Ethan opened his eyes finally after logging out of the game. He took off his virtual headsets with a groan.
He stared at his computer screen where The game beckoned. It was Monday morning time for a round at work.
He would have to work like crazy at the workshop for another four days before he could plunge into the world of Eternity Edge in the form of Recoil again.
Ethan's hands were covered in grease, fingers stained with the remnants of metal and oil, his palms rough from years of wrenching engines. He didn't mind the dirt—if anything, it kept him grounded. The workshop was a haven of familiarity: the smell of exhaust, the clatter of tools, the hum of machines in the background. It was a place where silence was often louder than words.
He wiped his hands on a rag and leaned over the open hood of a beaten-down car, its engine sputtering more than it should. The owner—a regular, a grumpy man with a thick mustache—was in the waiting area, staring at a cracked cup of coffee like it held the secret to the universe.
"How long's it gonna take?" the man called, his voice sharp, demanding.
"An hour," Ethan answered, his voice low, barely carrying over the rumble of machinery. He didn't look up from the engine. He didn't need to. The man was already used to the usual response. The mechanic always worked alone, did everything his own way. No small talk, no unnecessary chatter.
"Better be done in an hour," the man muttered, then went back to staring at his coffee like he was waiting for a sign.
Ethan didn't mind the solitude. In fact, it was all he knew. He'd worked here for two years now, but the friendships that people expected in places like this never came. The other guys in the shop were always busy with their own groups, always talking, laughing—things that made Ethan feel like an outsider. He was just a tool in the workshop, doing his job and getting paid. No more, no less…
"Yeah, man, you hear about Mike's bachelor party?" Pete asked loudly as he and Jace leaned against the counter. "Dude's getting hitched next month. Should be a blast. Hope Ethan shows up this time."
"Yeah, right," Jace snorted. "He's too good for us. Thinks he's better than us or something."
Pete laughed, but it was a little forced. Ethan caught the words, but he didn't react. He'd gotten used to it. They didn't understand, but he didn't have the energy to explain himself anymore.
The tension in the room seemed to grow as Jace made a few more jabs, none of which were aimed at Ethan directly but were, nonetheless, sharp. "He's too busy with his fancy 'work' or whatever it is. Probably thinkin' he's some kind of big shot mechanic or something."
Ethan focused harder on the engine in front of him, pushing the noise out of his mind. His hands moved automatically, tightening bolts, checking wires, but inside, he was already checked out.
They'd given up on him. And he hadn't cared at first, but it gnawed at him now.
When the car's engine sputtered back to life, he felt a small sense of pride. Another problem solved, another day done.
He ran the diagnostics, adjusted the carburetor, checked the spark plugs—all the while hearing the hum of the car's engine as it purred back to life. But the satisfaction was fleeting. He turned to the counter, where the guys were laughing again, joking around, unaware of the hole they were leaving in the space Ethan inhabited. The gap between them and him had widened so much that he wasn't sure they'd ever close it.
"Good job, Ethan," Mike said, offering a thumbs-up as he passed by. His voice was as friendly as always, but there was an edge to it, like the words were just that—words. He didn't expect a response.
Ethan gave him a nod, his expression unreadable. It was all he could muster. The last time he'd tried to speak up, to join in, it had only felt awkward.
He glanced over at the group of mechanics gathered by the back counter. They were laughing, a few of them talking about some pub night they'd gone to. Ethan turned his attention back to the car, trying not to let the pang of loneliness creep in. It was easier to stay busy, to fix things, to keep his mind focused on the task at hand.
The sound of a car engine cutting off broke the quiet. Another customer was pulling into the shop, but Ethan didn't even need to look up to know who it was. The woman in the bright red jacket, the one who always seemed to need some kind of minor fix for her fancy car. The one who smiled too much, asked too many questions, and always tried to chat.
"Hey, Ethan! How's it going today?" Her voice was too cheerful, too eager. Ethan didn't feel like dealing with her today. Or any day, really.
"Good," he muttered, his fingers tightening around the wrench as he worked faster. He didn't want to talk. Not now. Not ever. But she didn't get the hint.
"Oh, I see you're fixing up another one of these old clunkers," she said, leaning over the counter and watching him work. "How's it feel to fix stuff all day?"
"It's fine," Ethan answered, his voice flat, distant. He could already feel her gaze lingering, the questions that would inevitably follow. "Just a job."
The woman leaned a little closer, her bright red jacket too loud for the atmosphere of the shop. "I don't know, it seems kind of fun, right? Getting your hands dirty. A little different from my office work, that's for sure."
Ethan didn't respond. He just focused on the engine in front of him, tightening the final bolts. The sooner he got this done, the sooner he could finish the day. .
As the woman moved to the waiting area, he finally exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
He wiped his hands on a rag and glanced at the clock. Another hour, and he'd be done for the day. It wasn't like he had anywhere to be. The game would be waiting for him, pulling him back to Recoil, to the only place where he could truly be someone.
A small voice in the back of his head wondered if he was really that different from them. If he really was as snobbish as they thought. But that thought was quickly drowned out by the hum of the workshop, the comforting sound of the engines, the machines, and the loneliness that he had grown so accustomed to.
When the day was over and the last of the cars rolled out of the shop, Ethan stood alone in the dim light, stretching his back. He had done his job, done it well, but now it was time to return
to home hit the rack and put in another round tomorrow.