(We last left our intrepid adventurer and her mother in the plague-stricken wastes of SeaTac International Airport, where nobody could be bothered to wear a mask despite being crammed like sardines into the concourse-and-a-half that was actually open. However, given that mask policy has become a hot-button political issue, our intrepid adventurer will use her lightning-quick reflexes to avoid this topic until later in this serial, where she will be stuck in consecutive four-hour layovers and will have more time to treat the mask debate with the nuance and sensitivity it deserves.)

(But seriously, folks, I'd hope we can all agree that it's one thing to go maskless around town, where people can distance themselves from you if they're nervous about catching something, and another to do the same thing in an oversized Pringles can with circulated air.)

(Anyway...)

"My," said the intrepid adventurer's mother as they made their way through the muggy night into South Bend, Indiana Airport, "what an uneventful, unremarkable, and generally non-entertaining series of flights!"

"I did enjoy watching the antics of our fellow brave explorers in Jumanji 2," the intrepid adventurer commented.

"Me too," her mother replied. "It takes away some of the bitterness at our failure in the Quest for the Milton-Freewater Drive-In Theater."

"Still not the same without popcorn," grumbled the intrepid adventurer.

They eventually reached the kiosk-altar of the Ground Transportation Gods.

"Approach!" boomed the priest on the other end, his face obscured by a ceremonial N-95. "What is your petition, puny mortal?"

"W-we are desirous of a c-compact automobile for our journey to the V-valley of the G-golden Dome," stammered the intrepid adventurer's mother.

"Fine," glowered the priest, gesturing to the grotesquely stained surface of the altar. "That'll be your first-born child, then."

Our two heroes exchanged a glance before the intrepid adventurer stepped forward.

"Just go ahead and lie down with your neck on the green line," said the priest. "Blindfolds are five dollars extra."

"I think not, fiend!" cried the intrepid adventurer. "Yours is not the only power in this land!"

"And by what power do you challenge mine?" sneered the priest, reaching for the desk phone in a sinister manner.

"By the Power of the Courts, in the Name of the Law of Contracts, I invoke the Affirmative Defense of Unconscionability!" she declared, raising aloft her student identification.

"Oh, fine, fine," he said. "Just gimme your credit card."

The transaction was thus completed, the proper paperwork being signed with the proper blood, and the two left the airport in possession of the ceremonial token which would enable their passage in one of the sacred Ford Fusions.

"Marvelous!" exclaimed the intrepid adventurer's mother as they emerged into the lot. "Your legal training has served you well."

"Not at all," laughed the intrepid adventurer. "It is in the superstitious nature of laypersons to be instantly terrified of lawyers who are yelling long words. In fact, what I said was little better than gibberish, as an affirmative defense by its very nature cannot be raised until the contract is completed and one transacting party files suit to enforce it!"

"Well," said the intrepid adventurer's mother, fighting off a layman's shudder, "we may well be the ones suing, as the priest has failed to give us a real key!" She held up a bare fob.

"Let me see that," replied the intrepid adventurer, examining the fob closely. "I have heard of these before, but only in legends..."

"What is it?" her mother asked.

"It is from a car," muttered the intrepid adventurer, "which starts with no key, shifts with no gearshift, and challenges all of its drivers to a contest of wits. To win is to arrive safely; to lose is – oh, but we must not think of such things now! Onward to the treasure, Mother, or the curse will surely overtake us!"

CONTINUED...