Andy’s boots pounded against the cracked pavement, the sound of his hurried steps nearly drowned out by the constant hum of the city. People, soldiers, and supply carts packed the streets, all moving in a chaotic, calculated rhythm that he had long since learned to navigate.

  He darted left, weaving between a pair of merchants arguing over prices, then right, sidestepping a massive cargo cart piled high with crates. His heart hammered in his chest, but his face remained stoic, eyes fixed ahead.

  Keep moving, don’t stop.

  He focused on his breathing, keeping his pace steady despite the anxiety churning within him. The path to the store wasn’t long, but today it felt like a labyrinth of obstacles. The narrow alleyways, the stalls crowding the street, the scattered debris—all of it slowed him down. But he couldn’t afford any more delays. Not today.

  The clock in his mind ticked relentlessly, each second pulling him closer to when the shipment for Wily would be gone.

  His mind spiraled as he thought he should have finished earlier. I should’ve left the workshop sooner. I’m going to be late. Damn it.

  No time remained for regret. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the straps of his worn leather jacket, the same jacket he always wore when he worked—stained with oil, streaked with grease, and smelling faintly of metal and burning circuits. His sole comfort: familiarity within constant change.

  His hands were still slick with the remnants of his project, but he couldn’t afford to care about that now.

  Wily had taken him in when no one else had. Neglected by an indifferent world, the orphan survived on the streets until the old man rescued him. Wily had saved him, given him a purpose, taught him how to live when all Andy knew was how to be survive.

  But now, every time Andy failed, he could feel that debt growing, weighing him down. Wily had done so much for him. Andy’s every task and invention served as a quiet apology for feeling inadequate and for having to rely on himself as a child. And here he was again, late, scrambling to keep up with his own mistakes.

  Focus. Just get there. Everything will be fine.

  His muscles ached, his breath coming in sharp bursts, but he pushed forward. Dodging a supply cart filled with metal pipes, he jumped over a loose coil of wire that nearly tripped him, eyes never leaving the storefront up ahead. The dim neon lights flickered in the distance, signaling the shop where the shipment was supposed to be waiting.

  As he cut through the narrow passage between two towering walls of metal and glass, he couldn’t help but feel the tightness in his chest, the dread creeping in. He couldn’t let Wily down. Not again. The old man had done a lot for him, rescuing him from the streets as a child when no one else bothered to help.

  A sharp breath left Andy’s lips as he skidded around another corner, nearly colliding with a woman hauling a bundle of fabric. He muttered a quick apology under his breath, barely slowing down. His blue eyes were wild, his focus only on the path ahead.

  He could hear the distant sounds of the marketplace, the low hum of the market lights, but it was the rapid beating of his heart that drowned everything else out. He pushed his body harder, fueled by the fear of being too late.

  The shop was just ahead.

  But then, as if the universe had tested him, a group of soldiers blocked the street, carrying crates and engaging in conversation. Andy’s heart sank.

  No. Not now.

  He stopped just short of them, trying to control his breathing, pushing down the panic that threatened to explode. He looked aside, searching for another path. He couldn’t afford to wait.

  Without thinking, he took a deep breath and maneuvered through the smallest gap between two soldiers, slipping past them with the grace of someone who had done it a thousand times before. His heart skipped, but he didn’t stop. Not until the door to the shop was right in front of him.

  He grabbed the handle, yanked it open, and stepped inside just as the clock in his mind ticked past the deadline.

  Andy pushed through the door of Mr. Turner’s shop, the familiar jingle of the bell above his head barely registering over the rush of his breath. His heart was still pounding from the sprint across the city streets.

  He’d cut it too close again—his grandfather waited, and the job required the parts by tonight. Andy didn’t mind running errands, but he hated the feeling of being late, of having things just a little out of his control.

  He stepped inside, pausing for a moment to steady himself. The cool, musty air of the shop wrapped around him like an old coat. The low, steady hum of machinery mixed with the faint scent of metal and oil—everything about the place felt grounded, real, in a way the world outside didn’t.

  He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he glanced around. His eyes roamed over the cluttered shelves filled with an assortment of parts, gears, wires, and tools. It always amazed him how Mr. Turner could turn any scrap into something valuable.

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  Andy ran a hand through his hair and gazed at the pile of odds and ends on the far counter. His fingers twitched. If he had just a few more shims, a couple more pieces of wire—he could build something amazing. Maybe a new generator, or a way to help his grandfather’s workshop run more efficiently.

  But those were dreams, things for when there was time and money.

  The door at the back of the shop creaked open, and Andy turned quickly.

  Mr. Turner entered, holding a large bundle wrapped in thick brown paper, the contents bulging slightly. He lingered, but there was a certain grace to his steps, despite the obvious wear of age.

  Mr. Turner was old—practically ancient—but he still kept himself neat, his suit impeccably clean and pressed. His hair, though thinning, was neatly combed, and his face, though lined with wrinkles, held a sharpness that belied his years.

  Mr. Turner’s eyes, however, were not as sharp as they once were—there was a softness to them now, a kind of weariness that had come with years of living in a world that no longer made much sense.

  He placed the bundle carefully on the counter with a soft grunt, then gave Andy a slow, knowing smile.

  “Had to dig deep for these,” he said, his voice gravelly but warm. “Your grandfather asked for a specific set of parts, and I don’t make promises unless I’m sure.”

  Andy straightened, brushing a strand of sweat-slicked hair from his forehead, trying to mask the nerves that suddenly felt like they had crept into his chest.

  “I appreciate it, Mr. Turner,” Andy said, his voice steady. He leaned against the counter, glancing once more at the collection of parts.

  “Anytime,” Mr. Turner replied with a gruff nod. He adjusted the bundle before finally meeting Andy’s gaze, his expression softening, just slightly. “You’re going to need to hurry with this one. Time’s running short, and I’d hate to see your grandfather disappointed.”

  Andy nodded, the weight of the responsibility settling heavier on his shoulders. It was never just about the parts. It was about getting it right.

  The old man placed the bundle on the counter with a grunt, his gnarled hands moving with surprising speed for someone of his age. “I know Wily’s working on something big, huh? Monitor that man, Andy. He might not be around much longer if he keeps running himself ragged.”

  Andy nodded, though his mind was already on the parts—he couldn’t afford to waste any more time. “I’ll make sure he gets some rest, Mr. Turner.”

  The old man smiled, though there was a glimmer of worry in his eyes. “That’s good, Andy. Don’t let him burn himself out, alright? You know how he gets when he gets lost in a project.”

  Andy’s lips quirked slightly. “Yeah, I know. It’s like he forgets the world exists when he’s in his workshop.”

  Mr. Turner chuckled again, his eyes softening. “Just like you, huh?”

  Andy didn’t respond to that, but he could feel the warmth of the old man’s words. As chaotic as things had become, Mr. Turner had always been a constant presence—someone who understood the importance of the work, someone who cared.

  “How much for the parts, Mr. Turner?” Andy asked, his voice steady.

  The shopkeeper waved a hand dismissively. “Just make sure Wily finishes that project, alright? You’ve got enough on your plate as it is.”

  Andy nodded, grateful for the small favor, as he carefully loaded the parts into his bag. “Thanks,” he mumbled, glancing up at the shopkeeper. “You’ve always been a tremendous help.”

  Mr. Turner gave him a reassuring smile.

  Andy’s hand paused as he was about to shoulder his bag. He looked at the shopkeeper with earnest eyes. “I’ll make sure I pay you back once this project is finished, Mr. Turner. I swear it.”

  The old man’s eyes softened, his face creasing into a smile that was a mixture of pride and understanding. “I know you will, Andy. Just make sure you both keep your heads down until then, alright?”

  Andy nodded, determination solidifying in his chest. “I will. Thanks again.”

  Mr. Turner hesitated, his eyes flicking to the front window, then back to Andy. His voice lowered. “Listen, Andy. What I gave you… it’s not exactly legal. You need to be careful, alright? The city’s been cracking down on people dealing in wasteland salvage, and that stuff is about as hot as it gets.” He paused, looking Andy in the eyes. “The guards out there... they’re not just looking for people like you—they’re after anyone moving black market modifications. And if they catch wind of what you’ve got there…”

  Andy’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t realized it was something more than just a shipment of parts. If Mr. Turner was this concerned, it was a bigger deal than he’d thought.

  “I get it,” Andy said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “I’ll go straight back to Grandpa’s. No detours.”

  Mr. Turner nodded slowly, his weathered face serious. “Good. Best thing you can do right now is stay under the radar. The city’s not the place it used to be. Things are getting tighter, and people like you and Wily... well, you don’t exactly fit into the system.”

  Andy looked at the shopkeeper, confusion flickering for a moment. Mr. Turner had always been kind, but this was different. The way he was talking—so serious, so cautious—it was like he was a completely different person. Andy had never known this side of Mr. Turner, and the thought made him uneasy. How long had this secret been hiding right under his nose?

  “How long have you been doing this, Mr. Turner?” Andy asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

  Mr. Turner’s eyes darkened slightly, but he answered with a sigh. “In times like these, you do what you have to. Wily’s been a good man, and I’ll bend the rules for men like him. People who actually know how to fix things, people who make the world go ’round even when no one else notices.” He looked up, eyes narrowing. “You see, Andy, the rules we’ve got now... they don’t always work. Not for people like you or Wily. And if I don’t help now and then, well, I don’t know who will.”

  Andy’s mind raced. He’d been running errands for years, rushing through the maze of city streets to Mr. Turner’s shop without ever suspecting what was really going on behind the scenes. All these years, he’d just assumed the parts were legitimate. But now he realized just how much Mr. Turner had been protecting them—how much risk he had been taking for their sake.

  “Well, thanks. I... I didn’t know,” Andy said quietly, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt. “I’ll be careful.”

  Mr. Turner nodded firmly. “Good,” Mr. Turner nodded firmly. “Now, go on. I have a hidden exit in the back that will get you out of sight.”

  Andy nodded, his heart pounding as he turned toward the back of the shop. In the corner, a hidden door was almost invisible unless you knew where to look. He didn’t hesitate. As he pushed the door open, a rush of cool air hit him, and the sound of the bustling street faded behind him.

  He stepped into the narrow alley, looking over his shoulder as the door clicked shut behind him. I never knew this side of Mr. Turner, Andy thought as he made his way through the alley, his mind still reeling. He’s been protecting us all this time... It made him wonder how much more he didn’t know about the surrounding people.

  Andy shook his head, trying to focus. His grandfather was waiting. The city had become a dangerous place, and Andy couldn’t afford any mistakes.