Jax Davies' workshop was not a place.
It was a state of mind.
And that state of mind was beautiful, chaotic, and probably illegal in seventeen states.
Tucked away in a forgotten corner of the Undercroft, behind a door marked with a crudely painted, grinning skull and the words "Knock Loudly, Run Fast," it was a cathedral of controlled demolition.
The air smelled of ozone, burnt sugar, and the sharp, metallic tang of Jax's ambition.
Wires snaked across the ceiling like jungle vines, sparking intermittently.
Workbenches overflowed with a glorious, chaotic mess of half-finished gadgets, scavenged DGC tech, and enough C-4 to level a city block.
In the center of it all, a small, four-legged drone with googly eyes glued to its chassis was currently trying, and failing, to juggle a live sonic grenade.
This was where Jinx led them.
She kicked the door open without knocking.
"Jax!" she yelled into the chaos. "You in here, you magnificent disaster?"
