Orange from the setting sun fell on the opened door, casting the camo vehicle in the soft glow. Bâsil laid on a wooden board, underneath a car as the metal kept clinging in the hangar, wrenches, screwdrivers and screws laying around scattered around the space where the man was operating. Hearing the footsteps near, Bâsil slid out from underneath the car, sitting up as he looked in the direction of the noise, wiping the screw with a piece of dirty cloth. His tank-top wasn't missed in process, white material carrying dark grey smokey spots here and there, stinky and sticky from car grease and oil.