Not Quite Back to the Future

Jackie Wells had found himself in a dire situation. What was supposed to be a routine smuggling run had spiraled into chaos. The contacts he had relied on were now dead, and all attempts to contact padre had been radio silent.

"mal dia muy mal dia" Jackie mutters

Luckily Jackie managed to find temporary safety within the confines of an abandoned mobile home. It was a small oasis of shelter in the unforgiving Badlands, a stark contrast to the chaos he had just escaped. With a sigh of relief, he settled into the dimly lit interior, feeling somewhat safer within the rusty, worn-out walls.

"Hopefully rescue is coming." Jackie mutters sitting down on an old torn up couch.

Having successfully evaded immediate pursuit and ditched his vehicle miles away, he had allowed himself a moment of relaxation. The mobile home's creaky structure had shielded him from the scorching sun, and he couldn't help but appreciate the silence.

Jackie's moment of respite was abruptly shattered by a sharp knock on the door of the mobile home. His heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively reached for the weapon holstered at his side.
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Helen's annoyance had reached its peak. She had never encountered such a swarm of corporate drones, mere cannon fodder in her path. It was as if they were throwing everything they had at her. Jackie must have really gotten himself into a world of trouble.

After an intense chase, she finally tracked down what she believed to be his location, only to find an abandoned car.

The car was a mangled wreck, its frame riddled with bullet holes and charred from an earlier fire. It was evident that this vehicle had seen better days, and its current state spoke volumes about what was likely Jackies situation.

Helen activated the advanced features of her Kiroshi MK4, grateful for the hunting upgrades it offered. The once-thriving wildlife population had been decimated in the wake of the economic collapse, but the technology had found a new purpose. It allowed anyone in need to track footprints and navigate the wilderness with precision.

As she examined the ground, intricate patterns of footprints emerged before her cybernetic eye. Jackie's trail was faint, but it was there.

"Gotcha ya." Helen mutters
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Helen approached the abandoned mobile home, her eyes scanning its weathered exterior. The once-vibrant red paint had peeled and faded over time, revealing the rusty metal frame beneath. The harsh sun had bleached the color to a pale, tired red, and the entire structure bore the scars of countless seasons.

The roof, once adorned with protective shingles, now lay bare and exposed. It had been a rusty, corrugated metal sheet.

"Well I think I found him." Helen mutters approaching the door.

Helen approached the worn and weathered door of the abandoned mobile home. She raised her gloved hand and rapped on it with the familiar pattern of "shave and a haircut, two bits." It was then that the peephole went dark, suggesting the presence of a gun.

"Who is it!" A voice that is unmistakable jackie shouts from inside.

"Your ticket out of here!" Helen confidently declared.

"What's the password?" Jackie asked.

"Password… The password is Raymond LuxuryYacht, but it's spelled Throatwarbler Mangrove," Helen replied casually, as though reciting a common phrase.

The tension inside the mobile home hung in the air as Helen's excuse of a password had gotten his attention. She could hear the rustling of movement from within, and then the sound of the door unlocking. Slowly, it creaked open, revealing Jackie's wary face, bathed in dim, filtered light.

Jackie remained suspicious as he sized up the woman in front of him.
"Who are you Hermana?"

"Are you not Jaquito Wells?" Helen asks

"Who sent you?"

"Padre, called and asked for a favor so I intend to deliver. You ready to head home?" Helen asks

Helen by the door and gestured towards her Type 66 Hoon, parked a short distance away. Said manuver had , drew Jackie's attention to the sleek, formidable vehicle.

Jackie eyed the car with a mix of awe and curiosity. "Damn, chika . That's a Type 66 Hoon, ain't it? Rare as hell."

Helen nodded, a faint grin playing on her lips. "You've got a good eye, Jackie. It's one of a kind."

He whistled appreciatively. "Padre sure knows how to pick his people. I am worried about the cost of this favor now."

Jackie quickly ducked back inside the mobile home to retrieve the package. Moments later, he emerged, carefully holding a small, nondescript container. He secured it in the trunk of the car, and with the package secured in the trunk, they both got into the car. The engine roared to life as Helen revved the Hoon, and they sped away from the abandoned mobile home, leaving behind a trail of dust off into the badlands.