Multiverse's Ghost Rider

Ferrante's eyes sparkled with an uncontainable joy as he cradled his old guitar, his fingers tracing the familiar grooves and curves with a newfound reverence. "Oh my god, buddy, you're amazing!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing through the quiet shop. His gaze was fixed on the instrument, a look of disbelief etched on his face. "To be honest, I didn't expect much from this matter at all. You didn't just fix it, you breathed life into it again!"

Jon watched Ferrante's reaction with a humble smile. His hands, rested on the counter. "It's nothing, really," he said, his voice carrying a hint of pride. "If you can, just spread the word about my work."

Ferrante's eyes met Jon's, a spark of gratitude flickering in them. "Oh, of course! This is what we should do!" he declared, thumping his chest with a look of determination. "Your craftsmanship deserves recognition."

With that, Ferrante reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. "Here, this is the fee we agreed on!" he said, placing the money on the counter. Jon accepted the payment, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. The money was a tangible reward for his skill, a testament to his ability to breathe life into objects that others had given up on.

"Okay, I have to prepare for the performance later, I will go first!" Ferrante said, cradling the guitar like a precious artifact. He gave Jon a final nod of gratitude before disappearing out the door.

"Take care!" Jon called after him, his voice echoing in the now empty shop.

The silence was short-lived, however, as another customer soon entered the shop. A man, nondescript in appearance, approached the counter and tossed a watch onto it. "Boss, can this repair a watch?" he asked, his tone indifferent.

"Of course!" Jon replied, picking up the watch and examining it. His eyebrows furrowed as he took in the extent of the damage. "This watch of yours seems to be completely broken!" he said, his fingers delicately tracing over the shattered face and twisted hands.

Jon carefully disassembled the watch, revealing a chaotic jumble of broken parts. He sighed, knowing that he should advise the customer. "Personally, I still recommend you to change a watch, because it is so bad that the maintenance fee may not be cheaper than the price of a new watch!" he suggested.

But the man shook his head, his expression resolute. "No need, I don't want to change, the price is not a problem!" he said, his voice firm.

Seeing the man's determination, Jon nodded. "Okay! Leave this watch with me first, and you can pick it up tomorrow!" he said, placing the watch in a drawer for safekeeping.

After the man left, Jon turned his attention back to the watch. He studied it for a moment, his fingers tracing over the broken parts. When he was sure that no one was in the shop, he placed the watch on the table and took out his wand.

"Reparo!" he whispered, a blue light flashing from the tip of his wand. The watch instantly transformed, its shattered face smoothing out and the twisted hands straightening. Jon placed the now repaired watch back in the drawer, a satisfied smile on his face. Now, all he had to do was wait for the man to return the next day.

***

The following month unfolded in a rhythm of routine and tranquility. Jon's repair shop, a haven of craftsmanship and restoration, opened its doors each day to a steady stream of customers. The tinkling bell above the door announced the arrival and departure of patrons, each leaving behind an object that bore the weight of time and use.

Jon's hands, skilled and patient, worked their magic on each item, restoring them to their former glory. The shop hummed with the sound of his work, the clinking of tools and the soft murmur of his incantations filling the air. On average, he earned two to three hundred dollars a day, a modest income that was enough to sustain his simple lifestyle.

However, there was one anomaly in his otherwise predictable routine. The watch that the nondescript man had left for repair a month ago still lay in the drawer, untouched and unclaimed. The man had not returned to pick it up, leaving the watch in Jon's care indefinitely.

Jon, however, was not perturbed by this. The man had paid a deposit, fulfilling his part of the transaction. When he chose to collect his watch was his own business. Jon simply continued his work, the watch serving as a silent reminder of the man's visit.

This ordinary life, marked by the rhythm of repairs and restorations, continued for over a month. Each day was much like the one before, a comforting predictability that Jon had come to appreciate. Today was no different. The shop was quiet, the only sound the ticking of the numerous clocks that lined the walls.

Jon sat at his workbench, his hands busy with the day's repairs. His mind, however, was elsewhere, lost in the intricate dance of gears and springs that made up the inner workings of a watch. He was content in his solitude, the silence of the shop a comforting companion.

As the day drew to a close, Jon looked around his shop with a sense of satisfaction. The counters were clean, the tools neatly arranged, and the repaired items ready for their owners to reclaim them. He glanced at the drawer where the man's watch lay, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Whenever you're ready," he murmured to the silent timepiece, his voice echoing softly in the quiet shop. With that, he turned off the lights and locked the door, leaving the watch and the memories of the day behind. Tomorrow, he knew, would bring a new set of challenges and rewards. But for now, he was content with the rhythm of his ordinary life.

***

The sun had barely risen when Jon Vinson, a man of routine and discipline, began his day. He prepared breakfast, a simple meal of scrambled eggs and toast, and left it on the kitchen table along with a note for his two cousines, Annie and Ayla. The note was a simple reminder to not forget their lunch in the fridge. With that, he grabbed his jacket and headed out to his repair shop.

The repair shop was a quaint little place. And ss he approached the shop, his hand reaching out to unlock the door, he froze. His expression, usually calm and composed, darkened. There, sitting on the steps of his shop, was a middle-aged man dressed in a crisp suit and polished leather shoes. A suitcase lay next to him, its contents unknown.

The man, upon seeing Jon, immediately stood up. His lips curled into a smile, a stark contrast to Jon's grim expression. He extended his hand, a gesture of goodwill, and greeted Jon, "Hello, Mr. Vinson, we meet again!" His voice was smooth, almost charming, but it did nothing to ease Jon's unease. The man was Coulson, a name that he never wanted to hear again..

Jon didn't reciprocate the handshake, instead, he forced a smile onto his face and asked, "How can I help you?" His tone was polite, but the underlying tension was palpable. Ignoring Coulson, he moved past him and unlocked the door to his shop.

Coulson, despite Jon's cold reception, didn't seem fazed. He shook his head, a hint of amusement in his eyes, and followed Jon into the shop. Jon turned around, his annoyance clear as he asked, "Did I invite you inside?"

Coulson, leaning against the counter, replied, "Kicking people out is not a good way to treat guests. You won't do business for long if you do this." His tone was light, almost teasing, but his words held a warning.

Jon scoffed, "Yes! You also know that I do business here, so we only accept customers, not some secret agent!" His words were sharp, a clear indication of his distrust towards Coulson.

Coulson laughed, a sound that echoed in the small shop, "How do you know I'm not a customer?"

Jon raised an eyebrow, "Oh, so you have something for me to fix? I'm sorry, I can't even fix something that a secret agency like yours can't fix, so it's better not to give it a try!"

Coulson's smile didn't falter, "I'm not here to fix things, I'm here to pick them up!" He said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Jon frowned, "Pick up what?"

Coulson's smile widened, "It's a watch, remember?" He reminded, "A month ago, I asked my friend to send it to you!"

Jon's eyes widened in realization. He did remember a middle-aged man dropping off a watch a month ago. He had been suspicious of the watch, given that it had been left unclaimed for a month. He had even disassembled it, checking for any hidden devices or mechanisms. But all he found was an ordinary watch, nothing more.

But now, with Coulson claiming the watch, Jon couldn't help but feel suspicious again. Was there something more to the watch than he had initially thought?

"Ah, I remembered! It turned out to be your watch! I'm sorry because the watch was completely broken, and you didn't come to collect it for a month, so I just threw it away, how about it! My original repair price was...."

Coulson interrupted him, "It's in the drawer to your left!" His voice was confident, almost certain.

Jon was taken aback, "What?"

"Your eye just wandered in that direction, so the watch is in that drawer, right?" Coulson laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Jon's expression hardened, "No, your watch is not in that drawer!" He retorted.

Coulson, unfazed by Jon's denial, stretched his hand across the table, towards the drawer. But before he could reach it, Jon's hand shot out, pressing Coulson's hand onto the table. His voice was low, threatening as he said, "No! Do not! Touch! My Things!"

Coulson, despite the situation, remained calm. He looked at Jon, his expression unchanging as he said, "Wow! Mr. Vinson, as an ordinary young man in this age, your strength is even stronger than that of an agent like me."

Jon smirked, "Well, I do exercises and work out from time to time." He then opened the drawer in front of him, "Since you are sure that your watch is here, see if I have your watch here!" His tone was challenging, a clear indication that he was not going to back down from Coulson.

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A/N: I know this work is still very new, but your opinions matter a lot to my progress, please write a review 🙏.

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(A/N: If you want to see more chapters, go to my Patreon to see more chapters ahead.

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