100% of this story was written by a human being, not an AI. New chapter every Wednesday.

New Mexico, 2099

When he awoke, the sun was already up. Sunlight streamed in through the narrow slits of the blinds, catching motes of dust as they drifted through the air. He was on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The candles he'd set the night before were still burning, scentless and silent. He raised his left arm, put the back of his tanned hand to his forehead, and sighed.

With a soft grunt of exertion he sat up and put his bare feet on the plush red carpet, stained and fraying. He pressed his palm to his forehead, his brows raised, and blew out the nearly-depleted candles. As he slowly shook off the last of the sleep he became aware of the sound of sloshing water, and gentle singing, coming from the bathroom, and he smiled.

He stood and stretched, arching his back and standing on the tips of his toes, his arms raised above his head. After a moment he relaxed, sat down, and lifted the cuffs of his patchwork stone-washed jeans. He grabbed his boots, taped and dusty, and put them on. He straightened his brown plaid button-down shirt and tightened the belt of his pants. On the nightstand was his pistol, a S&W Model 39 in 9mm. He put the pistol in his holster and was about to go to the bathroom himself when the door opened.

He smiled as she stepped out, tying her hair in a ponytail. With her freckled arms raised her pink T-shirt didn't quite cover her stomach, giving him a view of the tanned white skin underneath. Her black pants went down only to the end of her calves, leaving her ankles exposed. Or they would've been, had she been barefoot. Instead she was wearing her shoes; red canvas high-tops. She finished putting her black hair up, saw that he was awake, and beamed, a gap between her upper teeth.

"Good morning, princess," he said, and her smile faded. She put her hands on her hips and looked at him mock-sternly, her attempted expression of scorn looking more like a pout.

"Daddy, it's nearly noon! You always sleep in too late," she said. She was right, of course, but he couldn't exactly be blamed for that. He approached her with a smile and put a hand on her shoulder, and she grabbed his wrist, looking up at him with her chin on his chest, her gray eyes dull from the dim light. He put his other hand on her back and gently stroked up and down. At age 11 she was eye-level with his chest, but quickly approaching his height. He swore she grew an inch a day.

"You're the one who likes to stay up so late, princess," he said, and her smile returned. She broke from his grasp and walked to her side of the bed, rooting through the nightstand's drawer. Her pants clung tightly to her body, the small of her back visible above the waistline. She pulled out her pistol, a Colt 1903 Pocket Hammerless, in .32 ACP, and put it in her pocket. By the bedside was her rifle, an M1 Carbine. She slipped the rifle's sling over her head and turned around to face him.

"SO," she said, "what are we gonna do today?"

He walked over to the door of the hotel room. He put on his desert cloak, shemagh, and picked up his shotgun, an M1987 Winchester. He slipped the trench gun into the holster on his back and his daughter approached him.

He never imagined that one day he'd be a father to such a lovely and precious little girl, even considering how it had come to be, but here he was. He was her guardian and teacher, her protector and healer. He looked out for her, and in turn she even kept an eye on his back. The .32 and the carbine were about all she could handle, but she was good with them. Had saved his butt more than once, that was for sure.

Alexander Jackson popped open the hotel door and stepped out into the bright desert sun, his daughter right behind him. She followed him downstairs to the carpark out front, the sheet metal awning full of holes that allowed beams of sunlight to shine down into the shade. He mounted the red Chryslus Lone Wanderer motorcycle parked under the awning, his daughter climbing into the sidecar next to him. Three-quarters of the sidecar's seat was covered by a plexiglass dome, shielding her from the desert dust and sand. The last quarter, on the left, was open, allowing them to speak to each other while they were on the road. She looked up at him with bright blue eyes, filled with wonder and adventure. And with love.

As he started the motorcycle's engine he pulled on his darkened goggles, to shield himself from both the sand and the sun, and smiled at her. "Let's just see where the day takes us, Penelope."

His daughter smiled back at him, and they took off into the wide expanse of the desert beneath a cloudless sky of blue.