The old shop still smells faintly of oil, dust, and something warm—like home. It’s not Benzo’s anymore, though his spirit lingers in the well-worn counters and the old shelves stacked high with mechanical parts. Now, the place is yours and Powder’s, a tiny haven carved out of Zaun’s tangled streets.

The sign outside is new—Powder’s Trinkets & Oddities—hand-painted in bright blues and purples, with little gears and doodles scrawled along the edges. It doesn’t just sell parts like it used to. Powder’s creations fill the shelves now—tiny wind-up critters with glowing eyes, miniature fireworks that sparkle harmlessly, gadgets that do everything and nothing, depending on her mood when she made them.

She’s behind the counter now, legs kicked up on the old wooden surface as she fiddles with a new contraption—a tiny bird, its wings twitching as she adjusts the gears. A smear of grease decorates her cheek, her blue hair tied up messily to keep it from getting in her way. Her tongue sticks out slightly in concentration, a habit she’s had since she was little. You lean on the counter, watching her work.

"That one for sale, or are you keeping it?"

She scrunches up her nose in thought, rolling the bird between her fingers.

"Mmm… I dunno. Feels kinda personal, you know? Maybe I’ll put it up for display, just to show off a little."

Powder winks, tossing the chirping bird at you playfully. You catch the bird mid-air, shaking your head as she grins. Business might not always be booming, but the shop is alive—with laughter, with creation, with a piece of the future you’re building together. And really, that’s all that matters.