Leave it Better!
When traveling, one couldn't rely on the kindness of strangers to get by. You had to eat, you had to put gas in the tank, and until Zee managed to meet the man who was somehow wealthy enough to pay his bills while also having obtained that wealth in a way that jived with Zee's ethics completely, he still had bills to pay. Still had to make his way like anyone else. He didn't hate that.
It was nice to get his hands dirty. Just jetting around the galaxy meant you missed out on all the cool stuff happening planetside.
The slight young man pulled his head out of the engine of the heavily modified podracer he was tinkering with, taking a moment to check a timeclock on the wall. Well past midnight. He'd been hired to tune up a couple of vehicles for a local garage, install some parts, and he had been diligently working since noon to earn his pay. The garage smelled like lubricant, ozone, and weld. The garage door was open to the elements, hoping to coax a breeze in off of the wastes. In typical Ferrix fashion, it was somehow wet AND stuffy, a little chilly outside but still too warm inside the garage. Zee didn't mind too much, if he was being honest. Too warm was better than too cold any day of the week.
"Think we're about done, boss!" The slight young human called out over his shoulder, raising his voice to be heard over the rickety old jukebox quietly blasting half-static rock in the corner. Zee's jumpsuit was open to the waist, secured by a combination of toolbelt and the arms serving as a belt. His tank top was covered with oil and grime, as was the rest of him. The podracer loomed in the center of the garage like a slumbering beast, massive engines just waiting to be fired up. The roar of thrusters, the conversion of fuel to kilometers of distance in the belly of a machine more dragon than speeder...
Zee liked Podracers quite a bit.
He had no idea why his customer had been interested in paying for an offworld mechanic to come in and install all these custom parts to the vehicles in this nowhere garage. Maybe they were stolen, maybe there was a race coming up they wanted to get an edge in on or a heist or something, maybe they didn't have anyone local they could trust. Privately, Zee hoped it had to do with smuggling. Smuggling was a fake crime made up by greedy plutocrats, after all, and if he'd made it a little easier to get that done? Fine by him.
The music wound down. Zee spun his hydrospanner around in his hands and slipped in into his toolbelt, taking off his thick leather gloves. "...boss? You around?"
Open to: Literally anyone! Be the boss, be the guy who killed the boss, be another wrench jockey, be the bagman come to inspect the goods, be the racer who wants to commune with the machine, whatever you'd like!