The Auto Shop

Afternoon 3 of the Moonlight Festival.

After a short bus ride, I found myself standing in sweet old North Cirque. My old hometown… In front of a building I remembered all too well.

The auto shop.

The air smelled of oil and rust, clinging to my nose like an unwanted memory. I stepped inside, and my breath caught...

There it was, the bus. Blood-smeared, claw-marked, parked like a feral beast brought to heel.

Me and my mom used to come here for advice sometimes, back when keeping the school bus running felt like a battle we could win. Fire gems that big needed specialists, and as far as I knew, this was the only place with the credentials.

I scanned the empty shop. Tools scattered on workbenches, faint echoes of some distant clanging… No one at the counter.

And then, a noise. A metallic scrape. Someone working under the bus.

"Perfect!" I called out, trying to sound cheerful. "Hi, I'm Sukafu. I need a bit of your expert advice."

A figure slid out from under the bus. At first, I thought it was a human, but then I caught the raccoon ears atop his greasy hair and the dark mask-like markings on his face. His black eyes glinted like polished stones as he grinned, teeth too sharp to feel reassuring.

"Advice?" His voice was smooth, as butter. "That's funny. You don't look like someone who can even afford a car."

"Sheesh, don't beat around the bush, do you?"

He stood, towering just slightly over me, his striped hair hanging like curtains. Everything about him seemed too precise, I can't fully place it into words. But his own striking appearance, made me curious of my own.

I pulled a pocket mirror from my bag, catching my reflection for just a moment.

Before I could react, he snatched the mirror from my hand with scary speed. His grip trembled as he held it up, staring into it like a drowning man clutching a life raft.

"MOM?!" His voice cracked, raw and desperate. "Oh, there you are. I thought I lost you." He tilted the mirror, speaking to it as though it might answer. "What do you mean? Yes, I've been working. I'm a good boy. You know I am…"

My stomach twisted. "Oh, great," I muttered under my breath. "This guy's insane."

He noticed my eyes flicker to his nametag, blank.

"Oh, are you illiterate?" He smirked, tapping it. "It says Elliot."

"It doesn't say anything..."

He laughed, a hollow, echoing sound. "Sure, sure. Go on, ask me for advice. I'll keep this mirror as payment."

I gritted my teeth. "Fine. Can you tell me what happened with this bus?"

His smile widened, stretching unnaturally. "There are only four buses in this city," he began, his tone slipping into something almost sing-song. "Some guy threatened everyone to get out, then the report mentions an accomplice, some giant beastman, shows up, grabs this bus, and throws it—right into a restaurant. Killed some idiot, too."

"You're saying there were two people?"

"That's the official story." His voice dropped lower, dripping with something that felt like amusement.

"And your conclusion?"

Elliot's grin faded. He clutched the mirror tighter, his hand shaking, his black eyes darting to catch his reflection once more. "My conclusion?" His voice dropped to a rasp. "The one who stole the bus and the one who threw it—they're the same person."

For a moment, the silence pressed in, heavy and thick.

"Do you believe in werewolves?" I asked, trying to mask my unease.

His head snapped toward me, his eyes narrowing. "Werewolves?" His laugh was sharp and bitter. "Fictional creatures that turn under the full moon? No. But gods and goddesses? Oh, they're real. And they're worse."

I took a step back, his intensity setting me on edge. But he stepped forward, closing the gap like a predator cornering prey.

"Gods," he continued, his breath brushing my face, "are just beasts with better PR. And angels?" He grinned, lips curling to reveal those unnervingly sharp teeth. "Maybe they're just better at hiding their claws."

He raised the mirror again, his gaze flicking from his reflection to mine. "You're not here for the bus, are you?" he whispered. "You want answers. Everyone does. But you're asking the wrong questions."

He angled the mirror toward me, forcing me to meet my own reflection. "Look closely," he murmured. "Mirrors don't lie. People do. Especially people like you."

I shivered, my skin prickling as I fought the urge to look away. "And what do you see?"

He chuckled, low and dark. "Oh, I see plenty. The truth, for starters. And you?" He tilted his head, his grin stretching impossibly wide. "You look like someone who doesn't know which side of the glass they're on. Or maybe you just don't care~."

"Which side...? No, I'm not confused. I'm the victim... The bus nearly killed me!"

Elliot tilted his head, his raccoon-like ears twitching slightly as his black eyes glinted in the dim light. "You think you're the victim?" His voice was low and smooth, almost playful, but it slithered under my skin like an itch I couldn't scratch. "Really think about it. Who was the one most hurt by the bus?"

My heart skipped a beat. His words felt less like a question and more like a riddle—a cruel joke that I wasn't in on. My mind raced, and a sickening thought bubbled to the surface. "Wait… Korra," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's her, isn't it? The bus, it was intended for her."

For the first time, Elliot's smirk faltered. "Oh, Korra, is it?" he drawled, dragging out her name like it was something to savor. "Interesting guess."

"Don't play games with me!" I snapped, my voice trembling despite the edge of anger. "You know something! If it wasn't meant for me, then it's her. She's the one in danger!"

"Lives are in danger, Mr. Elliot!" I pressed, desperate to break through his cryptic facade.

"No one's life is in danger tonight," he said with a chuckle, the sound low and mocking. "The beast has already had its dinner. As long as no one pokes the beast…"

Before I could respond, the door slammed in my face, the echo ringing out in the cold night air.

I stood there, fists clenched, my mind racing with more questions than answers. But one thing was clear now: if there was another victim, only one person might know who—or why.

The owner of Rockaburger City, Mr. Boris.

I turned on my heel, the unease in my chest tightening as I made my way into the night. Whatever was happening, I had to figure it out before the beast decided it was still hungry.