Jack stood at the edge of the road, watching cars zoom past like they were racing from a zombie apocalypse. The asphalt was hot against his bare feet, and he was starting to realize that hitchhiking might be harder than expected when you looked like an anime character who escaped Comic-Con.
"Okay, Jack," he muttered, trying to hype himself up. "Time to put those people skills to work. Just… act normal. Whatever the hell that means anymore."
He stuck out his thumb, threw on his best "not-a-threat" smile, and waited. First car didn't slow. Second car didn't even glance. An SUV actually sped up.
"Awesome. I officially give off serial killer vibes," he sighed.
After twenty painfully awkward minutes of standing there like a rejected NPC, an old pickup truck finally pulled over. The driver looked like someone's grandpa — flannel shirt, worn baseball cap, face like he'd wrestled a few storms in his time.
"You okay there, son?" the man called out through the window. "You look like you've been through hell."
Jack jogged over, trying not to seem too desperate. "Hey, thanks for stopping. I'm, uh… kinda lost. Trying to get to the nearest town."
The guy eyed him — the bare feet, the too-big clothes, the silver anime hair. "Lost, huh? Well, hop in. I'm heading to Millbrook. That work?"
"Millbrook sounds perfect," Jack said, climbing in. The inside of the truck smelled like old coffee and leather — oddly comforting. "I'm Jack, by the way. And seriously, thanks. I thought I was gonna be walking 'til next week."
"Don't mention it. Name's Frank." He pulled onto the road again. "So what's your story, kid? You runnin' away or something?"
Jack's brain scrambled. He needed a lie, fast. "Nah, nothing like that. I was camping with some friends, went for a hike, got turned around. Spent the night in the woods."
"Camping. Without shoes?" Frank raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, that's... a long story. Let's just say my buddies thought it'd be hilarious to prank me while I was asleep. Took my stuff. Real comedians."
Frank chuckled. "Kids these days. Back in my day, pranks didn't involve abandoning someone in the middle of the forest."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Jack muttered. That part wasn't even a lie — he really was dumped into this world without a clue.
They drove in silence for a while. Jack let the rhythm of the road settle him. The Force buzzed quietly in the back of his mind, giving him a feel for Frank's emotions. The guy was solid — no weird vibes, no hidden agenda. Just a good man helping out a kid who looked like trouble.
"So where you from originally?" Frank asked. "That accent ain't local."
Crap. Accent. Hadn't thought of that. "Uh, California. L.A. area. I'm visiting family up here."
"Long way from home. Your folks know where you are?"
"They know I'm in New York," Jack said — technically true, if you counted interdimensional travel.
Frank gave a satisfied nod. "Good. Nothin' worse than worried parents."
As they drove through a quiet valley, Jack spotted a sign: Millbrook — Population 1,452 — Historic Hudson Valley Community.
Perfect. Small enough to lay low, big enough to find what he needed.
"Nice place," Jack said.
"Been here my whole life," Frank replied, proud. "Quiet, friendly. Not much going on — and that's how we like it."
If only you knew, Jack thought. He could already feel the timeline ticking toward disaster — aliens, gods, mad scientists. Poor Millbrook had no idea what was coming.
Twenty minutes later, they rolled into a cozy little main street. Quaint shops, diners, flower boxes on windowsills. Picture-perfect small-town America.
Frank pulled up in front of a diner: Mabel's Kitchen.
"This is as good a place as any to start," he said. "Mabel makes the best coffee for miles. She knows everybody. If you need help, she's your gal."
"Thanks, Frank. For real."
"Don't sweat it." Frank pulled out his wallet, handed Jack a twenty. "Here. Get some shoes. And a decent meal."
Jack blinked. "Oh—no, I can't. I've got..." He patted the pocket where his infinite money card sat. "I mean, I've got some cash."
"Bullshit," Frank said with a soft grin. "No offense, but you look like you haven't eaten in two days. Take the twenty. Call it a loan."
Jack hesitated, then took it. Something about Frank's kindness hit him in the chest.
"Thanks," he said, voice low. "I'll pay you back. Promise."
"Just pay it forward. That's all any of us can do."
Frank drove off with a wave, his old pickup rumbling into the distance.
Jack stood on the sidewalk outside Mabel's Kitchen, staring at the twenty in his hand.
"Awesome," he muttered. "Now I look homeless and I'm living off trucker charity. Just keeps getting better."
A lady walking her dog gave him a side-eye as she passed, and Jack realized — yeah, he definitely stood out. Time to blend in, get a plan, and figure out what the hell came next.