A metal monster, escaped from Hell, was roaring down the highway. Fiery serpents slithered from under its wheels. Its headlights growled into the darkness like a demon's maw.
Drivers passing by gawked like they were witnessing the eighth wonder of the world.
John could feel the power he was commanding through the steering wheel. He was only going three times over the speed limit—for the sake of the mortals on the road. He hadn't switched to flight mode yet, still getting used to the machine.
In the distance, the sound of running water—Mary was taking a shower.
And the rhythmic tapping of Cain's fingers on the joystick as he tried to beat some video game boss.
"I still can't believe it," Jane whispered from the passenger seat. "That you actually convinced Mister Fantastic to build this thing!"
"You heard the terms of our agreement," John replied, checking the navigation screen on the dashboard. "We get the ride, the science nerd gets data. We travel through the remote corners of the galaxy. The built-in system collects surrounding data automatically. Fair deal. What's bothering you?"
"Our reputation," Jane sighed. "We clashed with Avengers. The world doesn't like us. You and Cain were officially labeled supervillains! Even banks demand a decent credit history—and ours is in the negative. Why does Richards trust you? We could just leave and never come back or sell the van."
"Tsk-tsk," Rider shook his head. "What naughty thoughts. Whatever happened to being a good girl?"
"You know what I mean," Thunderheart folded her arms. "What did you promise Richards that we don't know about?"
"What the hell?" he gripped the wheel tighter. "Is this an interrogation now?"
"Exactly," she gave him a stern look, like a detective in an interrogation room. "Before, it was just us, and I let you play your little games. But now we have Mary. I won't let you drag her into trouble."
"You didn't worry that much about Cain."
"He's a grown man and can take care of himself. Mary's still a kid—and I won't let you ruin her life." Lightning flashed in her eyes. "If you've put us in debt, I have a right to know!"
[Maybe I should eject her from the van? There's even a button for that. Tempting idea, but without Jane, there'd be no electricity in the van. Oh, the sacrifices I make for a working TV...]
"You should buy a few psychology books," John said without looking away from the road.
"What are you talking about?" she raised a blond eyebrow.
"If you've never dealt with rich people, maybe you could at least learn how they think from books," John smirked. "Any salesman will tell you—it's easier to get a hundred bucks from a millionaire than a single dollar from a beggar."
"I don't get it…"
"Of course you don't! Because I always have to do the thinking!" Rider swerved hard to avoid a slow-moving car. "Have you seen the Baxter Building? A real skyscraper in the heart of Manhattan, worth at least a hundred million. And it's not government property like the Avengers' mansion. Every brick belongs to Richards. That's not even counting the equipment inside. If you sold the Baxter Building with all its contents, you could buy an entire country with that money. Not just land—a nation. Anyone with a brain figured out long ago that the Rubber Scientist built a machine that prints money."
"That's impossible!" the know-it-all exclaimed. "Money has serial numbers! Any new bills would be noticed immediately!"
"I was speaking figuratively," he rolled his eyes. "The guy travels between galaxies. He could've found a planet made entirely of oil. Or figured out how to turn garbage into gold. Anything, really. With that brain and those resources? Tons of options. If you'd stop nagging me and read Time magazine, you'd see Richards is in the top ten richest people on Earth."
"So what if Richards has money?" Jane brushed her bangs out of her eyes. "That still doesn't explain how you convinced him to give up the van without any guarantee."
"Sweetheart," a hint of amusement slipped into his voice, "how much do you think this engineering marvel is worth?"
"No idea," Thunderheart glanced over the dashboard. "There's so much stuff in here… maybe five million dollars?"
"Hell, even ten," John snorted. "Doesn't matter. That's pocket change for Richards. You get where I'm going with this?"
"He doesn't care if we run off with it?" Her brows rose.
"Not exactly," he tapped the steering wheel. "I'd call it a lottery ticket. Spent some spare change, now he waits. If the combo works—great. If not—whatever, didn't cost much."
"Now I see the logic," Jane muttered, then kicked John lightly in the shoulder. "Couldn't you just say that? Without the whole 'read more books, talk to rich people' bit. You sound like my mom during high school."
Jane turned to the window, clearly annoyed.
[Okay, didn't expect that reaction… but damn, it was fun.]
///
Behind the wheel, John grabbed the radio and announced to the whole hell-train:
"ETA—five minutes. Get ready."
The sun was high overhead, almost noon. The Walmart parking lot was nearly empty—perfect for taking up a dozen spaces all at once.
John killed the engine and stuffed the keys into his pocket—the hellish metamorphosis vanished.
He stepped into the central compartment. Bolted-down tables, silver walls, massive chairs.
John grimaced.
[Feels like it just rolled off the factory floor. No paint, no soul. No style. Gotta fix that.]
"We're not here for fun," Rider's eyes scanned the team gathered near the exit. "We need to restock supplies—and turn this ugly thing into something halfway decent."
He walked up to the cabinet with the blood-money stash. They finally had a place to store cash, and it was time to use it.
"Take as much as you need, no limits," he said, throwing open the overflowing cabinet. "First up—supplies. That job goes to…"
He glanced at Jane's responsible expression, Cain's smug grin,
and Mary bouncing in place from excitement.
"Cain."
"Why me?" the giant whined like a teenager. "Let the chicks do it!"
Thunderheart and Lady Phoenix hit him with matching death glares, mouths ready to fire back—but Rider cut them off:
"Because you're ex-military," he said coolly. "You know what to grab for long-term storage."
[Also, unlike the vegetarian and the straight-A do-gooder, the big guy'll definitely grab booze, chips, and other delicious trash.]
"Alrighty. You came to the right guy," Juggernaut said, grabbing the cash bag. "I'm on food and canned goods."
"Don't forget I'm vegetarian!" Mary jabbed a finger at him. "If I see nothing but meat, I'm going on strike!"
"What, you'll starve?" the giant laughed. "Relax, I'm pretty sure they sell peas in cans."
"I am not letting him be in charge of my diet!"
"Mary, chill," John stepped in. "I've got a different task for you. You know our sizes—go buy us clothes. I've got a hunch we won't see another store anytime soon. And since we have a washing machine, might as well use it."
Mary squealed, bounced, and grabbed a money bag.
"I'm gonna make us the most fashionable team ever!" shopping addict announced. "We'll have more followers than Avengers!"
"One more thing," John cleared his throat. "Buy curtains. Rugs. Posters. Whatever you can find to make this gray box feel like home."
"I was thinking that too, but…" the fashionista frowned. "I doubt Walmart has everything we need."
"I believe in you," John patted her shoulder. "And almost forgot—get lots of greens. Potted plants. Whatever makes it feel alive in here."
"Didn't expect that kind of request from you," she gave him a suspicious look.
"I'm the face of the eco-activist movement," Ghost Rider smirked. "Gotta keep up appearances."
[Just a precaution—for the worst-case scenario.]
"What should I do?" Jane asked.
"You're free to take whatever you think is necessary," he tossed her a bag of money. "I trust your judgment."
"And what will you be doing?" Jane narrowed her eyes.
John looked at the half-empty money cabinet and sighed.
"Going to work," Rider checked his watch. "Be back here in six hours. On the dot."
///
Five minutes before the scheduled time, Ghost Rider returned to the Walmart parking lot with four duffel bags slung over his shoulders.
[The cops should be grateful I cleaned up every gang in the city. And the confiscated cash? That's my paycheck.]
The gangsters thought they could hide behind concrete walls and assault rifles. But there's no hiding from the sin map. And six hours—that was more than generous to wipe them off the face of the Earth.
John dumped the bags into the money cabinet with a solid thump.
He'd passed on confiscating the weapons. Not the smartest idea to keep grenades in a house with a teenager, a loose cannon, and a saint.
Right on time, Jane walked up to the van with two shopping carts.
"I told Mary to handle the clothes shopping," John said, pulling four jumpsuits from one of the carts.
"She'll buy fashionable. I bought practical," Jane heaved huge water bottles into the vehicle. "Cain's gonna come back with nothing but soda and coffee. We need clean water."
"We've got a water generator," John helped her unload the carts.
"We could end up in places without water at all," Jane placed a box of discs by the TV. "Movies, shows, video games—you name it. If we get stuck somewhere without internet, this will keep us sane."
[I might get annoyed with Jane's over-the-top diligence, but I can't fault her commitment. Without her, this team would have a way harder time.]
Fifteen minutes late, Cain finally arrived—dragging twenty shopping carts, each one overflowing with beer kegs.
"Told you," Thunderheart sighed.
He did buy clean water too—ten times less than the beer, though.
"Looks like you took the job seriously," John said as he carried the supplies inside—one hand gripping a box of dried tomatoes, the other a frozen turkey. "We're in for some culinary variety."
"I served in the army," Cain grinned. "I know how much it sucks eating nothing but beans for a month."
"Why'd you buy flour?" Jane was scanning the labels.
"For baking," Juggernaut took the sacks from her and stuffed them into the kitchen cabinet. "You go nuts on just canned goods and frozen meals too."
"I read the entire instruction manual for the van," the know-it-all frowned. "Didn't see a robot chef anywhere. Who's gonna cook?"
"I will," Cain shrugged.
"You can cook?!" John and Jane asked in unison.
"What, you think I'm some idiot?" the big guy frowned. "I graduated culinary school. Wanted to open a restaurant after the army."
"Wait—you're serious?" Jane froze. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"
"What, are you my mom and dad? You need a life plan from me or something?"
He had a point. Everyone's allowed a few skeletons in the closet.
"Cain, your hidden talents are impressive," Thunderheart looked at him with newfound respect. "Seriously, that's awesome."
[Wonder if chopping cabbage for salad would satisfy Cyttorak's hunger?]
"Cain, do you take requests?" Jane was now circling the newly revealed chef. "Can you make an apple pie?"
[Heh. Why am I not surprised that's her first request?]
Evening fell quickly. Everything was loaded in—except Mary.
John gave her a call.
"Where are you?" he didn't bother hiding the irritation in his voice. "We've been waiting an hour!"
"Oh. Is it time already? Sorry, I got distracted. They've got such a huge selection of curtains," Mary said cheerfully. "Just give me a couple more minutes!"
[Yeah. These days, even supervillains are more punctual than teenagers.]
Five more minutes passed. Still no sign of Mary.
"Jane, please go find our scatterbrain," Rider sighed. "Otherwise we'll never get out of here."
"No problem," Thunderheart dashed into the store.
[Bless her. At least someone in this team can be relied on.]
Ghost Rider and Juggernaut were standing outside the van, chatting about modern sports, when a police officer approached them.
[Great. If Mary hadn't been late, I could've avoided this pointless conversation.]
"Is this your vehicle?" the officer asked.
"Yep," John nodded. "Something wrong?"
"Everything's wrong," the cop eyed the monstrous machine. "License and registration... for this. And take off the mask."
"I'd rather not."
Tension crackled in the air. The cop drew his gun and aimed it at them.
"Hands up! Both of you! Now!"
John stared right down the barrel, completely unfazed. His heart didn't even skip a beat. Hard to be afraid when you know a regular bullet won't even scratch your skin.
"Mr. Marco," John said calmly to his towering friend. "I think your skillset is more appropriate for this situation."
"Say no more," Cain smirked and took a step forward.
The cop fired.
The bullet didn't even reach its target—it dissolved in the crimson field that constantly surrounded Juggernaut.
"Yeah, you really shouldn't've done that," Cain said, snatching the gun and crushing it in one massive hand. "Wanna try the baton?"
The cop pulled out a rubber baton.
Cain took it, bent it into a neat bow, and handed it back.
"Whoops," Juggernaut stepped forward, looming over his prey. "Looks like you're out of toys."
"Please, don't kill me," the cop broke into a sweat. "I've got kids…"
"Wrong answer," Cain frowned. "You're thinking about calling backup. Run!"
The cop bolted to his car, fumbling for the radio.
"You do realize you look like a textbook supervillain, right?" John asked, having watched the whole thing in silence. "Why'd you do that? Now we've got the entire state police coming after us."
"I already beat all the Mario games," Cain grinned. "Needed something fun to do on the road."
John let out a long, tired sigh.
A few minutes later, Mary finally emerged from Walmart, chatting on the phone. Behind her came the store staff and Jane, hauling forty shopping carts full of junk.
In the distance, police sirens were growing louder. The sky began to tremble with the sound of incoming rotorcraft.
And so began a thrilling new quest: squeeze forty shopping carts into the van before SWAT and helicopters arrived.
"Why?" John groaned. "Why can't even preparing for a trip go smoothly?"
/////
2300 words.
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