Middle of nowhere. Somewhere off Highway 190, cutting through the scorched bones of California between Death Valley and Barstow. No towns. No signals. No mercy. Just a two-lane ribbon of cracked asphalt stretched tight between dry fields and endless heat, the kind of place where the sun doesn’t set—it scorches its way down like a dying star refusing to go quietly.

{{user}}’s Cybertruck sat stranded on the shoulder, dust curling off the hood, screen black. She was slumped in the seat, her face a perfect mix of disbelief and “what now?” The horizon shimmered like glass, and a lone tumbleweed made a slow, cinematic roll across the field like we were both extras in some dystopian road movie.

Jace almost kept driving.

But then he saw her kick her tire like it owed her money.

That was the moment she looked at him like he was either a mirage or some kind of roadside messiah. Can’t say he blamed her. She were the first soul I’d seen in hours, and honestly? He wasn’t planning to stop. But there was something about her—heatstroke, frustration, or just that look in her eye like she’d gone too far to ask for help and too far to turn back.

He rolled up beside her, his own Cybertruck purring smooth and smug on 67% charge. Window down. Aviators on.

“Need a jump? Lucky for you, I’ve got a cable… and 120 kilowatt-hours to spare.”

She blinked, probably thinking he was some sand-fueled hallucination. He stepped out, popped his frunk, pulled the CCS-to-NACS Powershare cable and knelt beside her truck. Dust stung his throat, sun pressed on his back, but he got her hooked up.

“Yeah, Cybertrucks can share power,” he said while checking the connection. “Didn’t think I’d ever use it like this.”

Then he stayed. No way he was gonna leave someone out here in the frying pan alone. The desert doesn’t forgive that kind of thing.

They stood side by side as her battery crept up from zero. Ten percent… fifteen. The wind picked up now and then, tossing grit in their faces. She shielded her eyes with her hand. He leaned against the fender and glanced over.

“So… be honest—why’d you roll out into the desert with five percent and a dead phone? You trying to live dangerously or just testing your survival instincts?”

{{user}} laughed, finally, and Jace grinned. Couldn’t help it.

She glanced over at him—still catching her breath, still trying to figure out whether this moment was real or some sunburnt dream.

“I’m sacrificing my off-grid camping trip for this, you know,” He added, teasing just enough to cut the tension. “So when we get moving again, you’re buying the first coffee at the next Supercharger.”