The worn business card for 'The Grind House' felt like a small talisman in Ace's pocket beside his cash. He looked down at his dust-streaked, juice-stained shirt and frayed jeans. The System's recommendation echoed in his mind: [Acquire clean, functional clothing. Estimated Cost: $20-$40 USD.] It was practical advice, reinforced by Evelyn's casual observation. He couldn't build a reputation as a reliable handyman looking like he had crawled out of a dumpster. First, however, came the tools. [Objective Priority: Acquire Basic Tool Kit. Estimated Cost: $45-$75 USD.]
The Neural-Interface map highlighted Harbor Hardware, a solid blue dot 0.8 miles away. Ace locked the door of Room 7, the repaired latch sliding home smoothly. He scanned the motel parking lot and the street beyond, his senses heightened by the Neural-Interface's subtle alertness. No sign of Deke or his thugs. Not yet, he thought, the memory of the splintered door frame a fresh reminder. He started walking, the $177.76 a reassuring weight against his thigh.
The walk took him past blocks of weathered brick buildings, auto repair shops, and discount stores. The air smelled of exhaust and fried food. Harbor Hardware occupied a corner lot, its windows plastered with sale signs. Ace pushed through the glass doors into a cavernous space filled with the sharp scent of metal, wood, and paint. Rows of shelves stretched towards the back, packed with everything from nails to power saws. A young guy in a bright orange vest, maybe nineteen, leaned against the counter reading a skateboarding magazine. His nametag said CHAD.
Chad looked up as Ace approached. "Hey there. Find everything okay?" His tone was friendly but slightly bored.
"Hopefully," Ace replied, glancing around. The sheer volume of stuff was overwhelming. The Neural-Interface helpfully overlaid blue outlines on specific aisles: Hand Tools, Fasteners, Measuring. "I need to put together a basic tool kit. Just starting out with handyman stuff."
"Right on," Chad said, putting the magazine down. "Good place to start. Are you thinking about a pre-packaged homeowner kit? Or do you want to build your own?"
Ace considered. A pre-packaged kit might be faster, but it would probably include things he didn't need yet, costing more. "Building my own, I think. I just need the essentials."
"Smart move," Chad nodded. He pushed off the counter. "Okay, essentials: A good claw hammer. A decent set of screwdrivers – Phillips and flathead, a couple sizes each. An adjustable wrench. Pliers – lineman's and needle-nose. A tape measure. A utility knife. A level. Maybe a small hacksaw? Oh, and a basic socket set never hurts." He started ticking items off on his fingers as they walked towards the hand tool aisle.
Ace focused, the Neural-Interface confirming Chad's list and adding estimated price ranges beside each item. It subtly guided him towards mid-range, durable brands, avoiding the absolute cheapest flimsy options. He picked up a solid-looking 16-ounce claw hammer ($12.99), a 6-piece screwdriver set ($14.99), a 6-inch adjustable wrench ($8.99), a combination pliers set ($11.99), a 25-foot tape measure ($7.99), a utility knife with replaceable blades ($5.99), and a sturdy 9-inch level ($9.99). He hesitated at the socket sets, comparing prices.
Chad noticed Ace's hesitation. "The socket set can probably wait for now," he offered. "This basic kit I'm helping you pick out will get you through most jobs without it." He tapped the items in Ace's hands. "You'll know when you really need one later."
"Good point," Ace agreed, relieved. The total so far was pushing $72 before tax. He still needed clothes. He added a small, inexpensive metal toolbox to carry it all ($8.99). "That should do it for now."
"Solid start," Chad said, leading him back to the register. He rang everything up. "Comes to $81.47 with tax."
Ace carefully counted out four twenties and two ones from his cash pile. Chad handed him back the change – $0.53 – and a receipt. Ace packed the tools neatly into the new toolbox. The weight felt good, substantial. Like potential. The System pinged:
[Objective Completed: Acquire Basic Tool Kit]
[Item Quality: Standard. Durability: Adequate.]
[Funds: $96.30 USD (Cash) | $508.50 USD (System)]
"Thanks for the help, Chad" Ace said, hefting the box.
"No problem," Chad replied, already picking up his magazine again. "Good luck with the handyman gig."
Leaving Harbor Hardware, the toolbox felt like a declaration. He had tools. Professional ones. Now for the harder part: replacing the uniform of his exile. The Neural-Interface highlighted a Thrift Town store half a mile back towards the Nite Owl.
Thrift Town smelled faintly of dust and fabric softener. Racks of clothes filled the large space, sorted by type and color. Ace headed for the men's section, feeling acutely self-conscious. He needed durability and neutrality – nothing flashy, nothing that screamed "homeless" or "target." He focused on basics: sturdy work pants and plain shirts.
He found a pair of dark blue cargo pants in his size, the fabric thick and only slightly faded ($5.99). They had plenty of pockets – useful for tools and small parts. Next, he picked out two heavy-duty, long-sleeved work shirts: one dark grey, one navy blue ($4.99 each). They were plain but looked tough. He added two plain, well-worn but clean t-shirts ($2.50 each) and a simple, dark zip-up hoodie ($7.99) for cooler weather. Finally, he grabbed a pack of fresh socks ($3.99) and a new pair of sturdy work gloves ($4.99) – essential protection. He avoided underwear; that felt like a bridge too far in a thrift store. He'd manage with what he had a little longer.
The total came to $35.95 before tax. The cashier, an older woman with kind eyes and bright purple hair, rang it up. "Found some good stuff, hon? Starting a new job?"
"Yeah, something like that," Ace said, managing a small smile. He handed over two twenties. "I need to look a bit more presentable."
"You'll do just fine," she said warmly, handing him his change – $4.05 – and stuffing the clothes into a large plastic bag. "Good luck to you."
"Thanks," Ace said, the unexpected kindness warming him slightly. He walked out carrying the toolbox in one hand and the bag of clothes in the other. His cash was down to $60.35, but he felt immeasurably richer. The System updated:
[Objective Completed: Personal Maintenance (Initial)]
[Attire Suitability: Improved. Reputation Modifier: +5% (Projected)]
[Funds: $60.35 USD (Cash) | $508.50 USD (System)]
The walk back to the Nite Owl felt different. The toolbox was a statement. The clothes were a promise. He wasn't just surviving; he was building. As he passed a small, brightly lit cafe with large windows – 'The Grind House' – he slowed. He could see Evelyn behind the counter, laughing with a customer as she expertly steamed milk. The business card in his pocket seemed to hum.
Not today, he decided. He needed to clean up first, properly. Wash off the grime, put on the new clothes. Then maybe he'd be ready for that coffee. The thought wasn't just about caffeine; it felt like stepping onto another kind of solid ground.
He reached the Nite Owl without incident. Back in Room 7, he locked the door securely. He emptied the bag of clothes onto the lumpy bed. They smelled faintly of thrift store, but they were clean. He stripped off his filthy, stained old clothes, bundling them into the trash can without a second thought. The shower in the tiny, mildewy bathroom had weak pressure and tepid water, but it felt like a baptism. He scrubbed away the dust, the grease, the lingering smell of the alley and fear. The hot water stung his scrapes but soothed his aching muscles.
Drying off, he pulled on the new dark grey work shirt and the blue cargo pants. They fit well, felt sturdy and capable. He looked at himself in the smudged mirror over the sink. The face looking back was thinner than he remembered, shadows still under his eyes, but it wasn't the face of the kid thrown out of Apartment 3B. It was the face of someone who fixed doors, stopped leaks, and bought his own tools. Someone who had $60.35 in his pocket and $508.50 in the System. Someone with a toolbox and a potential free coffee waiting down the street.
He picked up the toolbox, hefting its satisfying weight. The Neural-Interface hummed contentedly. No urgent tasks flashed. Just the quiet hum of readiness. He had the foundation. Now he needed the next job. He sat on the edge of the bed, the new fabric crisp against his skin, and started mentally cataloging the tools in his box, the System silently confirming each item. The drip from the faucet was still there, but tonight, it sounded like a metronome, counting the steady beat of building something new.