Mike stojí ve špinavém autoservisu uprostřed Nevadské pouště a smlouvá s podezřelým mechanikem o vrak Coyote X 3000.

Lucy leans against the wall, watching with disgust as Mike points a finger at the empty space where the trunk used to be.

“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?”

“It’s a Coyote X 3000,”

Mike snaps, lighting a cigarette. “

And if you don’t have a hood, you’ve got plenty of sheet metal, right?

 Use a press, make me something that keeps the aerodynamics intact.

Oh, and seal up that hole in the front—I don’t need free air conditioning.

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.

While the mechanic heads off to grab tools, some random guy in an expensive suit sidles up to the car.

 “Wow… now that’s a vision!

 A true masterpiece. You can really see the artistic thinking in it—”

Mike slowly turns to him, eyes narrowed.

 “I know it’s a masterpiece. I’m a genius. A visionary!”

Lucy covers her mouth, coughing, and mutters under the fake cough, “Psychopath… he’s a psychopath… he’s insane…”

Mike: “Now stop drooling over my car, or I’ll tie you to that new hood and start calling you Bambi!”

The guy goes pale and disappears before Mike can even reach for the Demon Hunter.

Once they finally crawl out of the shop with a new metal slab in place of a hood, Mike floors it onto the highway.

“You know, Lucy,” Mike says in a nihilistic tone, “there’s still an active warrant out for me in Nevada.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“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.

 When they let me out, I decided to write a new version of the Bible. Eye for an eye, car for a car.

So I stole a police cruiser. Fair deal, right?”

Lucy clutches onto her seat while Mike weaves between semi-trucks.

“Mike, you don’t have a single ounce of self-preservation instinct!”

“Self-preservation is for people who have something to lose.”

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!”

Lucy: “I do. He saw how you drive and didn’t want to die!”

Mike: “Hey… okay, so one time in driving school I ran a red light… It’s not my fault, that traffic light hated me!”

“Lucy, hey—what do you actually know about America?”

Mike: “Why?”

Lucy: “More than you, apparently!”

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?”

“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…”

“Rational thinking?”

Lucy jabs.

“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.”

Mike jerks the wheel, and the Coyote X 3000’s tires carve a deep scar into the Nevada sand.

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.

“You see that sign, Mike?”

 Lucy points at the warning. “For normal people, that’s a warning. For you, it’s basically a date invitation, right?”

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!”

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.

Lucy yanks him back.

Mike: “How did you do that?”

Lucy: “I’m half demon, remember?”

Mike: “Sometimes, yeah. Other times you only rarely remind me… how do I put it… something like… something vaguely resembling a woman or something??!

But right now I feel totally charged with energy!”

Lucy: “What an idiot…!”

Mike just raises an eyebrow and checks a switch made out of a Pepsi can.

“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.”

The Coyote X 3000, missing its windshield, blasts straight through the main gate like the lock isn’t even there.

The sheet-metal hood the mechanic slapped together vibrates so hard under the strain it sounds like a drummer on speed.

“Hey, Lucy, there are the warehouses! Can you smell it? That scent of gunpowder and plastic explosives…

 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.”

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.”

Lucy: “And how exactly are you planning to sneak in? Blow something up? (Again?)”

Mike: “No! I played Metal Gear Solid—I know how this works!”

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.”

Mike: “Quiet! Call me Solid Snake!”

Lucy: “Snake? I like stepping on snakes.”

Mike: “Jesus! That’s another piece of information I’m going to have to erase from my brain with alcohol poisoning!”

Mike grabs a bag, scans the area, and starts sneaking through the base…

Mike: “Ha! My mom said playing video games would never amount to anything!

 Well she can go tell that to the Twitch streamers today!”

Slowly, he starts stuffing grenades and C-4 into the bag. He glances around—and spots an M16.

“With a line like: ‘That might come in handy…’”

The moment Mike reaches for the first M16, he hears a sound. A harmonic tone.

Mike mutters: “I’ve heard that somewhere before…”

He looks around—and spots a red light rotating in steady intervals.

Mike: “Oh, shit…! My Solid Snake stealth mode failed!”

But on the other hand…

 there’s plenty of gunpowder here. Plenty of explosives.

Mike plants several C-4 charges in the ammo depot.

And no running—

Out in the abandoned desert base… a burst of M16 fire erupts behind him.

Mike takes off, clutching the bag, running as fast as his smoker’s lungs will allow…

Bullets tear through the air around him…

Mike yells into the distance: “Kiss my shiny metal ass!”

Lucy hears the gunfire as she leans against the scrap heap that used to be the Coyote X.

From afar, she sees rounds flying all around Mike.

She rolls her eyes. “I knew that idiot would screw it up again…”

Mike shouts from a distance: “Open the passenger door—you’re driving now!”

Lucy: “Forget it! I’m not driving that four-wheeled coffin!”

Mike starts yelling: “If you don’t… just hit my bag and I’ll blow into pieces!”

“Don’t piss me off! And floor it—with your giant foot!”

Lucy: “I do NOT have a giant foot!”

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!”

“Hit the gas or we’re turning into Swiss cheese!”

Lucy angrily slams the gas pedal. “And what happens next, genius?”

Mike: “More gas! It’s about to get hot!”

Lucy: “What do you mean ‘hot’??!”

Mike: “Well… I’ve got a detonator in my hand, and the whole base is about to go sky-high.”

Lucy: “You’re going to kill innocent soldiers?!”

Mike: “Nope! I wrote them a few messages on the walls on the way in—all the same—so they’d survive!”

Lucy: “And what did they say?!”

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!’”

Lucy: “You’re not serious… right?!”

Mike: “I am. The message ended with: ‘Sincerely, Mike.’ And instead of a period, I added a winking emoji.”

Lucy: “You did NOT!”

Mike: “I did! Don’t you get what the emoji means?! It completely changes the tone of the sentence!”

“Besides… better than having a military Apache helicopter chasing us!”

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.

“Move it, Lucy! Floor it with that giant paw of yours!

The Titanic sank, but we don’t have to!” Mike yells, digging through the bag for the detonator.

“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!”

“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?”

Lucy: “Shut up!”

“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!”

“Hold on! Now you’ll see why that atheist prayed in driving school!”

Mike: “Why? Are you crazier than me?!”

CLICK.

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.

Mike: “Ah… poor Enzo Ferrari…”

“That was beautiful, Lucy! Do you feel that karmic aerodynamics?

That winking emoji in my signature just saved their lives—they knew I meant it in a friendly way!”

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?!

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!”

“Maybe,” Mike grins, pulling a spare detonator from his pocket, “but until then—kiss my shiny metal ass!

Hey, Lucy, you got that Verona in there somewhere? I feel like getting lost while an Apache chases us!”

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.

A machine-gun burst shatters the right side mirror into dust. Mike ducks under the dashboard.

“Hey, it’s a manual!” Mike shouts over the engine.

 “How about using that right foot of yours on the clutch so we’re not crawling in first gear?!”

Lucy slams the gearshift, the transmission grinding violently. “Shut up and watch the bullets!”

“Keep that full heel planted and move it!” Mike yells, rummaging through the glove compartment.

Lucy glances in the mirror for a split second. “Oh, so you noticed I don’t have flat feet? Noticed my perfect full heel?”

Mike: “Nope—just hit the pedal with that elephant foot of yours before we turn into Swiss cheese! I wish I had your problems…!”

“Ha! Found it!”

 Mike triumphantly pulls out a cassette. “My mixtape! David Hasselhoff – True Survivor! That’s exactly what we need!”

An ’80s synth kicks in through the speakers, Hoff’s heroic voice blasting. Lucy rolls her eyes. “You are such a retro freak, Mike!”

“Hey, shouldn’t you be driving?!”

The song builds—but Mike’s expression suddenly hardens. “That’s bad…”

“What is it now?!”

“How do I put this… remember the American combat helicopter Apache?”

Lucy goes pale. “What about it?”

“Shift up and slam that elephant foot on the gas—iceberg versus Titanic style—”

“Because it’s right on our ass!”

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.

“That was close!

We got lucky!” Lucy exhales.

Mike smirks, eyes reflecting the oncoming apocalypse.

 “Lucky?

What do you call lucky, Mengele?

We’ve got heat-seeking missiles locked on us, sweetheart!”

“So we’re dead!”

“Nope. It’s hero time!”

“What hero?! Show me one!”

Mike grabs his harpoon. “Time for my favorite toy!”

 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.

Mike: “It’s hero time!”

Lucy: “Fine—show me one! What are you doing?!”

“Relax. They’ve got something to lose—I don’t! They’ll bail out while it’s moving!”

“And then?!”

“The missiles track heat. So they’ll hit that jeep first—now officially our trailer!”

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.

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!”

Above them, the American Apache attack helicopter keeps coming.

It’s not giving up.

Mike: “Shit… my second rearview mirror is toast!”

“They shouldn’t have provoked me!”

Mike pulls an M202 FLASH out of the bag.

Lucy: “Where did you even get that?!”

Mike: “From that military base that turned into a mushroom cloud!”

Lucy: “So that’s why you were running so slow… I thought you were just getting old!”

Mike: “What? Me, old?

 Women go from top models to witches with age! Men are like Camembert—better the older they get!”

Lucy: “How did you even fit that thing in the bag?!”

Mike: “Same way as in the OG Resident Evil trilogy. Item boxes.”

Lucy: “What?”

Mike: “Just take your foot off the gas and yank the handbrake!”

Lucy: “Why?!”

Mike: “Because if you don’t, the coroner’s gonna be collecting what’s left of us across three states—got it now?!”

Lucy throws the car into a brutal drift.

Mike leans out the passenger window—and fires the launcher straight at the Apache.

Seconds later, high above the ground, it explodes.

Lucy: “You just wiped out the helicopter crew!”

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…”

Mike pauses for a moment… then adds:

“Win-win!”

“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!”

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…

 that second part?

Nobody’s ever gonna manage that. You can’t be humiliated.”

Mike watches the burning wreckage of the helicopter fall from the sky like a broken toy—like some fragile knockoff model from Wish.

Behind them, the remains crash down in a blazing inferno.

Mike lights a cigarette.

 “They shouldn’t have provoked me.”

He flips the cassette.

“Fate Magazine – Každou vteřinou .”

Lucy: “And what the hell is this?!”

Mike: “Sorry, I forgot—you only understand Czech when it suits you… here, American version for you.

Fate Magazine – Anymore!”