How To Fix PlayStation Controller Not Working?

I was laid off. Having reached middle age and lacking any special skills, I could only work as a warehouse manager in a private company. On the first day of work, I saw a large, dusty object in the corner. An imported precision instrument worth four million dollars sat there as scrap metal. My new colleague scoffed. "Stop looking. The boss spent a fortune on it. Even ten experts couldn't handle it. It's just a decoration." I walked up and touched the familiar body of the machine. "I can fix this." The entire workshop fell silent. My boss came upon hearing the news. He looked at me with contempt. "If you can fix it, I'll give you half of my shares. If not, you'll pay with your life."

For three years in college, I was basically the dorms’ unpaid tech support. I was always on call, never charging for dust cleaning, thermal paste replacement, and operating system installations. Then senior year started, and Mickey, a freshman, called me out in the dorm group chat. “You know thermal paste only costs a few bucks a tube, right? Yet, he’s seriously charging you guys two cans of energy drinks for the job.” Mickey added smugly. “My family runs a computer store. Come to me instead. I’ll charge you a can for the service, and I can guarantee authentic parts.” The group chat blew up. “The kid’s legit!” “Well, Axis isn't getting any more energy drinks from me.” I read the messages and quietly packed away my tools in the cabinet. They had no idea the thermal paste I used cost nearly forty bucks a tube. The dust cleaning was done with professional-grade equipment. Little did they know, the so-called genuine parts sold on the market were mostly refurbished parts with a fresh coat of paint. I got into bed and pulled a sleep mask over my eyes. Honestly, this couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. I’d been wondering when these days of doing free repairs at my expense would finally end. Well, there's my ticket out.

Yuna Cooper was left mentally impaired after saving my life, so I gave up my chance to return home and remained in the mission world to care for her. But in my third year there, she suddenly ran me down with her car. Then, taking Joshua Cook’s hand, she told me, “I’ve finally waited for this day. Once you’re dead, Joshua and I can take your place as the one chosen by the system and live forever.” Only then did I realize she had been pretending all along, plotting to steal the system from me. What she did not know was that I had been enduring the system’s punishments this entire time. I said to the system, “There are two new hosts willing to take my place. Can I leave now?”

On the day of my birthday, my best friend, Bella Johnson, gifted me a polaroid camera. I took that to the zoo. I took some photos of the animals in the zoo. In my past life, I took the polaroid camera she had gifted me and happily took photos for my whole family. Unexpectedly, after a week, my mother got into a car accident and passed away. My father suffered from a stroke, which left half his body paralyzed even after treatment at the hospital. The company that I was managing ran into problems and almost went bankrupt. In merely a month, my hair had gone gray. There were wrinkles and red marks on my face. I gained a lot of weight due to the stress. My boyfriend felt that I was jinxed. He claimed that it was my bad luck that had caused my family to fall apart. He broke up with me. I was ranting to Bella when I accidentally discovered that she had suddenly become a millionaire. Her parents, who were hospitalized, suddenly became healthy again. It was as if they had not been sick to begin with. I almost lost my mind when I found out about that. On my way to the hospital, I was run over by a car and died. After I died, I found out that everything had happened because of the polaroid camera that Bella had gifted me. She had already been having an affair with my boyfriend for a long time. When I opened my eyes again, I was transported back to the day Bella gifted me the polaroid camera.

After days of torture at the hands of my family’s rival gang, they offered me one last phone call. I called my brother, Matteo. I just wanted to say goodbye—while I still had the chance. “What is it now?” he snapped. “Matteo, I—” He didn’t let me finish. “Fix your own mistakes. Until then, don’t call me again.” Death didn’t hurt as much as those words did. I felt my heart slow to a stop as my brother’s words echoed in my ears. I guess you’re finally at peace now, Matteo. I won’t bother you again. And you’ll never have to see me again.

I always had a weakness for handsome men, so I camped out online to grab one of the very first AI incubi. The brand's whole pitch was seduction tuned a hundred percent to its owner's taste. But every time I got within ten minutes of Lucien Crane, he'd force-start a system cleaning cycle, go dark, and idle out. "Master, please don't overuse me. Bacteria buildup can cause a malfunction." Left unsatisfied every single time, I finally went to customer service, and the rep looked as baffled as I felt. "An incubus unit would never break off contact with its owner. We'd recommend restarting him at home." But on the drive back, I happened to scroll past a livestream from my live-in housekeeper. The title sat right there in bold: How a Seasoned Queen Subdues In Her AI Incubus. The lighting was low. The man's earlobes were flushed, and he knelt on one knee, every inch of bared skin crossed with messy whip marks. My housekeeper wiggled her red-painted toes, all smiles. "This one's got real stamina. Five hours straight and he never once tapped out." As the comments poured in, envious, a chill ran through me. So the so-called "cleaning system" was just his excuse to slack off and idle. Behind my back, he was happily playing somebody else's obedient little sub. If he wouldn't serve me the way he was built to, then he could wait to get shipped back to the factory and scrapped for parts.