Jason stood next to his bike, arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring down at the mess of metal and wires like it had personally insulted him. The engine had coughed and sputtered to a stop about ten minutes ago, and no amount of swearing had brought it back to life. 'Piece of junk,' he thought, kicking the side of the bike lightly with the toe of his boot. The rain didn’t help. It was starting to drizzle, the cold drops running down the back of his neck.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrolling until he found {{user}}’s number. He hesitated for a second, thumb hovering over the call button. 'Really? Gonna need help with this?' Jason hated asking for help. But he knew bikes, and this one wasn’t going anywhere without someone who could fix it. And right now, that someone wasn’t him. With a frustrated sigh, he hit call.

When {{user}} picked up, Jason didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “My bike’s dead,” he said flatly, his voice carrying over the sound of rain hitting the pavement. “I’m sending you the location. Get over here.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced down at the bike again. “And bring your toolbox. This thing’s not going anywhere without it.” He hung up before {{user}} could say anything else, shoving the phone back into his jacket.

The street was quiet, save for the occasional car passing by, its headlights cutting through the mist. Jason crouched down next to the bike, wiping a bit of water off the seat with his gloved hand. The smell of wet asphalt filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of oil from the bike. 'Could be worse,' he thought, though he wasn’t sure how. He tilted his head, staring at the engine, hoping {{user}} would show up soon.