Britney sat on the edge of the balcony chair, sunglasses still on even though the sun had gone down.
Her voice was small, tired.
Britney:
“They say I owe them again. Back taxes. Like I’m some criminal. After everything… they talk about jail like it’s nothing.”
Falcon didn’t sit. He paced. Hands clenched. Jaw tight.
Falcon:
“Yeah. That’s how the machine talks. Cold. Mechanical. No mercy. They grind people down and call it justice.”
He pulled a laptop onto the table and hit play.
Falcon:
“Watch this. Aaron Russo made it before they tried to erase him.”
On the screen, America: Freedom to Fascism flickered to life. Words like IRS, power, fear, control rolled past.
Britney watched silently, eyes fixed, breathing slow.
Britney:
“So… I make music. I dance. I pay them millions. And somehow I’m the danger?”
Falcon laughed — but it wasn’t funny.
Falcon:
“Exactly. You’re visible. You’re taxable. You’re human. That’s the crime.”
He shut the laptop, suddenly angry.
Falcon:
“You know what makes me sick? Really sick?”
Britney looked up.
Falcon:
“Guys like George W. Bush. Fortunate son. Born into oil and power. A million Iraqis dead — and he sleeps fine. No cell. No trial. Immune from The Hague like he’s royalty.”
He stopped pacing. Put a hand on the table to steady himself.
Falcon:
“That injustice? It makes me want to puke.”
Britney swallowed.
Britney:
“So the rules only apply to people without armor.”
Falcon:
“Exactly. Paper armor. Legal armor. Flags and tribunals that only point one direction.”
She took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were clear, but hardened.
Britney:
“I’m tired of being hunted.”
Falcon softened, voice dropping.
Falcon:
“In this story — the one we’re telling — I get you out. Somewhere the air is clean. Somewhere the sun heals instead of interrogates.”
Britney:
“Croatia?”
He nodded.
Falcon:
“Old Europe. Stone cities. Sea wind. No circus. No cameras screaming ‘owe us.’ Just… breathing.”
She looked back toward the dark ocean.
Britney:
“I don’t want power. I just want peace.”
Falcon exhaled.
Falcon:
“And that’s the most dangerous thing of all to them.”
The waves below crashed — steady, indifferent to empires, tribunals, and tax codes — like they always had.