If you see the word "car" and start picturing a glamorous scene with "two beauties in a convertible supercar," then you couldn't be more wrong. Sure, Jill Young usually prefers tearing down the road in a sports car, but this time, after listening to her dad's earnest advice, she figured he actually had a point. So, she switched things up and decided to try something different.
"Vroom—vroom—" Amid the deep, hefty blare of the horn, a not-quite-new, not-quite-old RV cruised across the endless plain.
This RV wasn’t some fancy brand name, but a custom-modified ride. It started life as a twelve-and-a-half-meter cargo truck—its battered metal shell now completely transformed. A window carved out here, a door cut out there. Drill a hole in the roof for an antenna, and voilà, it looks every bit the classic jalopy.
Whoever built this thing—who knows what kind of mad genius it was, or how many laws they broke in the process—ended up with a jalopy that fits perfectly with the desert, the endless highway, and the orange-red Rockies on the horizon. The whole vibe screams Wild West, with a dash of burning rubber thrown in for good measure.
It’s December, officially winter, but down here in New Mexico, it’s still blazing hot. In the driver’s seat, Jill Young sports a tank top and cutoff denim shorts, showing off her pale, energetic arms and legs. She’s got a pair of flip-flops on, sitting like a seasoned trucker, expertly wrangling the oversized steering wheel.
The car stereo blasts energetic road trip music, and the custom speakers pack a serious punch. The horn lever, retrofitted to hang straight down from the roof like an old steam train, is a real showstopper. Lift your left hand, give it a yank, and—"Vroom!"—the deep, booming sound rolls out across the whole plain.
"This horn lever is awesome! Way cooler than just honking the steering wheel!" Jill Young raved. "Who even built this thing? Genius!" Used to sports cars, she found the old jalopy surprisingly fun after giving it a spin.
With the most authentic tunes blasting and her slang on point, Jill Young really looked the part of a wild American farm girl raised on a Texas ranch. Even when the bumpy road bounced her out of her seat, she had the swagger of someone riding a galloping horse.
Duang! Duang!
Jill slapped the back wall of the cab with her right hand, making a window-sized metal plate rattle loudly. With a clatter, the plate slid open, and Dream Monroe shouted, "Quit bugging me!" before slamming the plate shut and locking it again.
Ever since Jill Young laid hands on this old jalopy, it was like someone flipped a secret switch—she instantly went full party mode. She was wild and hyper all the way, driving Dream Monroe absolutely nuts, forcing her to retreat to the cargo box for some desperate meditation. Sometimes Dream wondered, was coming to America with this maniac really the right move? The trip’s barely started and I already feel half dead!
Duang! Duang!
Another two slaps.
Dream Monroe yanked open the panel, her face full of fury: "What exactly are you trying to do?!"
"Why are you still meditating? Real spiritual breakthroughs come after wild adventures, not from sitting around bored! Come on, I brought you out here for a reason—let’s enjoy the freedom of a real road trip!" Jill Young patted the passenger seat enthusiastically.
Wait, aren’t we supposed to be investigating the Zade House’s secret lab? Are you getting way too into this road trip thing?!
Even though she wanted to complain, Dream Monroe just sighed and crawled through the window into the passenger seat. Jill had a point—just sitting around only works for beginners. The deeper your skills, the more you need real-world experience. Only when you truly transcend do you escape the cycle.
Plus—Jill’s acting totally nuts right now! With her around, meditating is impossible, so I might as well enjoy the view.
New Mexico’s landscape is rugged and wild. Gravel and stones stretch across the plains, dotted with giant column cacti. The wind blows, rolling up tumbleweeds that rumble across the desert—a rare and striking sight.
Just then, Jill’s eyes sparkled—she spotted something up ahead. "Hey, isn’t that those dumb punks?"
Not long ago at a roadside gas station, Jill Young had just finished fueling up when she ran into a pack of little punks. There were a couple of guys and girls out cruising, two of each, black and white, making a scene for no reason. Out of nowhere, they started mocking her old jalopy—gesturing, laughing, swinging their car’s rear around in circles, then peeling out and vanishing.
Dream Monroe was left totally baffled. We don’t even know these people—why go straight to mocking us?
But after a tour through Steelbull City, Queen of Eternal Night wasn’t fazed—she’d seen every kind of weirdo. She sniffed the air and got it instantly: "Those twenty-something idiots just did drugs. No wonder they’re acting crazy."
New Mexico sits at the southern edge of the US, and just a little further south is Colombia—the infamous drug paradise. Every day, countless drug lords try to sneak their stash across the border, and New Mexico, right next to Mexico, is their wildest playground.
Homeless folks, illegal immigrants, rampant drugs and guns, and filthy air hang over New Mexico—no wonder Jill gets hyped just setting foot here! A few coked-up kids howling in the street? In Steelbull City, the morning trash truck is packed with their kind.
Thanks to their speed, those young punks had vanished down the road. But for some reason, they’d stopped by the roadside. Dream Monroe squinted, cheeks flushing, giving a little 'tsk'—equal parts disdain and embarrassment.
Look at that car’s rear end—bouncing up and down. If that’s not a car hookup, what is?
Man, that’s some serious shaking—no wonder the wind’s carrying nonstop noises over here. But—Jill’s eyes flashed coldly, and Dream Monroe instantly got suspicious: "What are you planning?"
Jill turned her head and pointed straight ahead: "Isn’t this the perfect chance for payback?"
"Huh?!" Dream Monroe’s eyes went wide. "Payback? Is that really a spy’s job? Spies are supposed to keep a low profile!"
Don’t pretend you don’t want to.
Dream Monroe wasn’t one to lie, so she kept quiet. Honestly, those punks’ crude behavior was seriously annoying. Even a clay Buddha has a temper, let alone a living person.
That’s settled—let’s go! I’m not gonna go out of my way to mess with a bunch of drugged-up idiots, but if fate brings us together, so be it! Ha ha ha ha~~
Screeeech! The sharp, sudden brake tore through the air, making everyone jump.
Bang! The RV’s front end slammed into the SUV’s rear. Thanks to Jill’s expert driving, it wasn’t murder, but the SUV and its four stunned passengers went tumbling off the road.
The dazed youngsters hadn’t recovered yet when Jill yanked the horn lever—VROOM!!! The deafening noise shredded their nerves. Amid their screams, Jill floored it and sped off, laughing.
Rolling down the windows, hot wind whipped through their hair. Dream Monroe stuck her head out and glanced back: "Hey, I still hear screaming from that car. Did we really mess them up?"
Heh heh, you didn’t see it, but the driver was right in the middle of ‘that’—you know, ‘bite,’ like a ‘morning bite’? When I hit their rear, snap, that fake ‘bite’ turned real. Wonder if it broke!
Damn, that was brutal—wonder if the kid got hurt. If so, bless him. If not—"F-UCK! F-UCK!! F-UCK—!!!" Soon, angry shouts came riding the wind. In the rearview mirror, the SUV was raging and chasing after them—guess this is how it goes when nobody’s hurt.
This is getting messier and messier. Dream Monroe sighed, "You got a plan to deal with this?"
Relax! I just found out this RV has a liquid nitrogen booster! Nobody can out-race us—bring it on!" She yanked a random lever, and Dream Monroe felt a surge of power as the RV shot forward.
Hey, that’s not what I meant! Even if we outrun them, this could go on forever—you wanna end up in jail?
What, you think I just wanna race them? Girl, you really don’t get how ruthless people can be. Look closely at the spot we just passed—see that thing glinting in the sun? That’s a hidden speed trap. Those kids are speeding like crazy, and in America, cops don’t just give tickets—they go all out when it’s serious.