The Thirty-Fifth Day of Dark: 10:00 AM: LOG 0034
It's not as if you can just waltz back to the Tin Can the way you came. There's you, with your goddamned face on wanted posters everywhere, and John, the escaped convict. The entire planet is literally trying to find you, and that doesn't bode well for using massive public transport. Thus, it seems that you either have to whip up some masterful disguise, which would be difficult to do with Dave, or you could take the extremely long and fucking annoying route back to Dave's place. Considering how hard it is to disguise a goddamned tank of a wheelchair, the unanimous decision is to go back the long way.
All of this is why you find yourself sitting in a cramped little manual-drive car. One shoulder bounces off of the door, and the other shoulder bounces off of Dave. The taxi driver, meanwhile, whistles blissfully as he speeds over every massive bump and considerable dip in the road.
"You two seem like respectable folk. Seems strange that you'd be coming from this side of town. The folk up here ain't all that kind," the driver takes a break from whistling to address you and Dave.
You, meanwhile, stifle a rising sense of guilt. Yeah. You, a killer-for-hire, a nice guy? In a million fucking years.
Dave, of course, have no such qualms about his morals. He offers an immediate answer and a smirk. "We're not locals. We're going back to the lower side of Skaia."
"Well, you all have a long way to go." The taxi driver sighs as the car slows to a stop. The door slides open, and you begin to undo the convoluted array of straps holding Dave's chair in place. "Hope you two have a nice, safe journey."
"We will," Dave hums. He makes a few attempts at helping you, but he's too high up to really get a hold on any of the straps.
Not that it matters. By now, you've managed to get him freed. You push Dave out of the car and onto the cracked country sidewalk. "Where the fuck are we?" you hiss into his ear.
He swats you aside. "I have a friend out here. She's going to pick us up here and we'll stay with her for a few days." He offers a wry smile as he folds his left arm across his chest. Perhaps unconsciously, his right arm falls across his lap. "I've told you about her. She taught me how to shoot. I'm sure you'll love her."
Meanwhile, John stumbles from his spot, having been jammed into the trunk of the car. Once he's out, the taxi driver waves. The vehicle departs.
John offers another of his stupid smiles. If you had to be honest, you'd say that those smiles are somewhat charming. "She's my cousin."
"I'm not sure how comfortable I am staying with a sharpshooter," you admit, rubbing the back of your neck. "I mean... I never liked guns and shit, but..."
"She's harmless as long as you're on her good side," Dave laughs. "I promise."
Soon after Dave's finished speaking, a tiny, lime green car comes rattling down the dirt road. The dust being kicked up behind is dispersed against the bottom of a hastily thrown-together wheelchair-sized trailer.
The Thirty-Fifth Day of Dark: 11:00 AM: LOG 0035
"I don't appreciate being thrown in the back like a slab of fucking rotten beef," Dave's voice buzzes over a makeshift intercoms system.
From up front, Jade laughs. "Well, it's better than John's idea of making you drive all the way to my house."
"I can't. The battery's dead. You're all insensitive teabags." You can picture Dave's expression as he says this—lips turned downwards into a pout, brows furrowed. It's almost frightening that you know him well enough to do that. You've never known anyone that well until now. And, against all of your training, you like it. You like the feeling of familiarity, something you've never had before.
You love the friendly bickering. The sense of having a place where you belong. In fact, you believe there's a name for that. Humans have a name for this—family. You have a family now, and it's oddly nice to have one.
Maybe you will renounce your life of murder and wayward wandering. Just maybe...