Part 1

“Do you like good food? Do you like out-of-this-world novelty items?”
Bob, dressed in a cheap pirate costume, grinned at the camera, delivering his lines for the latest Jolly Rogers ad.

Behind him, a spread of food steamed under heat lamps—brisket, ribs, sausages, cornbread, sandwiches. Racks of shirts, jeans, and hoodies showed off the smiling skull logo. Aisles glittered with toys and bizarre roadside trinkets.

“Then come on down to Jolly Rogers, where we got the booty… Guys…”

“Cut!”
Sean stepped in front of the camera and grabbed Bob’s shoulders. “Bob. Just say the line. You’ve said it a hundred times. This isn’t hard.”

“The line is dumb,” Bob said, ripping off his eye patch. “We need to go back to the drawing board. I mean, seriously.”

“No, no, no,” Sean scolded. “We are not doing makeup again. We’re already behind schedule. And Tyler—stop dancing! You look like a broken Chuck E. Cheese animatronic.”

Tyler, fully suited in the Jolly Rogers mascot costume, continued to robot dance, oblivious.

“Tyler!” everyone shouted. Still no reaction.

Sean marched over and yanked off the oversized mascot head. “Tyler, earbuds out. You can’t hear anything with the head on, let alone with those in.”

Tyler blinked. “Are we done?”

Bob joined them. “All I’m saying is—since we have a new captain—maybe we can try something different?”

“Don’t get me started on that ‘new captain’ crap,” Sean snapped. “It’s ‘Jolly Rogers: We got the Booty!’ That’s the slogan. Always has been.”

“Bit problematic, don’t you think?” Bob said, rubbing at his fake mustache. “We could workshop something—”

“And while we’re at it,” Sean said, “you should’ve been Captain, Bob. Even Wade would have been better over Mark.”

Bob raised a brow. “Now that’s improbable.”

Tyler adjusted his suit uncomfortably, suddenly invisible again.

“You were there, Bob,” Tyler said, hesitantly. “Why’d the Captain allow it?”

Bob checked his novelty Jolly Rogers wristwatch. “We’re behind. Let’s wrap it up. Black Friday’s coming fast, and we’re not ready.”

He called to the crew, “Wrap it up, folks! Doors open soon. And remember—no robbing the customers. We voted on that.”

“They should chain their wallets if they care so much,” Sean muttered, breaking down the lights.

---

At 6’4”, Bob towered over most. He lumbered back into his office at the rear of the store. With the crew filming done and the floor staff in place, it was time for paperwork.

Before the new captain took over, Jolly Rogers had been nothing but stolen goods—except what they traded for with New Haven. All the food came from trade. Everything else was snatched from wayward vehicles.

Raids were easy. Something about the region just before the New Eden Bridge—like a Bermuda Triangle of backroads and rolling pastures—messed with electronics. Trucks got lost. They didn’t come back.

Bob never liked stealing. But they were damn good at it.

Now, stacks of official forms sat on his desk—documents to legitimize Jolly Rogers. He dreamed of opening more locations, especially along Route 58, the only road that made it this far into the Triangle. The Brighton Bridge loomed like a forbidden gate.

He’d barely signed the first sheet when the door opened.

Mandy stepped in, cheerful as ever. “Morning, honey!”

“Morning, dear,” Bob replied, eyes still on the paperwork. “Let me guess. Another truck?”

“You know it.” She beamed. “Based on my scan last night, it’s got to be a shipment from Aardwelt Toys. Just in time for Christmas!”

Bob sighed. “You know how I feel about this.”

“This is what we do,” she said. “You used to love raids.”

“And then I got shot in the leg and lost all feeling in my foot,” Bob muttered. “Honestly, I’m shocked more truckers aren’t armed. What kind of world are we living in?”

“We need that truck,” Mandy insisted.

“Isn’t there a lawsuit with Aardwelt right now? Malfunctioning toys?”

“Bob!”

He groaned. “Wouldn’t be Christmas without exploding firetrucks and swear dolls.”

Mandy just smiled and walked out.

Bob stared at the forms again. “Soon…” he whispered.

He wanted to be legit. They were already making a fortune off New Eden traffic. New Haven kept them stocked with wool, meat, and produce—more than enough to attract customers.

And the place was a gas station. When they had gas.

---

Next door, the Jolly Rogers Autoshop operated as a front for more questionable business—dragging off abandoned vehicles, stripping them for parts, and occasionally fixing tourists’ cars for a steep fee. Being the only shop around, people paid—grudgingly.

Wade, the head mechanic, was under the hood of a gleaming silver Camry when Bob walked into the bay.

Bob nudged his boot. “Up and at ‘em, loser.”

“I’m really not in the mood for this today,” Wade groaned, rolling out on his creeper. Bob hauled him up.

Grease smeared Wade’s beard and forehead. He rubbed a tender knot on his skull—courtesy of Mark during the leadership shift.

“You good?” Bob asked.

Wade shrugged. “It’s whatever. Chain of command is settled—even if it broke the code.”

“Sean’s still pissed. So is everyone else.”

Wade sighed. “What do you want, Bob?”

“Mandy picked up a truck—Aardwelt.”

“Aardwelt, huh?” Wade set a wrench onto the bench. “Who’s getting toy shipments out here?”

“She didn’t say. Just a normal truck that wandered too close.”

“You got make and model?”

“Do I ever?” Bob said. “Talk to Mandy.”

Wade grunted and wiped his hands. “People want you at the helm.”

“I’m not fit for that.”

“You’ve got the brains, the experience…”

“And a bum leg,” Bob added. “How’s your lump?”

Wade winced. “Mark’s gonna get his, eventually… Just ‘cause you can’t raid doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be a good Captain.”

“I’m first mate. That’s enough.”

Wade smirked. “For now.”

Bob glanced around the mostly empty garage. “Where is everyone?”

“Pat and JP are out collecting a few cars. Took the transporter.” Wade flipped open the logbook and scowled at the handwriting. “Chicken scratch…”

“They take the right paperwork?”

“They know the rules,” Wade smiled, “If not, they’ll wish they had.”

Bob nodded. Police tended to avoid the Triangle—but lines were occasionally crossed. And when people left their cars out here… they were rarely seen again.

Bones turned up sometimes. Gnawed on with chunks of meat.

He didn’t like to think about it.

---

“Bob.”

Wade’s voice pulled him from the memory.

“Go find Mark. If we’re raiding, he should lead after all. And if you see Molly, tell her to get back on radio. Pat and JP might need backup.”

Wade left for the store.

Bob stepped outside, his right leg tingling. Raids used to thrill him. Now, just walking made him think of scared truckers and blood.

He headed for the Lounge. Mark would be there—flirting with Amy, the Aos Sí bartender and probably striking out. Nereid, she called herself. Whatever. She was human enough not to scare away guests.

Sure enough, Mark was at the bar, sipping a drink, while Amy vanished to the back.

“Oi, Captain,” Bob called. “Got a minute?”

Mark raised his eyebrows, lips pursed.

“No need for that, Captain,” Bob smirked. “Pretty sure you’re annoying her.”

“I’m wearing her down,” Mark grinned. “I’m making progress.”

“Sure, you are. Anyway, Mandy picked up a signal. Aardwelt truck.”

“Ohh,” Mark perked up. “They’ve got some really cool stuff. Wild tech. Way more advanced than the toys we grew up with.”

“Also, defective. You’ve read the lawsuits, right?”

Mark sipped again. “I’ve read ‘em.”

“I’ve got concerns, Captain.”

“You always do.”

Bob hesitated. “This shipment… it might not be safe.”

Mark waved it off. “Then we test it ourselves. That’s the fun part.”

“You’re seriously sending a crew?”

“I want you riding shotgun with me.”

Bob froze. “I don’t do raids anymore.”

“Time to squash that fear. We’ve evolved. New tactics, new tools—”

“Still feels wrong, Mark.” Bob clenched his fist, then let it go. “This one’s different. I’ve got a bad feeling.”