The sign out front still read Moonridge Tire & Lube, but nothing else about the squat brick building looked the same. Months ago, the shop had been a glorified shack with busted lifts and an oil pit that leaked more secrets than grease.Now it gleamed-rebuilt brick stitched with steel, wide bay doors fitted with hydraulic teeth, reinforced windows that caught the morning light like a fortress. On the roof, antennas turned with military precision, though none of the crew admitted where those came from. Gauntlet's fingerprints were everywhere, but the guys still called it "the shop." Inside, the air smelled of rubber, hot coffee, and faint ozone from the new electrical rigs. It sounded like home: compressors thumping, an impact wrench barking, someone muttering at a stripped bolt. By mid-morning the shop radio crackled to life, cutting through their banter. A newscaster's voice, calm and clipped, spilled into the bays."...it has been several months since the events surrounding the fall of the Creature Cabal. In that time, many supernatural beings, now known to the public as Creepers, have begun stepping out of the shadows and into everyday life. Experts say most Creepers want nothing more than to live quietly, raising families, holding jobs, and paying taxes like anyone else. While their emergence has caused unease, it's also sparked an unexpected boom for local businesses-from tailors and grocers to small-town auto shops."Kevin dropped his crayon box onto the counter, eyes shining. "We're part of history, guys! A Creeper-friendly business, like a landmark!"Gus grunted. "We're a freak show sideshow, is what we are."