Mordred and I stepped through the gate, and with another tap on the TemPad, it closed. "Sure is warm here, isn't it?" I couldn't help but commend myself while putting the device in my pocket.
"Heh, I bet you wished you dressed more like me, don't you?" Mordred said with a cocky grin on her face.
One I quickly wiped off.
"Sure, if you don't mind, every man we come across starts drooling over me."
Mordred could be rather protective of me. And as expected, the smile instantly turned sour as she pictured it, and she didn't like what she saw. "No way, they aren't worthy of you!"
"Well, let's see where we are, shall we?" I said because, honestly, I had no idea, we were in the middle of a damned desert because teleporting using technology you don't understand is hard.
Mordred squinted at the blazing sun, wiping imaginary sweat from her brow. "Okay, fair, this heat is brutal. Even I'm regretting not bringing sunglasses."
I looked around, shielding my eyes with one hand. We stood at the edge of a two-lane road stretching endlessly in both directions, the kind of place where mirages danced and civilization felt like a myth. In the distance: a skyline of towers.
"I guess we go there."
"Sure, let's just walk into the nearest mirage," Mordred grumbled, but she started walking anyway, kicking dust with her boots. "Next time, I'm picking the destination."
"Sure, as long as you find and read the manual." I muttered as I followed her.
She just snorted. Because yeah, she wouldn't reading it, and she wasn't going to find it.
"Do keep your wits about you; we could be attacked. This is the first time I have left Camelot since building it, so any enemy that has watched might think this is an opportunity." I warned her.
I didn't think it was likely, but better safe than sorry.
"Pfft. Let them try," Mordred said, stretching her arms behind her head. "It'll give me an excuse to punch something."
"You mean aside from the sun?" I asked, glancing at her sweat-dampened brow.
"Yeah, well, the sun doesn't bleed," she grumbled, then kicked a rock into the sand. "But this is still awesome. First time in the modern world with you." She shot me a side grin, one of those rare, honest ones. "Kinda feels like a quest."
"A quest through asphalt and dehydration," I muttered.
"Hey, all the best ones start in the middle of nowhere," she said. "Besides, I always wanted to do something like this. You and me. Out in the world. No throne. No titles. Just… us."
I blinked, caught off guard by her sincerity.
"You're… unusually sentimental today," I said softly.
"Don't get used to it." She cleared her throat and quickened her pace, clearly embarrassed. "Also, if we're doing the whole 'normal people' thing, we should get snacks. I hear road trips are supposed to involve snacks."
"And where do you suppose we'll get those?" I raised a brow. "We are surrounded by heat and sand."
"Then it's a bad road trip," Mordred replied. "Fix it, oh wise teleporting father."
"I did just say I barely understand how the device works."
"Which is why next time, I get to press the buttons."
"And teleport us into a volcano?"
"It'd be cool—briefly."
I sighed, but I couldn't help the smile tugging at my lips. "You are impossible."
"And you love me for it."
"I tolerate it."
"Same thing."
We walked for a while in silence, just the two of us and the hiss of cicadas. The city was still far, but the towers were clearer now. The shimmer of glass and steel in the distance hinted at life, noise, and opportunity.
Goddess, I might be, but the sun sure was annoying, and here I was, wearing a black suit. It was fortunate that, although I might joke about dehydration, I couldn't suffer from it; Mordred, however… I suppose that was fine too.
Endurance A and all that.
At least I couldn't sweat, well I could, if I wanted to, but why in the world would I? So no, thankfully, I was spared that discomfort.
We walked in silence a while longer, the heat rising from the pavement in lazy waves.
Then came the sound.
An engine. Low, rumbling. Approaching from behind.
I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see an old convertible roll up beside us—red, sun-faded, and filled with too many people for the seats it claimed to have. Four young men, all sunglasses, tank tops, and far too much cologne.
"Hey there, ladies!" the driver called, grinning far too wide. "Need a lift?"
One of the passengers leaned forward from the back, elbow resting on the door. "You lost? 'Cause we'd be happy to give you a ride. Anywhere you want."
Another let out a sharp whistle. "Damn, tall one's got legs for days."
Mordred stopped walking.
So did I.
The car slowed to match our pace.
"C'mon, don't be shy! We've got AC, cold drinks, and the best company this side of Vegas."
Mordred turned her head slightly. "Do I look like I need your company?"
The backseat one leaned out farther, smirking. "I mean… we wouldn't mind your company, sweetheart. Especially you, suit lady. Power look. Real nice."
There was a long pause.
"Father," Mordred said, in that dangerously calm tone she used only when someone was about to learn a lesson the hard way. "Can I kill them?"
"No," I said mildly.
"Just one of them?"
"No."
She exhaled through her nose. "Fine. Can I scare them?"
"Not yet." I whispered before addressing the men. "I'm afraid you don't have room for us."
The driver blinked, confused. "We got plenty of room, babe. You can even sit in my lap if it's tight."
Mordred took a step forward.
The air around her didn't move, exactly—but it changed.
A shift in pressure. Like the moment before a thunderclap.
"I wouldn't recommend that," I added, voice level.
But they weren't listening. They never did.
The one in the back reached for a phone, clearly thinking himself clever. "You models or something? I gotta get this—"
Mordred moved.
-----
Constable Rickard Matheson adjusted his hat and stepped back from the open driver-side door. He rubbed his temples and let out a long breath.
In the passenger seat, lying on the floor mat where it had been half-wrapped in a gym hoodie, was the gun.
Black. Compact. Loaded.
Not registered, of course. Nothing was, anymore.
The kid in the driver's seat only twenty-one. Shaved sides, track jacket, face a little too sharp for his age. Sweat clung to his temples. His fingers tapped rapid-fire on the wheel—not nervous like prey, but twitchy like someone used to being cornered.
"I wasn't gonna use it," he said, defensive before Rickard even asked. "It's just for show. For… safety."
"Safety," Rickard echoed, voice flat. "That's what your mates told you?"
The kid's mouth snapped shut.
Rickard exhaled, crouching slightly. His back ached—forty-seven years old and this was still his beat. Still his life.
"You know what this is?" he asked quietly.
"A traffic stop?" the kid offered, but it was hollow.
Rickard shook his head. "No. This is a death sentence. That gun in your footwell? That's rope around your neck."
"I'm not some lunatic," the kid snapped. "I'm not out there shooting people."
"No. You're just the one who gets caught holding the thing when the law kicks the door down."
Rickard leaned in closer. "You're in a crew, yeah? Running small-time stuff—weed, pills, maybe a few hard bags, nothing major. Turf fights. 'Respect.' That sound about right?"
The kid stayed silent.
"You're not a murderer yet," Rickard said. "But if I log this gun, your name goes in the system. And under the new law, unlawful possession of a firearm? That's it. You're done. Doesn't matter if you pulled the trigger or not."
The kid looked away. "It was for protection. That's all. Other crews been sniffing around."
Rickard nodded slowly.
"Which crew?"
The silence stretched.
Then—
"Red Kings," he muttered. "Southside lot. They gave it to me a week ago. Said if the Tigers rolled up, I better not freeze."
Rickard didn't show it, but inside he winced.
Red Kings were small, but brutal. The kind who loved to throw kids like this at problems and let the courts clean up the mess.
"Names?" Rickard said.
The kid hesitated.
"I ain't a rat."
"No," Rickard said. "You're a kid. A dumb one, but a kid. Which is why I'm offering."
He looked him dead in the eye.
"You give me names. I log this weapon as found by the roadside, rusted and dumped. You walk away. Go home. Try again."
"And if I don't?"
"I take the gun in. I take you in. And I hand you over to a tribunal. And in twenty-four hours, you're a warning poster."
The kid swallowed hard. His bravado was already cracked. Now it crumbled.
"Liam Pearce," he whispered. "He handed it over. Said I needed to stop looking soft in the crew. Said I'd thank him later."
Rickard wrote it down.
"You will thank me," he said. "One day. When you're still breathing."
He walked back to his cruiser, opened the evidence box in the trunk, and dropped the weapon inside.
It would disappear tonight.
Just another quiet mercy in a country with no more middle ground.
-----
The wind howled past us as the convertible sped down the highway, top down, sun blazing, engine rattling slightly as it struggled to handle Mordred's enthusiastic driving.
She had one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually over the top of the door, grinning like a cat that had just knocked over an entire shelf.
"You're enjoying this far too much," I said.
"I'm enjoying justice," Mordred replied.
I gave her a sidelong look. "Justice doesn't involve breaking a man's wrist, denting his car door, and then stealing said car."
"It's not stealing," she said, shrugging. "I'm just… borrowing it, they weren't using it.
"You knocked them unconscious."
"And you didn't stop me.
"You also took their wallets."
"That was insurance."
"Mordred."
"What? One of them had $213 in cash. I call that a sign from the gods."
"You mugged them."
"I taxed them. There's a difference. They're lucky I didn't take their shoes."
I sighed and leaned back against the cracked leather seat. The desert wind whipped through my braid, and the smell of dust and hot asphalt filled the air.
"They're going to call the police."
"So?"
"So, I'd rather not get into a car chase our first hour in America."
She grinned. "First? So we going back later?"
"Well." I said. "We can't do that if we get caught in a stolen car."
"It's fine. It will take them hours to walk to town, we will be long gone by then."
"Fine, fine, just don't crash." I said as I went back to counting the money she had taxed from those poor fools.
The highway stretched endlessly ahead of us, heat rising in waves off the tarmac. With Mordred at the wheel and a wad of stolen—or rather, "taxed"—cash tucked into my inner pocket, we were making good time.
Too good, really.
I glanced down at the speedometer.
"Mordred."
"What?"
"You're going 102."
"Which, according to the metric system, is like... not that fast."
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Fine… how fast can we go?"
She grinned wide and shameless. "Now you are talking my language!"
With my approval, Mordred floored it, and the car almost flew down the road. Pushing it to its limit. Billboards, gas stations, and the occasional monstrous roadside sculpture flashed past us as we neared the city of sin.
Las Vegas.
Loud. Flashing. Alive.
Towers of light reached toward the sky, glittering with temptation. Giant LED screens rolled ads for shows, casinos, and questionable magic acts. Everything screamed excess and confidence.
Mordred let out a whistle. "Now that's more like it."
"Mordred, take us to whatever Casino you want, we need to multiply the money you… found."
Mordred grinned, already scanning the skyline like a kid let loose in a candy store.
"Ooh, that one!" she said, pointing to a towering building wrapped in faux-gold plating with a massive neon dragon curling around its sides. "That one looks like it might explode at any second."
"Excellent. That's exactly what I want in a financial institution," I said dryly.
"It's got a giant dice fountain! Look!" Mordred leaned across the wheel to gesture like a maniac.
I let out a sigh that had far too much fondness in it.
"Fine. It's my fault for suggesting we pick our destination; just let me handle the playing." I said, almost as if I were praying that she would listen.
"Damn right it is." She cheered, already veering toward the valet lane with reckless glee.
The car screeched into place, prompting a pair of attendants to step back on instinct. One of them blinked at us like we'd just descended from Olympus.
They weren't far off.
I stepped out first, heels clicking on marble, suit immaculate despite the desert dust. Mordred swung her legs out next, all red leather, denim, and attitude.
Together, we walked into the casino, side by side.
(End of chapter)
There we are, on an adventure, a little look at some of the situations back in Albion. the laws there aren't merciful. they might be changed, but if you break them, punishment is a lot harsher, death is cheap now, but life is expensive. someone fuck you over? rob you, rape you? they are done for. as long as you do nothing wrong, you are fine, if you do something bad? you are dead, that is the kind of place it is now.