From the outskirts of Silver City, everything looked like desolation blessed with a tinge of neon beyond haze. The cracked earth stretched endlessly, each gust of wind lifting the dust high into the air until it stung Goldstar's eyes, cracking her lips. She pulled her leather jacket tight around her body and tugged its attached cloth hoodie over her head, its edges flapping like wild sails in the wind. One hand clutched the fake F8 Clarity chip, the other the tiny tube of superglue. She pressed the chip to her temple and held it until it stuck, the adhesive burning a bit against her skin. At this point other than her shipping container alien friend, it was one of the most important props in her possession.
"Yeah, this is perfect," she muttered to herself, voice dry as the desert air. "Just me, the dust, and a fake piece of plastic holding my life together."
The BBS app pinged on her phone. Kevin first: How you doing out there? A second later, m00m added: Yeah, how's everything?
Goldstar thumbed back her reply, hair whipping across her face as the wind picked up: Great, guys. Just dust, dust, and more dust. Says there's a bar listed on the map but surprise, surprise, there's nothing here.
Kevin replied back fast: You know those maps on your busted ass phone are over twenty years old, right? He followed with: Would be easier if one of us was chipped. At least then we'd have dopest most recent tech and map upgrades.
"And as an added bonus," m00m threw in with a voice note, "you'd both be zombies and wouldn't have to care about any of this!"
Goldstar laughed under her breath, but the sound cut short when she spotted something through the haze. The crooked silhouette of a building, crumbling but standing. "Wait... I think I see it."
The connection on The BBS wavered, wind and dust shredding her signal into static. Gold, I'm losing line of sight, m00m warned via text. Might be on your own soon.
"Copy. I'll switch to walkies moving forward, they might have a clearer signal" She pocketed her phone, picked up a fist-sized rock, and hurled it at the window panel of the boarded front door of the abandoned saloon. Glass shattered, falling with a sound of dull wind chimes to the floor. She followed up with a sharp kick, creating a way inside.
The interior was thick with dust and the remaining sunlight made fractured god-ray beams from the cracked wooden ceiling above. She moved through slowly, boots crunching against broken flooring. A faded red curtain sagged from the rafters over what had once been a stage. The thinnest remainder of golden thread gleamed faintly through the dust covering it, revealing embroidered words: Buckhorn Saloon & Opera House, Established 1860.
The name alone sent a shiver through her. This was history, real history, untouched by F8's cleansing hand removing all traces of a more humane past. She had never been in a place this old. She twirled once on the stage like a ballerina, bowed to an audience of ghosts, and whispered, "Thank you, thank you."
No applause, but instead, in the far corner, half-buried in shadow, she saw it: a dirt bike. Its frame was rusted, but strapped to its side was a rotopak of gasoline and a hatchet…
She snapped a quick photo, captioned it LFG, and pushed it to the private BBS thread with Kevin and m00m. The signal barely squeaked through, but that was enough. Grinning, she swung a leg over the bike, flipped the ignition in attempts to coerce it to start. The engine coughed, gurgling dust out of the exhaust pipe. Nothing. On the third try, the charm, it caught and the ignition cranked on with a sputter.
"Alright, Mr. Map," she said, consulting her outdated phone app, "time for win number two."
Back at the container, Kevin lounged, smoke moving from his lips, bass rattling the walls. Old-school pre-One-World hip-hop blasted from the speakers, the 808s heavy enough to make m00m's eyes flicker in rhythm.
"This is… unusual," m00m admitted. "What exactly am I hearing? I've never experienced this type of sound with big thumping noises and people speaking and telling fast stories."
Kevin laughed. "Legendary shit, man. It's called Hip Hop. Classics from when I was a kid."
"The bass is shaking my walls. You might want to turn it down, someone might hear us."
"Slimer, as mission commander your official directive is to just chill."
"I don't technically work for you, so you're not really my mission commander..."
"Yeah, but how many chill moments we got left? Might be the last one. You gotta learn to enjoy the moments when they're happening." Kevin exhaled another cloud, coughed, and as the smoke brightened his phone pinged. "Yo, we just got a reply on the BBS. Escargot confirmed."
"Escargot?" m00m perked up. "I love their goo. Are we going to eat the snails?"
Kevin groaned. "Bruh, no. Escargot means weapons. it's a codeword. Chill."
"My circuits feel all tingly… AND WHY AM I SO HUNGRY!?" m00m blurted, losing the plot, eyes flickering more red than a busted neon sign.
Kevin shook his head and grinned, the haze rolling around him. "You're hungry 'cause that Skarlaxian OG's hitting like crazy. But trust me, this is what we need right now. Gold'll pick it up the message when her signal clears, once she's in town. We're good."
Outside, Goldstar was smashing through the dust and desert at top speed, the engine of the dirtbike rumbling her path aimed directly toward the broken promises of Silver City.