The pickup truck slowed as its tires touched the city's worn asphalt. Right behind it, Daniel's motorhome matched the pace. Heavy. Stable. A luxury fortress taking up far too much space on a street where time seemed to have stopped and rotted somewhere in the 1970s.
They parked near the sheriff's office, the administrative heart of that dead-end purgatory.
The street was strangely busy for an ordinary morning. People stood in small clusters, arms crossed, heads tilted. Conversations died mid-sentence as soon as the vehicles stopped.
There were too many people outside.
The motorhome drew stares like an industrial magnet.
Some were merely curious, admiring the engineering. Others were wary. And a few were openly hostile.
Daniel stepped out calmly, closing the door with a heavy sound. The sharp clank of armored metal echoed.
The conversations did not stop. They only dropped to a lower murmur.
Ahead, the Matthews family climbed out of the pickup.
Jim went first, his eyes sweeping the area in an automatic threat assessment, the instinct of a cornered father. Tabitha kept Ethan close, her hand firm on her son's shoulder, as if physical contact alone could shield him from the world.
Julie scanned the people around them for a moment longer, then shifted her attention to the motorhome.
Her eyes met Daniel's for a second.
He gave a small nod, casual.
The sheriff's office door opened with a familiar creak. The Sheriff stepped out, wearing the exhausted expression of someone carrying the weight of every gravestone in that town on his back. Beside him, Father Khatri kept his hands in his pockets and his posture pacifying, though his attention was sharp.
Boyd assessed the scene, glanced at the armored giant with reluctant technical admiration, but his expression instantly darkened when his gaze dropped to Daniel's waist.
Daniel had planned this moment.
As he stepped down, he deliberately adjusted his white shirt, tucking one side carelessly into his pants. The grip of the Glock became obscenely visible against the light fabric.
It was an invitation.
A provocation.
A test.
The tension in the air thickened. Some residents edged closer, drawn by the scent of conflict, eager to watch the sheriff put the insolent newcomer in his place. It was the day's macabre entertainment.
The Matthews family watched from the side, spectators to an accident about to happen. Julie bit her lower lip, her brows knit with genuine concern.
Daniel did not move. He did not cover the weapon. He simply waited, feeling the weight of countless stares.
Boyd took three steps forward before stopping. The distance was calculated, professional. Far enough not to threaten. Close enough to assert authority.
"You're armed."
There was no accusation in his voice. Only an unwanted fact.
"I am," Daniel replied, his tone clinical, almost bored. "I have a Florida permit."
[Ah yes, good old bureaucracy. I'm sure the monsters will ask for your paperwork before ripping your throat out.]
The silence grew heavier.
Boyd let the air out slowly through his nose, a low hiss of tested patience.
"We have a rule in this town," the sheriff said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "No one walks around armed."
"I'm not handing over my weapon." The reply was calm, absolute. No room for negotiation.
Boyd's eyes narrowed. "I understand you don't care about rules. That you think you can handle yourself. But this is how things work here. Believe me, it's for everyone's safety. Weapons and fear don't mix well."
Khatri stepped forward, his hands leaving his pockets in a conciliatory gesture.
"Son, listen to Boyd. We live as a community here. Trust is our currency..."
"Let me see if I understand," Daniel cut in, an ironic, razor-sharp smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He turned slightly, including the onlookers in his address. "You want me to give up my only means of defense in a place where smiling things try to kill me every night?"
He paused theatrically.
"That's what you're saying? Just making sure I heard that right."
Some in the crowd laughed nervously. Others simply watched, captivated by the spectacle.
The sheriff pressed his lips into a thin line.
"Even with a gun, you've seen it makes no difference," his voice hardened, each word deliberate. "We shoot them. They keep walking."
He took another step forward.
"If you don't comply, we won't provide you a roof to sleep under."
Daniel looked at him indifferently. He raised his thumb and pointed behind him, at the metal giant gleaming under the morning sun.
"I already have my roof."
Frustration etched itself into every line of Boyd's face. He glanced at the motorhome, then back at Daniel.
"Without a talisman, it means nothing. Armored or not. Tank or not." The sheriff's eyes bored into him. "They get in. And you die."
Boyd did not truly know whether the creatures could breach that specific armor, but he looked around. Saw the frightened faces. Saw his authority being tested in public.
He had to maintain order.
Daniel did not blink. His hand rested loosely at his side, far from the weapon, but his body language screamed readiness.
"Still," he said evenly, "the gun stays with me."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. No one spoke to Boyd like that. Not if they wanted to last long. Daniel's recklessness was palpable, almost offensive.
The sheriff found himself in a dilemma. It had been a long time since someone had been this difficult. What bothered him most was not the defiance, but the calm. As if Daniel were playing chess while he was playing checkers.
More people emerged from the diner, drawn by the commotion, swelling the audience.
Boyd weighed his options. Arrest him? Possible, but it would create more problems. Let it slide? He would lose authority. He needed a compromise.
"Fine," he said, his voice hard as stone. "You don't have to give me the gun. But it stays inside the motorhome. You don't carry it on your waist in my town. Are we clear?"
It was a partial victory, but it saved appearances.
Daniel scanned the crowd. Saw the shocked faces, some impressed, others irritated.
Perfect.
"Fine, then." He raised his hands in mock surrender, without a shred of genuine humility. "You win, Sheriff."
[Problematic and interesting. You annoyed the local alpha. Careful he doesn't bite.]
"Let him try."
Daniel turned and walked to the vehicle to "store" the weapon. As soon as he was inside and out of sight, with a quick thought, the Glock vanished from his waist into the spatial inventory.
"Stored," he muttered to himself, dripping with sarcasm.
Seeing that the sheriff had not confiscated the weapon, Jim visibly stiffened. He leaned toward Tabitha and whispered something in her ear.
Julie reacted differently. When she saw Daniel accept the sheriff's terms, even in his own way, she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She looked at the closed door of the vehicle with admiration. He hadn't bowed his head, but he hadn't started a war either. He had negotiated.
When Daniel stepped back out, clearly unarmed, Boyd nodded and turned to Mike, trying to regain control of the scene.
"Thanks for your help."
"Don't worry, Boyd. That kid there..." Mike jerked his chin toward the motorhome, "...covered the costs. Generously."
Daniel flashed the mechanic a knowing smile.
Boyd frowned, his gaze shifting between Mike and Daniel. Payment? Money meant nothing here. Paper was good only for starting fires or wiping your ass. What had Daniel used to pay Mike?
The confusion was clear on the sheriff's face, new lines forming on his forehead, but exhaustion beat curiosity. He didn't ask. He had bigger problems.
Daniel took the opportunity to look around, genuinely curious, at the people still staring as if he were a zoo exhibit.
"Why is everyone out here?" he asked. "Is it a town holiday?"
The sheriff ignored the irony. "There'll be a meeting at the diner in forty minutes. I want all of you there." His gaze locked onto Daniel, as if to say, 'no funny business'.
Jim reacted immediately, stepping forward protectively. "A meeting about what?"
Boyd held the engineer's stare. "About what happened last night."
The silence that followed was heavy. The mention of the previous night brought the cold back, even under the hot sun.
Daniel absorbed the information. Everyone must be scared, not knowing what happened at the clinic. Fear was the only renewable resource in this place.
"I'll have Father Khatri take you to an empty house." Boyd pointed to a building beside the diner, its paint peeling. "You can leave your things there for now. Settle in. Then come to the meeting."
Khatri stepped forward, already assuming the role of guide, his serene posture contrasting with the sheriff's electric tension.
Tabitha thanked him with a brief nod. Julie stayed quiet, her eyes shifting between her father, the sheriff, and Daniel, who now looked bored. Jim hesitated, then nodded stiffly.
"Let's go," Khatri said gently.
As they passed the motorhome, Mike called out to Daniel. "If you have any trouble with the vehicle, come find me." The mechanic looked at him with respect, something rare to earn so quickly here, before starting the pickup and following the family to the house a few steps away.
Daniel watched the people still staring. He knew he'd planted the seed he wanted. Leaving the gun visible had been calculated.
He'd wanted to see Boyd's reaction, though he hadn't expected such a rule. Still, it worked in his favor.
He needed an action that would shock the town to complete the mission, and what better than challenging the sheriff.
The mission isn't complete yet. But I've got a little over two hours. If challenging the sheriff isn't enough, I'll have to do something more radical.
His stomach growled, a guttural sound breaking his train of thought. The weed he'd smoked earlier was collecting its dues.
He climbed into the vehicle while Boyd still watched from the sheriff's office door. Daniel ignored him.
People began to disperse toward the diner, gossiping about what had happened.
Inside his sanctuary, Daniel headed straight for the fridge. He grabbed a juicy steak—part of the premium stock Kael had left behind. He seasoned it, fired up the stove, and tossed the meat into the pan.
He considered himself a devoted carnivore. He didn't understand vegetarians. The idea of living without meat felt like self-imposed torture.
The sizzle of meat and the smell of melting fat filled the space. Daniel wasn't a chef, but years of exploring forests and trails had taught him how to get by.
As he ate ravenously, the System projected a discreet notification onto his retina.
[Try not to eat like an animal in front of the locals. They don't get much meat, and you've got prime cuts. That breeds... resentment.]
"Screw them," Daniel muttered, wiping the plate clean.
He left the motorhome and headed for the diner. He wanted to see if Kristi was there.
The moment he stepped inside, the ambient noise died again. Heads turned. Forks froze midair.
The news of him challenging Boyd had already spread everywhere.
[You've become a topic of conversation.]
"Apparently."
He spotted Sara working calmly, serving a table with a pleasant smile.
He saw Kenny sitting in the back. Beside him, Jade was slumped over the table, sleeping deeply.
"Rough day?" Daniel asked casually.
"You have no idea," Kenny replied cautiously. "I'll give you this, you've got guts. Or madness. Facing the sheriff like that..." He shook his head. "I see you didn't take my advice about not being impulsive."
"Someone has to keep things interesting," Daniel shrugged. "Is Kristi still at the clinic?"
Kenny instantly straightened, alert. His shoulders tensed.
"Why?"
"She told me this morning to come back and change the bandage." He pointed at his forehead. "Doctor's orders. You don't argue with the doc."
Kenny visibly relaxed, though still guarded. He nodded.
"She's still there. I was... I was about to head over, actually. Bring her some coffee."
"Perfect. I'll give you a ride." Daniel stood. "We'll take my car. It's faster, has AC, and the seat doesn't have Jade's drool on it." He gestured at the table.
Kenny glanced at Jade, then at Daniel.
"All right."
"Sara, can you keep an eye on Jade for us, please?"
The waitress froze mid-motion. She looked at Jade sleeping, his face relaxed, vulnerable.
For a second, something passed behind her eyes. Too dark to read.
Then the smile appeared. Automatic. Perfect.
"Of course, Kenny. I've got it."
[She's hiding something, Captain Obvious.]
Daniel noticed but said nothing.
After giving his thanks, Kenny said goodbye to his mother and left with Daniel.
When he saw the motorhome up close, he whistled softly. His eyes traced the armor and details.
"That's... excessive."
"I call it prevention," Daniel corrected, opening the door.
The drive to the clinic was ridiculously short. Still, it gave Kenny time to take in the interior. He stared at the finishes and dashboard tech with a mix of envy and childlike fascination.
The clinic carried a melancholic air. The broken window still echoed the events of the previous night.
They called for Kristi. She emerged from the back, drying her hands. She looked exhausted, hair tied up carelessly.
"Well, if it isn't the best doctor in town."
Kristi let out a tired laugh. "I'm the only doctor in town, Daniel. The bar isn't very high."
"Details," he waved it off. "I'm here to change the bandage." He pointed at his forehead.
"Sit."
While Kenny lingered nearby, pretending to organize supplies with his ears tuned to every word, Kristi removed the old bandage.
"How are you feeling?"
"Ready for round two."
She removed the gauze and examined the wound.
"You won't need another bandage. It's already healing."
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
Does this body have enhanced healing? he wondered.
She saw the surprise and spoke before he could ask.
"I can't explain it. But in this place, things work differently. Wounds heal much faster here." She paused. "It's one of the few things in this town that doesn't try to kill you."
"Accelerated healing factor," Daniel said, glancing at Kenny. "Maybe we turn into X-Men after all."
Kenny rolled his eyes but smiled. "I'd rather not test that."
The conversation flowed easily. Daniel alternated between dry sarcasm and sharp observations that made Kristi laugh and even got a few chuckles from Kenny.
For a moment, they felt like three normal young people. Far from terror.
But the clock on the wall showed no mercy.
"We should go," Kenny checked the time. "The meeting's about to start."
"Let's all go." Daniel hopped off the gurney. "Plenty of room in the Apocalypse Express outside. Including your dad, Kenny. Where is he anyway? I didn't see him."
"He's at home with a neighbor."
Kristi frowned. "Apocalypse Express?"
Outside, she took three steps before processing what she was seeing. Her mouth parted slightly, her jaw dropping involuntarily. This was the kind of vehicle you saw in action movies, not in a cursed little town.
"Wow," she whispered reverently. "You really weren't kidding about the Apocalypse Express."
Kenny beside her just shook his head. "I reacted the same way."
Kristi took the passenger seat, swiveling it to talk to Kenny. Daniel took the wheel, feeling the engine's power hum beneath his hands.
"Next stop, diner and dark motivational speeches," Daniel announced, shifting into gear.
He was sure of one thing.
That meeting was not going to end well.
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