I had lost track of time, but I was pretty sure it was after midnight. I hadn’t actually slept after my rigors, but had lain in my bed working up my courage. When I was ready, I’d pocketed my phone and slipped past Cam’s door as quietly as I could, and got back on the road. This time, I was heading west on Rt. 2. Past Lexington. Past Concord. Back in the direction of Devens, where a particular asshole lived. I glanced down at my phone again and sighed. I wasn’t sure if this made things easier or harder.
New Fare Assigned!
Target: Robert Johnson
Profession: State Trooper Recruit
Location: Shirley, Massachusetts
Dispatch had assigned me the one person in my platoon I disliked the most. I wasn’t sure if Dispatch did this as a way to punish me, since I knew the asshole, or if it was meant to be a gift, given they’d assigned me someone who took every opportunity to give me shit. Either way, I hadn’t thought twice before I clicked the green button that said, “Accept Fare.”
I was already referring to fourth_wall in my head as a woman, based on little phrases like “good boy.” fourth-wall had wasted no time in assigning me this new fare. She even alluded to other Endrs doing exactly what I had done with their first fares. Their formula worked in their favor. Getting this new fare made me feel like an addict getting a hit of their drug of choice. I needed it; fourth_wall was my dealer.
The Active Fare screen on the map displayed information about Johnson that I hadn’t seen before. Not only was there a map directing me to his exact whereabouts, but it also contained information about his essence transfer. A “Transfer Authorization” window listed the “Requesting Entity” as “Bael’mor, Curator of Destinies. Guardian of the Crossing Paths; sees all who must journey beyond.”
Below that, it told me where his essence was going. The “Destination Realm” was apparently “Pyroclast Dominion: A realm of living metal and steam, where clockwork angels tend to brass gardens.” What the fuck?! Assuming this was all real, and I was increasingly convinced it had to be, I was officially drinking the Kool-Aid and realizing the universe was a much larger place than I had believed it to be.
At this late hour, there were only a few cars on the road, and the road was treacherous, with pockets of standing water. Rt. 2, for whatever reason, hadn’t been appropriately designed, and the left lane always seemed to have little rivers of water that made commuters hydroplane regularly.
Looking at the steering wheel in my white-knuckled hands, I noticed it was different, now with four supports extending from the perfectly circular center, two on each side. It felt smaller in my hands, and now that I was paying attention…so did the rest of the inside of my car. How had I not noticed it changing? Perhaps my possessed phone, revealing that I truly lived in a multiversal world, had distracted me a bit. Damn. I needed to remember this for the future.
The seats were now black, not the light gray that I was accustomed to. The dashboard was old-school, as were all the environmental controls and the “vanity” cigarette lighters for driver and passenger pleasure.
When had the car changed, and why hadn’t I noticed it? Was it when I accepted the fare? More importantly, would other drivers be able to see the change? It was late, and there weren’t many people around, so I had no idea…But I could easily imagine what might happen if other drivers were to witness a real-life transformer on the highway. In the age of cell phone recording, authority-phobic citizens, I was pretty sure fourth_wall would not be pleased if I ended up on the news morphing my murder mobile.
Stolen novel; please report.
The map was taking me to someplace in Shirley called Bull Run, where apparently my likely drunk classmate was enjoying his night off. Despite his future profession, I had a pretty strong feeling that Johnson wouldn’t have any qualms about driving home drunk. I just hoped I could get there before he left the bar.
As I turned off Rt. 2 and headed straight through Shirley center, my heart started pounding. My hands on the wheel felt sweaty, and I wiped each on my pants before reaching back up to grasp the wheel. I checked the phone for any updates on the map and was greeted by a message from Dispatch, reminding me not to get caught. Helpful. The map showed me that Johnson was still at Bull Run.
Nervous, I cast my eyes around the strange car’s interior. Was there anything in here that I needed to know about? Driving slowly, I reached over to open the glove box. When it opened, a Rambo-style Bowie knife fell out onto the floor. Well, that was a surprise. I leaned over to pick up the knife. It was bigger than it should have been to fit in the glove box, and had a compass on the hilt. The back side contained jimping, small grooves on the back side that I knew were used as a spot for your thumb when a grip on a knife required more force and precision. Its blade was wickedly sharp.
Coming over the rise in the road, I spotted what could only be the Bull Run, given the gigantic wooden bull that sat atop an outbuilding. I’d heard of it before, and not just from Johnson…supposedly, it was an excellent place for dinner and live music, including a regular pianist who regaled patrons with covers of Billy Joel and Elton John classics. It was too bad my first time here wasn’t to partake in what I’d heard was a particularly good prime rib or an ice-cold Wachusett Brewery Blueberry Ale served with huge blueberries floating on top. Maybe next time.
Only a few cars were parked out in front, and at this hour, I knew the kitchen would be closed, and those few remaining patrons would be in the main bar. The dirt lot to my left was even more empty. I eased across the road, only briefly recognizing that I was crossing Mass Ave again (as I had in Cambridge hours earlier), slowly driving over the bumps and potholes that made up the non-paved surface.
I pulled the car to a stop and put it in park. It would take me a few minutes to take a closer look at my new ride. Stepping out of the car, I immediately realized that “new” was not an accurate term at all. What I was greeted with was a 1970s-style, rusted Chevrolet Chevelle. In the dark, and with the rust spots, I couldn’t even tell what color the car was supposed to be. The rust extended from the bumper, up the headlights, and it appeared that some of the discoloration even ran down the windshield from the roof.
Next, I popped the hood, whistling at what I found there–a pristine, polished chrome engine. All of the bits and bobs looked to be new, and the engine purred with no arrhythmia or rogue backfires. Some technological magic had been worked on my Honda, because my engine certainly didn’t look like this.
A door slammed behind me. Turning, I saw the taillights of what I knew was Johnson’s bright red Jeep come to life. Damn it! I dropped the hood in place and rushed to the open driver’s side door of the Chevelle.
By the time I was back in the driver’s seat, the douche was already peeling out and gunning it out onto Mass Ave. I followed at a careful distance. After a mile on Longley Rd., the Jeep pulled to a stop at the intersection of Groton Rd. Even from a quarter mile back, I saw when Johnson jumped out of his car and turned to face the woods just beside the stop sign behind where his jeep was parked with the door wide open.
This was it. It was go time! I sped up so that I could get closer, but not so fast that I would arouse his suspicion. It became immediately apparent that I had nothing to worry about, though, given that Johnson was pissing into the woods and obviously not at all concerned that another car was going to drive by while he was doing it.
I steeled my nerves and gripped the unfamiliar steering wheel with both shaking hands. Then, I jammed the pedal down and swerved toward the urinating man.
- - -
? Copyrighted 2026 by The Longwinded One
No permission is granted to translate, copy, repost, or convert this original work of fiction into audio format. If you are viewing this on a site other than my Patreon or RoyalRoad.com, it has been stolen without my consent and violates the DMCA. Please note that this work is the result of my creative effort and is protected by copyright law. Removing or modifying this notification acknowledges that you are aware that you are violating the DMCA. No permission is granted for my original work to be used to train AI.
https://longwinded.one/
For more information on my Celtic LitRPG, you can visit
For my Patreon, you can visit
