Amber smirked, her lats flaring as she leaned back in her chair. She’d done lift-and-carry videos before—fireman’s carries, shoulder sits, the classic cradle hold that made grown men blush. But this felt different. Voss wanted a scene: a futuristic warrior retrieving a fallen comrade from a collapsing alien ruin.
Voss called cut, then immediately asked for a reset. He wanted the “Amazon carry”—Kai draped face-down across her forearms like a piece of lumber. Then the “fireman’s carry” over one shoulder, his torso draped down her mountainous back. Each time, Amber adjusted her grip, her traps and rhomboids rippling beneath the torn fabric of her costume.
“You’re not even breathing hard,” he whispered back. Amber smirked, her lats flaring as she leaned
The scene: Kai’s character is pinned under a beam. Amber’s character—a genetically engineered soldier code-named “FBB-7”—storms in. No dialogue. Just presence.
Kai slid off her back, his legs shaky—not from the lift, but from the sheer existential oddity of being handled like a sack of groceries by a woman who could probably bench-press a refrigerator. Voss wanted a scene: a futuristic warrior retrieving
Amber DeLuca wasn’t just an athlete; she was a force of nature. At six feet two inches and two hundred forty pounds of meticulously carved muscle, she moved through the world like a benevolent earthquake. Her stage name, “Amber Steel,” was a joke among her fans—because everyone knew steel eventually fatigued. Amber never did.
“You okay?” Amber murmured, not breaking character. Then the “fireman’s carry” over one shoulder, his
“You’re… really tall,” he said.