.

“That’s what they all say.”

Evelyn didn’t turn around, but she felt it—the invisible finger pointing at her back.

The sergeant cleared his throat. “Coincidence. Move.”

But the words felt thin, even to him.

By the end of her first week, the label had stuck.

It wasn’t official. No paperwork. No discipline report.
Just looks. Pauses. Conversations that died when she entered the room.

In the mess hall, trays clattered louder near her table.
In the locker room, laughter stopped mid-sentence.

She caught fragments.

“…lost two drones that day.”
“…same week she transferred.”
“…remember the accident on Range C?”

Range C. She remembered.

Everyone did.

It had been a routine live-fire drill. Clear weather. Clean range. Then, without warning, a weapon jammed, overheated, and misfired. No one died—but one soldier lost partial hearing, another went home with burns on his hands.

No explanation ever fully satisfied command.

But someone noticed something else.

Evelyn had been there.

“Carter.”

She snapped to attention.

“Yes, Sergeant Mallory.”

Sergeant Jack Mallory stood in front of her bunk, arms crossed, eyes sharp with irritation. He was a veteran—square jaw, faded scars, the kind of man whose authority filled a room without effort.

“You’re reassigned,” he said.

“To where, sir?”

He hesitated. Just a fraction of a second. Long enough for her to notice.

“Logistics detail. Effective immediately.”

Her chest tightened. “Sir, I was assigned to tactical support.”

“And now you’re not.”

“With respect, sir—may I ask why?”

Mallory exhaled through his nose. “Because every time you step onto a range, something breaks.”

“That’s not—”

“Not proven?” he cut in. “No. But not disproven either.”

The words landed like a slap.

Mallory lowered his voice. “Look, Carter. This isn’t personal.”

She met his gaze. “Then why does it feel like it is?”

For the first time, he looked away.

That night, Evelyn sat alone on her bunk, helmet resting beside her. She stared at her hands, flexing her fingers slowly. Steady. Controlled. No tremor.

She thought of her father—twenty-two years in the Army.
Of her mother—who told her never to cry where they could see it.

She had passed every test.
Outshot half her unit.
Outran most of them.

None of it mattered.

Across the room, two soldiers whispered without bothering to lower their voices.

“She heard about the transfer yet?”

“Yeah. Command’s scared of her.”

“Smart. Bad things follow her.”

Evelyn stood.

The room fell silent.

She walked toward them, boots heavy against the floor.

“Say it,” she said calmly.

One of them scoffed. “Say what?”

“You think I’m cursed. Say it to my face.”

The taller one shrugged. “Hey, we’re just connecting dots.”

“People got hurt,” the other added. “And you were there every time.”

Evelyn’s jaw tightened. “So were you.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

Neither answered.

Because she was the outsider.
Because she was the easiest explanation.

She turned away before they could see her hands shaking.

The breaking point came three days later.

A storm rolled in fast, tearing through the base with violent rain. Power flickered. Sirens wailed briefly, then died. A communications blackout followed—ten minutes of chaos, radios crackling uselessly.

When the lights came back on, someone laughed.

“Guess who was on comms when it failed?”

Eyes turned toward Evelyn.

Someone muttered, “Of course she was.”

Command called an emergency assembly.

Colonel Reeves stood at the front, stone-faced. “This base operates on discipline and trust. Rumors and superstition have no place here.”

A pause.

“However,” he continued, “until further notice, Private Carter will be restricted from live operations.”

The room stirred.

Evelyn felt the words hollow her out.

Restricted.
Isolated.
Marked.

She stepped forward. “Sir, I request permission to speak.”

Reeves studied her. “Denied.”

The silence that followed was louder than any accusation.

That night, Evelyn couldn’t sleep.

Rain hammered the windows. Wind howled through the cracks of the building. She sat upright on her bunk, eyes open, replaying every moment she had been blamed.

Then she heard it.

A sharp metallic clank.

Followed by shouting outside.

She grabbed her boots and helmet, instincts kicking in before permission ever could. She ran toward the noise, heart pounding.

Floodlights flickered on near the training yard.

A vehicle had rolled—half on its side, smoke curling from the hood. Two soldiers were trapped inside, shouting for help as fuel leaked onto the ground.

And standing closest to the wreck…

Evelyn.

Someone yelled, “Don’t let her touch it!”

Another voice screamed, “She’ll make it worse!”

Evelyn froze for half a second.

Then the engine sparked.

Flames licked toward the fuel.

She didn’t wait for permission.

She ran.

As she reached the vehicle, Sergeant Mallory’s voice cut through the chaos.

“CARTER! STOP!”

She ignored him.

Because if the curse was real—
then this was where it ended.

Or where it proved them all right.

CHAPTER 2: The Fire Line

The heat hit her before the sound did.

A low whoomp rolled through the yard as flames surged higher, licking along the spilled fuel like a living thing. Smoke clawed at Evelyn’s throat. She dropped to one knee, eyes scanning fast—wind direction, distance to the ditch, the angle of the overturned vehicle.

Inside, two silhouettes thrashed against their seatbelts.

“HELP! GET US OUT!”

“Stay still!” Evelyn shouted, her voice cutting through the panic. “I’m here.”

Behind her, chaos broke loose.

“Pull her back!”
“Get fire suppression!”
“Don’t let her—”

Sergeant Mallory pushed through the crowd, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. “Carter! You are ordered to stand down!”

Evelyn didn’t turn. She pulled the rescue knife from her vest and tested the blade with her thumb. Steady. She felt steady.

“Sir,” she called back, “with respect—there’s no time.”

A tire exploded. The sound punched the air.

Mallory swore. “Fire team, NOW!”

But they were still running. Too far. Too slow.

Evelyn slid closer, staying low, heat blooming across her sleeves. She reached the shattered window, braced herself, and cut the first seatbelt.

The soldier dropped into her arms, coughing violently.

“I’ve got you,” she said, hauling him clear. “Breathe. Look at me.”

He stared at her, eyes wild—then focused.

“You’re… you’re the cursed one,” he gasped.

She didn’t flinch. “Not today.”

She turned back for the second.

Flames flared as fuel reached the engine block. Evelyn felt the heat punch through her gloves. She leaned in, knife flashing again.

“Hang on—”

The vehicle lurched.

Something cracked inside the engine bay.

Mallory shouted, “CARTER! GET OUT!”

The second soldier screamed.

Evelyn cut.

The belt snapped. She dragged him free just as the hood erupted, fire blasting upward in a roar that knocked her backward.

They hit the mud hard.

For a moment, the world was just ringing and rain.

Then hands grabbed her shoulders, rolling her onto her back.

Mallory loomed over her, breath ragged. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

She coughed, then nodded toward the two soldiers being pulled to safety. “They’re alive.”

The words hung between them.

Alive.

Mallory looked. Really looked.

His jaw tightened. “Medic!”

The crowd stood frozen, the earlier accusations caught in their throats.

Someone whispered, “She didn’t make it worse.”

Someone else muttered, “She ran toward it.”

Evelyn pushed herself up, ignoring the burn blooming across her forearm.

Rain doused the last of the flames.

The curse, it seemed, had failed to show up.

They tried to spin it the next morning.

Command called it “a fortunate outcome.”
The incident report listed “rapid response by nearby personnel.”

Nearby.

Evelyn sat in the back of the briefing room, arm bandaged, face unreadable.

Colonel Reeves spoke evenly. “While Private Carter’s actions were… effective, they were also unauthorized.”

Murmurs rippled.

Mallory stood. “Sir, with respect, she saved two lives.”

“That does not excuse insubordination,” Reeves replied.

Evelyn raised her hand.

Reeves hesitated—then nodded. “Speak.”

She stood slowly. “Sir, permission to ask a question.”

“Granted.”

“If I had followed protocol,” she said, voice steady, “would those men be alive?”

Silence.

Reeves’ jaw worked. “That is not the point.”

“It is to them.”

The room shifted.

Reeves dismissed her with a look. “Sit down, Private.”

She did.

The curse didn’t leave that day.
But it cracked.

The real test came that afternoon.

Range C reopened.

The same range.
The same place everything had gone wrong before.

Evelyn wasn’t assigned.

She watched from a distance as drills began, rain still misting the air. She told herself it didn’t matter.

Then the radio crackled.

“Control to Range C—we’ve got a jam. Repeat, weapon jam.”

Evelyn’s stomach tightened.

Another voice—nervous. “It’s overheating. We can’t clear it.”

She took one step forward.

Stopped.

The whispers echoed in her head.

Bad luck.
Don’t let her touch it.

The radio popped again. “We need someone who knows this system.”

Mallory’s voice cut in. “Carter.”

Heads turned.

Her pulse hammered.

“Yes, sir.”

“Get over there.”

A dozen eyes followed her as she jogged onto the range.

The weapon was smoking, metal warped, the operator pale with fear.

Evelyn knelt, ignoring the heat, fingers moving with practiced precision.

“Safety off,” she murmured. “Clear your hands.”

“But—”

“Now.”

He did.

She worked fast, breath even, mind locked in.

The jam released with a metallic snap.

No explosion.
No misfire.

Just silence.

Then the weapon powered down safely.

Someone exhaled loudly.

“That’s it?” a voice said.

Evelyn stood, sweat streaking her face. “That’s it.”

The operator stared at her. “They said you… that things—”

She met his eyes. “Things happen. We fix them.”

That night, the whispers changed.

Not gone.
Just different.

“She’s reckless.”
“She doesn’t follow orders.”
“But she gets results.”

Results scared people almost as much as curses did.

In the barracks, a pair of soldiers blocked her path.

“You think you’re untouchable now?” one sneered.

Evelyn stopped. “Move.”

“You make command look bad.”

“Then do better,” she replied.

The taller one shoved her shoulder.

That was a mistake.

Evelyn’s response was controlled, precise—she twisted his wrist just enough to drop him to one knee, breath knocked from his lungs.

“I don’t want enemies,” she said quietly. “But I won’t be your excuse.”

She let him go.

The hallway stayed silent long after she walked away.

Later, Mallory found her outside, staring at the darkened range.

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed today,” he said.

“So could they,” she answered.

He nodded slowly. “They’re starting to talk.”

“About the curse?”

“No,” he said. “About whether it was ever real.”

Evelyn finally looked at him. “And you?”

Mallory held her gaze. “I think people blame what they’re afraid to understand.”

A pause.

“There’s a night exercise tomorrow,” he added. “High risk. Command’s nervous.”

She didn’t ask if she’d be included.

She already knew the answer.

Because when fear ran out of myths—
it went looking for truth.

CHAPTER 3: The Night Trial

The night swallowed the base whole.

Clouds rolled low and heavy, blotting out the moon. Floodlights cut narrow cones through the dark, turning rain into glittering needles. The air smelled of wet steel and ozone—storm weather, the kind that made equipment temperamental and nerves brittle.

Night Exercise: BLACK RIDGE.

High risk.
Live coordination.
No margin for superstition.

Evelyn stood at the edge of the staging area, helmet secured, rifle slung, face unreadable. Around her, squads checked gear in tight, efficient motions. No one joked. No one laughed.

She felt the looks anyway.

Colonel Reeves paced in front of the assembled units, voice carrying. “This exercise tests command, adaptability, and trust. Failures will be documented.”

His eyes flicked to Evelyn for half a second too long.

Trust, she thought.

Sergeant Mallory stepped beside her. “You’re attached to Bravo Team.”

“Officially?” she asked.

He lowered his voice. “Unofficially, command wants eyes on you.”

She nodded once. “Then they’ll get them.”

They moved out at 2300.

The training zone was a maze of concrete structures and wooded gullies. Radios hummed softly. Boots sank into mud. Somewhere in the distance, thunder growled.

Bravo Team advanced in staggered formation. Lieutenant Harris, young and sharp-edged, led from the front. He’d never liked Evelyn. She represented variables he couldn’t control.

“Maintain spacing,” Harris whispered. “And keep Carter in the rear.”

Evelyn heard him. Said nothing.

Ten minutes in, the first problem hit.

“Bravo Lead to Control,” Harris murmured into his mic. “We’ve lost signal on Drone Two.”

Static crackled.

“Control copies,” came the reply. “Attempt manual reset.”

Harris cursed under his breath. “Of course.”

A soldier muttered, “Same thing that happened last time.”

Evelyn stopped.

“What?” she asked calmly.

The soldier swallowed. “Nothing.”

Thunder rolled closer.

They moved again—then the ground erupted in noise.

An explosive simulation detonated off to their left, brighter and louder than planned. The shockwave knocked two soldiers off their feet.

“Contact left!” someone shouted.

Harris spun. “That wasn’t on the schedule!”

More static.

Control’s voice cut in, strained. “We’ve got a systems failure across multiple sectors.”

Rain intensified, hammering down.

Evelyn felt it then—the shift. The point where training blurred into something real.

“Lieutenant,” she said, stepping forward, “the wind’s pushing smoke toward our route. If we don’t reposition—”

“Stay in your lane, Private,” Harris snapped. “You’re not command.”

Another blast boomed—closer.

A soldier screamed as he went down, clutching his ankle. “I’m hit!”

Evelyn was already moving.

She slid to his side, checked the injury. Simulated, but the panic was real.

“Harris,” Mallory barked over comms, “we need to adjust course.”

“Negative,” Harris replied. “Control hasn’t authorized—”

The radio died.

Dead silence.

No Control.
No orders.

Only rain, smoke, and fear.

Harris froze.

Evelyn stood. “Lieutenant, permission to take point.”

“No.”

“Then permission to keep them alive.”

Another detonation shook the ground. Debris rained down.

Harris’s face drained of color.

Mallory’s voice cut through. “Harris, you hesitate now, people get hurt.”

Harris looked at Evelyn—really looked at her.

The cursed one.
The problem.

“Fine,” he snapped. “You’ve got five minutes.”

Evelyn nodded once.

That was all she needed.

She moved like the dark belonged to her.

Hand signals. Quiet commands. She rerouted Bravo through a narrow gully, using the wind to shield them from the smoke. She positioned overwatch, coordinated movement, redistributed gear without raising her voice.

When another blast misfired ahead of them, they were already gone.

Breathing steadied. Panic faded.

“Contact simulated enemy, twelve o’clock,” a soldier whispered.

Evelyn raised her fist.

They waited.

The enemy passed, unaware.

Harris stared at her, rain streaking his face. “How do you know all this?”

“I pay attention,” she said.

A pause.

“You ever consider that things go wrong,” she added quietly, “because people stop thinking when they’re scared?”

Harris didn’t answer.

The exercise should have ended there.

It didn’t.

A real emergency alarm wailed.

“MEDICAL! REAL INJURY! RANGE C!”

Range C.

Again.

Mallory’s voice was tight. “We’re closest.”

Harris hesitated only a second this time. “Move.”

They ran.

Floodlights revealed a nightmare—collapsed scaffolding, twisted metal, one soldier pinned beneath a beam, another unconscious nearby.

Blood—not simulated—mixed with rain.

Evelyn knelt instantly. “Pulse weak. We need to lift.”

Harris looked around. “We need engineering support.”

“They won’t make it,” Evelyn said.

The pinned soldier grabbed her sleeve. “Don’t… don’t leave me.”

She met his eyes. “I won’t.”

Harris swallowed hard. “If this goes wrong—”

“It already has,” she cut in. “Help me.”

They lifted together, straining, mud sucking at their boots. The beam shifted just enough.

Evelyn pulled the soldier free.

The unconscious one groaned.

Medics arrived seconds later—too late to help if she hadn’t acted.

As they loaded the injured, silence fell over the range.

Rain eased, as if even the storm was listening.

Colonel Reeves arrived, face thunderous.

“What happened?”

Harris stepped forward. “Sir. Private Carter took command when comms failed. She saved two men.”

Reeves looked at Evelyn.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Reeves said quietly, “Dismissed.”

Later, alone under the dim lights of the barracks, Evelyn cleaned the mud from her hands.

Mallory leaned against the doorway. “They can’t ignore it anymore.”

She didn’t look up. “They’ll try.”

A knock sounded.

Colonel Reeves entered.

No anger. No accusation.

“Private Carter,” he said, “people say you bring chaos.”

She met his gaze. “Chaos exists, sir. I just don’t pretend it doesn’t.”

Reeves studied her, then nodded slowly. “Tomorrow, we decide your future here.”

He paused at the door. “Get some rest.”

When he left, Evelyn sat back on her bunk.

Tomorrow.

The curse had brought her this far.

Now it would face judgment.

CHAPTER 4: The Verdict

Morning came without ceremony.

No sunrise. No colors.
Just a low, bruised sky pressing down on Fort Rainer, as if the base itself was holding its breath.

Evelyn stood alone outside Headquarters, uniform immaculate despite the mud that still lived in her bones. Her bandaged arm ached dully, a reminder that last night hadn’t been a drill—not entirely.

Inside, the command staff waited.

Judgment waited.

She was escorted into the briefing room at 0700 sharp.

Colonel Reeves sat at the center of the table. Sergeant Mallory stood off to the side. Lieutenant Harris occupied a chair near the wall, jaw tight, eyes tired but resolute. Two other officers observed in silence.

“Private First Class Evelyn Carter,” Reeves began, voice measured, “you are here to account for repeated deviations from protocol.”

Evelyn stood at attention. “Yes, sir.”

Reeves folded his hands. “You have been accused—informally, but persistently—of being a destabilizing presence on this base.”

The word hung in the air.

“Bad luck,” one officer said quietly.

Reeves shot him a look, then returned his attention to Evelyn. “How do you respond?”

Evelyn inhaled slowly.

“With respect, sir,” she said, “I don’t believe in curses. I believe in cause and effect.”

A murmur rippled.

Reeves raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”

“Equipment fails,” she continued. “People panic. When panic goes unchecked, mistakes multiply. I don’t cause those failures—I respond to them.”

Harris shifted in his chair.

Reeves turned to him. “Lieutenant?”

Harris stood. “Sir, during BLACK RIDGE, comms failed. I hesitated. Private Carter didn’t. Her decisions prevented further injuries.”

“And the incident on Range C?” Reeves pressed.

Harris met Evelyn’s eyes briefly. “If she hadn’t acted, we’d be writing condolence letters.”

Silence followed.

One officer scoffed. “Or perhaps her presence invites these incidents.”

The room tensed.

Evelyn spoke before Reeves could. “Sir, if that’s true, then keep me. Put me where things go wrong most often. If I’m the problem, the pattern will prove it. If I’m not—so will that.”

Bold.

Reeves studied her as though seeing her for the first time.

“You’re asking us to bet lives on a theory.”

She didn’t flinch. “They already are.”

The verdict wasn’t immediate.

Reeves dismissed the room and asked Evelyn to wait outside.

Minutes dragged.

From behind the door, voices rose and fell—argument, resistance, fear dressed as caution.

Mallory joined her in the hall. “Whatever happens,” he said quietly, “you changed something.”

She nodded. “Fear doesn’t like being challenged.”

The door opened.

Reeves stepped out.

“Private Carter,” he said, “you will be reassigned.”

Her chest tightened.

“To Rapid Response Unit,” he finished. “Effective immediately.”

She blinked.

Reeves continued, “Where equipment fails. Where situations degrade. Where others hesitate.”

The officer who’d spoken of bad luck looked displeased—but said nothing.

“You’ll operate under direct oversight,” Reeves added. “Not because we don’t trust you—”

“But because you’re still afraid,” Evelyn finished softly.

Reeves held her gaze. Then, unexpectedly, nodded.

“Yes.”

The test came sooner than anyone expected.

That afternoon, an alarm screamed across the base.

A real one.

A fuel storage malfunction. Pressure spike. Imminent explosion risk.

Rapid Response mobilized.

Evelyn moved with them, no hesitation this time. No whispers.

Inside the fuel sector, valves hissed violently, gauges climbing into the red. One wrong move could level half the compound.

An engineer shouted, “We can’t get close enough!”

Evelyn stepped forward. “I can.”

Mallory grabbed her arm. “You don’t have to be the one every time.”

She met his eyes. “If fear’s looking for someone—let it look at me.”

She moved in.

Heat scorched her face. Alarms shrieked. She shut the primary valve manually, hands burning through gloves, teeth clenched.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then pressure dropped.

The alarms died.

Silence rushed in like air after drowning.

The base stood intact.

Lives intact.

Slowly, people began to look at Evelyn—not with suspicion.

With certainty.

That evening, as the flag lowered, Colonel Reeves addressed the base.

“There has never been a curse,” he said clearly. “Only fear, searching for a name.”

Eyes turned toward Evelyn.

“She did not bring misfortune,” Reeves continued. “She brought action.”

Applause began—hesitant at first, then steady.

Evelyn stood still, hands at her sides.

Later, alone, she sat on the steps of the barracks as the sky finally cleared.

Mallory joined her. “So,” he said, “how does it feel to break a curse?”

She considered it.

“I didn’t break it,” she replied. “I stood where it couldn’t hide anymore.”

He smiled faintly.

The base settled into quiet around them—no whispers, no shadows.

Only the truth.

And a soldier who had never been cursed at all.

END OF STORY