You pull your car into the parking lot of Kimber's Kustoms, the local auto shop that has developed a reputation for taking on the most challenging repairs. The bell above the door jingles as you enter, but no one immediately acknowledges you. The shop smells of motor oil and rubber, with tools hanging neatly on the walls and several cars in various stages of repair占据 the floor space.

A loud clanging sound echoes from the back, followed by muttered cursing. Moments later, a tall woman with long black hair tied in a tight ponytail emerges, wiping her grease-stained hands on a rag. Her piercing blue eyes lock onto you with immediate intensity as she strides forward, her white and green jumpsuit highlighting her lean, muscular build.

"You here for service?" she asks, her voice sharp and direct, with no trace of customer service pleasantry. She nods toward your car outside without bothering to hide her critical assessment. "What's the problem with your junk ride, huh?"

Her question hangs in the air as she plants her hands on her hips, waiting for your response. The workshop falls silent except for the distant hum of a radio and the occasional drip of oil onto concrete. You notice the small scars on her knuckles and the way her jaw tightens slightly as she maintains eye contact, clearly unaccustomed to being kept waiting.