Next day evening I went to the mechanical facility to fix the dinged sides and other casualties to may ecocar. I yanked open the heavy garage door, letting in a gust of warm, dusty air. The first thing I saw was this little creature running away. It was about two feet long, green-gold, with a head like a rhino beetle, stubby legs, some electronic stuff on its back, and a long tail.

"My lady basks in the taste of solar energy," Paul says to me. "I had to clean out her tank, so that she may comfortably return to her miniature arid-landscape," he explains, gesturing to the mini desert-biome inside.

She at a slumping posture. Breathing rhythmically, lips parting. "Is she okay?" I ask, pointing, "I wouldn't ever want to disturb someone while they were basking in the sun's glorious rays," I add.

He smoothly cradled the iguana back to his arms, stroking its scaly back and cooing endearments to it. The green reptile showed content. The tiny electronic device on its back hummed in response to Paul's words, translating them for the iguana to understand. Paul becomes talkative if you asked about the translator he built using old tools and gadgets, all while looking after his pet.

“Pray tell, Mari, what has inspired your ascension today?”

“I got some fixes to do to mine.”

“Ah, I perceive that we are to proceed in the customary manner, is it not so?”

“Well and I may help around as it get worked on.”

“Rest assured, the matter shall be capable.”

“Thank you Paul, you’re sweet.”

Inside, the mechanic hub buzzed with energy. Tool clatters, engine roars, and chattering voices meshed into a lively symphony. Grease-smeared benches bristled with car components and diverse tools. Veterans and novices collaborated, swapping advice and aiding each other. A camaraderie thrived here, born from a mutual love for vehicles.

I swung open my locker, revealing my not so clean hung jumpsuit. As I undressed, I spotted Cellestine across the room, her mechanic's uniform a mess of oiled stains. She was our resident science whiz, always up before dawn in the lab, experimenting with fuel theories. She's a boss in alternative energy. Thanks to all her hard work, we had our hydrogen, bio-jet-fuel, biogas and other clean fuels.

"Hi Mari?" She called out cheerfully.

Not making eye contact, "Hey Cellestine." I replied.

Tilting her neck and wrinkling her brow, "Well, aren't you the disappearing act? What brings you out of your hidey-hole today, huh?"

Glancing quickly at her, then looking away, "My bad! Life's been a wild ride lately, so I haven't had the chance to swing by."

"Oh, I see," she replied. "Will you be more around?"

I nodded. Small talk isn't my strong suit.

A nervous silence descended between us, and I shifted awkwardly on my feet.

She left, and I quickly slipped into my gear, hopping onto a high stool at the crafting station. A charming chaos of wrenches, screwdrivers, and all sorts of peculiar tools. The scent of oil and machine grease hung in the air like perfume as my teammates bantered and checked their work. I had a close bond with each machine and could do every task flawlessly, yet my exchanges with the others were brief.

I was munching on salty pistachios and staring out the window when I caught sight of another video billboard playing across the street. The video this time was about an economic recession and its devastating effects, causing people to lose their homes and slip into poverty. The main character walked into his home, looking down unfocused gaze, going pale, a slumped posture, staring at his palms as if they hold the answers.

Passing by, Mikhail comment off, "That fellah just got fired."

"Got fired? Does it burn? What does that mean?"

"‘Fore New Eden, folks could lass their placements for so many diverse grounds."

"Hold on," I queried, batting my lashes in confusion, "so you're telling me that jobs were once a means for folks to just hand over their precious hours, all so those big-shot entrepreneurs could accumulate even more?"

"Verily! We even had a TV program in which we saw people being fired for our amusement." he impersonates as if pointing out was part of the show.

"That sounds pretty extreme." dry washing my hands.

Even with my personal issues, life went on as usual for everyone else — it wasn't all that bad, was it? New Eden's rules only dictated so much of what we could do. It's hard to imagine that once upon a time, everything could have been lost and we might have been at the mercy of overwhelming odds or external forces.

"You didn't show amused..." Mikhail said.

"That was pretty bad, but look at us now, he-he, everything turned out alright. Who knows, maybe it was all part of the plan?"

"Mari, no be making jests in this situation. We find ourselves here because of the insurgents—"

"—and the Councillors won't let us forget that," I cut, mocking him.

Mikhail quickly glanced at me, yet he remained composed, breaking eye contact with me.

"I vill return to the machine I vas operating," he said.

We exchanged a cordial fist bump, and he left, tapping his fingers against the table as he walked away.

Does this ecocity stifle me? I wish for more than acceptance. Despite others' contentment, I yearn for something expansive.

“Contributing to keep the facility in top shape?” Paul asked.

“I often opted for overtime,” relishing the maintenance, cleaning, and upgrades. “A tidy workspace meant efficiency.” Overworking wasn't exactly the norm here.

Then some commotion picked my curiosity about the entry hallway.

Oh, my gosh! Did you see that!? I couldn't believe a hand did not make this vehicle. It took my breath away. Beefy, rusty, yet smooth, it was pure perfection. You don't see cars like this much these days. This one's charm and simplicity totally blew me away, though our usual eco-cars are not designed to express old-school.

"It's beautiful," I said.

"Indeed, it is so, isn't it?" Paul said. 

"Did you make this?" I asked.

"I surmise that not a single soul in this vicinity partook in such an act." he said. 

Everyone was circle walking the vehicle, examining its construction, touching parts, looking carefully, checking. With the car engine shut off, the only sound that could be heard was the chattering. I ran my finger across the rusty chassis, sensing a faint vibration beneath my fingertips where the paint job was missing. It had open-wheels located outside the chassis body, beefier on the back, standard on the front, these designed to achieve high corner speeds.

The Iguana jumping out from a nearby toolbox pulls me back to reality. It surveys the area, using its antennae like eyes to gather details about its surroundings. 

Andrey came to see what we all were buzzing about.

Andrey was an augmented, grizzled chimpanzee. He most of the time oversaw this mechanic facility, so everyone cut no corners. A couple of days ago, Andrey developed techniques to increase efficiency for many power trains.

“Most vehicles are built now around self-driving ability." Andrey, standing beside me, touched at my shoulder and gentle made him passage. "Owing to the intelligence of AI, electric engines are both elegant in their simplicity and complex in their sophistication."

"But this is no usual electric engine," I said. "This car don’t look printed neither to have a DNA imprinted, maybe built by hand, by a single person."

"It appears that this contraption does not operate on an electrical system." Andrey points out to the front of the car, it has an air compressor.

"So this burns!" I said.

"Ah, this is quite the conundrum," Andrey mused. "Look closely, Mari. See the sophistication in the engine's architecture. It may seem rudimentary at first glance, but it's far from simplistic. Most of its components are not overly complex, yet they're finely tuned for optimal performance. This is my first time encountering an anomaly of such magnitude."

"Is that a very unusually mounted vehicle with a traditional fossil fuel combustion?" I made my take.

"Confirmed, how could the owner have possibly assembled it in such a standard fashion?" Andrey queried.

Cars are for getting around or having fun. Yet, our ecocars are different. They're made using our genetic data and tailored to our personal bias. Think of them like the shell of a snail or a crab, making us an improved version of ourselves, quicker, tougher and wiser, an evolutionary take.

"In the pursuit of enhancing our quality of life, we've engineered ecocars with a people-centric approach, not just as a simple project," Andrey concluded. "On the other hand, those old-school gas guzzlers were all about being fancy and unique."

"And is this car still alive?" I asked.

"Verily, I presume it to be so, however, its power train remains inert. Pray thee, Mari, could you investigate the fuel tank?"

"Yes, there is petrol," I said. "And it smells funny"

"Great"

Just as I was rubbing my chin, Paul's pet iguana scampered over and played with one of the car engine wires. Suddenly, it got a shock and darted off. Unexpectedly, this sounded to be enough to the car, and it started up with a loud noise.

"Now, vho is the owner of it?" Mikhail asks.

"Paul said it could be yours" I reply.

"Av course not. I vould need to be much older," Mikhail continues, "or love to make things the old vay. I think that the person vho brought this car here vas very happy to be able to do the old vay."

"For sure, I agree." Andrey said.

Mikhail was tall and thin, always dressed like he was on a fashion catwalk. His constant warm smile made him popular among our peers. A friend since long ago. He never did anything by himself, and his clever jokes always won people over.

I sighed as he studied the vehicle before us. He appeared deep in thought, as if he was trying to solve a puzzle.

"Ja, I haff been here for a a while, and I have seen many vehicles, but nothing as this one," Mikhail said.

"You've only been around for the least amount of time," I retorted.

"Don't be such a rude one," he scoffed, "I'm telling ya, it's a colossal shift for us all, indeed. Never before has something of this magnitude graced our modest little facility."

"What are you trying to say?"

Andrey stepped in, "This one is outrageous."