Seeing Mia Again
After another brutally busy, grease-soaked day, Arthur Sterling stood in the center of the dimly lit warehouse, his chest heaving with exhaustion. He looked at the heavy steel parts, discarded wiring harnesses, and stripped panels that he had scattered all over the oil-stained concrete floor.
His eyes slowly swept over the three vehicles that had just been fully modified. The Buick, the Suburban, and the Passat no longer looked like standard civilian rides; they sat low and aggressive, radiating a menacing, heavy-duty aura with their reinforced frames and tuned engines.
Taking off his thick mechanic's gloves, Arthur pulled a relatively clean handkerchief from his jeans pocket with his dirty hands and wiped the thick layer of greasy sweat from his forehead.
He then checked the time on his cheap wristwatch; the glowing green hands indicated it was well past midnight. He felt it was definitely time to call it a day.
"Old Parker gave me a full week to do this," Arthur muttered to himself, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space.
"But the specialized performance parts that were explicitly promised within three days took a full five days to actually arrive."
"If it weren't for my newly enhanced physical condition and my Level 4 [Repair] skill guiding my hands..."
"...it would have been mechanically impossible to get all of this complex work done by the deadline."
"Fifteen thousand dollars is definitely far too little for this kind of miracle."
Looking at the chaotic, messy parts strewn everywhere, Arthur could almost not resist the intense, burning urge to light a cigarette for himself to calm his frayed nerves.
But his sharp mind also knew that would be a highly suicidal move.
The entire warehouse floor was currently covered with highly flammable residue from synthetic engine oil, high-octane gasoline, and slick lubricants left over from the intense, rushed modifications.
A single, careless spark from a lighter could easily lead to unimaginably explosive consequences.
Arthur didn't bother tidying up the massive mess; simply being able to finish modifying the three heavy cars by the end of the week was already the absolute limit of his best efforts.
Wiping away another bead of sweat, he meticulously picked up his dirty, grease-stained scraps of blueprint paper and stuffed them deep into his pocket.
In a shady, undocumented place like this, Arthur tried his absolute best not to leave any physical traces or fingerprints behind.
After all, he knew better than anyone exactly what kind of terrifying, combat-ready performance the three cars he had just modified possessed.
These things were absolute steel beasts—the unknown mastermind who had secretly commissioned Old Parker for these specific modifications was likely planning to violently rob a major bank or a fortified jewelry store.
Or, perhaps, they were actively preparing to participate in a brutal, city-wide gang war, the exact kind that looks like a fully-armed, chaotic shootout in a Hollywood blockbuster movie.
Either way, getting personally involved with those dangerous shadows would definitely bring him absolutely no benefit.
Deeply frustrated and physically drained, he pulled out his cell phone; Arthur was still using his predecessor's clunky, vintage Motorola.
After all, the specific point in time he had transmigrated to was only the early 21st century.
Sleek smartphones with glowing touch screens wouldn't be invented and globally popularized for another decade or so.
He quickly punched in the numbers and soon got through to Old Parker. As the familiar, gruff voice came from the other end of the line...
Arthur immediately said in a low, cold, and unhappy voice, "Parker, because of your logistical screw-up, I've been working grueling overtime for several days straight."
"I got it all done before the night of the last day."
"But you'll have to come down here and clean up the shop yourself, because my muscles are completely shot and I'm too tired to move another wrench."
"I've left the brass key hidden securely under the protruding rock to the left of the main warehouse door."
"I want three full days of paid leave starting right now!"
"And fifteen thousand dollars is entirely too little for this nightmare."
"Remember to transfer the money directly to my payroll card before noon tomorrow."
"That's it."
After stating his non-negotiable terms, Arthur didn't even want to hear Old Parker's stammering response and decisively hung up the phone.
He stuffed the heavy phone back into his pocket and turned to take one final look at the three armored cars parked quietly in the shadows of the warehouse.
Despite his vocal complaints, Arthur was actually still very satisfied with the results of the past busy week.
Expertly modifying these three complex cars had flooded his system, increasing his [Repair] experience points by nearly a massive thousand.
You see, for Arthur's current [Repair] skill to reach the next coveted master level, he needed as many as ten thousand experience points.
Furthermore, as the numerical level of his [Repair] skill got higher and higher...
...the base experience points Arthur could gain from performing ordinary, mundane repair work on civilian cars were now less than a third of what they used to be.
So this time, rapidly gaining nearly a thousand experience points from aggressively modifying three combat vehicles...
...was actually an incredibly productive and rewarding job for his overall progression.
He stepped outside, firmly locked the heavy warehouse door, checked the dark surroundings briefly to ensure absolutely no one was lurking in the shadows, and safely left the key under the designated rock.
After finishing all this, he walked over to the nearby darkened parking area, threw his leg over his vintage motorcycle, and headed straight for his residence.
Speeding along the empty coastal highway, the cool ocean wind tearing at his jacket, Arthur found that he had already come to deeply love this new life full of raw passion and adrenaline.
He had absolutely no crushing mortgage, no suffocating car loan, and no overbearing societal pressure to immediately get married, have kids, and carry on the family line.
He had worked himself to the bone for over thirty years in his previous life, living under constant corporate suppression and financial anxiety, yet he still failed to let his parents see those major milestones before they tragically passed away.
But now, after miraculously transmigrating to a parallel, cinematic world...
...completely without the heavy pressure of mundane life and suffocating societal expectations, and armed with a limitless system cheat at his side...
Arthur truly felt that every single day he lived now was incredibly free, dangerous, and easy.
Damn the thirty-year mortgage, damn the high-interest car loan, he thought, a wild smile spreading across his face under the neon streetlights.
To hell with settling down, to hell with continuing the bloodline just for the sake of it.In this life, I'm going to live however I damn well want and have as much high-octane fun as I please! Without even realizing it, he had aggressively twisted the throttle, pushing his speed to well over 120 miles per hour.
Riding his roaring vintage motorcycle, Arthur sped along the asphalt, expertly weaving through the sparse late-night traffic and overtaking car after car in a blur of chrome.
Before long, he returned to the crumbling, neon-lit rental apartment complex where he was temporarily staying.
Crash! He had just parked the cooling motorcycle in the shadowed parking area when a sudden, violent noise shattered the quiet.
An empty glass beer bottle flew out from one of the darkened apartment windows in the building several meters away, smashing into the pavement.
Arthur was nearly hit by the sharp, flying glass shards. He frowned deeply, his muscles tensing as he looked up toward the upper floors where the bottle had come from.
Unfortunately, with all the lights out, he had absolutely no way of telling which drunk, reckless neighbor was the one dangerously throwing trash outside.
"Sigh!"
With a heavy, irritated sigh, Arthur kicked the largest glass shards aside with his boot and stopped worrying about it.
Most of the dilapidated, old apartments in this forgotten area were built right after World War II and had been rotting ever since.
By now, very few middle-to-high-income earners lived anywhere nearby, aside from some struggling immigrants of color and ghosts of the city.
As a direct result of the poverty, the dark streets and alleys outside were usually quite chaotic and highly dangerous at night.
It was an entirely common occurrence to encounter broken people urinating or defecating in public, desperate addicts injecting drugs in the stairwells, or heavily armed gang members engaging in reckless, violent partying and brawling.
Arthur had even encountered aggressive muggers twice since he transmigrated into this body.
Fortunately, his cautious, deeply ingrained habit of constantly carrying a concealed firearm had saved him a massive amount of trouble.
Under the cold, lethal threat of his "American Iaijutsu"—especially once, when a few hardened guys planning to rob him saw Arthur smoothly draw his M1911 and flick off the safety without a shred of hesitation—they immediately retreated into the shadows.
Clearly, they saw the absolute lack of fear in his eyes and were terrified he would open fire and drop them at the slightest provocation.
Arthur didn't want to stay in this decaying, unpredictable place for a single moment longer.
However, officially moving out to a safer, more upscale neighborhood would have to wait a little while longer.
At the very least, Arthur wouldn't seriously consider moving to a new place until he had a lot more secure money in his pocket to afford a proper garage.
Returning to his cramped apartment, he first took a long, incredibly wonderful hot shower.
He stood under the spray, letting the water wash away all the toxic engine oil, grinding sweat, and deep muscular fatigue from his body!
Afterward, Arthur made himself a simple, heavy Western meal of seared steak and rested his tired bones, making do for dinner.
Once everything was done and the plates were cleared, he lay down in his small bed and quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
It wasn't until the very next day that the sudden, persistent sound of heavy knocking echoed through the apartment, waking Arthur, who had rarely ever slept in since arriving in this world.
"Coming!"
He groggily grabbed the cheap plastic alarm clock by the bed and checked the time.
Yawning widely and stretching his sore shoulders, Arthur walked barefoot toward the front door.
As was his cautious, street-smart usual, he only cracked the heavy wooden door open slightly without fully undoing the security latch.
As it turned out, the person he saw standing in the brightly lit hallway was the stunning mixed-race beauty, Mia Toretto, whom he hadn't seen for over half a month.
The absolute moment he saw her warm amber eyes and bright face, Arthur immediately felt his lingering, heavy drowsiness completely vanish!