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The next day, after hours of running through the woods, the group finally stumbled upon a clearing. There was a small home in sight, a few clotheslines strung up with laundry fluttering in the breeze, and random tools and buckets scattered around. It looked quiet—peaceful even—but the car parked near the edge of the property was their real target.

They crouched behind a cloth stand, staying hidden while assessing the scene. Armando was at the front of the group, his sharp eyes already scanning for an opportunity.

"Better get you out of this," Mike muttered, glancing at the Spanish gangster. But before he could say more, Armando had already made a move, dashing toward the car without a second thought.

"Hey!" Mike hissed, his frustration barely contained. He turned to Marcus with a scoff. "That boy hardheaded."

"Chip off the old block." Marcus said, shaking his head.

Cataleya, who had been standing a few paces behind, rolled her eyes. She couldn't stand the endless banter between them. Without a word, she strolled forward, brushing past them both to follow Armando.

Meanwhile, Mike and Marcus were fumbling through some clothes hanging on the line, attempting to find something to change into for a disguise.

By the time she reached the car, Armando was crouched at the front of it, scouting for any issues as they watched the scene unfold.

Suddenly, two men emerged, rifles slung over their shoulders as they walked toward the group. Armando immediately froze, and they ducked lower behind the car. The situation was quickly escalating, and Mike and Marcus exchanged wide-eyed glances after they were done changing into the clothes that were clearly from the two white men.

"What are you boys doing?" The grumpy man pointed his gun at Marcus & the other at Mike as the two goofy's raised their hands.

"Boys?" Marcus questioned.

"Are y'all stealing our clothes?" The man asked again as his friend next to him chuckled.

"Looks like it."

Marcus turned to Mike. "Fucking racism." Mike turned confused. "Y'all think just because we black we stealing your shit? Now these are my own black clothes, that I put on today from my own black closet." Mike had looked down on his shirt as his expression was eerie.

"Marcus," Mike tried his best to pretend normal as he gritted his teeth to not make them hear but his colleague.

"What?" Marcus sneered.

"Look at your shirt." Mike gritted.

Marcus slowly traced his eyes down on his shirt as their shoulders fell. His shirt had written the text 'White Boy' on the middle, clean & clear.

Cataleya that watched it, couldn't stop herself from speaking her thoughts out. "Oh man."

Marcus pretended a chuckle as he grew nervous, looking back at Mike. "How this get in my black closet?"

Armando crouched up a bit to keep watch to the scene, in safety the men will get busy talking to them so that the two could finish what they planned.

"Why don't you boys sing us a little Riba song?" The owner said festes to Mike that einweise had a pretty obvious Riba shirt on.

Armando had also changed into new pair of clothes as he kept the cap with him. Except Cataleya, who couldn't stand a chance in changing for being the only girl & she preferred the outfit she was wearing ever since she entered that plane.

From her spot crouched near Armando, Cataleya scoffed quietly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'd rather work on this damn car than sit here watching this turn into Netflix & Chill."

Armando turned his head slowly, narrowing his eyes at her with that trademark suspicious look of his.

Cataleya raised an eyebrow, daring him to say something. "What? You rather some popcorn?" She added dryly, leaning back slightly as if to challenge him further.

Armando's lips twitched in the faintest hint of amusement, but he quickly returned his focus to the car as they quietly rushed inside it. Once they got inside, his hands worked deftly on the cables beneath the dashboard, connecting them with precision. Within seconds, the engine sputtered to life.

They moved quickly. He pressed on gas & sped towards them. Mike and Marcus bolted toward the back of the truck, scrambling to climb into the bed as the two armed men shouted behind them, their rifles raised. Armando floored the gas, the truck lurching forward as the men dove out of the way just in time to avoid getting hit.

As they sped off down the dirt road, the furious voices of the men echoed behind them. "We're sorry! We'll bring it back!" Mike yelled, waving one arm in mock apology.

Marcus chimed in with a shout of his own, "We're not stealing your shit because we're Black!"

From her spot in the passenger seat, Cataleya pinched the bridge of her nose, the urge to roll her eyes almost overwhelming. But she bit back her response and kept her focus ahead as Armando steered the vehicle farther into the road by the woods.

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The truck went down the roads. They had been driving for hours now, with the dense forest blurring into an endless stretch of trees and shadows. The tension in the air was thick, but no one spoke much—except, of course, Marcus, who never seemed to run out of commentary.

"Man, my back is killing me back here." Marcus groaned from the truck bed. "Ain't no damn cushions, no damn seatbelt. How you gonna steal a truck this uncomfortable? Could've at least jacked a Cadillac or something."

"Next time, you hotwire the car." Armando called back over his shoulder, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. His voice carried an edge, but there was a flicker of annoyance laced with humor in his tone.

Marcus huffed and shifted, glaring at Mike, who was lying back against a pile of sacks in the truck bed. "How you so comfortable, man? This ain't a damn vacation."

Mike didn't even open his eyes, lazily waving him off. "It's called adapting, Marcus. Maybe you should try it sometime. This is survival mode, baby."

"Survival mode my ass." Marcus muttered, adjusting himself again and letting out an exaggerated groan. "I better not catch tetanus from this rusty-ass truck."

Inside the cab, Cataleya sat quietly in the passenger seat, her head leaned against the window. The glass was cool against her temple, and her gaze was fixed on the forest flashing by. She hadn't said much since they'd left, not even reacting to Marcus' endless complaining. Her mind was elsewhere—lost in thoughts she couldn't quite escape.

"You good?" Armando asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence in the cab.

She turned to look at him, her brows furrowing slightly. "I'm fine." She said curtly, turning her gaze back to the window.

"Yeah, sure." Armando muttered under his breath, but he didn't press her. Instead, he focused on the road ahead, the tension between them palpable.

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