“Good morning Isumond!”

  Under tan silk sheets, Amzer stirred, his head pounding from the previous night. His blue hand, aged with a splashes of freckles, emerged, fumbling on the nightstand to find the radio. Medication bottles and his glasses fell to the floor from his half assed search. The lingering stale tobacco from the night before distracted him with a familiar pain in his chest– a craving for his next hit.

  “The Fire Pixies won against the Ice Goblins in last night’s game which caused a minor riot on-”

  Amzer lay back against the pillows, his frustration evident in the furrow of his brow. The silence in the room settled once more, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He closed his eyes, attempting to push away the remnants of the newscast's chatter. Sports, with their endless statistics and fervent fans, held little interest for him. He found no solace in the competitive nature of the games or the idolization of athletes.

  Instead, Amzer preferred the quieter pursuits—music, books, and the occasional film that allowed him to escape into another world. These were his sanctuary, a way to disconnect from the chaos that often accompanied his life. He reached down to retrieve his glasses and the fallen medication bottles, the small routine helping to ground him in the present.

  As Amzer sat on the edge of his bed, the cold air nipping at his skin, he tried to shake off the vivid memories from last night. The pounding in his head seemed to intensify with each recollection, the scenes replaying like a chaotic film reel.

  He remembered the initial rush of joy and adrenaline, how he and his friend—whose youthful appearance belied his wild nature—had escalated the night’s antics to the point of absurdity. The pool table had become their stage, a place where they could momentarily forget their troubles and live in reckless abandon.

  But the night had taken a darker turn in the bathroom. The laughter and camaraderie had dissolved into anger and confrontation. Amzer winced, gingerly touching his face where he could still feel the dull ache from the mirror’s impact.

  Despite the temptation to call in and hide from the world, Amzer knew he had responsibilities to uphold. His loyalty to his job, a lifeline in the midst of personal chaos, urged him to push through the discomfort.

  He took a deep breath, steadying himself for the day ahead. “Note to self: do not try to out-drink a halfling.”

  Amzer’s home was a reflection of his life—Minimalist, orderly, and devoid of unnecessary distractions. The blank wall and uncluttered surfaces spoke to a man who valued simplicity and focus, preferring to keep his environment as straightforward as his routine. Every item had a purpose, and every purpose was in line with his commitment to maintaining control and balance.

  As he made his way to the bathroom, his hand trailing along the wall for stability Amzer felt the familiar comfort of his surroundings. It was a space where he could concentrate on what mattered most—his work and the discipline it required.

  Amzer took a deep breath and reached for his shaving kit. As the razor glided across his skin, he watched the grizzled beard fall away, revealing the contours of his face. Each stroke uncovered more of the black and blue marks that told the story of last night’s tavern fight. Despite the signs of the altercation, his chiseled chin and sharp jawline projected a sense of resilience.

  Satisfied, he put away his tools and headed to the kitchen. Though the aches and reminders of the night before still lingered, Amzer felt a small sense of pride showing off his battle scars.

  The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen, providing Amzer with a much needed jolt of energy to kickstart his day. While he wasn’t particularly fond of this new drink that had become popular in the neighboring kingdoms, he couldn’t deny its effectiveness in helping him power through his morning routine.

  After finishing his meal, Amzer took a moment to appreciate the ritual of getting dressed. His signature tan three-part suit was a staple of his daily attire, embodying both professionalism and a touch of personal style. The plain beige coat was unassuming, but the waistcoat added a hint of flair with its golden base and paisley floral pattern. The ensemble was completed by the gold chain of his grandfather’s pocket watch, an heirloom that symbolized continuity and tradition.

  Amzer carefully picked up his sidearm, the weight of it familiar in his hand. Although firearms weren't his favorite tool, he acknowledged their necessity and the sense of security they provided in his line of work. As part of the Kingsarmament, he was well-trained in their use, understanding both their power and their critical role in maintaining order. After a quick inspection to ensure it was in proper working condition, he holstered the weapon under his jacket, feeling its reassuring presence close to his side.

  The sudden, soft humming from the milky purple crystal pulled his focus back to the nightstand. The gentle light that accompanied the sound was a subtle yet effective signal of a missed call.

  “Now, who could that be?”

  Holding the crystal, he watched as it projected a small, shimmering screen in the air. A distorted, cheerful, feminine voice emitted from the enchanted tool.

  “Hey, Amzy! It’s Yuki. I got your baby running again, but… you should stop by the shop so I can tell you in person. Okay, bye.”

  Amzer walked out and stood on his balcony, the cool morning air mingled with the bittersweet aroma of the Hellhound cigarette. He took a long drag, savoring the familiar taste while contemplating the events of the past week. The shootout had been intense, leaving his vehicle—an ARC model no longer in production—worse for wear. For Amzer, the ARC wasn't just a mode of transportation; it was a trusted companion, a piece of history that he was reluctant to part with.

  The thought of losing it had weighed heavily on him, but he was grateful for the connection he had with Yuki. Her skill and the favorable deal she offered had been a stroke of luck. After all, he was paying out of pocket.

  The rhythmic hum of city life below provided a backdrop to his thoughts, grounding him as he considered the possibility that his ARC was totaled. With each inhale, he found a moment of calm, preparing himself mentally for the decision ahead of him.

  Amzer flicked the ash from his cigarette, watching as it disappeared into the breeze. The lingering taste was as bitter as the news he received.

  Nervous laughter escaped Amzers’ lips.

  “Fuck.”

  A gravelly voice behind Amzer startled him as he attempted to lock his front door.

  “Good morning, Mr. B. I got thossssse partsssss to fixssssss your bathroom ssssssink. By the time you get home from work, it will be fixsssssed.”

  The beast before him, a reptilian creature with scales that shimmered in shades of green and brown, was the condo’s trusted mechanic. Despite the oil and grease stains marking his blue overalls, there was a certain charm to his rugged appearance, a testament to many years of hands-on work. The worn red toolbox and well used wrench indicated a wealth of experience, tools of the trade that had undoubtedly seen countless repairs and restorations.

  As the mechanic greeted Amzer with a nod, they were interrupted by the lively antics of the Pixie children. These tiny, winged creatures flitted about with boundless energy, weaving between balconies with ease and delighting in their playful aerial maneuvers. Their laughter was infectious, adding a light hearted atmosphere to the morning.

  Above, the cawing of a humanoid bird who was perched on a higher balcony. The bird-like figure called out to the Pixies, urging them to settle down. He was a familiar presence in the complex, maintaining a watchful eye over its inhabitants, or he would like to think so. He was just an old man with nothing better to do than be in other people's business.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Thanks, Fix,” Amzer replied.

  “It’ssssss my pleassssssure.”

  As Amzer descended the condominium staircase, he couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of Fix being unceremoniously dragged into a Minotaur woman's apartment. Her booming voice echoed through the hallway, a humorous reminder of the vibrant and sometimes chaotic life in the Fae district.

  The district, historically a place of division between humans and Fae, had evolved significantly since the war with the Elves. Its transformation into a low-income area came as a response to the Kingdom's housing crisis, creating a melting pot of diverse species and cultures that coexisted despite their differences. Amzer, being a Cambion, found solace in this eclectic environment. Here, he was just another unique face among many, rather than a subject of suspicion or prejudice.

  Despite his position in the kingdom's defense force, which afforded him the privilege to live anywhere within the realm, Amzer chose this district deliberately. He valued the safety and anonymity that came with living among the Fae and other marginalized groups, finding it preferable to the scrutiny he might face in predominantly human neighborhoods.

  In the Fae district, Amzer could blend in, a relief for someone of his mixed heritage. The community’s acceptance and vibrant energy provided a sense of belonging that was hard to find elsewhere. Here, his Cambion nature was not a source of fear or curiosity but just another thread in the rich tapestry of district life.

  As he reached the bottom of the staircase, Amzer stepped out into the bustling street, feeling the pulse of the community around him. The district, with all its quirks and challenges, was his chosen home, a place where he could live authentically and engage with the world on his terms.

  The Nine Wrenches, a charmingly chaotic repair shop nestled in the heart of the Fae district, was a familiar and welcoming sight for Amzer. The shop, run by the skilled and enigmatic Yuki Kuro, a white-hued Kitsune, was a haven for those who appreciated the artistry involved in mechanical restoration. Despite its run-down appearance, The Nine Wrenches was renowned for the quality of work that emerged from its cluttered interior.

  As Amzer entered the shop, he couldn't help but admire the classic T-65 ARC parked prominently on the floor. Its sleek, two-door design and shiny gray coat were a testament to an era when vehicles were crafted with both elegance and durability. The T-65 had its hood open, with hoses dangling from the engine compartment, a work in progress under Yuki's expert care.

  Yuki herself was perched at a workbench, intently focused on a project. Her dark-pointed ears twitched in concentration, a stark contrast against her white fur. The assortment of tools and parts scattered around her testified to her dedication and skill. Upon noticing Amzer's arrival, she smeared her charcoal-tipped fingers across her oily gray overalls, leaving a trail of thick paste—a badge of her labor.

  Her three ivory tails, edged in black, wagged enthusiastically as she greeted Amzer.

  "Amzy!" she called, her voice cheerful and welcoming as she hugged him tight.

  “Don’t-” Amzer gently wrestled out of her hug. “Don't you have other customers?”

  She tilted her head. “Of course, I have other clientele. I’m not a charity.”

  Amzer watched as Yuki, with her characteristic energy, skipped toward the rear of the garage. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and it brought a sense of vitality to the otherwise cluttered workshop. As her tails wagged in rhythm with her steps, Amzer couldn’t help but smile at her dedication, even if he did have to wipe a few grease marks from his coat after their hug.

  The sight of his beloved vehicle, however, tugged at his heart. The ARC, a cherished relic of another time, looked vulnerable and exposed. It sat there with the hood propped open, large crystals hanging from the edges casting a soft glow into the depths of the engine compartment. These crystals, a blend of magic and technology, provided the illumination needed to work on the intricate machinery that lay within.

  Yuki, undeterred by the challenge, jostled a few hoses into place, her fingers deftly maneuvering around the engine's components. She fished a wrench out of her back pocket and began fastening bolts with practiced precision, her focus unwavering.

  As he surveyed the scene, the hope he still clung on to, diminished.

  “You messaged me saying it was ready,” Amzer said.

  Yuki popped her head up from the engine compartment.

  “I sure did!”

  “Yuki, this isn't done. Done would be rolling out of here with a coat of wax and new tires.”

  Yuki puffed out her cheeks and placed her hands on her hips. “What kind of mechanic do you take me for? You trusted me with fixing your vehicle and I did. Now get over here, I need to show you something.”

  Amzer felt a knot tighten in his stomach as he peered into the inner chamber of the vehicle's engine compartment. The softly glowing crystals highlighted the intricate details within, casting shadows that danced across the metallic surfaces. He didn't know exactly what Yuki was about to show him, but a sense of foreboding gnawed at him, a silent whisper that this might be the last time he saw his beloved classic in its entirety.

  "You see it?" Yuki’s voice broke through his thoughts, drawing his attention to a specific section of the engine.

  Amzer leaned in closer, squinting to focus on the area she indicated. After a moment of careful scrutiny, he spotted the issue—a small, pen-sized gap with several winding fissures branching out from its edge. The cracks were creeping dangerously close to the ambient magic container, a crucial component that helped power the vehicle's systems.

  The sight of the damage deepened his apprehension. Amzer knew that if the fissures reached the magic container, the consequences could be severe, potentially rendering the ARC irreparable. His heart sank at the thought of losing the vehicle that held so much history and personal value.

  “That’s a crack on your magiblock. You are lucky the bullet hit there, and not closer to the core.”

  Yuki dashed to her workstation, a chaotic collection of tools and spare parts piled high, each piece a potential solution waiting to be found. The loud clanging and banging echoed through the shop as she rummaged through the clutter, her movements quick and precise despite the apparent disorder. To an outsider, it might have seemed overwhelming, but for Yuki, it was an organized chaos, each item exactly where she needed it to be.

  After a few moments of searching, she triumphantly pulled out the components she had been seeking. Amzer watched with a mixture of anxiety and admiration as Yuki returned to the vehicle, her focus unwavering. She laid out the parts on a nearby mobile table, preparing to perform what seemed like a speedy, yet intricate, surgery on the engine.

  With deft hands, Yuki began to work, her actions a blend of technical skill and intuitive understanding of the machine before her. She maneuvered the components with precision, reinforcing the cracked area and carefully sealing the fissures. The process was quick and, to an untrained eye, might have appeared crude.

  “I put a temporary fix on it for the time being, but you need a new generator… Nine hells, man, you need a new ARC. This thing should be in a museum. Do you think you can pick up girls in this? How old are you now? One hundred?”

  “Yuki,” Amzer rested his hands on her shoulders. “Thank you.”

  Yuki tried to act calm and professional near Amzer, but her tails betrayed her as they picked up speed. “You might get another week with that fix. I recommend not waiting that long.”

  Amzer worked alongside Yuki to disconnect the cables, the two of them moving with practiced efficiency. Each action was tinged with a sense of finality, as he prepared to take his ARC on one last drive to the station. There, it would be officially retired, and the thought weighed heavily on him. Bittersweet, he mused, feeling the tug of nostalgia mixed with the inevitability of change.

  As he settled into the well-worn leather driver’s seat, he took a moment to appreciate the familiar comfort it offered. It was as if the seat itself had molded to his form over the years, embracing him like an old friend. His fingers wrapped snugly around the steering wheel, recalling countless journeys they had embarked on together. Each drive had been a testament to the ARC's resilience and his own adventures.

  He adjusted the rearview mirror, taking in the reflection of the garage one last time, with Yuki standing by, offering an encouraging wave. With a deep breath, he cranked the window down, inviting the crisp air to accompany him on this final ride. The scents and sounds of the city outside mingled with his memories, each moment a poignant reminder of the vehicle’s significance in his life.

  He leaned out of the driver seat window and called Yuki’s name.

  “I’m one seventy, for the record.”

  Yuki's ears twitched and a grin creeped along her face. “You look so young.”

  Amzer cracked a smile. “Liar.”

  As a last ditch effort to get her feelings across she fiddled her fingers and mustered up the courage to ask Amzer. “You know, I could use some company in the shop. Plenty of work.”

  Amzer knew her feelings and he knew it would never work. Kitsune live relatively longer than Cambions. He briefly thought about retiring and living the rest of his days with her, but it was just that. A thought.

  “If I retire.”

  There was a long pause. Yuki's smile faded and her ears folded back. “When… you retire, right?”

  Amzer extended his arm out the window and patted Yuki on the top of her head. They both smiled at one another and silently said their goodbyes. As he turned the key in the ignition, the engine roared to life beneath him. The sound was both familiar and comforting, a reassuring presence that had been with him through many chapters of his life. Amzer took a moment to savor it before shifting into gear and easing the ARC out of the garage.