Chapter 3: Wax On, Wax Off

  Carson worked the Civic like it was his first real race—like he had something to prove. His hands moved on instinct—buffing in slow, overlapping circles with the enchanted wax, the blue mana particles sinking into the paint and leaving a deep, glassy shine. Low stats meant no bonuses: no +Handling for precision strokes, no +Endurance to keep his arms from burning after the third panel. Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he didn’t stop. He vacuumed the interior until the carpets looked new, wiped down every vent and button, even used a detail brush on the air vents to chase out the last crumbs of whatever late-night drive-thru run had left them there—honestly, it made him hungry.

  Starving. He felt like he hadn’t eaten in a week. Those left-over who-knows-what’s were looking gourmet too. His stomach rumbled like the Hellcat in the neighboring bay—an unadulterated appetite begging for the rice. Suitable considering he was working a Honda. He ignored the V8 purring in his guts.

  It wasn’t perfect. A few faint swirl marks lingered under direct light, and the tire shine could have been thicker on the rears. But no mistakes—no overspray on the glass, no missed spots, no accidental scratches from a rushed rag. He finished with the hood propped open, engine bay degreased and dressed, every hose and wire gleaming like new.

  Rico wandered over as the sun dipped behind the spires, casting long shadows through the open bays. He circled the Civic twice, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Then he grunted—almost a laugh.

  “Not bad, kid.” He stood next to him and squeezed Carson’s shoulder—proudly. “Nothing for a showroom, but solid work. You didn’t half-ass it, and more importantly you didn’t break anything. That’s more than most newbies manage on day one.” He clapped Carson on the same shoulder. Rough—only because of the long day.

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out a crisp $50 bill—paper currency, the kind that still carried weight in Lowtown—and pressed it into Carson’s palm.

  He looked at it: bill value in the corners—normal—but there was no face, on one side a perfect stack of tires: low profiles, white walls, all terrains, slicks, competitive, every kind imaginable even some winter studs and sand paddles. All stacked like a low alter. Supporting a shield. In the shield: a logo of every car brand he had ever known: Mazda, Ford, Ferrari, Nissan, Chevrolet, Lamborghini, BMW. All the giants, and then some. On the other side was an island. Nothing detailed. More geographical. Like an aerial shot. Tropical with beaches. Rugged with a mighty blue mountain and country fields. Some fishing boats posted. Ridge Haven. He assumed anyways—unless the island had another name and Ridge Haven was just one of many cities within?

  Rico watched him curiously. It was like the kid had never seen money before. Well he earned it—hopefully he’s a good kid.

  “Cash, like promised. Come back tomorrow if you want another shift. We get busier on weekends—meets, night runs, people wanting their rides looking clean before they hit the canyons.”

  Carson nodded, folding the bill carefully. “Thanks. I will.”

  As Rico turned back to the Skyline on the lift, a soft chime rang in Carson’s head. The System flared to life:

  [Side Quest Complete: Prove it.]

  Reward: +150 XP, +$50 Cash.

  In the comer of his vision an electric blue $50 appeared when he pocketed the bill. Then again when the system updated. +$50 appeared, except it was neon green, hovering right underneath the blue $50. The numbers merged. Displaying a new balance.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  [Cash on hand $100.00]

  That’s neat. No math. He hated math. Carson continued reading.

  [Reputation with Rico’s Garage: +10 (Neutral to Acquaintance)]

  [Level Progress: 1 (215/500 XP to Level 2)]

  He exhaled, feeling the tiniest rush—like the first hint of boost kicking in. Not much, but traction. Real traction.

  With the shop winding down, Carson stepped outside to cool off. The map overlay expanded in his vision, Lowtown District now partially filled in: twisting side streets, glowing waypoints for chop shops, noodle stands, and underground entrances to the racing grid. One icon pulsed faintly in the residential alley two blocks east—a small house symbol labeled Safe House. The icon blinked again. (Vacancy Available.)

  Curiosity tugged. He followed the minimap, feet carrying him through neon-washed corridors between taller buildings. Car alarm screaming when he stepped to close, nearly sending his skin from his bones. The safe house turned out to be a narrow, three-story walk-up squeezed between a pawn shop and a mana-recharge station. Faded sign above the door: Ridge Haven Transient Lodging – No Questions, No Credit Check.

  The words “No” flickered on and off, before a spark short the sign completely. A low static buzz and the “L” flickered to life.

  “Nice place.” Carson smirked. “If the city doesn’t kill me, the bed bugs will.” He reached for the door.

  Inside the lobby, a bored orc behind bulletproof glass slid a tablet through the slot. “Weekly or bi-weekly?”

  “Bi-weekly,” Carson said. “What’s the rate?”

  “Two hundred every fourteen days. No down payment. We link to your wrist-holo. Charge will be added to your debt ledger, or you can have it auto deducted from your bank account. You miss a payment; we lock you out and keep whatever you left inside. Simple.”

  Carson tapped his wrist—where the System had manifested a faint holographic ID band during registration—and confirmed. The tablet chimed with approval. His wrist-holo pulsed. A new screen materialized in his vision.

  Safe House Unlocked: Unit 3B

  Rent: $200 / 14 days

  Amenities: Bed, basic mana grid hookup, secure parking stall (vehicle required to activate), communal shower.

  Debt Impact: -$200 (please wait, debt will be added to your debt ledger. This can take a few minutes.

  Reminder: Payment is required in 14 days. You will be billed beforehand. Automatic deduction will be applied in 14 days. Owner policies.)

  The key fob materialized in his hand—enchanted plastic that glowed briefly when he squeezed it.

  “Stairs are over there.” The orc barely pointed and took her tablet back, hardly looking at him in the process. “Don’t trip. And don’t bother the guy in 2B, he knows his door is open.”

  Up three flights of creaky stairs, Unit 3B was small: single room with a fold-out bed, a tiny kitchenette that looked like it hadn’t seen real food in years but still smelled like burnt ramen. At least his room had a window. It may have been overlooking the alley where distant engines echoed like thunder, but it was fresh air.

  Perfect? No. But it had a lock. A roof. A place that was his, at least for two weeks.

  He dropped onto the bed. Springs groaned with an opinion—just before one of the legs buckled. He sighed laying sideways with a smirk—figures even the bed had character.

  The $100 in his pocket felt heavier now—half a rent cycle, a couple meals, maybe some cheap parts if he played it right. Debt still sat at $3700, but the number felt less like a wall and more like a lap timer he could shave once he knew the course. If the quests continued to come in simple like the one today. Maybe multiple in the same day? It was more than beatable.

  Outside, the city never slept. A distant turbo whistle rose, followed by the screech of tires taking a corner hard. Carson stared at the ceiling, the System’s map still open in the corner of his vision. Most of it was fogged. But in the area he had access to: Lowtown. He would get to know it. Familiarize himself with the people. A food cart only a block away would be the first place he stopped. The ramen bowl glowed on the map. As hungry as he was now, he just didn’t have the energy to walk over. He studied his portion of map as sleep gently took him—sprawled on a sideways bed and all.

  And for the first time since that hospital bed, he didn’t feel lost.