Ace's new dark grey work shirt felt strange on his skin, but also made him feel confident. He ran his hand down his blue cargo pants—they were sturdy, with empty pockets that felt ready for anything. The toolbox sat by the door, a compact, metallic promise of capability. The System's quiet hum was a steady background note, no urgent tasks flashing, just readiness. The bathroom faucet still dripped, but now it felt less annoying and more like a steady rhythm that matched his new sense of calm. He had tools. He had clean, functional clothes. He had $60.35 cash and $508.50 in the System. And he had a business card burning a hole in his pocket.
He looked at the smudged mirror one last time. His face was still thin, and the dark circles under his eyes showed he hadn't been sleeping well. But it didn't look hopeless anymore—not like the reflection he used to see in puddles or the dirty window of the Nite Owl. This was Ace now—the guy who fixed things. The guy with the toolbox. The guy Evelyn had offered a free coffee.
Time to collect.
He picked up the toolbox, it felt solid and steady in his hand. He stepped out of Room 7, locking the repaired door securely behind him. The morning air outside the Nite Owl was cool, filled with the quiet sounds of the city starting to wake up. The Neural-Interface map pulsed softly, highlighting The Grind House just a block away.
The cafe was brighter and cleaner than he remembered from his hurried glance yesterday. Large windows let in the morning sun, illuminating mismatched wooden tables and chairs. The air smelled richly of roasted coffee beans and something sweet baking. A few early customers sat with laptops or newspapers. Behind the counter, Evelyn was wiping down the espresso machine, her dark braids tied back neatly today. She looked up as the bell above the door jingled. Her eyes widened slightly in recognition, then traveled down to his new clothes and the toolbox.
"Well, look who cleaned up nice," she said with a warm smile spreading across her face. She leaned her elbows on the counter. "Handyman Ace, reporting for duty? Or just reporting for caffeine?"
"Caffeine, mostly," Ace replied, setting the toolbox down carefully by his feet. He felt a flicker of self-consciousness but pushed it down. "Reporting to collect on that free coffee offer, actually."
"Consider it claimed," Evelyn said, straightening up. "What'll it be? We do more than just black coffee, you know. Though you strike me as a straight-up black kinda guy."
"You'd be right," Ace admitted. "Just a large black coffee, please."
"Coming right up," she said, grabbing a large paper cup. She moved with practiced efficiency, grinding beans, setting up the portafilter, and starting the espresso shot. The rich, dark liquid began to stream into the cup. "So," she continued, watching the pour, "did you win the fight with the door? Or did it surrender gracefully?"
"It surrendered," Ace said, managing a small smile. "Stuck together well enough to keep Mike happy. For now."
"Mike being happy is a minor miracle," Evelyn chuckled. She finished filling the cup and snapped a lid on it. "Here you go. One large black coffee, on the house. Welcome to the neighborhood." She slid the cup across the counter.
"Thanks, Evelyn. Seriously." He took the cup; it was hot in his hands, the aroma deep and inviting. "I appreciate it."
"Don't mention it," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "It's good to see a new face around here who isn't just passing through. Especially one who fixes things." She paused, looking thoughtful. "Actually… you know what? My apartment window does rattle when the wind picks up. Think you could take a look sometime? Obviously, I'd pay."
Ace felt a genuine spark of opportunity. "Absolutely. Just let me know when works for you. Room 7, or…" He gestured vaguely.
"Or I can just yell down the hall," she grinned. "Seriously, though, maybe later this week? I'm slammed with opening shifts."
"Sounds good," Ace nodded. He took a careful sip of the coffee. It was strong and bitter, exactly what he needed. "Just knock when you're free."
"Will do," Evelyn said. A customer approached the counter. "Duty calls. Enjoy the coffee, Ace."
"Thanks again," he said, picking up his toolbox. He gave her a small nod and stepped back out into the morning light, the warmth of the cup spreading through his hands. It wasn't just coffee; it was connection. It was acceptance. The System pinged softly:
[Social Interaction: Positive]
[Local Reputation (Nite Owl / Grind House): +7%]
He took another sip, savoring it, feeling the caffeine begin to sharpen his senses. The Neural-Interface map flared slightly, reminding him of the unresolved marker: Laundromat 'Suds & Duds': Faulty Dryer #3 (Estimated Fee: $30-$50). It was close, just around the corner from the Grind House.
Time to get to work.
Suds & Duds was exactly what its name suggested: a utilitarian space filled with the rumble of washers and the thump of dryers. The air was humid and smelled of detergent and hot lint. An older woman with tightly permed grey hair sat behind a counter stacked with detergent boxes, reading a thick romance novel. A sign above her read Manager: Doris. Dryer #3, a large, industrial-looking machine, sat idle while others churned nearby. A hand-scrawled 'OUT OF ORDER' sign was taped crookedly to its front.
Ace approached the counter. Doris looked up, peering over her reading glasses. "How can i help you?"
"Hi," Ace said, setting his toolbox down. "I saw Dryer #3 is out of order. I do small repairs around the neighborhood. Fixed a fridge for Mr. Chen this morning. I could take a look at your dryer? No charge just to diagnose it."
Doris eyed him, then his toolbox, then his clean, practical clothes. "You are the kid Mrs. Gable was talkin' about? Fixed her faucet?"
"Yeah, That's me," Ace confirmed.
Doris sighed, marking her place in the book with a receipt. "That blasted dryer's been a headache for a month. Repair guy wants eighty bucks just to show up, plus parts. Ridiculous." She stood up, keys jingling on a chain at her waist. "Alright, come on. Take a look. But if you break it worse, you're buying me a new one." Her tone was gruff, but there was a flicker of hope in her eyes.
She led him to Dryer #3 and unlocked the service panel on the front. Ace flipped the panel open. Inside was a tangle of wires, belts, and heating elements, coated in a fine layer of lint. The Neural-Interface scanned:
[Appliance: Commercial Electric Dryer]
[Issue: Broken Drive Belt (Probable). Secondary: Potential Lint Blockage in Vent.]
[Tools Required: Screwdriver (Phillips), Wrench Set (if belt tensioner adjustment needed), Flashlight (Optional)]
[Estimated Repair Time: 20-40 minutes]
"It looks like the main belt that turns the drum snapped," Ace explained, pointing to a frayed, broken rubber band lying loose inside. "Probably just needs a new belt. Might also be worth checking the vent hose for a bad lint clog while I'm in here, since that can cause overheating and wear belts out faster."
Doris peered inside. "A belt? That's all? How much?"
"A new belt is probably…" Ace quickly queried the System for a local parts supplier estimate. "...around ten to fifteen bucks. Labor… say, forty dollars? Total fifty, maybe fifty-five max if the belt is pricier or the vent needs serious clearing."
Doris chewed her lip. "Fifty bucks to get it running? Cheaper than the other guy's visit. Alright. Do it. But only if you fix it proper. And show me the old belt when you're done."
"Deal," Ace said. He opened his toolbox, the new metal latch clicking open satisfyingly. He pulled out his Phillips screwdriver and his flashlight. "I'll need to run to the parts store down the street for the belt. Be back in ten minutes."
True to his word, Ace returned fifteen minutes later (the belt was $12.99) and got to work. The Neural-Interface guided his hands: Remove drum access panel… Clear lint buildup around motor and idler pulley… Install new belt, routing correctly over motor pulley, idler pulley, and drum… Adjust tension if needed… Reinstall panels… Check vent hose connection and clear major blockages…
It was fiddly work in the cramped space, and his new shirt quickly gathered smudges of lint and grime, but he worked methodically. Doris watched from a nearby folding chair, her book forgotten. Finally, Ace closed the service panel, plugged the dryer back in, and pressed the start button. The drum began to turn with a smooth, quiet hum. Hot air started blowing.
"Ha!" Doris barked, a genuine smile cracking her face. "You did it!" She stood up and tested the door latch. "Solid. Hot air blowing. Good." She walked back to the counter, Ace following. She opened the cash register. "Fifty bucks, you said?"
"Fifty covers the labor and the belt," Ace confirmed.
Doris counted out two twenties and a ten. "Here. And you earned it, kid. Fast, too." She hesitated, then added, "Washer #4 is acting funny. Makes a clunking noise on the spin cycle. You wanna take a listen sometime next week?"
"I'd be happy to," Ace said, pocketing the cash. His funds jumped to $110.35. "Just let me know when."
"I will," Doris nodded, already heading back to her chair and her book. "Now shoo. I got readin' to do."
Ace picked up his toolbox and stepped back out onto the sidewalk. The late morning sun was warm. He took a long sip of his now lukewarm coffee. The System pinged:
[Task Completed: Faulty Dryer #3]
[Reputation: Local Businesses (Suds & Duds) +8%]
[Funds: $110.35 USD (Cash) | $508.50 USD (System)]
[Income Stream Established: Appliance Repair]
He looked down at the toolbox, then at the slight grime on his new shirt. It wasn't pristine anymore. It was a working shirt, marked by a job done well. He had fixed a dryer. He had another job lined up. He had coffee from Evelyn. He had over a hundred dollars cash in his pocket.
He started walking back towards the Nite Owl, the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the working dryers fading behind him, replaced by the steady, purposeful sound of his own footsteps and the quiet, confident hum inside his mind. The next block wasn't just waiting to be walked; it was waiting to be fixed.