Reckless Harmony

Dirt Roads

The grueling hours driving from Nebraska to Chicago are relentlessly irritating. Mickey's head bobs against the car window, his mind drifting in and out of a light doze. Each jolt and bump in the road nudges him back to a hazy awareness until finally, the car shudders to a halt in the desolate desert.

"Yo, you want anything from the Mac? Me and Eddie are grabbing some sandwiches," Max asks, leaning back to catch Mickey's attention.

Mickey blinks groggily, trying to focus on Max's question. "Uh, yeah, sure. Get me a burrito, thanks," he mumbles, his voice heavy with fatigue.

"Ight'," Max says as they exit the vehicle and begin walking toward the Mac.

With a weary sigh, Mickey rubs his tired eyes, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. He glances at his phone, the bright screen stark against the dark interior of the tour van, the time reading '01:34' in glaring digits. The late hour only adds to his weariness, and he silently curses the long journey and the endless stretch of road that seems to never end. Trying to shake off the sleepiness, Mickey rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath.

Suddenly, the car door flings open with such force that Mickey, caught off guard, tumbles onto the dusty ground.

"Ow! What the hell, man?!" he grumbles, rubbing his sore knee.

"Hello, Milkovich," a chillingly familiar voice greets him.

Mickey looks up, disbelief washing over his face. "Gabriel? How the fuck did you track me down?"

"Riot City tour, featuring Maximus Wilson, Eduardo Santiago, and Mickey Milkovich. You're not exactly a hard man to find," Gabriel taunts with a menacing tone.

Mickey's breath comes out in heavy, controlled puffs. "You so much as touch Ian again, and I'll..."

"Relax, Milkovich. We're not here to play rough with your little boyfriend. We just want to remind you of who's really in charge here. Your little stunt cost us our best-paying customers, you know." Gabriel interrupts with a malicious smirk.

Mickey propels himself off the dusty ground, his muscles coiled like springs, ready for a fight. Before he can even react, a burly guard surges forward, seizing Mickey's arms and wrenching them behind his back. Mickey grunts in frustration as he's manhandled toward the waiting vehicle. The guard's sheer size makes any resistance futile.

"Hey!! Let him go!" Max's voice cuts through the chaos, his footsteps pounding against the ground as he rushes to intervene. He and Eddie throw themselves into the fray, but the guards overpower them, sending both crashing to the unforgiving earth.

"Fucking assholes!" Mickey's voice rings out, a blend of anger and defiance as he's forcibly ushered into the back of a truck. It dawns on him then, the realization hitting like a ton of bricks – this truck had been fucking tailing them from Lincoln.

Mickey curses under his breath, disbelief mingling with frustration. How could they have missed such an obvious fucking threat?

His train of thought is abruptly cut short as a massive pipe swings at his head, connecting with a sickening thud. The world spins, then fades into darkness as he crumples to the floor of the truck, the impact echoing loudly in the confined space.

***

Max's frustration simmers like a pot about to boil over as he paces back and forth on the rough dirt ground. The questions race through his mind like a hurricane—Who were those bastards? How could they have snatched Mickey so effortlessly? And why?

Beside him, Eddie mirrors his turmoil, running a distressed hand through his long and tangled hair. Max's nerves are frayed, evident in the way he nervously chews on his nails, his mind racing with a million possibilities and worst-case scenarios.

"What the hell do we do now?!" Max blurts out, his voice edged with panic.

Eddie's eyes widen as a spark of hope flickers in his tired gaze. "Wait! Can't you track his phone? Use that Finder app or something?"

Max's eyes light up as he realizes the potential of Eddie's suggestion. Without wasting a second, he fumbles for his phone, fingers trembling with urgency. The screen illuminates the map, and his heart leaps as he spots Mickey's phone icon, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos.

"There! I've got him!" Max exclaims, relief flooding through him like a cool breeze in the scorching desert heat. "Get in the damn van, Ed!"

Their movements are swift and decisive as they jump into the van, the engine roaring to life with a determined growl. The desert landscape blurs past them as they speed off, the adrenaline of the chase coursing through their veins.

About 20 tense minutes later, they spot the truck they've been chasing. Max's hands grip the steering wheel tightly as he maintains a safe distance, keeping the truck in sight without being detected.

The truck eventually comes to a halt at a desolate warehouse, surrounded by nothing but barren land. Max parks the van at a distance, hidden from view but with a clear line of sight to the warehouse.

They watch intently as figures emerge from the truck, their movements purposeful and determined. Max's heart clenches with dread as he sees them dragging out an unconscious Mickey, blood trickling down his face, a stark contrast against his pale skin.

Max's eyes narrow as he surveys the scene, his concern palpable in the tense lines of his face.

"That does not look good," he whispers under his breath, his voice tinged with worry. "What do we do?"

Eddie's gaze remains fixed on the warehouse, his mind already formulating a plan. "We scope it out," he replies quietly, his tone steady despite the gravity of the situation. "We wait for the right moment, when someone least expects it, and then we make our move to get Mickey out of there."

"But what if someone catches us?" Max's voice trembles slightly, his fear of the unknown surfacing in his words.

Eddie meets Max's gaze, his expression determined. "I guess that's just a risk we'll have to take," he says, his voice firm with resolve. "Mickey needs us, and we're not leaving him behind."

With a shared nod, they steel themselves for the dangerous task ahead.