If you’d told Harold a month ago he’d be building a miniature Dyson sphere for an entire race of nearly-microscopic entities, he’d have thought you were crazy. This was assuming he were able to figure out what you meant in the first place.
In simplest terms, Harold was, most definitely, not a handy fellow. His makeshift workshop was really more for show than destined to serve any purpose.
When the aliens’ took control of his mind, however, Harold was obliged to do as they required or else. Quite unexpectedly, he became no less a tool than those crowding his garage.
This story was written for the weekly Friday Fictioneers flash fiction prompt based on a photo by Doug MacIlroy.