Mike stojí ve špinavém autoservisu uprostřed Nevadské pouště a smlouvá s podezřelým mechanikem o vrak Coyote X 3000.
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Lucy leans against the wall, watching with disgust as Mike points a finger at the empty space where the trunk used to be.
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“Look, boss,” the mechanic scratches behind his ear, “we seriously don’t have a hood for this thing. What even is it, some kind of mutant?”
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“It’s a Coyote X 3000,”
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Mike snaps, lighting a cigarette. “
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And if you don’t have a hood, you’ve got plenty of sheet metal, right?
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Use a press, make me something that keeps the aerodynamics intact.
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Oh, and seal up that hole in the front—I don’t need free air conditioning.
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And add two big nitrous oxide tanks. She’s paying!” Mike jerks his thumb toward Lucy, who just rolls her eyes and pulls out a credit card.
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While the mechanic heads off to grab tools, some random guy in an expensive suit sidles up to the car.
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“Wow… now that’s a vision!
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A true masterpiece. You can really see the artistic thinking in it—”
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Mike slowly turns to him, eyes narrowed.
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“I know it’s a masterpiece. I’m a genius. A visionary!”
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Lucy covers her mouth, coughing, and mutters under the fake cough, “Psychopath… he’s a psychopath… he’s insane…”
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Mike: “Now stop drooling over my car, or I’ll tie you to that new hood and start calling you Bambi!”
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The guy goes pale and disappears before Mike can even reach for the Demon Hunter.
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Once they finally crawl out of the shop with a new metal slab in place of a hood, Mike floors it onto the highway.
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“You know, Lucy,” Mike says in a nihilistic tone, “there’s still an active warrant out for me in Nevada.”
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“Why am I not surprised?”
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“I tried to outrun the cops, but back then my Delta didn’t have a supercharger. So they picked me up and impounded the car.
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When they let me out, I decided to write a new version of the Bible. Eye for an eye, car for a car.
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So I stole a police cruiser. Fair deal, right?”
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Lucy clutches onto her seat while Mike weaves between semi-trucks.
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“Mike, you don’t have a single ounce of self-preservation instinct!”
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“Self-preservation is for people who have something to lose.”
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Mike continues, “I don’t get what people have against me… When I was in driving school… every time I sat behind the wheel, before I even turned the key… the instructor started praying. And he was an atheist. I don’t get it!”
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Lucy: “I do. He saw how you drive and didn’t want to die!”
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Mike: “Hey… okay, so one time in driving school I ran a red light… It’s not my fault, that traffic light hated me!”
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“Lucy, hey—what do you actually know about America?”
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Mike: “Why?”
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Lucy: “More than you, apparently!”
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Mike: “Like what…? Want me to try something? Alright, I’ll try… I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the—damn it, how does it go?”
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“My memory’s full of holes. I don’t even remember the Czech anthem. I don’t need to know some rhyme, because I live America! But sometimes I really do feel like something’s missing…”
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“Rational thinking?”
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Lucy jabs.
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“No,” Mike grins and yanks the wheel toward an abandoned military base. “I ran out of grenades and C-4. And without them, I feel kinda… incomplete.”
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Mike jerks the wheel, and the Coyote X 3000’s tires carve a deep scar into the Nevada sand.
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Ahead of them, shimmering in the heat haze, a rusted barbed-wire fence comes into view, along with a sign: MILITARY AREA – USE OF DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED.
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“You see that sign, Mike?”
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Lucy points at the warning. “For normal people, that’s a warning. For you, it’s basically a date invitation, right?”
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Mike: “That’s just a sign for tourists. Can’t you see the base is abandoned? What could possibly happen to me? Trust me, I know what I’m doing!”
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Mike reaches for the fence—and a surge of electricity shoots through his body. He freezes in place, muscles locking, his whole frame twitching violently.
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Lucy yanks him back.
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Mike: “How did you do that?”
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Lucy: “I’m half demon, remember?”
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Mike: “Sometimes, yeah. Other times you only rarely remind me… how do I put it… something like… something vaguely resembling a woman or something??!
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But right now I feel totally charged with energy!”
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Lucy: “What an idiot…!”
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Mike just raises an eyebrow and checks a switch made out of a Pepsi can.
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“Deadly force? Sounds like a fair deal. I’ll show them my firepower, they’ll show me theirs, and we’ll see who’s got better insurance.”
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The Coyote X 3000, missing its windshield, blasts straight through the main gate like the lock isn’t even there.
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The sheet-metal hood the mechanic slapped together vibrates so hard under the strain it sounds like a drummer on speed.
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“Hey, Lucy, there are the warehouses! Can you smell it? That scent of gunpowder and plastic explosives…
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that’s the smell of freedom! And as a bonus, I didn’t even have to use my junker! Way better than that fried fish we’re not talking about anymore.”
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He skids to a stop in front of a concrete bunker. Mike jumps out, Demon Hunter in hand, wearing the kind of grin Bender would have if he’d just found the keys to a brewery. “Watch the car. If you see anyone in uniform, hit them with that demonic blast of yours. I’m going to grab what’s missing from my happiness puzzle.”
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Lucy: “And how exactly are you planning to sneak in? Blow something up? (Again?)”
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Mike: “No! I played Metal Gear Solid—I know how this works!”
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Lucy leans against the metal monstrosity and mutters to herself, “An atheist driving instructor started praying… I’m a demon and I’m starting to as well. (Third time already—and that’s just because of you!) This guy is seriously going to put me in an early grave.”
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Mike: “Quiet! Call me Solid Snake!”
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Lucy: “Snake? I like stepping on snakes.”
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Mike: “Jesus! That’s another piece of information I’m going to have to erase from my brain with alcohol poisoning!”
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Mike grabs a bag, scans the area, and starts sneaking through the base…
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Mike: “Ha! My mom said playing video games would never amount to anything!
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Well she can go tell that to the Twitch streamers today!”
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Slowly, he starts stuffing grenades and C-4 into the bag. He glances around—and spots an M16.
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“With a line like: ‘That might come in handy…’”
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The moment Mike reaches for the first M16, he hears a sound. A harmonic tone.
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Mike mutters: “I’ve heard that somewhere before…”
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He looks around—and spots a red light rotating in steady intervals.
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Mike: “Oh, shit…! My Solid Snake stealth mode failed!”
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But on the other hand…
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there’s plenty of gunpowder here. Plenty of explosives.
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Mike plants several C-4 charges in the ammo depot.
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And no running—
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Out in the abandoned desert base… a burst of M16 fire erupts behind him.
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Mike takes off, clutching the bag, running as fast as his smoker’s lungs will allow…
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Bullets tear through the air around him…
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Mike yells into the distance: “Kiss my shiny metal ass!”
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Lucy hears the gunfire as she leans against the scrap heap that used to be the Coyote X.
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From afar, she sees rounds flying all around Mike.
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She rolls her eyes. “I knew that idiot would screw it up again…”
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Mike shouts from a distance: “Open the passenger door—you’re driving now!”
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Lucy: “Forget it! I’m not driving that four-wheeled coffin!”
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Mike starts yelling: “If you don’t… just hit my bag and I’ll blow into pieces!”
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“Don’t piss me off! And floor it—with your giant foot!”
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Lucy: “I do NOT have a giant foot!”
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Mike, jumping into the Coyote X 3000: “Oh really??! I’ve never seen a woman with size 12 feet! That’s not cute! Your feet are as big as the Titanic!”
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“Hit the gas or we’re turning into Swiss cheese!”
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Lucy angrily slams the gas pedal. “And what happens next, genius?”
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Mike: “More gas! It’s about to get hot!”
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Lucy: “What do you mean ‘hot’??!”
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Mike: “Well… I’ve got a detonator in my hand, and the whole base is about to go sky-high.”
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Lucy: “You’re going to kill innocent soldiers?!”
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Mike: “Nope! I wrote them a few messages on the walls on the way in—all the same—so they’d survive!”
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Lucy: “And what did they say?!”
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Mike: “Stuff like: ‘Thanks for the hospitality, thanks for the C-4, but you’ve got plenty of it and everything’s about to blow! Run!’”
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Lucy: “You’re not serious… right?!”
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Mike: “I am. The message ended with: ‘Sincerely, Mike.’ And instead of a period, I added a winking emoji.”
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Lucy: “You did NOT!”
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Mike: “I did! Don’t you get what the emoji means?! It completely changes the tone of the sentence!”
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“Besides… better than having a military Apache helicopter chasing us!”
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Mike flies through the air and lands with a painful thud in the passenger seat of the Coyote X 3000. Behind them, geysers of sand erupt as a volley from M16s tears into the ground.
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“Move it, Lucy! Floor it with that giant paw of yours!
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The Titanic sank, but we don’t have to!” Mike yells, digging through the bag for the detonator.
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“I do NOT have giant feet, you rude tin can!” Lucy slams the gas, and the hybrid beast rockets forward, the sheet-metal hood screaming under the wind. “Size 12 is a standard stability feature for demonesses!”
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“Mike, seriously? Personal question… those high heels of yours—pyramid edition—do you get those custom-made or did you steal them from circus clowns?”
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Lucy: “Shut up!”
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“Yeah, and they’re great for crushing dreams too!” Mike leans out the window with the detonator. “Speaking of which… remember that clown who’s missing his shoes right now!”
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“Hold on! Now you’ll see why that atheist prayed in driving school!”
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Mike: “Why? Are you crazier than me?!”
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CLICK.
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The military base behind them turns into a second sun. C-4, grenades, and tons of old gunpowder erupt into a fireball that rips the sky apart. The shockwave lifts the Coyote X, sending it airborne for a split second as Mike watches the apocalypse in a Ferrari rearview mirror with pure delight.
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Mike: “Ah… poor Enzo Ferrari…”
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“That was beautiful, Lucy! Do you feel that karmic aerodynamics?
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That winking emoji in my signature just saved their lives—they knew I meant it in a friendly way!”
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Lucy grips the wheel tightly as the Coyote slams back onto the asphalt and starts drifting between boulders. “You signed the destruction of a military base and added a winking smiley?!
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Mike, there’s no heaven or hell waiting for you. They’re just going to delete you from existence like a glitch in the Matrix!”
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“Maybe,” Mike grins, pulling a spare detonator from his pocket, “but until then—kiss my shiny metal ass!
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Hey, Lucy, you got that Verona in there somewhere? I feel like getting lost while an Apache chases us!”
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The Coyote X 3000 roars as the Interceptor engine coughs in a cloud of sand and dust. Behind them, a convoy of military jeeps bursts forward like a pack of hungry wolves.
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A machine-gun burst shatters the right side mirror into dust. Mike ducks under the dashboard.
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“Hey, it’s a manual!” Mike shouts over the engine.
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“How about using that right foot of yours on the clutch so we’re not crawling in first gear?!”
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Lucy slams the gearshift, the transmission grinding violently. “Shut up and watch the bullets!”
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“Keep that full heel planted and move it!” Mike yells, rummaging through the glove compartment.
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Lucy glances in the mirror for a split second. “Oh, so you noticed I don’t have flat feet? Noticed my perfect full heel?”
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Mike: “Nope—just hit the pedal with that elephant foot of yours before we turn into Swiss cheese! I wish I had your problems…!”
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“Ha! Found it!”
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Mike triumphantly pulls out a cassette. “My mixtape! David Hasselhoff – True Survivor! That’s exactly what we need!”
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An ’80s synth kicks in through the speakers, Hoff’s heroic voice blasting. Lucy rolls her eyes. “You are such a retro freak, Mike!”
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“Hey, shouldn’t you be driving?!”
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The song builds—but Mike’s expression suddenly hardens. “That’s bad…”
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“What is it now?!”
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“How do I put this… remember the American combat helicopter Apache?”
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Lucy goes pale. “What about it?”
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“Shift up and slam that elephant foot on the gas—iceberg versus Titanic style—”
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“Because it’s right on our ass!”
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A steel shadow looms above them. The Apache opens fire with its rotary cannon. The ground in front of the Coyote erupts into geysers of dust—Lucy can’t see a thing, but she swerves through the chaos like a deranged pinball. Then suddenly—the gunfire stops.
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“That was close!
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We got lucky!” Lucy exhales.
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Mike smirks, eyes reflecting the oncoming apocalypse.
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“Lucky?
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What do you call lucky, Mengele?
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We’ve got heat-seeking missiles locked on us, sweetheart!”
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“So we’re dead!”
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“Nope. It’s hero time!”
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“What hero?! Show me one!”
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Mike grabs his harpoon. “Time for my favorite toy!”
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He wraps the cable around the car frame and fires with a wild yell. The hook slams into the hood of a jeep right behind them with a metallic crash.
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Mike: “It’s hero time!”
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Lucy: “Fine—show me one! What are you doing?!”
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“Relax. They’ve got something to lose—I don’t! They’ll bail out while it’s moving!”
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“And then?!”
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“The missiles track heat. So they’ll hit that jeep first—now officially our trailer!”
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A second later, two streaks of fire detach from the Apache. Before Mike can finish, the jeep behind them explodes in a blinding flash, turning into a pile of burning scrap. The shockwave kicks the Coyote forward like a giant hand.
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Mike wipes soot off his face and yells at the sky: “Hey, you military bastards! Don’t steal my skill of blowing things up! I should’ve patented that!”
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Above them, the American Apache attack helicopter keeps coming.
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It’s not giving up.
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Mike: “Shit… my second rearview mirror is toast!”
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“They shouldn’t have provoked me!”
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Mike pulls an M202 FLASH out of the bag.
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Lucy: “Where did you even get that?!”
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Mike: “From that military base that turned into a mushroom cloud!”
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Lucy: “So that’s why you were running so slow… I thought you were just getting old!”
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Mike: “What? Me, old?
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Women go from top models to witches with age! Men are like Camembert—better the older they get!”
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Lucy: “How did you even fit that thing in the bag?!”
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Mike: “Same way as in the OG Resident Evil trilogy. Item boxes.”
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Lucy: “What?”
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Mike: “Just take your foot off the gas and yank the handbrake!”
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Lucy: “Why?!”
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Mike: “Because if you don’t, the coroner’s gonna be collecting what’s left of us across three states—got it now?!”
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Lucy throws the car into a brutal drift.
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Mike leans out the passenger window—and fires the launcher straight at the Apache.
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Seconds later, high above the ground, it explodes.
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Lucy: “You just wiped out the helicopter crew!”
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Mike grits his teeth: “Maybe… if they didn’t have parachutes. Their problem. And if they didn’t have parachutes, they were demons! And if they were demons…”
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Mike pauses for a moment… then adds:
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“Win-win!”
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“Which brings me to a conclusion… I’m gonna kill Cain ten different ways! He hates me! And he turned my beloved Delta into some ghost car like in The Wraith!”
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Lucy rolls her eyes, clearly done with him. “Calm down your ego—it’s bigger than the entire universe. If he hated you, your shitmobile would already be a pancake under a hydraulic press. He’s just provoking and humiliating you. Although…
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that second part?
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Nobody’s ever gonna manage that. You can’t be humiliated.”
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Mike watches the burning wreckage of the helicopter fall from the sky like a broken toy—like some fragile knockoff model from Wish.
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Behind them, the remains crash down in a blazing inferno.
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Mike lights a cigarette.
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“They shouldn’t have provoked me.”
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He flips the cassette.
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“Fate Magazine – Každou vteřinou .”
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Lucy: “And what the hell is this?!”
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Mike: “Sorry, I forgot—you only understand Czech when it suits you… here, American version for you.
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Fate Magazine – Anymore!”
ns216.73.217.9da2
and then Add to home screen.