The next few hours were a blur. Most of the plan made sense. He had a shared account with Lara. If he withdrew money, she'd know, and could triangulate in on him without that much of a problem. Lara also had more of the computer's juju on her side, not to mention the fact that Libby would definitely show more favoritism to a busty, superhuman pervert than a terrified man on the run.
Hey, that's not true! I'm just here to provide moral and tactical support, protested Libby.
Anyway. Even if Dave didn't do anything to show up on Lara's radar, there was nothing to prevent her from giving herself actual radar and hunting him down. She'd probably wouldn't bother to give herself a perfect husband-hunting homing system, and she'd no doubt draw out the hunt at first, but he was pretty certain that she wouldn't let him off with another hindering-but-ultimately sustainable alteration. He would need to hide, and an open desert wasn't a great place to do that.
Dave's first stop was a crappy roadside gas station a few miles west. He filled up the tank, walked over to an ATM, and took out as much as he could from his shared account. The clerk was eyeing him, though that may have mostly been due to Dave's rapidly-swelling gonads. As an afterthought, he bought a couple gallon jugs of water. Hydration was important, but not stopping every time his new condition got to be too pressing was moreso. Dave hopped back in the car and drove southeast, hitting up the first major pharmacy he came across. Again, the clerk eyed him when he tried to buy several thousand dollars' worth of prepaid debit cards in cash, but compared to the swelling bulge in his pants and the angry methhead who staggered in, the purchase was small potatoes.
Dave got into the car, drove out of town, emptied himself and his backup jugs, and set his eyes on the horizon. Two hours and his first prepaid card later, and he was in a hotel in Vegas. He sat down on the bed, hung his head, and mulled over his options.
---
Lara sat at the bar of the Blunt Force Saloon, nursing a beer and staring at her phone. Nothing from Dave yet. She shrugged and glanced around the room, admiring her handiwork. A few hours ago, the place was a mostly-deserted biker bar ran by a man with fewer teeth than customers. Over the next fifteen minutes, judicious use of superspeed and her ray gun turned the bar's handful of dirtbags with beer guts and swastika tattoos into a bevy of bimbos with beach-ball breasts and bowling-ball booties. Another minute later, and she had entered that alliteration into her phone. If men could be warrior poets, she may as well be a sex-wizard poet. The next hour had turned the Eureka chapter of the Desert Eagles into a small army of underlings overstuffed with silicone. Lara had to admit, she may have actually improved their prospects in life. One of her new underlings, the woman formerly known as Tire Iron, sashayed over to her and planted a kiss on her neck with a pair of enormous lips.
"Is there, like, any news, Mistress?" she asked, rubbing herself on Lara's back with a bustline that dwarfed even her mistress' endowments.
"Not yet Tire Ir--uh, Tiffany," said Lara.
"Aww, but I wanna see what that riding a Harley is like now! It just like, vibrates so much!" Tiffany placed a hand between her legs and revved her own throttle. "Vroom! Vroom!"
"Yes, Tiff, I know," said Lara, rolling her eyes. Really, this was the last time she took Libby's advice on fun transformations. This was just an insult to her gender. Admittedly, she mused, it was a hot insult. Prior to meeting Libby, her taste in women trended towards the petite, pixie-cut-sporting end of the scale, but the past day or so had really expanded her horizons. "Dave might be better at this than I thought--"
Her phone chimed with an alert from her bank.
"Hey Libby? Come out here. The game's on."
"Oooh, finally! You have no idea how long it took him to come up with a plan," said Libby as she materialized. She was sporting the same ripped-leather-jacket-and-tank-top combo as the other patrons of the bar, although she wasn't filling it out quite as well. "And then your bank takes this long to actually update its records? Bo-ring! At least I had some fun time to go people-watch here. Hopefully you figure out what Dave's plan is or otherwise it'll be--"
"Wait, what?" asked Lara.
"Oh. Um. Nevermind. What does it say?"
"It says that Dave hit up an ATM in some nowhere gas station." She looked at the pool table, where a pair of the former bikers were making predictable, albeit unorthodox, use of the pool cues, before looking back at Libby. "He's not gonna keep heading in that direction, is he."
"I can't say," said Libby. "I'm here to provide moral and tactical support, not rat out your prey."
"If you help me catch him, you can ride him with me." Libby paused, her desires struggling against her previously-unknown sense of morality.
"I'm sorry, but no," said Libby. "It's hotter if there's rules. Like roleplay! Or bondage! Or--"
"Okay, you've made your point." Lara looked at her watch. "But hey, looks like 24 hours have passed since I gave myself superspeed. You know what that means, right?" Libby nodded.
"What's your game?"
"I want to prevent any person or communication from leaving whatever town Dave's in, and I want to know what town that is."
"I think that's two separate powers--" muttered Libby.
"Play along and I'll shove Dave's face in between your legs," said Lara.
"--but then again, it's really my fault for not defining the rules of the game better, so whatever. Okay, so Dave's in Vegas right now." Lara raised her eyebrows. At least Dave picked out a fitting setting for their showdown.
"And he's stuck there?" asked Lara
"Yeah, yeah. It's been hit with a snowstorm," said Libby. The past few hours had left her and her mortal tool on edge, and it was starting to show.
"Odd choice of disaster, but sure. And the communica--"
"I've put a media blackout on the city, and there'll be some generic news coming out of the region to take its place and avoid suspicion. That good enough?"
"Actually," said Lara, a smile returning to her face, "Actually yes." She stood up and turned to the bacchanalian mess of leather, collagen and silicone before her. "Ladies! We ride for Vegas!" The patrons of the bar rushed for the exit in a mass of obscene bouncing and excited squealing. They mounted their hogs, moaning as the engines roared to life. Lara walked out of the saloon. "Ready?"
"Ready!" shouted Lara's personal army. Lara nodded and sprinted forward as her motorcycle cavalry followed in her wake.
As Lara sprinted towards Las Vegas, she weighed her options. Yes, Dave was hiding in a major city, but that challenge could be fun. The question was, how would she go about her search process?
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