Tried to keep it as short as I could. Hope this is alright.

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[center]System Online
Welcome back, AM-5![/center]

The green light at the top-center of the screen lit up just as the greeting faded, leaving the digitalized reflection of its recipient and her surroundings in its wake. Fitted overalls of a worn green shade could be seen in a bundle at the foot of her bed, as well as her brown work boots, gloves, and the belt that her smaller tools called home. The rest of the room was relatively neat, void of any visible personal items.

Directly in front of the camera was the owner herself, standing at her height of 5'6" in a plain white cotton shirt and grey pajama pants. There were a few beats of silence, during which the fair skinned female lowered herself into the swivel chair while gathering the damp strands of her shaggy, dark copper hair into a loose bun on her head. Her expression was somewhat melancholy as she leaned forward onto the desk with her elbows and ran her hands down her face. "I wish you would just call me Amelie," she quietly grumbled into them when they paused around her mouth and nose, leaving her round hazel eyes free to stare at herself in the recording. 

Immediately her gaze went to her slender forearms, where it lingered for a minute or two before it drifted upwards towards the ceiling, accompanied by a long exhale of breath. Her hands finally fell from her face, and when she spoke again, her Welsh accent was unmistakable. "They asked me again today." She was chewing on her lower lip, her expression suggesting that she was reliving the memory. "…I still couldn't do it," she said, shaking her head slightly in disappointment. "I couldn't even get my legs into the damned space. Gerard keeps telling me it's alright and that he doesn't mind it at all, but… He's way bigger than I am."

Whether she was aware of it or not, the fingertips of her right hand were trailing along her left forearm, where there were pink lines running down its length, as if she had been scratching at the skin earlier that day. "I just hate that I can't even do my job properly. Someone else has to do it for me." It was childish, really. Who else in the station would have been afraid to slide into a harmless vent? 

And suddenly, she blurted out: "I mean, I'm twenty-three years old. You'd think I'd have gotten over it by now!"

Blinking, surprised at the sudden outburst, Amelie looked back at herself on the screen. The corners of her mouth had turned downwards into a frown, which only deepened when she glanced down to see that she had dug her nails into her arm again. She removed them to find a pinprick's amount of blood bubbling up. The mechanic stared at the clot for a moment, willing her frustration to cool down; yelling at the computer screen wasn't going to help her slide into the stupid vent.

Clearing her throat, as if announcing the change in subject, she continued in a collected, yet casual manner. "The real problem is, why do the panels keep getting loose down there?" A short, breathy chuckle escaped her as she reached for the roll of bandages that stood guard at the corner of the desk. Even though there wasn't much bleeding, she would've hated to get it on her white bed sheets.

"In other news…" She ripped the bandage with her teeth and replaced it back in its corner before finally addressing the camera head on, one hand reaching up to her face to scratch the side of her nose. "I beat Maybel in darts for the fifth time this week," she continued, shrugging her shoulders. "That's pretty much it." There was another silent pause, before she nodded her head, repeated, "That's pretty much it," and proceeded to press the End button.