Chapter 2: First Gear Grind
Carson had no personal belongings: no shirt. No shoes. Only the gown the hospital gave him. That wasn’t going to cut it in a fast paced city. Luckily he was able to find something that fit in the lost-and-found: blue jeans. Black tee. No shoes—less than basic starter NPC garb. Figures.
He stepped out of the hospital into the humid pulse of Ridge Haven. Squinting. When his eyes focused a red $3700 pulsed in his left periphery—constant reminder, great. He took a deep breath. The air smelled of hot asphalt, lingering tire smoke, and the faint metallic tang of a nitrous shot. Neon signs flickered overhead, advertising everything from enchanted superchargers to 24-hour ramen stalls that served ramen laced with speed buffs.
His face lit up. Brighter and brighter with each advertisement of the billboards. Speed buffs? Rune-infused fuels? Mana-ramen? He wanted it all.
He watched a step count in the corner of his vision. Steps - 67/100. He tried not to pay attention to it and grinned from ear to ear as a deep red NSX type 1 zoomed by. Turbo whistling. Exhaust spitting with the up shift. His heart jumped as high as the PSI that thing had to be pushing. Then back at the step count 83/100. Curious as to what happened when it reached the 100/100 limit—he sprinted. Burning up the last steps, like a drifter through low profiles.
[System Notification: Hospital Slippers –Temporary Footwear
Steps 100/100. Condition: Expired.]
The slippers glimmered to nothing. He wiggled his toes hello. Bummer? Sure. Not like he would have been wearing them forever though.
Now he had the raw, unfiltered power of his ‘09 Lambo-feeties. Bare feet slapped against the cracked sidewalk as he walked. Chin high. Eyes wide, the System’s daily challenge ticking down in the corner of his vision: Explore Ridge Haven – 42 minutes remaining. Reward pending.
He had no destination, just the urge to move. The city felt alive, dangerous, and oddly welcoming all at once. The screaming sound of rotaries and thundering V8s ripped his eyes up. Cars blurred past on the elevated lanes above, their underglow painting the undersides of bridges in electric blue and violent purple. Backfire and cherry bombs sending his pulse on edge. Down here on street level, it was grittier: food carts slinging food so flavorful they could have charged extra for the steam, pawn shops trading busted turbo manifolds for quick cash, clusters of racers in leather jackets comparing lap times on glowing wrist-holos—he looked at his own wrist-holo. No lap times. No contacts. No cash. Only the reminder of debt. And low stats. Nobody with nothing—square one, right?
A few blocks in, the low growl of a straight-six caught his ear. Not just any engine—this one had that unmistakable Toyota whine, tuned to perfection, the kind that promised violence at redline.
A black Supra rolled into a shop with rune-pumps on the corner, tires hissing as it eased up to the furthest pump. The car was a classic JZA80, lowered on coilovers, widebody kit hugging massive rear tires, a single massive rear wing slicing the air like a guillotine, and taillights that would give any racer nightmares.
Matte black paint drank the sunlight, broken only by faint violet underglow and a single glowing sticker on the rear quarter panel. Precise and haunting all at once—Gale Wind.
Carson slowed, drawn like metal to a magnet. Something in his gut recognized the car, even if his brain didn’t. Muscle memory, maybe. Or the System nudging him toward opportunity.
As he approached, he spotted it taped to the glass door of the attached shop: a handwritten HELP WANTED sign in bold red marker. The writing was quick. Maybe desperate.
WAXERS & OIL TECHs NEEDED
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
$50/day cash, +TIPS
No experience? We’ll train. Just show up hungry.
Ask for Rico
Fifty bucks a day. Not much in a city where a decent set of tires could run you more than three grand—according to the billboards—but it was a start. Enough to eat, maybe chip at that hospital debt. And cars. Real cars. Cars that he recognized. It was an odd mix of a world: elves, goblin crews, Mana-ramen, a mountain that looked like Fuji, and now Supras. Very odd. Almost—enjoyable. He smirked at his thoughts. It was his world now. What other choice did he have.
He soaked the Supra in one last time and pushed through the door. A bell jingled, half-mechanical, half-magical chime that sent a faint ripple through the System interface.
[Rico’s Garage.
Work Availability – Detailer - $50/day.]
In a flavor text it also said.
Tips may be collected from customers via customer appreciation. 2% chance +1 street cred after completing a successful detail. Word spreads quick if you’re quick.
The shop smelled like motor oil, citrus wax, and ozone from what looked to be a mana-charged air compressor in the back—assumed only because of the glowing flakes outlining the gauges. Three bays stood open, one occupied by a lowered Skyline getting a fresh alignment, another with a drift-prepped 180SX on a lift, rear subframe dangling like a broken limb. Tools clattered, hip-hop mixed with engine revs blasted from hidden speakers.
Behind the counter stood a broad-shouldered human. Sharp fade with natural silver lining the edges. He was in grease-stained coveralls, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms covered in glowing tattoo-runes—protection wards, speed sigils, the usual racer ink. He was wiping his hands on a rag, eyeing Carson with the practiced skepticism of someone who’d seen too many drifters blow through looking for handouts. This one didn’t have shoes.
“You the one who put up the sign?” Carson asked, nodding toward the door.
The man—Rico, presumably—gave him a once-over. “Depends. You got a name, kid?”
“Carson.” He extended a hand. “Just got out of Ridge Haven General. No car. no place to stay. No …nothing.” The thought of “nothing” hit different when he said it out loud. “But I can wax, check oil, whatever you need. Fifty a day’s better than zero.”
Rico studied him for a long beat, then glanced out at the black Supra still idling at the pump. The driver, a slim elf with silver hair tied back, was fueling up, neon reflections dancing across the car’s hood each time the advertisement flashed on a billboard above.
“You know cars?” Rico asked.
Carson hesitated. Staring off as a turbo spooled somewhere in the distance. Fragments flickered—torque curves, boost thresholds, the feel of a clutch biting—but nothing solid. Phantom memories. “I… think so. Muscle memory’s there. Give me a rag and a buffer, I’ll prove it.”
Rico snorted, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He didn’t quite have the whole dad-vibe going, but he was sure hitting the gruff uncle. “Alright, hotshot. Bay three’s open. Customer just dropped off a Civic that needs a full detail before tonight’s meet. Wax, interior, tire shine. Do it clean, do it fast. You finish by closing, you get the fifty. Screw it up, you’re out. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Rico tossed him a clean shop rag and a bottle of enchanted wax that shimmered faintly with blue mana particles. “Tools are in the locker. Don’t touch the high-end stuff without asking. I mean it. And Carson?”
“Yeah?”
Rico glanced at Carson’s bare feet. “There are some old boots somewhere over there too, protect your feet dummy. I don’t need a hospital bill because the new guy splashed hot rune-polish on his toes.”
Carson nodded. Barely hired and he’s already getting barked at—this felt normal. Finding everything he’d need:wax, rags, buckets—boots included. one was missing it’s lace. He shrugged as slid them on. On the pull of the single lace the System pinged.
[Hidden Bonus: Boot Straps – Find the work boots.
Reward: Work Boots. +15 XP]
[Level Progress: 1 (15/500XP to level 2)]
[Work Boots: They’re not comfortable. You get no buffs. And one of them is missing a lace. But at least you don’t have worry about a step counter.]
He didn’t care—step counter, buffs or not. He had shoes.
He stood and started towards the Civic. As he passed the open bay, the black Supra outside finished fueling and peeled out with a sharp chirp of tires, exhaust popping like gunfire.
The System pinged softly:
[Side Quest Unlocked: Prove it – Complete a full detail job without mistakes.
Reward: 150 XP, +$50 Cash, Minor Reputation Gain with Rico’s Garage.]
[Daily Challenge Complete: Explore Ridge Haven.
Reward: +50 XP. Map partially unlocked – Lowtown District revealed.]
[Level Progress: 1 (65/500XP to level 2)]
He smirked at the updated HUD. Maybe paying the hospital back wouldn’t be such a drag. He cracked his knuckles, grabbed the soapy buckets, fresh rags and broke a new wax seal. The wax smelled like citrus and lightning. His mental green flag dropped.
