"An operator? - I do have obligations and codes and will hold to them regardless of threat and hurt."

"Someone who-"

"Why the FUCK are we talking to the guy who's going to KILL us, Jane? Like it's goddamned tea time!"

"Because I don't know what else to do, okay?!" Yep, crying. "Fuck off. We're utterly fucked, so what does it matter? Someone who knows the rules for doing high stakes shit around here. I bet you can't even name all the major gangs."

"I cannot. I am from another planet. I do not enjoy killing people, but it does not seem like you have a better idea for what I might do with you."

"Send us to fucking... Texas, or France. No Sevens in Texas or France, they're a Russian and Great Lakes gang."

"With what money? Who in their right mind would do that for doomed Bordertown trash, huh?"

"I do not know how to send you anywhere even if my money would be enough."

"What, don't know any biker gangs, space alien?"

"We just established that he's not fucking from around here, yeah."

Despondent head-shaking.

"If we just start walking southwest into the desert towards Texas we're dead, but at least not as tortuously as the Sevens would kill us."

"Do you prefer this to dying clean? Can you give up the banditry?"

"If we get away from the gang clean? Yeah. I mean, no promises to turn into a saint or paragon of all that is good and just, but kidnapping people and demanding protection money went so well the first time-"

"There's some kind of hope if we try to make it to Texas. I- I mean, I don't know if you believe it, but I feel bad about the shit Sevens does. Not the keeping order parts, but the brutality... Creatively cruel, man."

The last guy, who's been mostly quiet so far, laconically says, "Yeah. We can go clean."

"I have prepared a truth spell. If you repeat this plan with the truth spell, I will give you all the food and water you want for one day. It will not last after that if it is not eaten, so do not try to carry more than for one day. And then you can go."

"...Okay."

"First I will cast the spell that lets me understand better, so my bad English does not make a problem. Then we become very clear on the plan. Then the truth spell to make sure."

"Okay. Okayokayokay."

Deep breaths. "Yeah, okay."

A nod.

"Comprehend Languages.

"Please say more of your plan."

"We regret and disavow everything we did for Lucky Seven gang. We can tell you a bit more about them before we go if you want. We will go - on foot-"

"The van-"

"-Seven's van, not ours. They probably put a bomb in it anyway, not safe. We go, on foot, only what we're wearing and the shit in our backpacks we left just outside. We get food and water from you, and walk southwest. We go through our stuff to look for any trackers and stuff. We intend to end up in Texas, where Lucky Seven has no real power or presence. We don't communicate anything at all intentionally or negligently back to Lucky Seven. We swear that we will do our best going forward to be - moral people. That's - no violence except in self defense or defense of another, no stealing, no - manipulative shit - atonement. Maybe help beggars and stuff if we're not about to starve ourselves. And if we die in the desert, so be it. Better to die than get involved deep in gang shit again. Eli is not entirely unskilled at wilderness survival, and I might know someone from one of the badlands communities who we could stay with for a little while before moving on. Helping them, of course, not mooching."

"We don't get involved in any gang again. At most, neighborhood watch. The kind that actually watches, not the kind that's just another disguised gang."

"Yeah," quiet one agrees.

"We three made a promise together to stick together, from before we got pulled into the Sevens. Found family."

Blai nods solemnly for this recitation. When they have all spoken in agreement of the concept, he casts again: "Zone of Truth."

"-I aaaaam- Not Xara One. That's trippy. Yeah, I meant it all."

"Same. Done being evil, it feels bad."

"I'll follow those two, and if that means promising to be a good guy, so be it."

In that case he will unrestrain them.

"...Uh, thanks." They will awkwardly stand and collect themselves. "...Watch out for bombs. Lucky Seven likes using bombs. Especially on cars and trucks. Also sniper rifles, long ranged guns from, like, five hundred to a thousand meters away."

"Thank you. I know I am not in a safe work. Do you have things for me to fill with water?"

They'll fuss with their packs and produce a few canteens and dump out some beer and vodka to make room for more wholesome water and improvise a plastic sack that will hold some water extremely temporarily to extend things a bit.

And then they'll be off?

"Canary team emerging from position alpha."

       "Roger that. Condition?"

"Intact. Fearful of person Victor."

       "You have sight on person Victor?"

"Yes."

       "We're getting feedback from the antlion bug now. Continue observation."

"Canary team is not returning as instructed."

       "Acknowledged."

"I can make the shot on Canary team from here. Easily."

       "Acknowledged. Hold fire."

"Don't wanna spook the target?"

       "Affirm. Results over pride."

"........Roger, holding fire."

       "Continue observing habit and movement of person Victor. Maintain concealment."

"Acknowledged."

Create Food has a ten minute casting time.

The three former-goons spend those ten minutes telling Blai about how Lucky Seven is structured and operates, at least as far as they know, unaware that they are being listened to by a device stealthily planted in the messy sand overnight.

Then the food is made, and they can pack some up and be on their way.

The desert hills quickly swallow their trail.