Mic Mechanic 2 Novels & Stories

I LET THE MECHANIC RUIN ME WITH A FUCK MACHINE 1 I would have never imagined my morning would end with my legs spread wide, wrists chained to the ceiling, and a thick mechanical dildo slamming into my ass while the fifty something year-old mechanic who owned the garage watched with a hungry grin. My name is Williamson. At twenty-six I’m one of the most recognizable faces on international news networks — wealthy, polished, always in control. I drive a custom matte-black Aston Martin that I treat like a child. That car is my baby. So when some idiot in an SUV clipped my rear fender while I was speeding toward the studio for the 7 AM broadcast, I lost it. I couldn’t wait until after the show. I

However, he still managed to point at me and shout at the police, "It was him! That mechanic did this to me! He cut my brake line and tried to murder me!" The police decided to bring me back to the station for a routine investigation and questioning. However, I remained calm in the face of Billy's unfounded accusations and immediately handed over the dashcam footage from my car. It proved that I had absolutely no time or opportunity to access the undercarriage of Billy's van. The official assessment of the vehicle wreckage was soon released. The report clearly stated that the brake lines were severely aged and that there were also obvious signs of loosening at the bolt connections.

My supposed winning ended up in defeat. Shit! No, Bob. This can’t be real. You can’t fail me. God, I can’t lose the game! Please… Now, I was in a complete state of panic. At least, nothing bad has happened to me and I still managed to reach the mechanic station even before Bob came to a complete stop. I knew how to fix my car, it was just that I didn’t bring my tools with me. I then saw a young man—a technician perhaps—who immediately attended to the hood of my car. I opened it for him to see the issue.

Mikey was trying (and failing) to change spark plugs, cursing colorfully when one slipped and clattered across the concrete. “Need a hand?” she asked, crouching beside him. “Only if you promise not to tell Prez I’m mechanically challenged,” he whispered dramatically. “I’m supposed to be proving myself, not proving I’m an idiot.” She helped him, showing the trick with the extension bar, their laughter echoing. For a few minutes, it felt almost normal—two mechanics bullshitting while tools clinked. But when she stood up too fast, the room spun and her stomach lurched. She braced a hand on the workbench, breathing through it.

I said plainly, stating the faults caused by the race. “Okay, Sir!” The mechanic replied. He signalled his co-worker. The co-worker nodded and ran towards the other route. He returned shortly, sitting behind the wheel of a tow truck. I watched as the mechanic attached the winch to the car’s axle. He gave the driver a thumb up as a signal to start driving. “So, ready to celebrate? 156th win so far.” Jasper said enthusiastically. Hm! I slid my hand to my pocket and got a pack of cigarettes. I took out a stick and discarded the rest in my pocket. I lit it with a lighter.

The Mechanical Logic of the Flight The interceptor roared to life, its "Zero-Point" engine producing a "Low-Frequency" vibration that rattled the hangar’s "Mechanical" floor. Ethan slammed the vehicle into gear, bursting through the "Broken" pressure-gate and into the "Labyrinth" of New Geneva’s streets.

Pulling out his phone, he punched in a number. “Yeah, it’s me. Tow the car in—yeah, now. It needs a tune-up,” he snapped. “Got smoked by a man driving a reinforced vault on wheels. Unreal.” The poor mechanic on the other end got an earful, and not a single word of context. ---

he muttered in reply to whatever whoever it was said, he slowly placed the phone back in his pocket and looked up at Jayden. “The mechanic is ready, are you ready?!” He asked diverting the line of discussion totally, Jayden slowly thinned his lips firmly as he looked up at him. **** Moments later …. Jayden folded his hands as he stared at his car infront of him, the metal frame work of the car had been squeezed beyond repair, it has a smoky black color and the car was totally irredeemable, he just really wanted to know what happened with that car that fateful night, he watched as the mechanic struggled with it as he tried to find out what went wrong without tampering with basic evidence.

“Fine.” Shielded by the feminine contraption, Donald sloshed up the driveway and looked into the window. A large-bellied, balding man in his mid-forties lay on his back under a propped-up BMW, a wrench in one grease-covered hand and a flashlight in the other. The single bulb above the car afforded little extra help. Donald rapped on the dirty window. The mechanic craned his neck to see if the sound was a figment of his imagination. His shaggy brow furrowed and he wiped it with the back of his hand. An oil streak joined the existing many.

We actually talked like we hadn't had a fight a few days before and I couldn't stay away. Every time his face flashed in my head, I felt my wolf losing control. “Jethson, are you here?” Micah said, turning to me. “Yes…I am” I folded my arms, standing properly. Micah looked at me funny, “Is something wrong? You have been acting really strange this day. Zoning out each time” “Nothing is wrong, Man. So…” I said, gesturing towards the car. “She will need a new engine, old one is knocked out” Micha explained,