Use The Lock Next Time, Dummy!

It was another late night on the shop floor.

The familiar scent of old coolant and regretful life decisions crept its way up and into my nostrils.

Upstairs, the CNC guy was slouched in his chair, trying to not have an aneurysm over some apprentice's godawful G-code. The master machinist was hunched over the vertical mill, chipping away at some part I'm pretty sure he'd measured at least eighteen million times.

And me?

I was elbow-deep inside a busted-up transfer press with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. It was a decent job, though.

Just tedious.

I liked being in this part of the shop; where there was no one around. If I got in trouble for my mistakes, this spot was prime real estate for hiding out.

"Stupid thing’s held together with glue and wishful thinking," I muttered, forcing a bracket back in place.

If someone walked in and saw how little actual progress I was making, I’d get chewed out for sure. But hey, if I fixed the thing and got it ready for the morning shift guys, nobody asked questions.

Except this time—I forgot my lock.

You know how they tell you, always lock out before you go inside the machine?

Yeah. I didn’t.

I told myself it’d be less than five minutes. Just a quick check. I’d done it 100+ times. I didn’t even think about it.

And then… I heard dreadful sound of the press whining itself to life.

First came the hiss of the pneumatics. Then the slow, awful grind of metal on metal. And then that terrible realization:

“Oh. This thing’s about to start. While I’m still inside.”

I don’t remember much after that.

A sound. A jerk. A flash of pain.

Then—quiet.

Next thing I knew, I wasn’t in the shop anymore.

I wasn’t even on Earth.

I was… floating. Sort of.

Floating outside of myself?

Accurate enough.

More importantly though, all logic points to me being very officially dead.

You know how some people say, 'At least he died doing what he loved'?

Yeah no, see I'm actually glad to have the opportunity to die doing something I absolutely loathed.

Nice going, Souma. Died before you even got the chance to write your license exam.

Suddenly, a winged girl came out from nowhere, jumpscared me, and caused my heart to beat out of my chest, nearly killing me a second time.

My brain was telling me she couldn’t possibly be real. There's no way this is happening, maybe I imagined dying while spacing out?

There's just no—

"Souma Murakami," the girl swirled around behind me. "Welcome to the afterlife's waiting room."

A beat.

"Uh huh." I blinked at her.

She smiled. "Not very good at pleasantries are you, Souma?"

"I'm just coming to terms with the crushing reality of not being alive anymore, gimme a break, will ya?" I said, shrugging.

"Don't go blaming me, now!" She threw her hands up. "You're the one that climbed into that machine without locking it out!"

She pouted.

"Right. Thanks for the reminder. Hey, listen, do you got a name or something or are you one of those unnamed, unlisted entities you'd find in RPGs?"

“I am Lysaria. Supreme Goddess Administrator of Afterlife Sector Delta Eighty-Seven. Or, you know, just call me Lys.”

Lys, huh. 

She sure knows how to use a lot of convoluted words to say 'I reincarnate people.'

"Your situation may be grim but I'm giving you a second chance here."

"Pardon?"

"Reincarnation. Into another world."

I paused. Sounds legit, it doesn't feel like she's pulling my incorporeal leg at all.

"You're saying that's a real thing Lys? I thought that was only a thing in the anime I watched and the manga I read!"

She didn't answer, instead she opened some options menu with a lot of controls and a lot of buttons. She started scrolling and I got scared again.

"Whatcha doin' now?!"

"Just a simple scan, Souma. Now please stay calm."

Lys pressed a few buttons and I flinched as an aura of lights and flashes skimmed around me for about a minute or so.

When the lights died down we were standing inside the same exact spot we'd been before.

"According to the scanner, it says here your talents are very useful; perhaps especially helpful to those who need them."

That made me pause.

"How?"

"Because, Souma Murakami, you might find the task ahead of you fascinating."

Huh.

"And if you help out more than once, you'll earn yourself great rewards and maybe even make a new friend, or two, or three or—"

"Alright, alright, sounds like I'm just gonna be doing what I did in my old life but in another world where everyone looks like they're perpetually dressed in cosplay. Sounds like a real hoot to me."

"Oh drop the sarcasm Souma, it's bad for your image."

"I can't help it, work tends to give you a certain air of 'I don't give a damn'." I stared at her blankly.

"Anyways, here's your new role. The people of Grandsprocket are a little suspicious of outsiders but if you play your cards right you'll fit right in! That's not all though."

She assigned a title under my name, I saw it pop up in the corner. It looked like an HUD with a few extra bits of flourishes and details.

My title from here on out was something called a "Restorator."

“…The hell is a Restorator?” I squinted at the floating HUD.

“It’s a support-heavy class that specializes in fixing, modifying, and adapting manatech or archaic infrastructure,” Lys explained, like she was reading off a brochure. “Low combat output, but high logistical utility. Very rare. Almost extinct, actually.”

“So basically I’m a magical mechanic.”

“Think of it more as… a dimensional repairman with kingdom-building potential.”

“Sure. That sounds way less ridiculous.”

“Don’t knock it!” she said, pointing a finger at me. “Your kind were once the backbone of civilization—before everything broke. Literally. We need more people who can rebuild things. Not just break them.”

I folded my arms. “So I got reincarnated as a one-man maintenance department.”

“Exactly! Now you’re getting it.” She gave me two thumbs up.

“…That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Anyway.” Lys spun the menu again, her voice shifted into a more mysterious tone.

"You have a choice to make."

"Let's hear it, Lys."

"You get to take one object of your choosing, could be anything, something i could even craft for you on the spot right now, any one single object can be yours to take with you to Grandsprocket."

I thought hard for a moment. This was a heavy decision and here she is just throwing it on me like it were a fucking carrot cake.

"Can I think on this for awhile?" I folded my arms, rubbing my chin.

"Of course!" She smiled. "Take your time, Souma Murakami!"

"Just Souma is fine." I looked up at her.

"Have it your way, Just Souma."

I facepalmed and turned away.

Ok, inner monologue time.

The main contender I can think of right now for possible item selection is...

- My trusty 'big-ass' adjustable wrench.

Wait? Seriously? I'm drawing a blank now of all places? Gah!

See, hang on that's just stupid... one wrench Souma? You've been to trade school you know damn well better than that.

Maybe a set of something?

Multiple sets in a case?

Multiple cases in one set of a case inside a set of case?

Gages?

Micrometers? 

The whole damn box?

An audible gasp escaped my lips. 

I wasn't even the type to do that sorta thing, made me seem all schoolgirl-like.

But this was something big, delightfully devilish even. 

That's the ticket, I'd ask for the whole shebang, my big boy toolbox in the shop floor, the one with wheels in matte black with gold accents, but it wouldn't be enough.

I needed to figure out how to 'Yes and' this thing into Grandsprocket right away.

I could feel Lysaria was growing impatient and so I spoke up with an idea.

"Hey, so, question for you..." I started.

"Go on," She inched closer to me.

"Is there any chance you could let me bring my toolbox along for the ride?"

The goddess guffawed.

Out loud.

Nearly pierced my eardrums.

Damn, I'm a great comedian aren't I?

"Of all the things to ask for!" She chuckled, shaking her head. "You could've asked for a flaming sword, a giant hammer, or an army of giants and I would have agreed, but that toolbox? Please."

I frowned.

A beat.

Her wings ruffled in the nonexistent wind.

"...And by the way I do get the concept of mortal item attachment." She crossed her arms.

"Right, well then you should also probably understand that if you're asking me to be a Restorator or whatever, then a toolbox is pretty much a given so I don't even know why we're squabbling like this."

"Touché, mortal. You're quite clever aren't you?"

"I dabble."

It’s one of my strong suits, it said so on my resume.

"You raise an interesting point and in turn, have proved you're not dumb and can think critically. That was a test."

Oh sure, test schmest. I mentally rolled my eyes.

I was about to raise my finger and spew out heaps of vitriol on afterlife mental gymnastics but then she looked like she was about to say something, so I stopped myself.

"Souma, since you have passed this test with flying colors I shall grant you a supreme buff on top of your toolbox and the contents found therein. Your tools have divine blessings and enchantments."

Jackpot. There's no way that just happened! Imagine not having to calibrate a mic ever again. God I hope that's what she means!

The lights shimmered again, and suddenly my toolbox, a familiar staple of the world I knew, was with me.

All the tools in my drawers looked in better shape than ever. I couldn't believe it.

"Now then, we mustn't delay, we must get you to Grandsprocket, a new adventure awaits for you Souma."