The alarm clock didn't go off. Ben had smashed it in his sleep when he thought it was a bomb.

  He woke up at 7:45 AM. The interview was at 9:00 AM. "Crap!" Ben yelled, bolting upright. His ribs screamed in protest.

  He scrambled to the closet, pulling out his "good" clothes—a pair of clean khakis and a button-up shirt that only had one stain on the cuff. As he dressed, his mind raced. "Sparky’s Servo & Repair." It wasn't a glamorous job. It was a hole-in-the-wall shop in Sector 4 that fixed everything from industrial toasters to cheap delivery drones. But they were hiring a Junior Technician.

  He buttoned his shirt over the Grey crystal taped to his chest. It made a lump. "Great," Ben muttered. "I look like I’m smuggling a grapefruit." He threw on a thick denim jacket. It was too hot for the weather, but it hid the Artifact.

  He ran into the kitchen. He froze. Vala was sitting at the small kitchen table, still wearing her full silver plate armor. Grandma was sitting opposite her, pouring tea.

  "So," Grandma said, smiling sweetly. "You're from... 'The Crimson Verse'?"

  "It is a sovereign territory," Vala said seriously, holding the delicate teacup with two massive armored gauntlets. "We have... excellent dragons."

  Ben’s jaw dropped. "Grandma! What... who..."

  "Oh, Benny!" Grandma beamed. "Your friend Val told me everything. How she’s in town for that 'Cosplay Tournament' downtown. Isn't that exciting?"

  "A tournament," Ben repeated, staring at Vala.

  "Yes," Vala said, her face stone-cold. "I am a Knight. I intend to win first prize. The prize is... honor."

  "She slept in the closet because she didn't want to wake us," Grandma whispered loudly. "Such manners. Now, Ben, eat a banana. You can't go to Sparky’s on an empty stomach. You need that technician job."

  Ben grabbed a banana. "Okay. Right. Going." He looked at Vala. "Stay here."

  Vala stood up, grabbing the yellow 'Pizza Palace' poncho from the chair. "I will escort you to the stronghold. The Hive may be watching."

  "You can't come in!" Ben hissed. "It's a repair shop next to a laundromat! You're dressed like Joan of Arc!"

  "I will remain unseen," Vala promised, putting on the poncho. "I will monitor from the rooftops."

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  [SCENE BREAK: Sparky’s Servo & Repair - 9:05 AM]

  The shop smelled of burnt solder and stale coffee. Shelves were piled high with cannibalized robot parts, wires, and rusted motors. Behind the counter sat Sparky—a man who looked like he was made of leather and oil grease. He was chewing on an unlit cigar.

  "Stryker?" Sparky grunted, looking at a clipboard. "Says here you have a degree? B.Tech?"

  "Yes, sir," Ben said, standing straight. The Cooldown timer ticked in his head: [08 HOURS REMAINING.]

  "Overqualified," Sparky spat. "Why do you want to work here? You gonna ask for a raise in two weeks?"

  "I need the money," Ben said honestly. "And I like machines. They make sense. People don't."

  Sparky grunted. He reached under the counter and pulled out a heavy, complex-looking servo motor. It was smoking slightly. "This is a heavy-load joint from a construction mech. It's seized up. Three other guys tried to fix it and failed. You have five minutes."

  Sparky slammed the motor on the counter. "Fix it, and you're hired. $9.50 an hour."

  Ben winced. That was barely minimum wage. But he had no choice. He looked at the motor. He didn't see a broken machine. He saw a puzzle. He pulled a small screwdriver from his pocket. "It's not the gears," Ben murmured, peering into the casing. "It's the magnetic clutch. It's misaligned."

  He didn't take it apart. He didn't see a broken machine. He saw a flow chart. The magnetic clutch wasn't seized; it was vapor-locked. The intake valve had created a vacuum seal. He located the pressure release screw—a tiny brass valve hidden under the casing lip—and gave it a precise quarter-turn to vent the air. Hiss. Now for the realignment. He tapped the casing hard with the handle of the screwdriver to reseat the magnet. CLICK.

  The motor hummed to life, spinning smoothly.

  Sparky stopped chewing his cigar. He looked at the motor. He looked at Ben. "Huh."

  Suddenly, a loud THUMP came from the metal roof directly above them. Dust drifted down.

  "What was that?" Sparky asked, looking up.

  Ben froze. Vala. "Cats," Ben said quickly. "Big ones. Alley cats. They fight over... scraps."

  Another THUMP. Then the sound of metal scraping on metal. [WARNING: PROXIMITY ALERT.] The voice in Ben's head woke up. The Grey crystal fluttered against his skin. [MINOR THREAT DETECTED.]

  Ben’s heart stopped. Not now. Please not now.

  "You okay, kid?" Sparky asked. "You look pale."

  "I'm fine," Ben said, his hands shaking slightly. "Just... really hate cats."

  Sparky grinned. "You start Monday. Don't be late. And bring your own tools."

  Ben walked out of the shop, his knees weak. He got the job. It was dirty, loud, and paid scraps, but it was a job.

  He walked around the corner into the alley. Vala dropped from the roof, landing silently in the trash cans. She was holding a dead, robotic drone the size of a dinner plate. It was crushed in her gauntlet.

  "The Hive sends spies," Vala whispered, tossing the smoking drone into a dumpster. "It was watching you through the skylight."

  Ben looked at the drone. He looked at the repair shop. "I got the job," Ben said, leaning against the brick wall. "I'm a technician, Vala."

  Vala clapped him on the shoulder. It hurt. "Well done, Peasant. Now you have gold to fund our war."

  Ben sighed. "Yeah. $9.50 an hour of it." He adjusted his denim jacket. "Let's go home. And please tell me you didn't leave any more dead robots on the fire escape."

  [TO BE CONTINUED IN EPISODE 8]