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A sudden pounding on the door drove you from your musings, blinking away the haze, how long had you been staring at the ..well..there wasn't exactly a name for it..

you retreated away from your desk, quickly throwing on your mechanic shirt, in which your last name was located on a tag above a breast pocket. you snagged your safety glasses off the counter, which had oil and grease all over the lenses.

trotting over to the door that led to the garage, you slid your boots on, flinging grime all over in your haste. Tossing open the door to the garage, you flip open the lid to the garage doors, slamming a palm on all three buttons.

The garage retreated upwards, Torison springs releasing energy to do so.

The garage doors were noisy, probably due to the dry moving metal parts and worn out rollers, you would need to spray those springs sooner or later.

Four, very different Vehicles rolled into the massive space, parking in their own respective places. A GMC topkick, Hummer H2, Chevrolet Corvette Stingray Concept, and a 1994 peterbilt were now occupying your garage.

for someone drowning in loans, and rent, your garage was massive, housing commercial vehicle lifts, hoists and cranes, transmission jacks, even scan tools. Well, that was all courtesy to your father, he was a successful mechanic.

You adjusted your safety goggles, the Vehicles had a few scrapes, and were caked with soot..and..some sort of liquid, sometimes it was a bright blue, or ranged in darker colors. You could smell it, reminding you of ozone and bleach.

The first time armed men broke into your garage at midnight, you were introduced to someone you presumed to be the second in command. He introduced himself as Lennox, and he needed your help to..fix..and take care of these "military vehicles". (You doubted that's what they actually were.) He promised that no harm would come to you, as long as you kept your mouth shut, and asked no questions.

Of course you listened to him, you weren't keen on getting shot.

You were instructed to wear a thick, industrial-grade hazmat suit with heavily shielded, non-reactive gloves when handling the liquid. You were told to also carefully scoop the liquid into isolated containers, which were provided.

When you had to deal with this liquid, it was when the vehicles were damaged (as if they were going around and getting into car accidents). Or it was as if the vehicle had hit something, and it sprayed on like blood splatters. Mostly, you didn't have to deal with a massive amount of it, only cleaning in tedious places were one would struggle with if they didn't know how to work with a car.

At least you were provided with equipment when needed.

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You zipped up the hazmat suit, you had been participating in this rodeo for awhile, to the point it you were trusted to be able to work on the vehicles alone, as long as they were done before the sun rose.

at least they come at nine, when your boyfriend usually is out, or buzzed out on the couch.

the wheels, undercarriage, and engine bay needed cleaning. You wet a rag, and began to scrub, occasionally using a water hose to wash off places where you couldn't reach.

you wiped sweat from your brow, scrubbing the window shield, where soot and little bits of shrapnel embedded itself in tedious places, in which you fished out with your fingers.

"My boyfriend somehow always finds the places where I keep money, specifically the few dollars I keep for myself." you waved the rag around dramatically splashing dirty water all over your, now half zipped off suit.

yes, you had certainly been monologuing to the cars you were cleaning.

tossing the rag into the red bin, the water sloshed over the edges, as you dragged it by the handle towards the drains.Occasionally tripping over a toolbox, or bumping into one of the vehicles, that you swore weren't that close.

kicking the bin over, you watched the water slosh down the drain.

"I swear, next he's going to start selling my things, I need a freaking lock on my door."

"And my house, the one I pay rent for (because of course, why would he pitch in?) always smells like weed, and cheap beer."

"And of course, college..col-ollege.."

your words began to trail off until they were scrambled noises, mumbles that sounded like exhausted chirps and grunts.

pausing for a moment, you rubbed your eyelids, only to open them and see colors, colors blurred together, until the world reshaped around you.

now you were stumbling around, with the suit sliding down your legs, covered in soot, and grease, yet you were exhausted.

you drowsily stumbled inside the Semi-Truck, (when had you opened the door? you must've been too tired) hauling yourself into the seat as you reclined it. Smoothing your face into the seat, you didn't care to clean up, did you even remember why?

your senses began to blurr, you could feel the noise drift into unintelligable white noise.

you

began

to

drift

away

You, under the ford, supported by the jack stands, positioning the catch can, large enough to hold a full volume of oil. Using a socket wrench to loosen the drain plug , then carefully and precisely remove it.

after several minutes, when the oil is drained, you replace the plug with the wrench.

locating the oil filter, you remove it, you quickly clean any residue left on the mounting plate. lightly lubricating the oil ring, you screw it onto the engine mounting plate.

now removing the oil fill cap, you use a funnel to pour in the specified volume. afterward you replace the cap.

letting the engine run Idle for 30 seconds, you check filter areas for leaks. after you've confirmed, you lower the vehicle, shut the engine, and tiredly check the dipstick level.

"what a day."

You sigh, as you grab a dingy rag and wipe the oil, and grime left on your hands.

"ma'am, your Ford is good to go!"

you wipe the sweat from your brow, as the woman grumbles about the price, slapping bills in your hand. you rifle through the bills to count the total.

"Thank you! have a good--"

the door slammed shut with a taunting ding from the bell.

you suppose she was having a bad day, but that was just rude.

glancing at the time above the makeshift counter in your garage, you note the time, 5:45. By your luck no one would interrupt you.

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After you've showered in your old rundown house, you tossed instant noodles into the microwave.

To be frank, instant noodles were disgusting, and not at all healthy, but it would do.

you opened the microwave and held the steaming cup, gingerly sitting down in the wobbly chair. You could faintly smell the stench of weed from your deadbeat boyfriend, why hadn't you broken up with him? the sweet, murmured words of adoration were gone.

Suddenly at loss for appetite, you tossed the cup into the garbage.

It was only around 6:40 when you decided to have some time for yourself, which meant, observing your rock collection.

It only started a few years ago, when Sam had gifted you a Alexandrite, a gemstone that retained a viridian green in daylight, but shifts candy red, or purple-ish red under incandescent light. it was fascinating how its traces of chromium in its crystal structure, but also how we perceive light in which it changes.

most of your rocks were placed in clear, airtight, sealed tubes.

your collection mostly consisted of agates, chalcedony, garnet and jasper, most native to your location, unfortunately you didn't travel out much.

after your father passed away, there wasn't anyone else up for taking over the garage, and you were his sole apprentice..he..was ..a secluded man, with many secrets.

But

there was one gemstone that you had found that's origin was unfamiliar to you, a species that, no matter how much you searched, was entirely unknown.

it was a shard, you thought was maybe kyanite, or tourmaline, but the shard glowed, a neon light that emanated from it's cracks, the fragments were extremely sharp, and it's surface was metallic.

it sat, steadily in a glass vial, as you peered at it.

as if

it was