On a rugged path, a dilapidated white RV was slowly moving forward.
Perhaps due to its age, this small RV, suitable for a family trip, was now playing a symphony of "creaks and groans."
This commotion left no doubt that the small vehicle could break down at any moment.
Inside the RV, the driver was a white man in his forties, dressed in a uniform, with a social welfare institute ID badge hanging on his chest.
The ID badge had "Dennis Smith" written in bold letters in the center.
"Mike, it's almost noon. Should we stop for something to eat?" the middle-aged man, Dennis, asked, holding the steering wheel with one hand and turning to the side.
"Then let's take a break. You've been driving for over ten hours straight. I'm genuinely afraid you might accidentally drive us into a ditch," a young voice came from the back of the car.
This RV had departed from Devil's Kettle in Saint Paul, with its destination being Medford City in Texas.
The distance between the two places was neither too far nor too close; a round trip by car could take three or four days.
The RV Mike was riding in had departed from Minnesota yesterday at noon.
"Ha~, you're Mike Quinn, the fearless Quinn. Are you still scared?" Dennis chuckled, complaining in an exaggerated tone, but his body was honest, pulling the car over to the side.
It was the height of August summer, the hottest time of the year.
Dennis opened the car door, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and said, "This broken car's air conditioning is out. It should have been thrown in the trash long ago!"
"Then you should apply to the guild for funding..." a teenager, carrying a large travel bag, emerged from the back of the RV.
"Catch, Dennis~" Mike tossed the black travel bag to the middle-aged man.
"Hey, couldn't you be more polite..." Dennis fumbled to catch the travel bag, then saw the teenager duck back into the car, and could only shake his head helplessly.
A moment later, the teenager emerged, holding a wide-brimmed cowboy hat in one hand and a blanket in the other.
Glancing at the desolate wilderness, the teenager pointed to a bald cypress tree not far away and said, "Let's rest there~"
...Laying down the blanket, the two sat under the tree.
Mike took the travel bag again and began to take out food item by item: giant hamburgers, giant hot dogs, large farm apples... and, of course, two bottles of Saint Arnold beer.
Dennis took a bottle of beer, clinked it with Mike's, and asked, "If I remember correctly, you're not yet sixteen, are you?"
"Hmm, to be precise, I won't turn sixteen for another six months," Mike replied, taking a sip of beer.
Of course, America's age reckoning uses a traditional system, starting from the father.
So, strictly speaking, Mike is currently only fourteen and a half.
"Uh~ alright. Kid, remember, don't ever mention to anyone that you and I drank together in the future." Dennis irritably tugged at the tie on his collar, then took a large gulp of beer.
The legal drinking age in America is twenty-one. Although Texas has relaxed its policy due to regional laws, one still has to be eighteen to drink.
If it were known that Dennis, a welfare institute official, had drunk with Mike, he would surely be prosecuted by the local court.
Mike naturally knew the implications and smiled, saying, "Let's not talk about such minor things. Right now, I just want to know, on such a hot day, why don't you take off that ugly jacket, Uncle Dennis?"
Dennis, over forty, had already gained weight, developing a considerable beer belly, and a receding hairline.
The slightly tight black uniform did not look good on him.
According to Mike's previous memories, Dennis had maintained this rigid style for three or four years already.
"What do you know, kid? As a public servant, I must always maintain my 'dignity,'" Dennis said melancholically, taking a sip of beer.
"Tsk, the meaningless 'superiority' of middle-aged men, how pathetic!" Mike retorted venomously.
"Hey, your mouth is getting sharper and sharper, kid. If you weren't so cute, I'd have punched you already," Dennis playfully scolded, and then meaninglessly swung his arm to show his strength.
"Dennis, it's not me saying this... but if you look closely again, your grammar was definitely wrong just now," Mike raised an eyebrow, ruffled his hair, and flashed a brilliant smile.
Mike, fifteen by traditional reckoning, was already nearly six feet tall, and the childishness on his face was gradually fading.
His smooth jawline and well-defined features gave Mike a handsomeness comparable to young Leonardo DiCaprio.
"Alright, alright. 'Cute' really doesn't suit you anymore; you're a 'handsome' young man now," Dennis said with an exasperated expression, then blurted out in retaliation: "If you weren't so 'handsome,' Jennifer wouldn't have sought you out..."
As soon as the words left his mouth, Dennis realized his mistake and quickly apologized: "Sorry, I shouldn't have brought her up."
Mike, however, did not react as strongly as Dennis expected. He calmly said, "It's alright, no one could have predicted such a thing would happen."
Jennifer, demon, sacrifice... these words had become a taboo in Devil's Kettle.
The original Mike Quinn had actually been killed by that beautiful senior.
The "resurrected" Mike, after much calculation, and with a mix of intention and happenstance, killed Jennifer, the senior, outside the Abyss Altar on a dark and stormy night, and her body was thrown into the abyss.
With death, all grudges dissipated.
Mike's act of "revenge" was carried out secretly, and the matter was handled cleanly, so naturally, no subsequent problems were discovered.
What Mike didn't expect was that although Jennifer had "disappeared," her impact was still significant.
To quell the matter, the local seniors, after much deliberation, ultimately "persuaded" all relevant individuals, including Mike, to withdraw from school.
Mike was originally an orphan and had inherited a small farm. Even if he didn't continue his schooling, he could have lived a stable life.
However, Mike's deceased parents, for reasons unknown, had set conditions.
For Mike to receive their inheritance and a fixed monthly living allowance, he needed to meet two requirements: graduating from high school and turning eighteen.
Considering his livelihood, Mike had no choice but to concede, and with the help of the local welfare institute, he embarked on this "transfer" journey.
As for why he was going to Medford Town in Texas, Mike knew that an elderly woman named Connie, who had some connection to his deceased grandmother, was willing to take in this "unlucky fellow."
"Mike, I've already inquired, and Ms. Connie is a very nice person. When you go there, you can start a new life," Dennis patted Mike's shoulder, sighed slightly, and comforted him, "Believe me, everything will get better~"
In Dennis's heart, Mike was still just a child.
And since he was already an orphan, and now had to leave his hometown, it was naturally worrying.