The morning fog still clung to the streets as Jack pulled up in a beat-up, borrowed sedan. It rattled slightly, the engine protesting every breath like it hadn't moved in a decade. Strange floated beside him, hands behind his back, eyeing the vehicle like it was some alien artifact.
Jack leaned against the door, sunglasses half-hiding his sleepless eyes. "I borrowed this junk for a day from my friend. Don't judge. Where to now, ghost wizard?"
Strange crossed his arms, floating slightly above the ground. "Kamar-Taj."
Jack blinked. "…Where?"
"Nepal," Strange said calmly.
Jack stared at him. "…Nepal? Like… the country?"
Strange nodded, expression unfazed.
Jack threw his arms up. "You do know this car can't fly, right? We can't drive to Nepal!"
Strange tilted his head, amused. "Relax. We're not taking a road trip across Asia. First, we go to the Sanctum Sanctorum."
"Is that in Nepal too?"
"No. It's in New York. 177A Bleecker Street."
Jack blinked again, gears turning. "Wait… that's near where you died."
Strange nodded slowly. "Exactly. That Sanctum holds a portal—one of the fastest ways into Kamar-Taj."
Jack glanced at the car. "Alright… New York it is." He opened the door and got in. "You better not phase through the seat. This thing's fragile."
Strange floated effortlessly into the passenger side, sitting cross-legged in mid-air above the seat, not touching it.
Jack raised an eyebrow. "That's… unsettling."
"You'll get used to it," Strange said.
Jack started the engine, and with a few hiccups and coughs from the car, they pulled onto the road.
Inside the rusty car, the speakers crackled before a low beat kicked in.
🎵 "Fu*kin' Robitussin… I don't know why this shit got me lazy right now, yeah..."* 🎵
Strange raised a disapproving eyebrow. "Is this… the soundtrack of our impending doom?"
Jack grinned as he leaned back in the driver's seat. "It's my favorite. Helps me not think about the hundred dead people watching me on the sidewalk."
Strange sighed and glanced out the window. "You have an odd way of coping."
Just then, the car slowed and rolled to a halt on the highway. Jack squinted ahead. "Damn. Whats now?"
He pulled over and stepped out. The road stretched on endlessly, but fog clung to the distance, concealing what lay ahead. Jack couldn't see anything.
Strange floated upward for a better view, eyes glowing faintly with spectral energy. "There's been an accident. A truck jackknifed and slammed into a car a few hundred meters up. No one's moving."
Jack sighed, rubbing his temples. "Great. Just great."
He turned around to head back to the car — only to see more vehicles piling in behind them. Trucks, cars, and buses boxed them in completely.
"…Perfect," Jack muttered. "Now we're in the center of a mechanical prison."
Strange drifted beside him. "What do we do now?"
Jack stood there, silent for a moment, before muttering, "Screw it."
He reached into the trunk, pulled out a dusty old baseball and glove, and casually tossed it in the air.
Strange blinked. "What are you doing?"
"Being human," Jack said, tossing the ball to a curious kid staring out a car window. "You got a glove, buddy?"
The kid's face lit up. In minutes, the highway was alive. Jack was pitching fastballs to strangers. Kids ran between bumpers, laughing. Someone turned on a radio. A group of teens started dancing on top of a minivan. A driver grilled hot dogs on the hood of his truck like it was a tailgate party.
Strange hovered in the air, arms crossed, quietly stunned.
"These people," he said softly to himself, watching Jack high-five a random dad in cargo shorts, "They celebrate… even when surrounded by death."
Jack jogged back toward Strange, catching the ball with a practiced thud. "We may be stuck in traffic," he said with a grin, "but I'm not letting the end of the world ruin a sunny day."
Strange smirked faintly. "Still think you're not hero material?"
Jack tossed him the ball. "Catch."
It went right through Strange's ghostly form and landed in the bushes.
Jack laughed. "Thought so."