Chapter Text
The incessant noise of the engine stops when the criminal turns the ignition key to the left side, then takes the object out and puts it in the pocket of his bell-bottom pants. He got off the back of the machine and climbed the dirty, careless stairs to unlock the red door that was already slowly losing its paint.
The wood creaked as he entered the environment of his new temporary home, with a half-assed organization due to the lack of time he had. The television was placed in the left corner of the tiny living room, the door to his messy bedroom was wide open, showing the internal mess he was in, the dining room was just a mediocre round table next to the kitchen, with the bottles of alcohol almost empty gathering dust, as no mouth wanted to drink what she offered.
In one of the portraits located in the room, a photo of his face on the wanted poster had a big smile while a government base went up in flames with his name in bold, italicized letters with the words:
JACK SULLIVAN
THREAT TO THE NATION AND THE GOVERNMENT
DEAD OR ALIVE
100 thousand for the soul that brings him to justice!
However, all the appearance of pride and accomplishment was replaced by the exhaustion of being the head of the group of rebels that formed after declaring themselves enemies of the government. The reason he was so hated to the point where they rewarded him for his death is that Jack knew that the governor, Rezzoch, was a dictator who lied every day on national television, doing brainwashing and hypnosis to ensure that the people didn't revolt against him. , leaving all hegemony in his hands and that of his generals. He didn't know how he managed to come out of the trance, but he knew that at some point, his mind remembered the coup d'état and technology being replaced by steam engines, except television - to spread his lies to the four winds of the country.
Jack took the key out of his pocket and threw it against the dining table, sending a jolt of pain across his scarred skin. His mechanical arm was smoking due to the pressure of his sudden movement, he just turned a valve and the noise stopped. The memories of his former friend and general - Thrull - cutting off his arm without flinching and with a maniacal, bloodthirsty grin on the day he declared himself an enemy of the system were still heavy on him, and he only had a replacement arm because of his best friend - Quint Baker - in one last favor done to him. The other two friends who belonged to the quartet - Dirk Savage and June Del Toro - gave him supplies, before the group split up for good, out of fear that their families would pay for Sullivan's crimes.
The dark-haired man missed his friends. Quint became the county's greatest inventor and scientist, being praised by critics and being interviewed on popular TV shows. He seemed so happy that his dream was being fulfilled in a matter of mere weeks.
Dirk invested in his boxing business and soon became the strongest and most feared professional fighter in the city's ring, being considered a celebrity of the century, as well as being one of the best bounty hunters in the state. He's probably looking for him to earn the reward money.
And June… well, her passion for journalism took her to great heights. She was called by the Great Horn to investigate Jack's life story and publish it in the newspaper and sometimes appeared on television as a reporter. However, she was a private detective with intentions of finding him to talk about the current situation.
He would guarantee that none of them would find him.
He sighed heavily, staring at the record player that was on top of her Star Wars and Dune books, relics of an abandoned library that she had gone rummaging through. He looked down at the countless records that were separated by style and decided that listening to music while cooking dinner wasn't a bad idea.
Crouched down, taking the red hat off her head, putting it on his back to help him decide which record to play.
Maybe some rock music? No, He wasn't in the mood for that. A pop? It wasn't the best of options. An indie? Interestingly, however, she didn't find Tv Girl vinyl records to take home.
With the decision made, Jack put on the best old jazz and headed to the kitchen, where she grabbed the ingredients needed to make her humble dinner—which would be scrambled eggs with bacon and hot scrambled eggs. He sang Ray Charles' song, finally feeling well in weeks after a lot of bureaucracy, headaches and harassment from his allies. I mean, he liked the consideration of his friends who sympathized with his proposed ideas, but he wanted space sometimes, it became suffocating.
He was so engrossed in the recipe that he only noticed something was happening when the music changed to a totally different style, as if it were from some old movie he had seen in his childhood.
“That's weird, I fixed the record player.”, he murmured, going to the living room to investigate the noise.
When he arrived, he froze in place, unable to move a muscle to confront the invader. A woman with a medium build held the vinyl cover with her hands, increasing the volume of the song Take my Breath Away to give the room acoustics that made the tension that was being installed palpable. The open window blew the desert wind in and still Jack felt his skin crawl. The blue hat, the brown fringe, the same serious and closed features, the worn-out short bell-bottom pants, the orange-tipped spear with a moon keychain and the pen that appeared shyly in his pocket revealed who his visitor was - the intruder.
“Good night, Sullivan”, June Del Toro greeted, with a harsh tone. “It's time for us to have a decent conversation”.