How do you turn a reserved man into a chatterbox? The answer is simple: give him a bottle of alcohol and add a beautiful woman. Jack found himself in the company of two such women. By the time he realized what had happened, it was already past midnight.
After courteously escorting the two sisters back to their tent, Jack tidied up his belongings and crawled into his own tent. Using his System, he quickly cleared away the mild intoxication.
With plenty of time before dawn, Jack glanced at his skill list. The progress bar for his Russian language skills was just a sliver away from reaching proficiency. It seemed the System's upgrades now placed greater emphasis on practical experience.
Jack slipped into his sleeping bag, pondering whether to watch a Russian TV show or movie on his phone to push his skills to the next level. Suddenly, he sensed a faint disturbance around him.
Reaching for the FK7.5 knife he had stashed beside his sleeping bag, Jack prepared to spring into action. But before he could move, the tent's zipper was gently pulled open. In the soft moonlight, a graceful figure slipped inside.
"Talia?"
Jack's surprised words were barely out when Talia, wrapped in a robe, zipped the tent closed again. The moonlight disappeared, followed by the sound of the robe hitting the ground.
Inside the tent, it seemed brighter without the moonlight, illuminated by Talia's pale skin. As Jack marveled at this unexpected beauty, a cool, soft body slid into his sleeping bag.
It was well known that deserts had extreme temperature differences between day and night. By midnight, the outside temperature had dropped close to freezing. Even Russians, accustomed to winter swimming, would feel the chill.
As they struggled together to fend off the cold, the tent zipper was once again gently pulled open.
"Huh? Natasha?"
Waking up in the morning, feeling the warm, smooth sensation against his chest and back, Jack let out a barely audible sigh. Perhaps he should invest in a more waterproof sleeping bag in the future.
The sisters, exhausted from keeping warm together, didn't stir when Jack slipped out of the sleeping bag. They only muttered softly and clung to each other.
The scene was...beautiful.
Jack took out his phone and captured the sunrise over the desert. After freshening up, he started preparing porridge.
As the porridge simmered, Jack chopped the last two steaks into thin strips and tossed them into the pot. He then turned off the heat, letting the residual warmth cook the meat. A pinch of white pepper and salt completed the dish, making it exceptionally delicious.
Jack finished half the pot by himself, his energy needs demanding a substantial replenishment.
The aroma of beef porridge woke the sisters. Natasha and Talia, still wrapped in their robes, hurriedly left Jack's tent and rushed into their own to dress and freshen up, eliciting a chorus of "fucks" from the distance.
When they reemerged from their tent, Jack waved them over for breakfast. The sisters each kissed him on the cheek and playfully squabbled over the food, just like the night before.
Before bidding the sisters farewell, Jack reminded them of his suspicion about the two Koreans being members of the Koreatown gang.
Natasha responded with a warm kiss and reassured him that their beloved father would take care of any such small troubles.
From their conversations, Jack had gleaned that the sisters might have some diplomatic connections. The presence of an AKM further hinted at this. Satisfied with his brief warning, he ceased worrying.
Watching the dark red GMC-SIERRA pickup kick up dust and vanish into the distance, Jack packed his things and his emotions. Throughout their encounter, the sisters hadn't asked for his contact information, leaving him with an inexplicable sense of melancholy.
Maybe men are just that fickle—if they had asked for his contact, he would probably fret over any future entanglements.
As Jack folded up his sleeping bag, an exquisite silver flask tumbled out. He quickly picked it up, a broad smile spreading across his face.
With the Firebird back on the road, Jack kept one hand on the wheel and the other out the window, savoring the feel of the wind as he drove, lost in the pleasant memories of the previous night.
Today's journey was smooth. Jack crossed the Colorado River and entered Arizona, marking his first drive out of California.
If he had headed north along the Colorado River for about 130 kilometers, he could have seen the legendary Hoover Dam. But since there was no Megatron hidden beneath it in this world, he wasn't inclined to take such a detour. After all, he had visited the Three Gorges Dam in his previous life.
Passing through the famed Phoenix, Jack continued driving for less than two hours, arriving in Tucson before sunset.
After restocking on meat, vegetables, and fruits at a supermarket in the city center, he checked into a decent-looking hotel.
Jack had no intention of skimping by staying at motels, not because he feared for his safety but because he worried about his belongings. With so much gear in the car, moving it around was too much hassle.
He had planned a roughly ten-day trip, aiming to stop in cities rather than towns to avoid potential trouble.
Modern electronic security systems might deter car thieves, but they couldn't stop junkies or drunks from smashing a window for a pack of cigarettes or some minor trinket inside.
If such an incident occurred, local police wouldn't offer much help just because he was an LAPD officer. More likely, they'd sternly warn him to stay out of trouble and promptly leave their jurisdiction.
America's cumbersome federal system made traveling between states as troublesome as crossing international borders. Although no passport or customs checks were required, each state had its own laws.
Take Jack's handgun, for instance. His California carry permit might not be recognized in other states. Each state had different gun laws, especially regarding model and magazine capacity. If he got into trouble, he'd have to seek Justin's help.
This was one reason Jack wanted to join the FBI. With federal law enforcement status, unless he was wielding a rocket launcher, local police would generally avoid bothering him.
Tucson was Arizona's second-largest city after Phoenix. Much of Arizona was desert and barren land, typifying wide-open spaces with sparse populations.
With a population of just over half a million and fewer than 100,000 in the urban area, Tucson still surprised Jack. When he unpacked his luggage at the hotel and drove around looking for a local restaurant, he encountered streetwalkers everywhere.
Every time Jack slowed down to read a restaurant sign, scantily clad women with heavy makeup would flash him two fingers, some bending one down upon seeing his face.
This reminded Jack of another city infamous for its streetwalkers, Seattle, and the catchy tune from a certain video about it on that small video-sharing site back in his previous life.
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