The late morning sun felt warm on Ace's face as he stepped out of the Nite Owl, a stark contrast to the damp chill of the previous night. The weight in his pocket – $157.76 of real, earned cash – felt like armor. The Neural-Interface hummed softly, its map still highlighting the Bodega 'Quick Stop' marker a block away with the note *Sticking Refrigerator Door. Estimated Fee: $20-$30 + Possible Trade.*
His stomach growled insistently. Food first. He knew he could think clearer on a full stomach, and tackling the bodega job would definitely need focus. While the System's bodega marker pulsed, his own hunger was a louder, more immediate demand.
He spotted a small, grimy diner tucked between a pawn shop and a laundromat further down the street: 'Maggie's Nook'. The Neural-Interface offered no analysis, just the stark reality of his budget. Cheap and filling were the priorities. He pushed the door open, a bell jingling overhead.
The air inside was thick with the smell of grease, coffee, and old vinyl. A few tired-looking people sat at the counter or in cracked booths. A waitress with faded red hair and a name tag reading 'Flo' looked up from wiping the counter.
"Sit anywhere, hon," she called, not unkindly. Her eyes flickered over his clothes, lingering on the dust and the faint juice stain, but held no judgment, just the weariness of a long shift.
Ace slid into a booth near the window, the vinyl seat sticking slightly to his jeans. He picked up a laminated menu sticky with syrup. He was relieved to see the prices were low. He scanned the options quickly, focusing on the basics: eggs, toast, and coffee. They were simple choices and, more importantly, cheap.
Flo appeared with a glass of water. "What do you want to eat, dear?" she asked, pulling a small notepad from her apron.
"Yeah, thanks," Ace said. "Can I get two eggs over easy, white toast, and a coffee? Black."
"Two eggs easy, white toast, black coffee," Flo repeated, scribbling. "I'll get that right up for you." She moved away, her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum.
Ace pulled the cash from his pocket, keeping it low under the table. He counted out enough for the meal plus a small tip, setting it aside. $157.76 minus… maybe five bucks? Still okay. He looked out the window. The street was busy now. People heading to work, deliveries being made. A normal world, moving on. He felt like an alien observer, perched on his tiny island of hard-won stability.
His food arrived quickly. The eggs were perfectly runny, the toast buttered and crisp, the coffee hot and strong. He ate slowly, savoring every bite; the simple act felt almost luxurious after days of scavenging and dread. The Neural-Interface remained quiet, respecting the moment, or perhaps just conserving energy.
As he finished the last bite of toast, mopping up the yolk, the System pinged gently:
[Sustenance Acquired: +2% Stamina Recovery]
[Recommendation: Proceed to Bodega 'Quick Stop' for Task Opportunity.]
Right. Back to work. Ace left enough cash on the table to cover the meal and a dollar tip, then headed back out into the sunlight, feeling slightly more human.
The Quick Stop bodega was exactly as grimy as its surroundings promised. Faded posters advertising soda and lottery tickets covered the windows. Inside, it was cramped and cool, shelves packed with essentials. An older Asian man with thinning grey hair and sharp eyes stood behind the counter, watching Ace enter. His nametag read Mr. Chen.
Ace approached, the Haggling skill activating subtly. "Excuse me, Mr. Chen? I heard you might be having some trouble with a refrigerator door sticking?"
Mr. Chen's eyes narrowed slightly. "Heard? Heard from who?" His voice was cautious.
"Word gets around," Ace said, keeping it vague but confident. "I do small fixes. I fixed Mrs. Gable's leaky faucet over at the Nite Owl this morning. I could take a look at your fridge? No charge just to look."
Mr. Chen studied him for a moment, much like Mrs. Gable had, taking in his appearance. "The big one in back sticks bad," he said, gesturing towards a large, humming commercial refrigerator at the rear of the store, its door slightly ajar. "It's annoying for customers. Hurts business."
"Mind if I take a look?" Ace asked.
Mr. Chen gave a curt nod. "Go ahead. See what you think."
Ace walked over to the fridge. The door was heavy, and sure enough, it stuck badly about halfway open, requiring a firm yank to get it moving fully. The Neural-Interface scanned:
[Appliance: Commercial Refrigerator]
[Issue: Misaligned Hinge / Worn Gasket Seal (Probable)]
[Tools Required: Screwdriver (Phillips), Lubricant (Optional)]
[Estimated Repair Time: 10-20 minutes]
"It looks like the hinge might be slightly bent, or maybe the rubber seal around the door is worn and catching," Ace explained, pointing at the top hinge. "It probably just needs adjusting or maybe a little lubricant on the hinge pin. It should be a quick fix if I can borrow a screwdriver?"
Mr. Chen grunted. He reached under the counter and produced a worn Phillips head screwdriver. "If you fix it and make it work good, maybe twenty dollars." He eyed Ace's thin frame. "Or… you look like you could use a meal. Could trade for food instead?"
The Haggling skill flared, weighing options. Cash is vital for tools. But food is immediate need. Reputation gain? "Twenty dollars would be great, Mr. Chen," Ace said. "But… maybe you could throw in a sandwich too? If that's okay?" It felt pushy, but his stomach, despite Maggie's eggs, reminded him lunch wasn't guaranteed.
Mr. Chen considered, then nodded once. "Fix it good. Twenty dollars and one sandwich. Your pick. But no fancy deluxe ones."
"Deal," Ace said quickly. He took the screwdriver. The Neural-Interface guided his hands: Loosen hinge mounting screws slightly… Lift door gently to realign… Tighten screws firmly… Test movement… Apply small amount of lubricant (if available) to hinge pin…
Mr. Chen watched silently as Ace worked. It took only a few minutes of careful adjustment. Ace opened and closed the door several times. It swung smoothly now, without catching. "There. That should be good now."
Mr. Chen walked over, opened and closed the door himself several times, testing the weight and movement. He gave a satisfied nod. "Much better. Smooth." He walked back behind the counter, pulled two tens from the register, and held them out. Then he pointed at the sandwich cooler. "Alright. Pick your sandwich."
Ace chose a hefty-looking ham and cheese on rye. "Thanks, Mr. Chen. I appreciate it."
Mr. Chen nodded again. "You fixed it fast. You do good work. If other things break around here, will you come back?"
"Absolutely," Ace said, pocketing the cash and holding the wrapped sandwich. His funds were now $177.76. Plus lunch. The System pinged:
[Task Completed: Sticking Refrigerator Door]
[Reputation: Local Businesses (Initial) +3%]
[Funds: $177.76 USD (Cash) | $508.50 USD (System)]
[Acquired: Sustenance (Sandwich)]
He stepped back out onto the street, the sandwich a welcome weight in his hand. He decided to head back to the Nite Owl to eat it in relative peace and plan his next move. Tools were the priority now – a basic set. The System could guide him, but he needed the physical means.
As he approached the motel entrance, he saw Evelyn again. She wasn't carrying a box this time, but wrestling with a large, floppy houseplant threatening to escape its pot. Dirt smudged her cheek and apron.
"Need a hand?" Ace asked before he could overthink it. He stepped forward, bracing the wobbly plant.
Evelyn looked up, slightly startled, then recognition dawned. "Ace! Hey! Yeah, thanks. This guy thinks he's auditioning for 'Jungle Adventure'." She adjusted her grip. "I'm just trying to get him up to 2A without redecorating the hallway with dirt."
"Got it," Ace said, taking the weight of the heavy pot. They maneuvered the plant carefully through the doorway and down the hall.
"Thanks a ton," Evelyn said, puffing slightly as they set it down outside Apartment 2A. She brushed dirt off her hands onto her apron, then looked at him, her gaze lingering for a second on his shirt. "You, uh, you look like you had a close encounter with some wood putty earlier, huh?" She gestured vaguely towards the dust still clinging to his sleeve and the faint smear near the old juice stain.
Ace glanced down, suddenly self-conscious. "Oh, right. That. Yeah, I had to fix a busted door frame this morning," he explained, trying to sound casual. "Occupational hazard, I guess."
Evelyn chuckled. "Handyman Ace. That's a good skill to have." She dug in her apron pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled business card. It read 'The Grind House' with a stylized coffee cup, and 'Evelyn' handwritten underneath. "I work here. Swing by sometime. First coffee's on me. Consider it a thank you for plant rescue and… well, keeping doors functional." Her smile was genuine.
Ace took the card, the cheap paper feeling unexpectedly significant. "Thanks, Evelyn. I might just do that." He pocketed the card next to his cash. "Good luck taming the rest of the jungle."
"You too, Ace. Try not to fight any more doors today." She gave a little wave and disappeared into her apartment with the plant.
Ace walked back towards Room 7, unwrapping his sandwich as he went. The encounter left him feeling strangely buoyant. He took a big bite as he unlocked his door. The System pinged again, more insistently this time:
[Objective Update: Acquire Basic Tool Kit]
[Estimated Cost: $45-$75 USD]
[Recommendation: Harbor Hardware (0.8 miles). Prioritize.]
[Secondary Objective: Personal Maintenance]
[Observation: Current attire is suboptimal for professional engagements and may hinder reputation growth.]
[Recommendation: Acquire clean, functional clothing. Estimated Cost: $20-$40 USD.]
Ace looked down at himself as he closed the door. Dust, grime, the stubborn juice stain, frayed cuffs. Evelyn's comment echoed. The Neural-Interface was right. He couldn't keep looking like he'd lost a fight with a dumpster if he wanted people to hire him seriously. He had the money now. Not a lot, but enough for basics.
He finished the sandwich, the simple meal fueling his resolve. Tools and clothes. It wasn't glamorous, but it was tangible progress. The solid ground beneath his feet felt less like a fragile patch of dirt and more like a small, steady platform. He had $177.76 cash. Harbor Hardware first. Then maybe a thrift store.
He stood up, the Neural-Interface humming its approval as it mapped the route to the hardware store. He had a plan. He had cash. He had a potential free coffee. For the first time since the alley, the future didn't just feel like surviving the next hour. It felt like the next block over, waiting to be walked. He just had to watch out for Deke-shaped potholes along the way.