Three minutes later, a police cruiser received a message from the dispatch center.
"Going double the speed limit? Are they trying to get themselves killed?!"
The two cops tossed aside their half-eaten pizza, slammed on the gas, and barreled onto the highway. Don’t be fooled by the beat-up look of their cruiser—its engine was a beast. The officers sped off, all fired up, and soon spotted the wildly speeding SUV hassling some poor old RV. And inside that SUV? Smoke so thick you’d need a shovel to dig through—anyone with half a brain could tell those big, fat joints were trouble.
"SUV up ahead, pull over for inspection! SUV up ahead—still trying to run? You’ve got some nerve! I swear, I’ll take you down today!"
The police car screeched with its siren blaring, chasing the panicked SUV until both vehicles vanished in a blur of speed. As for that old RV? Jill Young just whistled and cruised along at her own pace, knowing the situation was pretty much settled.
Well, not quite. There’s still one thing left: mocking and humiliating the losers!
Another fifteen minutes passed before the RV finally spotted three police cars boxing in the SUV on the roadside. The cruisers circled the SUV like bandits on a hunt, kicking up clouds of dust that blinded the SUV’s occupants. When the SUV was finally forced to halt, a swarm of burly cops jumped out, dragging the four young punks to the ground.
Some got the classic tackle-and-throw treatment, dumped right into the dirt. Others had their arms twisted behind their backs and pressed onto the scorching hood. Even the two wild, crazy girls didn’t get off easy—they all got a taste of rough justice.
Screech—the RV pulled up nearby, and Jill Young and Dream Monroe poked their heads out the window.
"Yoo-hoo~~" Jill waved at them, watching as the four were marched off to the cruisers. "Bye-bye now!"
“FUCK-YOU!!” The kid with a bull ring in his nose broke free, wild-eyed, and flipped us off with a double middle finger: “FUCK-YOU-ALL!”
“Looking for trouble, huh? Fine!” Jill Young shot up both middle fingers: “Two against one, I’m totally bullying you! Got three more to show off?”
To her surprise, the punks actually did whip out three more fingers. Four of them, every last one united in flipping us off. Even with their hands tied behind their backs, they twisted their butts just to show us their middle fingers.
“Oh, come on! We’re really doing this?” Jill kicked back in her seat, stuck both arms and legs out the window, flipping off with both hands and both feet: “I’m just that flexible! I can pull off this high-difficulty move—one against four! Still not enough fingers, Dream, kick off your shoes and lend a hand—or a foot?”
“Who’s your darling!” Dream Monroe finally snapped, veins popping on her forehead as she barked the hottest line since she came into existence: “Why are we wasting time with these losers? Just drive, now!”
“Alright, alright, we’re going, we’re going.” Jill tucked in her limbs and the old RV rolled on, back to the long, winding road. This time, though, the driver’s cabin fell into a weird silence. Jill and Dream both stared off, lost in thought.
After a long pause, Jill squinted and said coolly, “Did you just call them... ‘losers’?”
“Aaaah!” Dream slapped her own face, instantly regretting her outburst. Now that Jill had called her out, she was mortified, cheeks burning. Flustered, Dream huffed, “You talk too much! Just drive!”
“Whoa, talk about a sudden vibe shift! You trying to cosplay the OG King of Bling, Golden Sparkle? With your Star Crystal magic, a few tweaks and you could totally recreate the Gate of Babylon—wait, hang on, with that giant bow you’re always lugging around, you’re basically an Archer!”
“You hopeless nerd, can’t you just act like a normal shut-in and keep your social anxiety to yourself for once?!”
Just goes to show, it takes three years to learn good habits, three days to pick up bad ones. Our once-perfect, graceful goddess... sigh.
Joking and bantering all the way, they drove onward. The sun crossed from east to west, its heat fading into twilight. The highway cut through the wilderness, crossed rivers, skirted the Rockies, rolling alongside those towering mountains.
By evening, Jill stopped at a gas station to refuel. After a quick chat with the attendant, she returned with an armful of snacks and shut the door behind her. “It’s getting late. Let’s find somewhere to crash for the night.”
“Do we actually need a motel?” Physically, neither of them could possibly get tired from driving. And the RV was fully equipped for sleeping. But Dream wasn’t dumb—she thought for a second, then said, “Wouldn’t driving all night make us stand out?”
Jill nodded, firing up the engine. “Normally wouldn’t matter, but the whole world’s in chaos right now. America’s leaders aren’t idiots—they know this is a critical moment. With the way things are, it’s no surprise if trouble comes knocking. Special times, special rules. Even the four punks from earlier got wrecked just for speeding.”
“Hmm...” Dream nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”
“We’re close to our destination, so no need to rush. You know what they say—ninety percent of the journey happens in the last ten miles. Now’s the time to play it cool. C’mon, let’s go check out a roadside motel!”
Two hours later, night had fallen. The old RV rolled into a neon-lit roadside motel, easy to spot from the highway. Jill parked, kicked down all six support pillars under the cargo bay, and made sure everything was secure. Then she swaggered into the motel like she owned the place.
Inside, she found out this motel was famous—but not for quality service or fancy amenities. Nope, it was because of the legendary, co-owned, high-standard, high-quality strip club next door... Every long-haul trucker (and wannabe trucker) passing through loved to stop in, blow off some steam, and relax. The club’s reputation made the motel a hotspot, too.
What? Illegal?
In the United States—note, it’s the United States—every state’s got its own laws. Strip club rules vary depending on the state, mostly about stuff like “Can you sell booze?” “Can you go fully nude?” (Even if full nudity isn’t allowed, topless is usually fine.) “Can dancers sit on customers’ laps and grind?” “Can you touch?” “Can customers stuff cash into... places?” You get the idea. Bottom line: it’s all pretty much legal.
And here in New Mexico, the laws are even looser.
Here, folks of every color and background mix together. It’s poorer and rougher than most of America, and the crime rate’s higher, too. Out in the desert, there’s not much in the way of real industry, but the wild vibe still hangs on.
When Jill first checked out New Mexico, she slapped her thigh and decided—if she ever had to pick a spot, she’d build her lab right here. First, it’s easy to throw up an illegal building on the empty plains. Second, you can always find a few drifters for human experiments—who’s gonna notice if a couple of random migrants go missing?
So, of course the little strip club was a GO, GO, GO business.
At night, neon lights flashed like crazy. The soundproof walls kept the wild noise down to a dull roar, so the neighbors could sleep. But for folks with extra-sensitive ears, those sneaky sounds drifting in on the wind were more than enough to make their eyebrows twitch.
“Aren’t you gonna check it out?” Dream was so annoyed by the dirty noise, she snapped at Jill: “Aren’t you all about pretty girls? You picked this place on purpose, didn’t you!” The racket reminded her of that time Jill took a boatload of girls out for a wild party at sea. Instantly, her tone soured.
Jill checked the room front to back, replying offhand: “Please, this place isn’t worth my time.”
“Oh, so you’ve seen better, huh?” All that talk about staying undercover and blending in—almost had me fooled. Bottom line? I’m not happy, and I’m about to throw a fit!
“Of course! Back in the day, my Fox Sisters ran all of Queen’s District, and those girls were real supermodels—angel faces, killer bodies, and serious dance skills. This little dive? Not even close to what a dark queen like me deserves.” Jill finished her inspection, clapped her hands: “OK, all good. SAFE~”
“What?!” Dream was about to explode: “You’ve actually been to one? You—you—you’re a woman! Why would you go to a place like that?”
“It’s called appreciating art, broadening your horizons. Seriously, quit sweating the small stuff. Come on,” Jill pointed at the bathroom, “we’ve been on the road all day. Time for a shower.”
“Not happening!” Dream huffed and turned away, still grumpy. Plus, maybe thanks to the club’s ‘joint business model,’ the motel owner had built the bathroom out of frosted glass—half-transparent, half-not. Just imagining the scene made Dream dizzy. No way was she stripping down in there.
“No shower? You’re such a little gremlin.”
“You’re so annoying!” Dream flashed a spell, a ripple of energy washing over her: “I’ve got Star Crystal Cleanse, I don’t need a shower!”
“Fine, fine, you skip it, I’ll go.” Jill kicked off her shoes, shrugged off her jacket, and headed for the bathroom. “It’s not like I’m covered in dust, but a nice hot shower? So relaxing—what’s with all the drama?”
“Aaaah! How are you so chill about this?” Dream panicked, face burning, and bolted for the door: “I’m going out for a walk!”