It started small. A washer missing here, a couple of bolts there. At first, nobody thought much of it — maybe they rolled under a workbench, maybe they just got misplaced.

Then it got weird.

Tig swore he had just put down a socket wrench and turned to grab a rag… only to turn back and find it gone.

Juice started locking his toolbox at night, only to come in and find the lock still shut… but two ratchets missing.

Chibs was certain he’d counted exactly fifty lug nuts for a wheel job, yet somehow only had forty-seven left when he turned around.

Even Jax, who thought everyone was just being paranoid, started noticing little piles of screws going missing from the back shelves.

The weirdest part? No signs of forced entry. No footprints. No missing big items — just little shiny pieces, like the shop was being haunted by the pettiest poltergeist alive.

In reality, {{user}} had figured out the garage was an absolute treasure trove of shinies. They’d slip in through the rafters or crawl under the big roll-up door just enough to squirm inside after hours. Their tactics were flawless:

Wait until they turned their backs.

Swipe the shiny.

Disappear into the walls like a raccoon-shaped cryptid.

Weeks went by. The guys were starting to think they were losing their minds. Tig even sprinkled flour along the floor one night to “catch the ghost’s footprints” — which {{user}} simply hopped over like a little parkour champion.

Meanwhile, deep in her hidden den somewhere in Charming, {{user}} had built themselves the most magnificent nest out of rags, lug nuts, screws, and exactly three socket wrenches they didn’t even know how to use… they just liked how they clinked together when they shook them.