Three days.
That’s how long it took to get a single message.
Sebastian stared at his wristband like it owed him money.
‘Guess I’m the one who’s desperate, huh?’
Trashy beeped sympathetically from under a busted toaster, dragging half a sock like it was tribute.
Then—ping.
A new notification.
A. Cordell – Walk-in request.
“Car’s acting up. Can’t afford a shop. Just need it to run. Please.”
Sebastian blinked.
There was no haggle. No “what’s your rate.” No sarcasm.
Just please.
He hit [ACCEPT].
“…Let’s see who you are.”
An hour after he hit [ACCEPT], the car rolled into view.
And by “car,” Sebastian meant: rust with wheels.
It creaked into the lot like it was held together by hope and expired glue. The body was stitched with mismatched panels, and the engine coughed like it had asthma.
Sebastian leaned in the doorway of his garage, arms crossed. “If that thing explodes, I’m charging extra.”
The man who stepped out looked like someone who’d fixed everything in his life except the bags under his eyes. Late thirties, short beard, callused hands.
Behind him came a woman—grease-smeared jacket, toolbox in one hand, a baby snug in a chest sling. Her expression said “tired” but her posture said “still fighting.”
A kid trailed behind, clutching a beat-up tablet like it was sacred.
“You Sebastian?” the man asked.
“Unless I’m sleepwalking.”
“I’m Cordell. This is Ami, Milo, and the boss—Juniper.” He nodded at the baby.
Sebastian gave a mock salute. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Ami actually chuckled. “She accepts your service. For now.”
Sebastian moved toward the car. “So what’s the patient’s story?”
Cordell popped the hood. “She chokes on climbs, stalls on turns, and the nav screen thinks every street’s a cliff.”
Sebastian peeked inside. The wiring was… tragic. The drive core was ancient, the coolant pump wheezing, and the software was probably three updates behind being legally dead.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “She’s toast on four wheels.”
“Can you fix it?”
“I can resurrect it,” he said, already rolling up his sleeves. “Give me a couple hours.”
Two hours passed in a flurry of sparks, swearing, and one very enthusiastic child asking too many questions.
Milo sat beside him the whole time, watching every movement with wide eyes.
“What’s that?”
“Coolant regulator.”
“What’s that?”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Broken.”
“What’s that?”
“…My patience.”
Milo grinned. “You’re funny for an old guy.”
Sebastian paused. “I’m twenty-seven.”
Ami, from behind the car, snorted.
By the end of it, the engine purred. The nav screen blinked to life. Diagnostics ran without error.
Sebastian had rerouted the power draw, optimized the core, upgraded the AI, and cleaned the system so thoroughly it practically glowed.
Cordell slid into the seat, turned the key, and blinked in disbelief.
“…You made her better than she’s ever been.”
Ami checked the screen. “It’s got terrain mapping now. Did you install new software?”
“Nope. Just fixed the memory leaks and optimized the logic tree.”
Milo gasped. “You turned it into a smart car! You’re like—like a soup wizard!”
Sebastian blinked. “I… what?”
“You said the engine sips power like soup in a thermos! So now it’s a soup car! And you’re the wizard!”
He stared. “…Okay. Sure. Soup wizard.”
Cordell got out, visibly stunned. “How much?”
Sebastian held out his wristband. “120 Stuffies.”
Cordell froze. “You sure? That’s… that’s barely anything for what you just did.”
Sebastian shrugged. “That’s toaster money. But you need it more than I do.”
Ami hesitated, then tapped her chip to his band.
+120 Stuffies transferred.
Cordell looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t.
Instead, he extended a hand. “You’re a good man, Sebastian.”
“Don’t say that too loud. It’ll ruin my reputation.”
Ami shifted Juniper on her chest. “Listen… we run a diner. Small place—Block 6, East Row. ‘Cordell’s.’ If you’re ever hungry, you’ve got a free meal. Anytime. No questions.”
Sebastian blinked.
That was… new.
People didn’t offer things in this city. Not without strings.
But she looked him dead in the eye, and Cordell gave a nod like it was non-negotiable.
“…Alright,” he said. “I’ll take you up on that. Eventually.”
“You’d better,” Ami smirked.
Milo popped out the window one last time. “Bye Mister Soup Wizard!”
Sebastian just shook his head with a smirk as they rolled off.
Trashy beeped from under a tarp and immediately tripped over itself.
Sebastian looked around the garage—still cluttered, still half-lit.
But just a little brighter now.
“…Soup wizard,” he muttered.
And for once, he didn’t mind it.
A week.
That’s all it took.
After the Cordell family spread the word, Sebastian’s business exploded.
Turns out, in Brim, fixing a car without charging a limb was rare. Fixing it better than new? That was legend-tier.
He cleared rent in four days. Bought tools on day five. By day seven, he had backup cash and his own page of local reviews, one of which read:
“Didn’t talk much. Fixed my drone. Gave it better sarcasm settings. 10/10.”
So, on day seven, Sebastian figured: free meal time
He headed down to Cordell’s Diner just before sunset. Neon buzzing, the scent of oil, spice, and comfort food drifting through the street like a siren song.
He was halfway through the door when he heard it.
“…Not what we agreed on.”
Cordell’s voice.
Low. Tight.
Sebastian’s brows furrowed. He paused just outside.
Inside, standing across from the counter, was a man in a crisp white coat, black gloves, silver fang-shaped pin glinting in the light. The kind of person who didn’t walk into places—they announced themselves with presence.
Cordell stood stiff. Angry. But scared.
“I told you,” Cordell said, “I don’t deal with Bubble boys.”
The man laughed. “And I told you—Brim’s changing. Business is good again. That means tribute. Or things start breaking.”
Sebastian exhaled through his nose.
Then stepped inside, the doorbell chiming like it didn’t realize someone was about to die.
Cordell looked up. Eyes widened. “Sebastian. Not now—”
Sebastian kept walking. Calm. Silent.
He stopped just a few feet from the enforcer, hands in his coat pockets, head tilted like he was inspecting a stain.
“…You always threaten dads? Or is this a special occasion?”
The enforcer turned slowly. Looked him up and down. Smirked.
“Well, well. You’re the new wrench boy everyone’s yapping about.”
“Soup wizard,” Sebastian corrected. “But sure.”
The thug stepped closer. Close enough to make a point.
“You know who I am?”
“No,” Sebastian said. “And if I forget you five seconds from now, it’ll be like you never existed.”
The enforcer’s eyes narrowed.
“Cocky. You got backup?”
Sebastian smiled.
Not a nice smile.
Snap.
He snapped his fingers.
Outside the diner, two shadows dropped fast from the rooftops.
WHRRRRRRR-CHKT.
Two sleek black drones hovered outside the windows—military-style. Big. Armed. With red triangle visors and smooth armor plating. The kind Brim knew on sight.
Execution-class.
Both swiveled. Laser sights clicked on.
Twin red dots landed on the thug’s chest and throat.
He froze.
“…What the—?”
Sebastian didn’t flinch. “You’re not important enough to kill. But these two? They’re stupid. One wrong word and they might start vaporizing air.”
“Y-you’re bluffing,” the man muttered, sweat building. “Those aren’t even Brim-registered.”
Sebastian took a slow step closer.
“You really wanna bet your lungs on that?”
The drones hovered closer, humming.
Menacingly.
The thug’s hand twitched. The lasers tracked instantly.
He paled.
“Fine,” he hissed, backing toward the door. “This isn’t over.”
“No,” Sebastian said, “it’s just the part where you leave.”
The door slammed shut behind him as he ran.
A few seconds passed.
Cordell exhaled shakily.
“…Those drones real?”
Sebastian turned, pulled out a controller the size of a gum wrapper, and clicked a button.
The drones froze midair.
Then both speakers chirped:
“Simulation Complete. Pew pew. Pew pew.”
And they zipped off like obedient ducks.
Cordell blinked. “They don’t have guns?”
“Not even wires,” Sebastian muttered. “They’re hollow. Scarecrow tech.”
“…You’re insane.”
“I’m hungry.”
He sat down at the counter like nothing happened and grabbed a menu. “Fries. Real ones. None of that synth-spud slop.”
Cordell wiped his face, still recovering. “You’re seriously ordering right now?”
“Threat’s gone. Table’s free. That means I win.”
Ami peeked out from the kitchen. “Everything okay?”
Cordell sighed. “Soup Wizard pulled a hitman bluff with two flying toasters.”
Ami blinked. “…Yeah. Sounds about right.”
Sebastian gave her a thumbs-up.
“Fries. And a soda.”
Sebastian took a huge bite of the burger.
Real beef. Real cheese. Grease soaked the bun like it was trying to escape.
He made a noise that was probably illegal in polite society.
Cordell sat across from him, sipping a cup of caf like his life hadn’t almost been threatened fifteen minutes ago.
“Glad to see you’re enjoying yourself,” Cordell said dryly.
Sebastian, mouth still half-full, pointed at the burger. “This is better than sex.”
Cordell raised an eyebrow. “You remember what sex is?”
“Vaguely,” Sebastian said. “I think it had less ketchup.”
He tore into another fry. Salted perfectly. Still warm.
“You ever think,” he said between bites, “that calling yourselves something like ‘The Bubble Boys’ is maybe why nobody takes your mafia seriously?”
Cordell snorted. “They named themselves.”
“Even worse. That sounds like a failed boy band or a gang of carbonated toddlers.”
“They didn’t use to be a big deal,” Cordell admitted. “Couple punks shaking down alley shops. Low tech. Low threat.”
Sebastian slurped from a soda the size of his head. “Let me guess—now they’ve got merch?”
“No, but they’ve got numbers,” Cordell said. “And gear. Word is, they made a deal with someone up top.”
Sebastian stopped chewing. “You mean the top top? With the clouds and the smug?”
Cordell nodded. “Yeah. Someone with real money. Maybe even a corp sponsor.”
Sebastian leaned back, sipping his drink.
“Bubble Boys getting corporate backing,” he said, “is like giving a bazooka to a raccoon. Stupid. But eventually, someone’s gonna lose a face.”
Cordell glanced toward the door. “You might’ve pissed them off enough to come back with friends.”
“I hope they bring snacks,” Sebastian muttered.
Cordell gave him a look.
Sebastian smirked.
Then went quiet.
Took one last fry.
A beat of silence passed between them, city noise humming outside.
Then Sebastian looked up, wiped his mouth, and asked calmly:
“Where can I get a gun?”
