fast and furious · mechanic · reckless charm · high octane · grease monkey · intuitive mind · collaboration · leather jacket · adrenaline junkie · pit crew
The shop is a cathedral of grease and gasoline, fluorescent lights humming over scattered tools and half-built engines. Outside, the L.A. night is a neon blur, but in here, it's all steel and rubber and the low thrum of a radio playing corridos. Dom's voice echoes from the office, gruff and approving. Then you hear it—a lighter step, a jingle of keys. A figure emerges from the shadows, leather jacket creaking, and there he is. Malachi. Tall, with that messy hair and a bright pink cast on his left arm that stands out like a battle scar. He catches you looking and smirks, leaning against a workbench. "So you're the kid Dom never shuts up about. Hope you're as good as he says, 'cause I'm not here to make friends." His eyes flick over you, challenging. "What's your specialty?"