The air reverberates with the cacophony of pneumatic and hand-powered tools. What was once a towering parking garage has transformed into the largest auto shop in the South West. They cater to any and all vehicles, provided the owner can afford their services. The place is bustling, with every empty patch occupied by a vehicle in need of attention. From rugged pickup trucks and Jeeps to agile motorcycles and quads, even heavy-duty armored personnel carriers, and things that defy categorization, the variety is staggering. The Bizarre boasts the finest garage in the Western Region, staffed by a skilled and dedicated team of grease monkeys.
“Yo, Greaser. Someone’s asking for you.” The burly man shouts to be heard over the commotion of the garage.
From under a jacked-up Jeep, a voice replies, “Who's asking?”
“Fuck should I know? I’m not your assistant.” The pot-bellied garage manager grunts as he waits for Greaser. She rolls out from under the Jeep, stands up, and absentmindedly grabs a shop rag to wipe her hands. “There’s a group outside waiting for ya. Said they heard you were the best.” A slight smirk curls his lip, “Don’t know who woulda said that.” Greaser punches him in the arm. “Ouch! The fucks that for?”
She turns, “Cause you and I both know I’m the best you got in this dump.” Greaser walks off.
“Yeah, well, this counts as your break, smartass.”
She flips him off without looking back and makes her way down to the first floor. As she enters the office, she notices a group of familiar faces waiting for her. “Forge! Smith!” With open arms she greets Forge and Smith, offering each of them a warm hug. “Bowyer!” He offers a low bow, and she a stiff curtsy, “What brings you over here?”
Forge glances around the office and whispers, “Got somewhere private we can talk?”
“Of course.” She walks off, leading them around the building to a secluded fenced-off area with beat-up picnic tables, “Only us grease monkeys use this place.” She looks around, all the tables are empty, “We should be good for a while.” She says as they all gather around a table. Turning to Forge, she asks, “What’s up?”
He straightens his back, “We need your expertise. We can’t offer much, maybe nothing at all. We don’t have much in terms of resources. But we need someone reliable to maintain what we have up and running.”
Greaser leans back, “So you want me to work for you? For free?”
Forge and Smith both lower their heads. Forge chimes in, “Kinda. But it’s for a cause.”
“Oh, a cause." Greaser retorts, "What cause? Cause I need to eat.”
Falcon clears his throat, “We’re gearing up to fight Cobra.”
The silence drags on for an eternity. Finally, “Where do I sign up?”
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