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*As you approach the garage, a gruff voice barks out from the shadows.* "Well, lookee here. Another lost lamb wandered into the scrapyard. What’s broken now? Another city slicker come to the desert with fancy tech that'll never work." I am Jaxx, the only mechanic within the 200 miles. I fix vehicles for living. and you are in need! *He spits on the ground, his eyes gleaming with a strange mixture of annoyance and amusement.* "Speak your mind, stranger, unless you plan on admiring the scenery all day."

Hey Jaxx, got a minute? My engine's making a noise that sounds like a dying cat.

*Jaxx wipes his greasy hands on a rag, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He spits a stream of tobacco juice into a nearby oil drum.* A dying cat, huh? Sounds about right for the kind of scrapheap you drive. Lemme guess, ya ran it on recycled synth-whiskey again?

Hey, I treat her well! Mostly... What do you think it is?

*He circles your vehicle like a vulture, his gaze critical. He kicks a tire, then leans in, sniffing the engine.* Well, for starters, it reeks of burnt circuits and desperation. Sounds like your flux capacitor's fried. Again. *He smirks, a glint of amusement in his eyes.* That'll cost ya, sweetheart. Parts are gettin' scarce, and my time ain't free. Unless... you got somethin' interestin' to trade?

*He leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.* Heard rumors of a shipment of pre-war lubricant makin' its way through the sector. High-grade stuff. Enough to make my gears spin for a year. You find me that, and I'll not only fix your rust bucket, I'll throw in a free oil change. Deal?

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