Chapter 5 Got A Dollar?

The truck rumbled along the lonely highway, the open road stretching endlessly beneath the vast sky. Peter sat in the passenger seat, staring out at the fading sun as it bled into the horizon, the golden light casting a warm glow on the cracked asphalt. His clothes were no longer the bloodstained rags from that day in Millbrook. The nanobots had woven him a new outfit—a simple, gray hoodie and worn jeans. He blended in. Or at least, he hoped he did.

The driver, Larry, an older man with a potbelly and a greasy trucker's cap, glanced over at him with a chuckle. "Hey man, you good? You look pale, like you seen a ghost or somethin'. You on the run?" His eyes crinkled in amusement, but there was a hint of suspicion underneath.

Peter forced a weak smile, his mind still racing with the events of the last 48 hours. "Nah, just… had a rough day. Got divorced, and my wife kicked me out of the house. Figured I'd head west and start fresh." He let out a dry laugh, as if even he didn't believe the lie. "You got a dollar?"

Larry raised an eyebrow, his hands gripping the steering wheel as they passed a barren stretch of desert. "A dollar? Nah, I don't even carry cash, man. Cards all the way."

Peter smirked, leaning back in his seat. "Everybody should have a goddamn dollar," he muttered under his breath. Larry chuckled, shaking his head, and the silence fell between them again, interrupted only by the low hum of the engine.

As they drove further, the world seemed to stretch thin around them. Peter couldn't tell if it was exhaustion or the aftermath of what he had done, but everything felt unreal, like he was floating through someone else's life.

They approached a roadblock up ahead—blinking lights and the silhouette of police officers standing on the side of the highway. Peter tensed, his heart skipping a beat. The heat was still on him. His face had been plastered across every screen in Millbrook, and the authorities were looking for him. But not this face, he reminded himself, glancing at his reflection in the side mirror. He had changed. The nanobots had done their work.

As they rolled up, an officer shined his flashlight into the cab, glancing at both Larry and Peter. "Routine check. Where you folks headed?"

"Los Angeles," Larry said casually, flashing his ID. He looked at Peter. "This here's my cousin, had some bad luck and needs a place to stay. Hope you're not looking for charity officers." Larry laughed, but Peter remained quiet, his face a mask of calm.

The cop glanced at Peter for a moment, the light lingering on his face, then nodded and waved them through. "Stay safe out there," he said as they pulled away.

Peter exhaled, feeling the tension release from his shoulders. He had dodged the first bullet, but he knew there would be more.

---

By the time they arrived in the outskirts of Los Angeles, the city lights flickered in the distance like a sea of stars. It was nothing like the sleepy, small town of Millbrook. This was a place where people disappeared every day, a place where Peter could vanish into the crowd.

"Thanks for the ride, man," Peter said as Larry pulled over on a side street. The truck driver, ever the laid-back soul, gave him a toothy grin and leaned over, pulling something out of his wallet. He held up a hundred-dollar bill and waved it in front of Peter.

"Take this," Larry said with a tone of pity. "Looks like you need it more than me."

Peter frowned, shaking his head. "No, it's okay, really—"

"Nah, I insist," Larry pressed, practically forcing the bill into Peter's hand. "You'll get back on your feet."

Peter hesitated, then smirked as he pocketed the money. "Told you everybody should have a goddamn dollar!" He winked, and Larry burst out laughing.

Peter climbed out of the truck, and Larry waved before driving off into the bustling city. Peter stood still for a moment, clutching the hundred-dollar bill in his hand, watching Larry's truck disappear into the flood of cars.

His fingers closed around the bill as he shoved it into his pocket. That's when he felt it—the faint, tingling hum of the nanobots. They were working again, quietly, invisibly. He felt the bill multiply in his pocket, replicating itself over and over until he had a wad of crisp hundreds, all identical, all perfect.

Peter looked down at his pocket. He willed the nanobots to multiply money. He couldn't help but let out a breathless laugh. He had literally just become a walking ATM. "Guess I won't have to worry about rent," he muttered.

---

Peter strolled down the busy streets of Los Angeles, the sights and sounds of the city swirling around him. Neon lights flickered above high-end stores, and street vendors shouted out to tourists as the crowd surged along the sidewalks. Peter slipped through unnoticed, his newly formed identity blending in with the city's pulse.

He stopped at an electronics store, stepping inside and making a beeline for the counter. "I'll take the best phone you've got. And your best pc" he said, sliding several crisp bills across the counter. The cashier raised an eyebrow at the stack of hundred-dollar bills, but said nothing, quickly ringing up the purchase.

As Peter left the store, he felt the nanobots at work again, the bills multiplying as they rested in his pocket. By the time he was walking toward a nearby clothing store, he had even more cash than when he started.

---

Hours later, Peter stood in front of a dingy motel, its flickering neon sign casting a red glow over the cracked pavement. He walked inside, booked a room with more freshly replicated cash, and made his way to the door.

The room was small, musty, but it didn't matter. Peter wasn't here for comfort—he needed a plan. He placed the phone and and set up the pc, then sat down, exhaling slowly.

"Cassy," Peter muttered, and immediately, a particular nanobot inside him buzzed in response. "I need you to hack into everything. Find me a new identity."

The nanobot began working, the connection with the computer deepening as they assimilated with the laptop's hardware and browsed the internet downloading information. It was strange hearing his own voice give orders to something inside him, but he was getting used to it.

A soft, feminine voice echoed inside his mind. "I'll need five hours to become proficient in advanced hacking systems, please stand by."

Peter sighed, leaning back on the bed. "Five hours, huh? You better be good."

He stared up at the ceiling, the weight of what had happened still heavy on his chest. He couldn't sleep, not anymore. The nanobots kept his body running perfectly, but his mind was still human. He felt the exhaustion deep in his bones, the crushing pressure of it all.

"This isn't real," he muttered, closing his eyes. "Kanye was right. This shit's a simulation."

He laughed bitterly to himself, his voice echoing in the empty room. He wasn't Peter Johnson anymore—he was something else.