The crumpled bills on the nightstand weren't a fortune, but they were more than Ace had held in a long time. Two twenties, a fifty, a twenty, a five, two ones, and ninety-seven cents in damp coins added up to $137.76. Beside that physical cash, glowing faintly in his mind, were his [System Funds: $510.00 USD]. Ace traced a finger over the largest bill – the fifty. It was real, tangible, and more importantly, his. The sour smell of Room 7 couldn't touch the clean scent of possibility clinging to that paper.
He carefully stacked the cash and folded it tightly. Not under the mattress – too obvious. He shoved the wad deep into the pocket of his least torn jeans, the weight a comforting anchor against his thigh. The Neural-Interface hummed in his skull like a quiet engine idling.
"Okay," Ace whispered, the word cracking in the silent room. He rubbed his tired eyes. "What do I do now?" He wasn't just surviving the next hour; he needed a plan that stretched beyond the next Deke-shaped threat.
The System obliged, blue text pulsing:
[Objective: Establish Sustainable Income Stream]
[Recommended Path: Utilize Acquired Skills (Basic Repair, Haggling) for Local Service Provision]
[Scanning Local Demand...]
A mental map of the Nite Owl Motel and its immediate grimy surroundings overlaid his vision. Flickering markers appeared:
Apartment 3C (Mrs. Gable): Leaky Kitchen Faucet (Estimated Fee: $25-$40)
Bodega 'Quick Stop': Sticking Refrigerator Door (Estimated Fee: $20-$30 + Possible Trade)
Laundromat 'Suds & Duds': Faulty Dryer #3 (Estimated Fee: $30-$50)
Handyman. Ace looked down at his hands – scraped knuckles, the angry red burn on his thumb, dirt ground deep into the creases. He needed tools. All he had was Mike's rusty clamp, an empty wood filler tube, and a scrap of sandpaper. It wasn't exactly a toolkit.
"Tools cost money," Ace muttered aloud, the reality sinking in. He patted the pocket holding the $137.76. It suddenly felt much smaller. "For now, I gotta start small. But I need to start now."
He focused on the closest marker: Apartment 3C (Mrs. Gable). The Neural-Interface supplied snippets gleaned from overheard motel gossip: Elderly. Lives alone. Complains about noise (and plumbing).
Taking a deep breath, Ace grabbed his cheap phone – its battery blinking ominously at 15% – and left Room 7. The repaired door scraped shut, the deadbolt sliding home with a reassuring thunk. It felt like solid ground beneath his worn sneakers.
Apartment 3C was just down the hall from the office. Ace knocked, the sound sharp in the quiet hallway. After a moment, the door opened a crack, secured by a flimsy chain. A watery blue eye peered out, framed by wisps of grey hair.
"Yeah?" The voice was thin and wary. "Who is it?"
"Mrs. Gable? My name's Ace. I'm staying down the hall in Room 7," Ace began, keeping his voice low and respectful. "I, uh, heard you might have a leaky faucet? In the kitchen maybe?" The Neural-Interface subtly highlighted the keywords: Fix. Quick. Fair.
The eye narrowed. "Heard from who? Mike? That big lump never fixes a thing 'less the roof caves in on his head."
"Just overheard folks talking in the hall, that's all," Ace said honestly. "I'm trying to earn a bit doing small fixes around here. Actually just fixed my own busted door frame tonight." He gestured vaguely down the hall towards Room 7. "I could take a quick look at your faucet? Won't cost you nothin' just to look."
Mrs. Gable hesitated, then the chain rattled free. She opened the door fully, revealing a tiny apartment smelling of mothballs and weak tea. She was tiny, swallowed by a faded floral housecoat. "Kitchen's back there. That drip… drippin' all night, drippin' all day. Drivin' me batty. Wastes good water too." She shuffled aside, motioning him in with a bony hand. "See what you can see."
Ace stepped in. The kitchen was cramped, everything looking old and tired. The faucet over the chipped sink had a steady plink... plink... plink into a stained mug placed underneath. The Neural-Interface zoomed in, analyzing:
[Faucet Type: Standard Compression]
[Issue: Worn Washer (Probable)]
[Tools Required: Adjustable Wrench, Replacement Washer(s)]
[Estimated Repair Time: 15-30 minutes]
"Looks like it's probably just a worn washer," Ace explained, pointing carefully at the base of the faucet handle. "It needs replacing. It should be a pretty simple job once I get the right part."
"Simple?" Mrs. Gable snorted. "I tried tightenin' it myself last week. Just made the drippin' worse! Some fella callin' himself a handyman came by, wanted forty bucks just to look at it! Forty!"
Ace felt the Haggling skill engage. She's mad about the price. Offer a fix. "Well, the washers themselves only cost a buck or two. If I fix it for you right now, with a new washer… how about twenty for the work?" He held his breath. Twenty felt like a mountain of money. Was it too much?
Mrs. Gable looked him up and down, her gaze sharp on his worn clothes, the scrapes on his arms, the dust still clinging to his hair. "Son, you look like you lost a fight with a alley cat in a dumpster. You sure you know what you're doin' fiddlin' with pipes?"
Ace forced a small, hopefully reassuring smile. "I'm sure, ma'am. I've fixed worse things with less." He tapped his temple subtly. "I've got a knack for figurin' stuff out."
She sighed, the sound like dry leaves rustling. "Alright then. Fix the blasted drip. I'll give you twenty dollars if it stops dead. Ten if it just drips slower. And if you flood my kitchen? You owe me a mop and a prayer."
"Deal," Ace said quickly, relief washing over him. "I just gotta run down to the hardware store real quick for the washers. Five minutes, I swear. I'll be right back."
He practically jogged out, the Neural-Interface already mapping the route to the nearest hardware store – a cramped place called 'Bud's Bits & Bolts' two blocks away. He used a tiny bit of precious System cash ($1.50) for a small pack of assorted washers. His real cash stayed deep in his pocket. Every penny counts.
Back at 3C, Mrs. Gable watched him like a hawk from the doorway as he knelt by the sink. The Neural-Interface guided his hands with calm precision: Turn the water supply valves under the sink clockwise… Use the wrench to loosen the packing nut… Carefully remove the stem assembly… See the worn, flattened washer? Replace it with the new size 3 washer… Reassemble everything in reverse order… Tighten firmly, but don't force it…
His hands, despite the scrapes and lingering numbness, moved with surprising certainty under the System's guidance. He turned the water supply back on slowly. There were no leaks around the base. He turned the handle. Water flowed smoothly. He turned it off.
Silence.
No plink.
"Well, I'll be swindled…" Mrs. Gable breathed, shuffling closer and leaning over the sink. "It stopped. Just like that? No more drippin'?"
"It just needed a new washer, like I figured," Ace said, wiping his hands on his jeans, trying to hide his own surge of pride. He'd fixed something. He had earned real money doing it. His money.
She shuffled to a cookie tin on the counter, pulled out a ten and a five, then hesitated, adding another five. "Twenty. You earned it, dumpster-cat." A ghost of a smile touched her thin lips. "I might have a window back there that rattles like it's got bats in the belfry when the wind picks up…"
"Just knock on Room 7 anytime," Ace said, pocketing the precious bills. He now had $157.76 in cash. The $1.50 for the washers had come from the System. He was net positive. It felt like a real step. "I'd be happy to take a look."
He stepped back into the hallway, the twenty dollars warm and solid in his pocket. The System pinged softly:
[Income Stream Established: Minor Repairs]
[Reputation: Nite Owl Motel (Local) +5%]
[Funds: $157.76 USD (Cash) | $508.50 USD (System)]
He headed towards the exit, his stomach rumbling. Time to get something to eat. Maybe tackle the bodega fridge next? As he pushed open the heavy front door, someone else was coming in, struggling with a large cardboard box.
Thump.
"Oof! Sorry!"
Ace stumbled back. The other person – a young woman carrying a box overflowing with books – staggered, the box tilting precariously.
"Whoa! My bad!" Ace blurted, instinctively reaching out to steady the box. His hands brushed against hers. She had warm skin, and a faint scent of coffee and paper washed over him.
"Nah, totally my fault!" she laughed, a bright, slightly breathless sound. She adjusted her grip on the heavy box, revealing a face framed by messy dark braids escaping a ponytail. Sharp, intelligent brown eyes met his, flickering with amusement and apology. She wore jeans, a faded band t-shirt, and a worn canvas apron tied around her waist, stained with what looked like paint or coffee. A nametag pinned crookedly read: Evelyn.
Ace froze for a second. The Neural-Interface offered only a bland observation: [Individual: Female. Approx. Early 20s. Carrying Weight: 15-20 lbs. Potential Obstruction to Egress.]
"Right. Yeah," Ace mumbled, suddenly hyper-aware of his own grimy state, the juice stain, the lingering wood dust. He stepped aside quickly. "Go ahead, you first."
"Thanks!" Evelyn flashed him another quick smile, hefting the box again. "Moving day. Well, movin' this box day, anyway. I've got about six more disasters like this in the car." She nodded down the hall. "Apartment 2A. See you around, I guess?"
"Ace," he managed. "I'm in Room 7."
"Evelyn," she replied, shifting the box with a grunt. "Welcome to the lovely Nite Owl, Ace." Her smile was wry as she maneuvered the heavy box through the doorway and started down the hall.
Ace stood for a moment in the doorway, watching her struggle slightly with the weight. The quiet hum of the Neural-Interface returned, nudging him towards the bodega marker. But the image of those bright, laughing eyes lingered in his mind.
He touched the cash in his pocket. $157.76. He needed tools. He needed food. He looked towards the street, then back down the hall where Evelyn had disappeared. A small, unexpected warmth spread through him, different from the relief of the money. Maybe… maybe tonight I skip the cheapest noodles? He had earned it. He pushed the door open, stepping out into the late morning light. The encounter added a strange, unexpected layer to the solid ground beneath his feet. The world outside the Nite Owl still felt dangerous, but for the first time, it also felt… possible. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit more interesting.