A polite reminder: Two days remain for entering before the deadline!
If I don’t have team information and a car by the end of the day, March 25, you are not in the rally, so please, get your teams filled out and cars sent in.
3 Likes
Team Shift Happens
Previous Chapters:
The Plan / Getting the Truck / The Email
A Trick and a Wager / I Hate Scorpions!
Let’s Get This Party Started / First Arrivals - Starting Party 6 AM
Making Friends? - Starting Party 7 AM
Shitbox Rally Starting Party, 7:30 AM Local Time
Kaylie looked over as she heard a bit of a mild ruckus from over by Team Oil Crisis’ large station wagon, seeing the five men standing around holding what appeared to be ornate wrenches of some sort. With a smile, she grabbed her large adjustable wrench from her hip pouch, hooking the ring finger of her chrome plated left hand through the hole on the end of the wrench, spinning it around her finger and catching it in her left hand in an honorary mechanic’s salute. She had a vague understanding of their wrenches, made for combat as well as being a tool, but she’d never seen one up close, let alone five, as they belonged to a long lost, perhaps forgotten race. She spun her wrench around in her hand again, tossed it skyward and caught it, then put it back in her hip-worn tool pouch, easily accessible should she have a need for it.
Kivenaal grimaced as he realized he’d finished his bag of scorpions, wadding up the empty paper bag and tossing it into the campfire before walking toward the Bricksley. He flipped up the cover on the toolbox and smiled as he checked over their not-so-basic supplies. Malavera had a large railgun in there, Kivenaal’s double-barrel shotgun rested in there as well, right alongside the box he’d labeled, “Kiva’s dirty magazines.” Really, that box contained his four MP5-K submachine guns and 3 magazines for each, but was mislabeled to hopefully reduce curiosity. Likewise, Malavera’s lunchbox was in there, which contained various different license plates for various different countries, as well as Rukari’s leather bag of black powder. He closed the toolbox, glad to see that their supplies were still where they’d put them earlier.
At the same time, Rukari wandered over to the Bricksley with his rifle-cannon slung over his shoulder, opened one of the back doors, and reached under the rear bench seat to retrieve a bottle of rum, a small fire-side kettle, and a few coffee mugs. He then looked up, saw Kivenaal was there, and smiled. “A gift from Andreas,” Rukari said, handing Kivenaal one of the cans of snus.
“Ah, smokeless tobacco,” Kivenaal said, opening the can and putting a small amount up, like Rukari had, next to his double-set of canine teeth on the right side of his mouth. He was, at least, vaguely familiar with the product, unlike Rukari, though the two of them seemed to figure it out rather quickly. He tucked the can into a pocket, then joined Rukari back at the campfire to help him with making the tea, grabbing the water-filled kettle, balancing it over his lower right hand, and igniting a vicious blue fireball underneath it.
Kayden watched as Kivenaal and Rukari started making a batch of tea, grimacing from a distance. He knew exactly what those two were going to do to it, and he knew how rough it could be on his kind. Sure enough, after boiling water in an awful hurry, the two of them poured it over teabags in a pair of coffee mugs, added heaping spoonfuls of sugar, and at least a shot-glass worth of high-proof rum before stirring the mix in.
Malavera checked the time and made another note in his laptop, keeping an eye out for new arrivals, though none yet showed up. He knew that at some point, he was going to have to do a drivers’ meeting, but that could wait until after he’d copied in all of the information off of the registration forms that had been turned in.
4 Likes
RK Series Racing; Pre-Race Preparations
The Team
Connor(NaN)
Role: Navigator; Instructional Mechanic
Age: just under two if you disregard the 30-odd year jump into the past
Interests: dogs, i guess?
Appearance: Aggresively average and generic. Short brown hair and brown eyes put onto a round, almost baby-face. 6ft in height. Has a visible white spot on his right forearm with a crack in the middle.
Just google Connor from Detroit: Become Human. Don’t like it but am stuck with him lol.
Clothing: Just a pair of jeans, a black leather belt and some cheap sneakers.
Personal vehicles: none
Not exactly human… (see GAR2 thread for more info on that one). Very calm and attentive nature. Intelligence faaaaar above average. Only use when fixing cars is a talking instruction manual. Has difficulties interacting with others on a casual basis (i.e. small talk). Has no real opinion of the other two.
Right forearm and hand currently not useable due to damage after a “friendly fire” attack by a past team member.
Lost most of his clothing in shipping from US to Sweden (2020 clunker run).
Tim Redwood (United States)
Role: Driver; Mechanic; Cook
Age: 20
Appearance: Slightly taller than Connor and substantially more athletic-looking. “Paintbrush” Haircut of light brown, near blonde hue with deep blue eyes.
Clothing: A local (to him) Basketball jersey from some 3rd league group of mediocricy. An accompanying set of trainers. A black pair of loosely-fitting sweatpants.
Personal Vehicles: 1985 Anhultz Dione IX C (totaled); 1979 Anhultz Dione VIII B (see below)
Interests: tanks old cars that keep on going; sports (namely basketball)
The reason they race in the first place. 20 year old kiddo wants some fun 
. Highly energetic and joyful. Doesn’t want anyone to be hurt during this. Good with tools but a complete dumbfuck when doing stuff himself. Admires Connor for intelligence and capablity to stay calm under stress.
Generally healthy.
Valentin Schrant (Sweden)
Role: Driver; Mechanic; Lighthouse xD
Age: 24
Appearance: 7’3" in height. Generally a skin-and-bones build but with commendable calves and thighs due to his cycling-heavy nature. Excessively long, bright blonde, near white hair makes its way in waves all the way to belly-button height, sometimes covering his very thin, elongated face with light blue eyes. (basically an elf, but without the pointy ears. the correlation is entirely coincidental)
Clothing: A set of what look like ordinary skate-shoes, but “Shimomo” branded and making an awkward clacking noise when walking on hard surfaces (such as tiles or smooth concrete). A Pair of slim-fit stretchy jeans of which the right leg is rolled up to just below the knee. A very loosely fitting tanktop and a long-sleeve button-up shirt layered on top with none of the buttons done up.
Interests: Cycling; Engineering;
Personal vehicles: An extensive fleet of about 5 bicycles, all of which are named and extensively modified.
Son of a fairly successful business couple running a transportation business.
Freakishly tall at 7’3" (2.21m), but very slim for his size.
Early days of teenage years were spent delivering Newspapers all around the town, leading to him being the polar opposite of Connor socially. Also decent-ish with cars despite not being formally trained. Desperately wants to avoid beef with and between others.
Mostly tags along to not be a disappointment to the remainder of the team for bailing.
His long (all the way to belly button), wavy haircut frequently gets in the way, limiting sight.
Has knee/ leg issues if standing/ walking for extended periods.
Constantin Schrant (Sweden)
Role: Varies
Age: 29
Appearance: 7’ in height. Hair and eye color matches Valentin closely, but is much shorter, sporting a few inches of a ponytail and a short trimmed sidecut. Impressive physique and rather angular face makes a more intimidating character to look at relative to other team members.
Clothing: Constantin is sporting what essentially is a full set of military attire, comprising of a basic T-Shirt covered in a field jacket, complete with Patches for name and nationality (Sweden) and LCDR (Lieutenant Commander) rank insignia. Matching pants in forest camouflage pattern and black, heavy military boots complement the outfit itself. On his back, a military backpack together with what essentially is a single-man campsite can be seen. Strapped to said backpack is a highly custom longbow to one side and a quiver of 16 equally custom arrows on the other.
Interests: Archery; Anything Military; Sailing/ Seafaring
Personal vehicles: 2018 Sisten Calero LE 2.0
Note: Constantin is Valentin’s older brother, but neither party is aware that they are related to the respective other. As such, they will treat each other as strangers.
The Car
Anhultz Dione VIII B
Well it’s the car you probably all know and love… or hate… whatever. The Anhultz Dione VIII was released in 1978 in an attempt to consolidate the Brand in the upmarket brand of bigger (by EU standards) cars. The vehicle went on to become massively popular, mostly due to it’s near unkillable construction and decent ride, albeit at a steeper price than competitor offerings.
This car, manufactured for the domestic market features a strangled-down 2.0 four cylinder engine with a whole 81 metric horsepower. Coupled to a 4 speed radio, the thing isn’t exactly an exciting vehicle performance-wise. At least it’ll surely make the trip.
More details can be read within the following RP transcript.
March 3rd 2022; just before noon; somewhere in Nevada
The group of Connor (driving), Redwood (rear) and Schrant (copilot; assisting in shifting) mysteriously end up somewhere in the desert of Nevada after having to more or less wait out an entire season of GT racing in the 1990s. Connor has been aware of this first, as his GPS equipment started returning the signal again. The other two don’t seem to remember much of that even happening, save for a sizeable salary check on the dash credited to Valentin for his duties at FlexBus Keika GT. Redwoods phone goess off with an E-Mail notification from a team he knows from the Once More event
Redwood: “Yo, take a look at this!” [holds up phone to Valentin in front of him]
Schrant: “What? Are you sure this is a good idea, given that we somehow DROVE this car from Sweden all the way to Nevada of all places?”
Redwood: “Gimme a minute…”
Redwood proceeds to use Googol Maps to triangulate their position and see how far their hypothetical start line would be away. It turns out that they are a mere 45 miles away, albeit the latter 43 of which are behind the last major settlement. Before Redwood can finish his navigational studies, some intense crashing and crumbling can be heard from below the car. Connor instinctively attempts to slow down, just to discover the brakes being waaay softer and less effective than anticipated.
Connor: “Neutral, please. I also need the emergency indicators enabled.”
Schrant: [confused] “What was that?” [he pulls the gar to neutral and turns the hazard lights on]
Redwood: “Dunno. Hope it didn’t die on us…”
The cars rolls to a stop after numerous instructions regarding the use of engine braking to slow the car down. The team then heads out and inspects the damage done to it. They discover that their makeshift brake cooling has been torn off, ripping the associated brake line into a million pieces. With the team sitting by the side of the road, they ponder as to what to do now.
Schrant: “So the brake line went bust, nobody in sight and no parts to speak of. What now?”
Redwood: [looking a few hundred yards down the road] “Amazing how you are in the stratosphere yet still blind enough to not see that village over there.”
Schrant: [visibly annoyed at the low-effort height joke]
Connor: “Somethingsville, 420 inhabitants as of December 2019.”
Redwood: “How far is it? Like half a mile? We could roll the car over there and see if anyone has stuff we can work with.”
Schrant: “Sounds like a plan.”
The team go ahead in pushing the car the last 900-or-so yards to a very rural gas station. Connor was made responsible for steering and parking-braking and opts to do that from the passenger side for easier brake access. The other two are behind pushing the car and it’s contents. Some time later, the car rolls onto the lot and stops, at which point all three asses the situation surrounding them. The gas station lot itself is nothing remarkable, with all of two pumps and a small snack shop building next to them. On the opposing side of the road seems to be a local scrapyard/ used dealer, with something that is blatantly obvious to the entire party.
Redwood: “Does that lot have a brick in there?”
Connor: [still seated, with the door open] “69 of them in direct line of sight.”
Redwood: “Goddamnit i meant another Dione!”
Redwood practically sprints over to the other side and confirms his spotting of another Anhultz Dione just sitting there on the lot, unused. The other two follow soon after and immediately scan the vehicle from afar. Some gruffy-looking old man walks up to them:
Man: [cliché old man voice] “Helloo. What do you want?”
Connor: “Gree…”
Schrant: [interrupting Connor] “So… our brake line went bust and we need parts. Do you have any by chance?”
Connor: [awww.wav]
Man: “If you find one, you can have it. Haven’t seen one in months, though…”
The three head off in search for brake lines, but to no avail. In the meantime, the scrapyard owner hastily places a “for sale; 850$” sign written with pink marker onto a sheet of paper below the wipers of the Dione. Upon returning, said sign is discovered by the group.
Redwood: [to man] “Since when are you selling it.”
Man: [having to think hard about the time] “About two minutes? I heard you need something to get you outta here.”
Schrant: “What are you gonna do, then?”
Man: [chuckles] “Take the reward i got for this one joining the million mile club.”
Connor: “Do you mind if i inspect the vehicle?”
Man: “Do as you please.”
The Dione is then thoroughly looked at. The documents, as well as service history, recent inspection results and a slip containing insurance info are discovered in the glovebox. Those reveal a slew of minor issues:
Inspection Results
- trunk lid gas struts failure
- nearside high beam headlight broken (others foggy)
- offside power window failure
- offside rear door handle does not open from inside
- offside rear door handle does not open from outside
- rear window defroster failure
- rear window wiper coverage insufficient (i.e. it moves, but only like two inches)
- air conditioning fan failure
- radio missing
- rear springs worn but not excessively so
(Disambugation: Nearside = right side of the car; Offside = left side of the car)
Adding to this, general wear and tear can be seen on stuff like seats being worn, paintwork fading or outright flaking off in places, numerous plastic surfaces on the inside being either warped or cracked, among other things. However, rust seems to be superficial at worst and the critical componentry such as the engine, transmission, brakes and such seem to be in good working order. The team agree with the owner to trade in their old car for the “new” one, paying 300 quid on top to account for the former not being driveable. They subsequently start work on moving supplies and all over to the other car. Much to their surprise, they have few issues in fitting all of their gear into the new purchase. They soon roll off the lot with, leaving an old man grinning ear-to-ear behind, just to stop two blocks over in a parking lot:
Redwood: “So. This race is being started by team Shift Happens. They also were part of the Clunker run last year!”
Schrant: “You mean those weird-ass Tiger people on the other end of the pit lane?”
Redwood: “Exactly! Race is set to start on March 4th and the start line is only 40 or so miles away! And that old punk Tonsom wants Connor away anyway.”
Connor: “If we are to participate, we have three days and 4 hours to prepare.”
Schrant: [cautiously] “I mean… guess we should start packing, then.”
The three meet back up with the seller and go about planning their trip. The email claims very poor fuel availability, resulting in them making changes to the engine to accomodate the poor fuel. A dual-layered head gasket (reducing compression), generous jetting of the stock carb and substantial retardation of the distributor allows the car to run on Kerosene generously supplied by the old man. It absolutely ruined fuel economy, but performance was about on-par with what it made stock on regular pump gas.
A simple Steel-Plate was also bolted to the subframe mounts to protect the underside from the announced poor quality roads. They then thank the newly made friend by paying up some 200 quid for his services and head off to some small grocery store in which they stock up food for a week, a spare cartridge for their cooker and some DeadHose™ water filters to avoid having to lug around gallons of water. With the “mods” done and cautious confidence, they head to the start line and await the start.
OOC:
Whatever happens at the start line, we’ll see once i catch up on reading the walls of text you made
EDIT:
added some visual descriptions of my characters
4 Likes
Team Shift Happens
Previous Chapters:
The Plan / Getting the Truck / The Email
A Trick and a Wager / I Hate Scorpions!
Let’s Get This Party Started / First Arrivals - Starting Party 6 AM
Making Friends? - Starting Party 7 AM
A Moment in Time - Starting Party 7:30 AM
Shitbox Rally Starting Party, 8 AM Local Time
Malavera looked up as he heard the sound of another car arriving. This time, it was a sun-faded orange Anhultz Dione VIII B, owned by Team RK Series Racing. They cruised into the camp, parked next to Team Witchlight’s large sedan, and got out of the car. Connor got out of the driver’s side rear seat first, followed by Redwood from behind the wheel, and Valentin towering over the car once he unfolded himself from the passenger seat. Malavera gathered up his clipboard and paperwork, heading over to the team. “Good morning,” Malavera said, before gathering the information he needed from each of them. Once he had their team name written down, the names of the team members, and made sure they had at least one driver and one navigator, he switched the sheets on his clipboard and started inspecting the car. Unlike some of the others, the Dione was still fairly low to the ground, low enough that Malavera wasn’t going to be able to just slide underneath the car and lift it up that way. However, after measuring the ground clearance and verifying that the Dione was RWD, he concluded that it was, if only just barely, capable of handling some off-roading. He handed Redwood a Shitbox Rally sticker and said, “Put this on the upper corner of the passenger side, on the windshield, please. It’s not permanent, but it’s a badge of honor for participating in this event.”
Given that Kivenaal and Rukari had both finished their drinks, they were talking quietly between each other about an old song the two knew quite well. After pouring themselves another mug of rum-laced tea, the two Valraadii stood up and walked to the middle of the camp.
“It is a tradition,” Kivenaal said, “for our people to sing on the eve of battle the songs of those who fought before us. While we do not go to war, we will be battling our cars on this trip, fighting mechanical issues, waging a war against time and breakdowns on an unforgiving battlefield.”
Rukari, speaking slower so his English was less broken, joined in with, “Our song is from a long time ago, a battle fought in Crugandr by the mother of one who fought alongside my father. We have spent many days to translate this from our language into English, and reworked some to be closer to how songs are here.”
With that, the two of them waited for most of the camp to quiet down, before they started their song together with Rukari singing the odd verses and Kivenaal singing the even ones, the two of them having similar voices with Kivenaal’s only a touch lower than Rukari’s, though Rukari carried more of a gruff growl to his as part of his accent.
It was an early morning, the battle-call was sent,
and off to war in Crugandr the bunch of us now went.
We got there three weeks later, the enemy was entrenched,
and the weather turned so rainy that all of us were drenched.The battle had turned brutal, the ground had turned to mud,
slippery from the rainfall, and scarlet from the blood.
Spells and blades crashed loud and hard as day turned into night.
My fellow soldiers watched for trouble in the dying light.A heavy mist obscured the ground, all now held their breath,
for all who fought there knew the signs, here came the Hound of Death.
From the forest came a Dyre, a proud and savage beast,
drawn to the sounds of battle, our bodies his grand feast.We stared out through the mist, eyes locked upon the Dyre,
a wolf with fur as black as coal, and eyes as bright as fire,
Our battle brought him running, our blood called him to hunt,
and then he came to look at me, a mean Valraadi runt.I knew then what I had to do, though my hearts were full of dread,
I had to face the beast in battle, I had to take his head.
I drew my blade and left my trench, and felt a sudden chill,
when the beast threw back his head, howling his need to kill.My fellow battle brothers watched as I stomped across the mud,
taking care to mind my step in boots now slick with blood.
I knew my blade could kill a man, but could it kill this beast?
I only knew that I was now the one to end his feast.I stared out through the mist, eyes locked upon the Dyre,
a wolf with fur as black as coal, and eyes as bright as fire.
Our battle brought him running, our blood called him to hunt,
and then he came to look at me, a mean Valraadi runt.He turned to face my naked blade, his face and claws were red,
stained with blood from enemies, both live and truly dead.
He howled out a warning, I stood and roared my own,
though in the mist and fog I knew that I was all alone.He charged with sudden fury, I made my move too late,
His claws across my belly warned me of my fate.
I knew then that I must die, such would be the price,
as rain beat down on both of us, as cold as winter ice.I stared across the mist, eyes locked upon the Dyre,
a wolf with fur as black as coal, and eyes as bright as fire.
Our battle brought him running, our blood called him to hunt,
and then he came to look at me, a mean Valraadi runt.The battle fell to silence as friend and foe now watched,
a brutal fight unfolding that carried a great cost.
One would live and one would die, they knew that much at least,
but who would live to fight again, the beauty or the beast?I blocked his strikes and dodged his blows, but I feared I could not win,
I felt my body slowing down, I saw his wicked grin.
With grim determination, I raised my sword at last,
I would not join his feast tonight, even if my life had passed.My blade struck true, the wolf went down, he howled a mournful call.
I fell right down there at his side, my wounds now bared to all.I stared across the mist, eyes locked upon the Dyre,
a wolf with fur as black as coal, and eyes as bright as fire.
Our battle brought him running, our blood called him to hunt,
and when he looked right back at me, I felt less like a runt.We laid out there together, the wild and untamed beast,
and the bloodied battle maiden who had ended his great feast.
I watched the light leave his bright eyes, I feared the same for me,
another soldier lost to battle, another fading memory.Rough hands pulled me to my feet, my head began to spin,
They pulled me from a battle I had no right to win.
“You’re not dead yet,” a voice called out, a healer on my right
who tended to the many wounds I’d gathered from the fight.And I stared across the mist, eyes locked upon the Dyre,
a wolf with fur as black as coal, his eyes once bright as fire.
I’d met the beast head-to-head, I’d fought with him and won,
and now our foes in battle were leaving at a run.Legends told me later, I’d killed the Hound of Death that day.
Those we fought had bled enough, a heavy toll to pay,
for all of those who now believed that Death now favored me.
Death was now on our side, a sign of victory.The healers say I will be fine, my wounds will heal in time,
so long as I am careful and I keep them free of grime.
Luck that night was on my side, a thought now turning grim,
for how things would have turned out then if fate had favored him.Now I stare back in time, eyes locked upon the Dyre,
a wolf with fur as black as coal, his eyes as bright as fire.
I remember him for who he was, warrior-of-the-moon,
who met his end in battle fierce, many years too soon.
Kaylie and Kayden smiled as they watched Rukari and Kivenaal walk back to the campfire after their song. “Couldn’t have paid me enough to do that,” Kaylie said to her brother.
“Yeah, no, I wouldn’t let you either. Last time you sang in the shower, I thought you closed the door on your tail,” Kayden teased. He ducked under Kaylie’s attempted swat at his head, chuckling as he moved just out of reach, only to catch a surprisingly vicious kick to his thigh.
Kaylie started swearing in Tigrilan after her shin met Kayden’s hard composite armor, hopping around on one foot for a moment. After she regained her composure, she scowled. “Twin Suns, that was stupid,” she muttered.
“I believe the humans would call that a ‘brain fart.’ A moment of stupidity anyone could have,” Kayden replied.
“That just sounds disgusting and awful. Then again, so do many human phrases, so I suppose that’s normal,” Kaylie said, grimacing.
(OOC: So, yeah, had that one kicking around the archives. What Rukari says is accurate, the person who’s mother that song is based on did fight alongside Rukari’s father. And yeah, it’s rough, not very good, but I wanted to have the two Valraadii do something unusual in the camp. And it is a Valraadi tradition to sing the day before battle. And what is a rally except a battle against time?)
4 Likes
The First Campsite, Nevada, USA
March 4th, 2022
Unknown, Nevada
Local time: 8:15am
Weather: Clear
Aidan sighed nervously, the adrenalin coursing through his veins. He could say the same about his team mates who even though had stoic expressions on their faces he could tell just by looking at their eyes that they felt the same. Regardless, Aidan wouldn’t give up on the plan he’d given them. He took a deep breath and motioned for his team mates to follow him they stopped just short of the Bricksley and Owen went round the corner.
Kayden spotted him and signaled for him to wait. The other Shift Happens team members were nearby, Malavera was scrolling through his laptop on the desk nearby, Kivenaal was rotating the cylinder of one of the four revolvers he had, making sure it was lubricated properly and Jaden was examining a lug nut. Kayden returned from around the corner with his sister Kaylie.
“What was it you wanted to show me again?” Her question attracted the attention of Malavera, who looked over with both heads and Kivenaal, who returned the revolver to its holster. Rukari was already watching the two men who were standing near their vehicle and the three others standing behind them.
“I saw them already and their–”
“Just watch, you’ll get your answer soon.”
At that moment all five men reached around the backs of their necks as if to press a button, a half second later the human form faded and disappeared into nothing and there stood five beings. All of them looked something between a fox and a cat sans the whiskers, covered in fur head to toe. Owen, had light brown fur with dark brown striping on his forearms and on his ears. Aidan was similar, but with a darker shade to the light colors. Pavel, the biggest, was completely silver. Max was orange with darker orange striping and Karl was dark grey. Their ears were massive, almost as big as their heads. There was only one race that wielded the wrenches they held and had these giant ears, and that race was the lombaxes*.
This was a major shock to practically everyone on team Shift Happens and there was an awkward silence between the two teams as they stood there.
Malavera took the opportunity observe their outfits. All of them had relatively the same outfit, Aidan had the most basic one, a dark orange short sleeved shirt that looked armored, denim looking pants with brown boots that were either leather or some other material. Owen was dressed similarly but his top was gray, Pavel had long sleeves, while Karl wore some kind of armored suit and Max was dressed the same as Pavel. Each of them had a plexiglass or acrylic dome on their chest with some kind of symbol inside.
“You all seem quite surprised.” Owen said, with no hint of the Irish accent in his voice. “I can’t blame you though. Now, I guess now I have to tell you our real names. I am Orlan, Owen was the most normal sounding name I could find. This is Aedan, same as Aidan, just spelt with an E instead of an I. Pavel’s name hasn’t changed. Max’s true name is Malcolm, don’t ask why and Karl’s true name is K’Mino. Spelt K - Mino, but pronounced Ka mino.”
Aedan picked up the Omni-Wrench that was leaning against the Bricksley. “I know we filled out our registration form with the normal human names, but it was a necessary precaution. We can sort it out later if it causes problems.”
After talking with Shift Happens, the team returned to their car and brought out a cooler filled to the absolute brim with ice and 1L Jack Daniel’s whiskey bottles of all kinds of types and flavors, Grabbed a couple of plastic cups from the car, and then retrieved their handguns from the car and set up a small shooting range made out of two plastic tables, and some empty soda cans facing away from the camp towards a nearby hill, about 40 feet from the back of their car. The gunshots rang out through the camp attracting a few spectators who wanted to see what was going on or try their hand at shooting soda cans.
(*OOC note: I highly recommend people to look up what a lombax is as it can help you visualize my characters better since I absolutely suck at physical descriptions.)
To Be Continued… as always.
3 Likes
Team Shift Happens
Previous Chapters:
The Plan / Getting the Truck / The Email
A Trick and a Wager / I Hate Scorpions!
Let’s Get This Party Started / First Arrivals - Starting Party 6 AM
Making Friends? - Starting Party 7 AM
A Moment in Time - Starting Party 7:30 AM
Another Team Arrives / War Songs in the Camp - Starting Party 8 AM
Shitbox Rally Starting Party, 8:15 AM Local Time
After the startling reveal of Team Oil Crisis, everyone in Team Shift Happens was a little shaken up. Some handled it better than others, of course. Malavera knew about the existence of Lombaxes, but had never seen one. Likewise, Kaylie had heard about them and done some research on Omni-Wrenches mostly because she had believed it would be the ultimate universal wrench, but could never get her hands on one. Rukari was surprised to learn that they weren’t human, but he’d seen shape-shifters before, so he had remained composed. Kayden had his suspicions, but really wasn’t expecting them to be cloaked in that way, and had actually startled. Kivenaal, like Kayden, had his suspicions, but unlike Rukari, had never seen shape-shifters or people using concealment spells before, and had perhaps the most visible reaction to the grand reveal.
“No, it won’t cause a problem that you used human names on the registration form,” Malavera said. “But, we’ll probably refer to you by those names more often than not.”
“Hey, you guys mind if we set up a shooting gallery?” Aiden inquired.
“Just make sure it’s safe,” Kaylie replied.
8:30 Local Time
Sure enough, Team Oil Crisis had a shooting range set up in no time. Pops and bangs rang out as cans were brutally assassinated, perforated, and otherwise punctured as Team Oil Crisis worked off their adrenaline rush from their grand reveal.
They, of course, were joined by Kivenaal, who drew his four revolvers and unleashed a hail of .357 Magnum rounds downrange, never missing a shot despite shooting a different gun in every hand, only stopping after 24 rounds had been fired. He looked over to Owen and said, “I’ve been doing this a while. Three time pistol champion in my local shooting club.” He half-cocked all four hammers, tucked two of the revolvers into his holsters, and rapidly unloaded his replica Colt Peacemakers, one shell at a time. “They’re nothing special, really. 7-and-a-half inch barrel, nickel chrome finish, walnut grips,” he added, before loading the two guns with six rounds, setting the hammers down gently, and holstering those two loaded pistols. He drew the other two that needed reloading, flipped their loading gates open, and again emptied the six spent cases from each of them, loaded six rounds into each gun, closed the gates, set the hammers back down, and holstered them again. Despite it being a slow process, it was clear that Kivenaal had gotten rather quick with doing this from practice.
Then there was a quiet rattle as Malavera closed the toolbox on the Bricksley and joined them at the range. He dialed his railgun down to minimum power, took aim at a can, and pressed the trigger switch. A sharp crack and an immediate clang rang out as a half-inch by three-inch steel rod broke the sound barrier, slammed through a can, and ended up in the dirt. “Would be more sporting, perhaps, if the targets were a couple thousand feet away with this thing.” He powered it down, letting it hang over his shoulder. Before anyone could say anything, half the range was obscured in smoke and a deafening cannon blast tore through the air as Rukari joined them, slinging a kilogram of lead at one unlucky can with nearly a full kilogram of black powder using his traditional murdaira.
“And now we can’t see until the wind blows that away. Thank you,” Kivenaal said, glaring at Rukari as they stood there in the reeking sulpherous cloud.
Rukari’s response was to draw his cap-and-ball percussion revolver and hit four of his six shots despite the obscured view of the targets, while adding even more smoke drifting across the range.
Kaylie looked over at the range, sighed, and wandered over as well, tying a string to the hole on her wrench. With a snarl and a grunt, she hurled her adjustable wrench with her right hand at one of the coffee cans where it hit with a resounding crash, knocking it off of the table. Then she pulled her wrench back in with the string and grinned. “Sorry, I didn’t bring a gun. I mean, I could go ask my older brother, Jaden, to borrow his plasma pistol, but… That’s not worth it.”
Kayden walked over as well, drawing his plasma pistol from the holster at his hip and blasting a fist-sized hole through a coffee can, before handing it to Kaylie. “It’s not as flashy as the civilian model, but they fire the same,” Kayden said.
Kaylie sighed. “You know I’m a terrible shot,” she said, before proceeding to miss two cans and then finally hit the third. “I got one!” she exclaimed. In the background of the range, there were two small glowing puddles of rapidly-cooling glass where Kaylie’s missed shots had landed.
“Not bad for a mechanic,” Kayden said, chuckling. “Now, if you’re not shooting, finger off the trigger, sis. Otherwise that’s a really good way to put a hole in your own leg.”
By that time, Rukari had reloaded his black-powder rifle-cannon and took aim at another can, exploding the air again as he filled the range with smoke. When the can jumped off of the table because Rukari aimed a bit low, however, Kivenaal rapidly drew a revolver and hit the soda can six times before it could hit the ground. Kivenaal glared over at Rukari and said, “Go use the shotgun in the toolbox if you’re going to keep doing this. That gun is a menace.”
Malavera chuckled, then returned to his table to help other teams out. Kaylie stayed at the range, borrowing one of Kivenaal’s revolvers to practice her marksmanship, even though she hated reloading it. Kayden took shots with his plasma pistol at targets that were beyond repair in between wandering the campground to find more empty beer cans, coffee cans, empty bottles, and empty food cans to help replenish the target range. Rukari decided he had better things to do than to waste all of his black powder on targets that weren’t even a threat, instead wandering around to look at everyone’s cars. And Kivenaal took advantage of Kaylie borrowing one of his guns to practice shooting with only two revolvers in hand.
3 Likes
The First Campsite, Nevada, USA
March 4th, 2022
Unknown, Nevada
Local time: 8:30am
Weather: Clear
Kivenaal, the designated sharp shooter of Team Shift Happens, had brought his four Colt Peacemakers to do some shooting with. He never missed a single shot despite shooting from a different hand each time.
Orlan was curious about his skill. “How long have been at this?”
“A While, Three time pistol champion of my local shooting club.”
Kivenaal began reloading.
At this moment Orlan took note of the weapons he was holding. “Colt Pacemaker replicas?”
“Yeah, Nothing special, 7 and a half inch barrel, a really nice nickel chrome finish, and walnut grips.”
Orlan looked at the HK USP in his hand. “Huh, I find the H and K USP to be the one for me. It’s comfortable to hold and has low recoil. Plus the modern design is equally as exquisite as your revolvers. Though, Aedan over there’s got a chrome Mark 19 Desert Eagle. He said it came with the 10 inch barrel in the box Pavel brought it in. Not even the .357 Magnum your Peacemakers take are comparable to what that thing shoots. .50 Action Express its called.”
“Would be more sporting if these cans were a few thousand feet further that way.” Said Malavera slinging his railgun over his shoulder."
A loud deafening bang rang out through the desert and then dust and smoke were in the air, the scent of Sulphur along side it all.
Kivenaal turned around to face Rukari. “And now we can’t see until the wind blows that away. Thank you,”
Rukari simply responded by drawing his sidearm and firing it off into the cloud and hit four of the 6 shots.
“I’ll be right back.” Orlan said turning around and walking away.
A few moments later he returned with his M16 and grenade launcher. He popped a single 40mm grenade into the launcher and took aim.
“I guess this is the closest thing I have that’s a human weapon to your stuff.”
He pulled the trigger and the grenade sailed through the air landing near the table. For a second there was silence and then the grenade exploded knocking a water cooler jug off the table.
“Orlan! I told you to only use the grenades if we are in serious trouble.” Aedan called from the car behind them.
“I’ve only brought 10, so I’m down to 9 now.”
“Does that Omni Wrench shoot anything.” Kivenaal asked.
“No, Only the Millennium Mark One, Mark Three and Mark Twelve do that. The Millennium 12 shoots electricity and the Mark One converts into a rifle which shoots conventional ammo while the Mark Three also becomes a rifle but shoots energy rounds. Although that’s the model my wrench is, I don’t know about Aedan’s, Or anyone else’s for that matter.”
Kivenaal nodded in acknowledgement.
The shooting continued for another 20 minutes before it was just Aedan and Orlan taking a few pot shots.
Laying his Desert Eagle down, Aedan turned to Orlan. “I guess we shouldn’t spend all our ammo on things that aren’t a threat.”
“I concur, we’ve used very little but we should probably conserve it for the rest of the journey.”
(OOC Note: Their true names can be used interchangeably with their human names so there’s nothing to worry about if there’s any uncertainty.)
2 Likes
Team Mravolinski-Chitco
Team info: 2022 Shitbox Rally - Out of This World! (Results Out!) - #30 by MrdjaNikolen
As was case with previous part, this is reply to said previous part.
WATT is love, baby dont shoot me
Klimentol had somehow recalled few lighter adapters in toolbox that were thrown there by me.
Realized that his work wasnt necessary, so he reverted the work to how it was originally done.
Chicota noted two hosts getting in middle of camp and noted down the rest of team, expecting they would anounce something important
However…they didnt do so, instead singing a song. As they said, there was tradition of singing of songs from those before us before engaging in battle.
This havent proven very necessary in his opinion but, to be honest, our opponents are usually striking down first and without proper anouncement, so if someone has opportunity of singing, it would be them.
Song had, however, brought a question of whether or not he would be able to tackle down beast that opposed protagonist of said song.
Answer would likely be “No.” judging by the fact protagonist is likely similar to members of Shift Happens.
Would someone of that team be able to take it down? Hmmm, answer to this would be Probably.
Seems like that actual fight was happening and both dogs and Chicota spared no time at all rushing to source of gunshots, only to find that enemy is composed of…army of empty soda cans.
This shooting range did proven to be interesting and our trio took their time watching their new friends using variety of shooting weapons, sometimes rather overkill in nature (few members of Shoot Shift Happens happen to be guilty of this pleasure).
Pi had also joined and actually did something universally useful for once, lifting the need for Kayden to deal with picking up the trash so to speak.
Although she was managing this on 20/80 basis: 20% of stuff went to our car-she thought these might be useful to more skillful members of team and rest was delivered to shooting range.
This was in fact true: We did appreciated having actual bottles and cans for water and beer.
Some songs could be heard from my older phone
shown on picture below-and yes, i personally took that picture
For potential phone geeks, its Nokia Asha 210 Dual Sim, owned by me for solid 8y.
Other phone i have at my disposal is LG K8. This one has transparent silicon case but is otherwise black-cant take the pic of it bcos im actually posting from it.
Anyway, songs
There are plenty more, but this lot should be enough.
So if you happen to come near our truck and hear music, you now know the likely source(s) 
Pi had some plans of making a tour around camp and meeting some other teams that prob werent as involved or werent involved at all in past activities. She was advised to wait for someone to acompany her, to avoid potential misunderstandings due to her not knowing English
VerBanka went to eat some burgers and would return back afterwards
DJ Mrx (one of high-school friends had indeed called me in such fashion due to lot of songs i have) had continued to share his varied musical taste with few dogs and robot…and Pi ofc, but she isnt really gonna complain about anything.
Dogs and robot had considered going along with Pi’s idea, but decided to sort out most of stuff that Pi brought instead, to kind of dissaproval from human-based quadrupled.
VerBanka returned and put a requests for song
(Ok, there is entire playlist of sorts. Feel free to find 2 or 3 other songs of your choice from it to complete the request).
Pi then decided to look around shooting range that was and noted few chunks of…something.
She hardly believed when Aydar informed her that it was glass, made from sand and very extreme heat brought by certain plasma rifle owned by Team Shoot Shift Happens.
Upon return they realized that shit happens, so they went along with it.
Finally, Klimentol had reminded us that car itself has radio, so there was no need for Mrdja/myself to present his/mine music taste.
OOC: So, this team is pretty much in/around the car and in/around the tent at the moment.
If anyone is interested in saying hi, feel free to do so.
2 Likes
You should wrtite a book.
1 Like
Technically, this is my way of trying to break a really nasty 3 month writer’s block so I can get any one of the five stories I’ve gotten started to move again.
1 Like
24 hour alert!
In 24 hours, this challenge will be closed and we will start the rally.
I have cars and teams from:
@Caligari
@Executive
@BannedByAndroid
@interior
@TheYugo45GV
@Knugcab
@Fayeding_Spray
@MrdjaNikolen
@variationofvariables
@AndiD
@BG004130
@NoahC
@Elizipeazie
I have a car, but no team or team information from:
@SurrealCereal
24 hours from now, this challenge will be underway, and I will not be accepting late entries or late information. If you want to be in this, please, send in a car and at least the name of your team and the names of your team members.
2 Likes
TEAM HILLBILLY ROLLERS
PART 0.7 - Tangerine and familiar
Janne and Andreas were pulling Marie away to the pink van, before she could do any more damage.
J: OK, no more drinking and no more looting until we have reached the next campground! We really should set up the tent now, too.
M: But…
J: To be honest, no more looting at all, thank you!
A tangerine coloured fastback was spotted parking near the EAAC. After it had gotten its inspection by the hosts, Janne could not resist giving some comments, since some of the people seemed familiar.
J: Seems like you guys never get tired of Diones, right? I guess the odometer has turned at least once on this one, too? Fucking unkillable things it seems like.
4 Likes
Maybe if you turn off the function - always refresh game, you can compare all the cars without rewriting the stats.
Also, you can unplug the internet cable before you go into the game and press offline mode.
RK Series Racing; Pre-Race Camp
The group of three is approched by two other competitors. Connor immediately recognized the visitors as participants of the GAR2 - Bolivia event, whereas Tim and especially Valentin don’t have a clue as to how these people were. Before either human could talk, Connor blasts ahead, greeting them.
Connor: “Good morning, Mr. Mäkitalo… Mr. Kero.”
Tim: “Yeah hi. Thing has joined the million-mile club. This being the third one i believe… Now… do we know each other?”
Connor: “They were participants of the Great Automation Run 2, located in Bolivia.”
Tim thinks hard about the people present at the past, but neither face of them rings a bell. This also applies to Valentin, who is not exactly eager to talk, given half the grid obviously not being human.
as such, he retreats to the rear end of the car for some mental cooldown while sat on the trunk edge.
Tim, Connor and the members of the Hillbilly rollers remain at the front, talking for a bit about how they want to take part in this curious shitbox rally and the respective cars they brought. At some point, they part ways, with Tim and Connor also scouting for what the other teams have done while Valentin stays behind at the car.
That RP section with Knugcab; hidden cuz it doesn't add anything new content-wise
Mäkitalo: “Yeah, we saw each other in Bolivia. And by the way, you got some five minutes of fame in the Trafikjournalen magazine after the 2020 clunker run, when the Dione seemed to just run and run forever, relatively unaffected by breakdowns. We weren’t there but we have of course read the magazine, so there is a borderline legendary status surrounding your team and car.”
Mäkitalo is showing Tim some memes on his phone, all of them with the point that the Dione is the most unbreakable thing on earth.
Redwood: “About thaaat… it went bust. Brake line shat itself to bits. I mean… would’ve been a cheap fix, but we were out of time. So this one ain’t the exact one from clunkers…”
He chuckles at the apparent internet icon that the car (or the Dione in general) has become. Connor, for now, doesn’t exactly do much.
Mäkitalo: “Yeah, I thought that it looked like a different car, so I thought, well, more Diones for them. Anyway, I got to purchase a kind of nice van for this from my workplace that I am putting my faith in. I am not too sure, though. As you can see, it was already a bad idea to put my faith in Marie with the brush”, he says and shudders.
Both Connor and Redwood look over to the bright pink van, Redwood immediately grinning ear-to-ear at the hilarity of it.
Redwood: “That’s a thing of beauty. Best paintjob i’ve seen! Either way… We go this here '79 model off of some old man the next town over. Said he bought it new back then and has driven it intensely since, uuuntil he got a brand-spanking new one for free.”
Mäkitalo: “Heh…that is kind of a cool story then. Well, I wish you good luck with the rallying, and just shout in case of emergency, if we have the possibility to help we sure will give it a try”
Redwood: “Cannot exactly shout further than like half a mile, but there’s always a way. Thanks for the offer already.”
Mäkitalo: “Well, the CB is still left and intact in the van so as long as we are in range, you can shout there too. Just not as loud as if you’re trying to shout half a mile, I hope.”
Redwood: “Cannot exactly do that without a radio, now can we. Had some crude phone-call connection system for the clunker run. Even then, we probably could call about.”
Mäkitalo: “Well, there’s most often a way if there is a will. Just so you know, I will probably not deafen you guys with the dixie horn while passing, but having a more friendly approach. I can’t say the same about the idiots that nearly ran me over with the Dunav, though…”
Redwood: “Thanks for not blasting out our eardrums, then. Speaking of, i’ll probably have a look about the field to see if anyone else i know is here.”
Mäkitalo: “Same, I guess. Well, we’ll probably encounter each other later in one way or another. See ya!”
Redwood: “Haha! Bye!”
Connor: “Have a nice day.”
While Tim is away with Connor doing recon, Schrant is left behind and dabbles on his phone until another unknown person walks up to the car.
Constantin Schrant
Constantin Schrant (Sweden)
Role: Varies
Age: 29
Appearance: 7’ in height. Hair and eye color matches Valentin closely, but is much shorter, sporting a few inches of a ponytail and a short trimmed sidecut. Impressive physique and rather angular face makes a more intimidating character to look at relative to other team members.
Clothing: Constantin is sporting what essentially is a full set of military attire, comprising of a basic T-Shirt covered in a field jacket, complete with Patches for name and nationality (Sweden) and LCDR (Lieutenant Commander) rank insignia. Matching pants in forest camouflage pattern and black, heavy military boots complement the outfit itself. On his back, a military backpack together with what essentially is a single-man campsite can be seen. Strapped to said backpack is a highly custom longbow to one side and a quiver of 16 equally custom arrows on the other.
Interests: Archery; Anything Military; Sailing/ Seafaring
Personal vehicles: 2018 Sisten Calero LE 2.0
Note: Constantin is Valentin’s older brother, but neither party is aware that they are related to the respective other. As such, they will treat each other as strangers.
[the upcoming RP with @variationofvariables is inserted here and overlaps with what happens below]
Constantin walks up the sun-baked Dione, both hands gripping the straps of his backpack as if he’d been hiking for quite a ways.
Constantin: “Well Hello there. Are you Tim Redwood of RK Series Racing?”
Valentin wasn’t exactly keen on causing trouble with someone easily capable of punshing him to bits, especially given his weight being slightly exaggerated by the camouflage clothing.
Valentin: “Err… No. Tim went off with Connor to do some scouting of the other teams. I’m Valentin.”
Constantin: “Lieutenant Commander Constantin Schrant. I’ve talked to Tim online and he agreed to recruit another team member. Now i am here.”
Valentin: “He never told me of you arriving… It’s not like i can prevent that now anyway, now is it?”
The two keep rambling on with crude small-talk about why they are participating, the car they brought, the obvious lack of planning done to both them and the car, among other things. At some point, Constantin dumps his backpack on the ground next to the Dione and takes seat within, waiting for the return of Redwood.
OOC note @Knugcab
am currently setting up a dialogue with @variationofvariables. Need to kinda make the setup with them work with this RP arc. sorry if it feels rather forced. Also, i wanna add a 4th crew member before deadline strikes, soooo… yeah
i will also transition to using first names for narration and speech to allow proper distinction between Valentin Schrant and Constantin Schrant
@Madrias i would like to add Constantin Schrant as a 4th member to the team; i will add his profle to the team intro header
2 Likes
Psst…Janne is a male name in Sweden…you might want to change “mrs.” 
sorry
has been edited accordingly
I thought the same thing tbh
Well, it have confused me a couple of times that you only have to go to Norway and it is suddenly a female name instead. 
Team Slow
A mere absence. We are back. And this time it is NOT a filler. Bring it on! Part 5.
March 9th 2022, Mojave Desert. The designated starting area. Some may say it’s situated in the middle of nowhere. Others may think differently on this one.
Time: 12:18, Weather: A hot 23 degree Celsius sunny day with barely any wind.
So the front left tire burst, That is no problem for TIRE SEALANT, Besides the fact we do not have any tire sealant.
John goes around the car searching for a can of tire sealer that could be bundled with modern cars instead of a full-size spare, Instead of tire sealer, he does find a fullsize spare, because back when cars actually had an extra tire and not a tire sealer to save costs on digging a hole into the metal floor, he unbolts the flat tire, shoves it into the boot of the car and begins to install the spare steel wheel. Besides the tires being rotted to hell.
Matt, on the other hand is busy selling out some hot-dogs to anyone in the challenge using the barbecue and goes to grab some more until John tells him that the Archanan tires are rotten.
J: What kind of tire is this?
M: 23 Something year old tire, what do you expect, So are the current tires.
J: Alright, alright we’ll go ask some people if they have any tires, What are these again?
John looks on the sidewall to see the specs of the tire
J: Yeah these are P235/55 R15 Falcons.
Matt: Okay, I’ll go ask anyone if they have tires of the R15 variety.
30 minutes skip and the hot-dogs are finished. 12:48, We put the hot dogs in foil, refuel the car by 6 Liters and then extinguish the barbecue as it is finished.
OOC: If anyone has a spare set of R15 235s (niche size maybe?) We may be in need of them.
If anyone wants hot-dogs, you could come to me for some hot dogs. Freshly cooked.
3 Likes
Alright Fellas. This took a hot minute, but I’m proud to bring to you the Machinas Con Passione Shitbox Adventures, Episode 1!
I promise the next one won’t be as lengthy. Anyway.
MACHINAS CON PASSIONE’S SHITBOX ADVENTURES, EPISODE 1: A Man, His Wedge, and 200 Horsepower of Pure Mediocrity.
Character Profiles - Giacomo Scarfiotti
Role: Team Owner, Financier, Navigator.
Age: 49
Nationality: Italian
Description: 5 foot 8, cleanly shaven with spiky, white hair. Extremely… er… “eccentric.”
Background: Giacomo Scarfiotti, no relation to the great Ludovico Scarfiotti, is an Italian businessman whose main sources of income are questionable investments and his father. Eccentric by most standards, Giacomo is what would happen if you were to make a fallout character with charisma and luck that were both 10 and 0 at the same time and instilled in him a great passion for race cars. He’s tried to enter every great race worldwide, with middling results. His marque, Machinas Con Passione, is renowned for buying up rejected or defect ridden cars to use in said great races, with predictable results. A face you learn to love, or in most cases loathe, the one redeeming quality Giacomo has is his great, unending, probably out of hand, self esteem.
The Tall Tale of How a Couple of Idiots Entered a Shitbox Rally
All stories, be they great or otherwise, all have a beginning, middle, or end. Our story, which may very well fall into the latter category, starts with nary a whimper or a bang, but a flying sheet of paper being carried on its journey by one particularly fateful breeze. It’s here, of course, that our sheet of paper should happen to pass by the city of Naples, Italy, and float past passersby minding their own business, utterly blind to the momentous occasion that is moments from occurring.
I refer, of course, to the timely gust and equally well timed appearance of our protagonist, one Giacomo Scarfiotti, a wealthy former trust fund baby, now a fully established trust fund adult. Mr. Scarfiotti himself is also unaware that the whims of fate have chosen to graciously bestow him with the biggest challenge he’s faced yet, by rather bluntly smacking him in the face.
Giacomo liked to think that he could take a punch, he’s made enough ill advised plans to cross that off the list years ago. It’s a bit different when you go from minding your own business to being completely blind. Giacomo stops dead in his tracks. He ponders what could possibly have caused his sudden blindness. Obviously, nobody had suddenly decided to give him a piece of their mind. Had he developed sudden narcolepsy? He knew going to the doctor regularly was important, but figured it must have been like telling the truth on your tax returns, there’s no code of honor forcing you to do it. He continues pondering. “Hmm. Clearly I must be awake, or I wouldn’t be able to speak.” He says to the great, unending void he currently stares into. This is quite puzzling indeed. Going to stroke his chin, a “force of habit” of Giacomo’s that he pretends to do naturally, but is really a calculated attempt at looking smarter than he actually is, Giacomo realizes that instead of an extremely handsome face, he’s grabbing at a sheet of paper. Curious.
Giacomo pulls the sheet of paper off of his face, it seems to be the invite to a… “Shitbox Rally”? It almost seems too easy. Who else to get the most out of a dusty shed dweller then an extremely rich, sheltered, and extremely handsome businessman such as himself. He gets to work assembling the crew.
Naples, Italy: The Residence of Giacomo Scarfiotti. A few hours later.
A few hours later, at his home, Giacomo realizes that the one thing more important than getting people who are competent at their jobs, is getting people who look cool doing it. With this being said, rather than dig through his contacts from years of questionable racing projects, maybe a washed up endurance racer or a rally driver who survived their last meeting, Giacomo decides to take his big chance on:
THE INTERNET!
And so it was, Giacomo decided he would conduct the most thorough of investigations to find the first member of his crew: the driver. He types in: “Fast racing driver.” and gets a list of people who are both fast and racing drivers, but nobody who’s free at the moment. Alas, he tries again. “Fast racing driver for hire.” And enter. Giacomo knows he must be careful, and very discerning with this next choice. He passes over the first two choices, which he hears are ads, or something like that, and clicks the third website instead: Driver4Hire.com. (disclaimer: not a real link) That should work. After two flicks of his mouse wheel to get the popular drivers out of the way, he stumbles upon a particular driver and description, with a phone number attached underneath a brief wall of text.
Character Profiles - Thibault Prosper
Role: Driver
Age: 31
Nationality: French
Description: 6 feet tall. Shoulder length, Jet black hair. Bushy beard. Cool, calm, and collected.
Background: The only seriously credentialed member of the group, Thibault Prosper got his start, as many do these days, in Go-karts. After dominating the local and national kart scene, Thibault would middle in open wheelers and touring cars until finding his feet in the World Rally scene in 2012. 3 years of top level rally competition would see him establish himself as a hot prospect, only for him to risk everything in the top flight of Open Wheelers once more.
He failed.
Two full time stints would yield him a total of two points and a pink slip at the end of 2021, politely asking him to go find something better to do.
It’s here he decides to reinvent himself as a driver for hire. After a few gigs and birthday parties, he gets a phone call from a mysterious Italian businessman, starting him down the strangest path he’s traveled yet.
Nice, France, Residence of Thibault Prosper
Thibault Prosper was the kind of guy who would normally get a random phone call, take half a second to make sure he didn’t recognize the number, and instantly hang up without further hesitation. Those times were long over now, as he’d fashioned himself a “driver for hire”, a way to keep his career, which even he admitted was on life support, alive and relatively well. Though he’d been inundated with calls when he first started the service, as things progressed, however, the number of calls seemed to shrink with the passage of time. Hopeful that this call would actually lead to something, Thibault picked up as fast as he could, and quickly had those hopes dashed. On the other end, someone could clearly be heard mouthbreathing directly into the receiver.
TP: “Um… Hello?”
GS: “Ah, yes, is this one… eh… Tiebolt Prosper?”
TP: “Oh. Yes, yes that’s me. I suppose you need a driver?”
GS: “Yes. One that’s going to look really cool driving for me, and one that I can hopefully take a lot of, ehh… promotional pictures of.”
Thibault wasn’t a stranger to the odd request or too, he figured that it must have been for some kind of corporate event. Poor Thibault.
TP: “Oh… Uh, yeah… I think I could do that. I suppose. Can you give me more details about the job?”
GS: “I can pay for your plane ticket to Naples, the rest must be kept super top secret, to stop people from stealing my plans. I know They will be doing their best to sabotage me.”
TP: “They?”
GS: “They.”
It finally dawned on Thibault why most people don’t give out their phone numbers to the general public, particularly famous people. You attract these kinds of people. He was in dire need of a paycheck, though Thibault wondered if there were some lines he shouldn’t cross to make a few bucks. Then again… A free trip to Naples…
TP: “Well, if anything, I’ll take you up on the free trip to Naples.”
GS: “Good! Good.”
Naples, Italy. Residence of Giacomo Scarfiotti. 5 Minutes Later.
A few minutes after hanging up on that Tie Bolt Imposter guy, it dawns on Giacomo: What if someone were to get hurt? While he would normally be perfectly content to ditch the poor fellow and take over the reins himself, to say that Giacomo lacked experience actually driving past the speed limit would be generous, at the very least. It dawned on him then that he must find a doctor, or, at the very least, someone who wouldn’t empty their stomach contents at the sight of a mosquito bite…
Sicily. Dover Healthcare Office. 2 Weeks Later.
And alas, a fortnight passed before Giacomo was able to find someone with a legitimate PhD to join his journey. And a fortnight of rejections from every credible doctor in mainland Italy had led him to Sicily, in hopes of finding some quack to at least pretend to try and know what a bone was. And so, he found his saving grace. In the form of a urologist’s clinic. Another win for the Scarfiottis.
Upon opening the door, Giacomo saw a nigh abandoned waiting room. 8 seats, all empty, a receptionist’s desk with a woman, completely passed out, and a very tiny bell next to her, along with the sounds of… Screaming? Coming from the general direction of the exam room. It was then that it occurred to Giacomo that no good urologist should have anyone screaming for any reason, though luckily for him, he hadn’t found a good urologist. Giacomo quietly sat down in a corner and kept to himself, thinking it better to not disturb the peace, hoping he wouldn’t find himself next in line for this so-called “treatment” the poor bloke in the other room was getting.
Character Profiles - Dr. Benjamin Dover
Role: Medic
Age: 42
Nationality: ???
Description: 5 foot 10, average build. Neatly cropped beard and an equally neat, though short, hairdo.
Background: A disgraced doctor, Benjamin Dover is descended from a long line of neurosurgeons, and was on the fast track to joining them, becoming a neurosurgeon straight out of college, before multiple botched operations would see him unceremoniously fired from the hospital his family had owned and operated for years. Ousted from his family for “besmirching the family name”, Benjamin quickly found his true calling: covert mob operations! Just stitch up a few mobsters, change locations, and you’re all good! Even if you put their stomach where their intestines were, what are they gonna do? Find and kill you? As if!
And alas, the screaming finally stopped, as one Benjamin Dover, MD, with an ecstatic expression and clothes drenched in blood, proudly marched out into his office, turned to the sleeping receptionist, and proudly declared at the top of his lungs: “MARIA! HE’S DEAD!” He was met with naught but an equally loud snore. Failing to notice his latest client, who was completely bewildered by the good doctor’s antics, Benjamin tip-toed over, and, in a well practiced swing, completely annihilated the bell that had likely been intended for whatever “clients” were coming through here.
It was then that the receptionist, a lady of around 20 or so, finally stirred awake, looked the doctor up and down, and seemingly knew what had happened. Surveying the bell, she seemed to resent it’s untimely destruction. “Y’know doc, if you’re gonna to destroy the bell everytime someone dies, maybe don’t make me pay for it every time? Getting paid to sleep is enough work already, dontcha think?” Giacomo could resonate with her, having been forced to do chores for his allowance as a youth, as a punishment for blowing a significant portion of his father’s wealth on fuzzy dice. A fond memory indeed. Dr. Dover gave the bell a once over, and mused, “Well, I would be glad to pay for it out of pocket if it were a business expense, and not a personal item such as a bell. You know how these things go, liability and the like.” Ooh. Business. Giacomo loves that stuff. Or he pretends to, at least. The most professional thing he’s done is be awesome, which he doesn’t see many of Father’s acquaintances doing these days. If only they could see things Giacomo’s way. With that, Maria sighed, and mumbled some musings as she left, presumably headed for the exam room. It was only then that Dr. Dover noticed Giacomo sitting there, rather impressed by his patience no doubt, and addressed the potential client.
“Well then, what do we have here? Are you interested in my, erm, “service”? You might qualify for an under the table discount! That is, so long as we can toss this bit of your medical history “under the table”, if you catch my meaning.” Giacomo, not wanting to find out where his urological system was, politely declined. “Ah. I see. Then, I hope you can excuse us, we have a routine in cases like this.” Giacomo turned over to see Maria dragging an unusually heavy suitcase to the front door, and turned to face the doctor once more. Oh well. What’s the worst that can happen? “So, ehh, you’re without an office, I take it?” Giacomo inquired. The good doctor’s face immediately lit up. “Not anymore! Would you be able to fix that? You seem to be particularly affluent.” This was easier than Giacomo thought… Though he wondered if these two would be more trouble than they’re worth. “Well, if you don’t mind working out of a car the past few weeks, then, ehh, sure thing! I’ve been looking for a medic, or doctor, or anyone with a fancy plaque that lets them cut people open without getting us too many prying eyes.” With this, Dr. Dover quickly ran to the back, presumably to fetch said plaque. A few seconds later, he returned with a very much out of date and likely revoked medical license, and presented it to Giacomo. To Giacomo, it seemed like he finally had a crew on his hands.
Character Profiles - Maria Vecchi
Role: Mascot? Ballast? Both?
Age: 20
Nationality: Sicilian
Description: 5 feet tall, slim build, shoulder length brown hair.
Backstory: Maria didn’t ask to be here, she’s only shadowing Dr. Dover because of some mob family obligations that she doesn’t particularly care about. She doesn’t say much, and is usually at her happiest when being left alone. Yeah that’s kinda it.
Naples, Italy, Residence of Giacomo Scarfiotti. 1 Day later.
Giacomo finally had something of a team assembled. Now that we have the people, we’ll need the car too. So. The car. The car. Oh God oh Fuck the car Giacomo put exactly zero thought into the car oh lordy lord what is he gonna do-
Wait.
Giacomo had a bright idea.
Just buy a random piece of crap car nobody wants! Works every time! Luckily for Giacomo, he had a few connections in the automotive world, and quickly went asking around for any roomy, well seated cars. And so. He asked. And asked. He likely irritated most of his “friends”, yet still asked them all, incessantly, over, and over, and over, again. Finally, after 2 days of searching, Giacomo had found it. The car that would win team Machinas Con Passione the shitbox rally.
A completely abandoned prototype van. It had no name, no engine, outdated bias ply tires, and possibly the ugliest design for any car ever. But alas, Giacomo saw great potential in it. A car this horrendously disgusting would certainly catch some eyes, and get people talking about MCP, a win win as far as he was concerned. It just needed an engine, and a few modifications, and it would run smooth, like butter! Though Giacomo would have to find someone competent enough to do all of that, because working on an engine without a muffler is pretty freaky. So much noise. Nope. Giacomo would have to enlist a mechanic, going on yet another goose chase, thanks to having put around 5 seconds of actual thought into the project beforehand.
And so, our story takes us to McChad Auto Parts, an american-based auto parts shop, run by the one Mr. McChad. How Giacomo and McChad met is the source of speculation for many (read: none), and may never be revealed to the general public, but the most common theory is Giacomo drunkenly stumbled into the shop during a visit to Nevada in the late 90s, and became fast friends with the sole employee, Chad Mcchad. Alas, whenever MCP needed a cheap repair job done surprisingly well, the McChad Auto Parts shop was the first place to visit.
Carson City, Nevada. McChad Auto Parts HQ.
It was a small building really, the usual cramped garage setup of two cars on jacks, and various equipment lining the walls of the establishment. There were doors for a gyro, a paint booth, and a cordoned off area of the Garage, usually reserved for premium customers (read: Giacomo.) It’d been a few years since Giacomo’s last visit, though it hadn’t changed a bit.
McChad Auto Parts specialized in those good old V8 engines from days gone, but they weren’t one to discriminate when blind checks, like the one Giacomo often brought in, were being thrown about.
“Yo, Giacomo. What craziness do you have planned now?”
Character Profiles - Chad McChad
Role: Mechanic
Age: ??
Nationality: American
Description: 6 foot 6, 280 pounds of pure muscle. Strong jaw, thick, luscious locks, and thick beard to match.
Backstory: Chad McChad is just… really good at fixing cars. And looking cool while doing it. If there’s any simple solution to a problem, Chad will find some bizarre work-around solution while looking as photogenic as possible the entire process. Need an oil change? Chad will drain the entire oil tank, by mouth, and still get it done within 30 minutes. Why he does this is a mystery, but he looks so dang good doing it. Dang.
Giacomo ran off to fetch his latest attempt to offend God himself, the wedge van, now dubbed the “MCP Aerodynamic Wedge-Shaped Beast”, and talked Giacomo’s ear off regarding various modifications he’d like added to the van.
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Giacomo just so happened to have a bevy of extremely fashionable mid 90’s Mustangs, all acquired at a dirt cheap price, though he hadn’t yet figured out why they were so cheap to begin with, he suspected he may come to the conclusion… One day…
Either way, taking an engine from one of these ‘stangs, and modifying them to run with as much power they could get on the required kerosene was a cinch for Chad McChad, and before Giacomo knew it, they had a racecar, er, racevan on their hands! Genius engineering.
And alas, the MCP Aerodynamic Wedge Shaped Beast had arrived. Responses varied from repulsion to excitement (try to guess who felt what), though everyone hopped in the van all the same, and it was off to the starting party they went. Giacomo made sure to check that all of the modifications he’d asked for had been made:
Cool Engine: 
Speaker:
Bangin’ tunes:
Awesome Number:
Not shit tires:
Extra Gas:
Tow Hook:
Cassette Player:
And with that, MCP were ready to race! This called for a celebration, and Giacomo giddily inserted one of the tapes he’d brought into the cassette player. The once silent road trip was now interrupted by the dulcet tones of Nick Jonas. Maria was the first to speak up.
“No fucking way. You’re joking, right? Nick Jonas?” At this, utter shock and indignation crossed Giacomo’s face. He was in the presence of a non-Iconick. How truly horrendous. “I’ll have you know, that nobody praises me quite like Nick does. I’m a fan for life, truly, someone who recognizes my dashing looks and exaggerated swagger. He has a real eye for art, you know.” Responded the now outed Iconick. Similar exchanges dotted the remainder of the road trip, as the collective sanity of the group seemed to drip away with each passing mile.
2021 Shitbox Rally - Campsite
And thus, Machinas Con Passione rocked up to the Shitbox Rally Campsite… Mere hours before the race itself was meant to get underway, yet another win for the Scarfiottis! Surely, this is going to go fantastically, and nothing will go wrong, ever, at any point. To anyone. At all. Period.
Part 1 - Fin.
Alright, as much as I want to keep going and write endlessly, I gotta stop somewhere, right? Hopefully this is worth the wait. If you don’t feel like reading all of that, the tl;dr is: “funny italian man finds friends in strange places to drive his dumb car in a race he’s not even supposed to be in.” Hope you liked it!
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