as much as he hated to do this he bought the cheampest ramptruck her could find and took on the highways. he wasnt going fast but sure he was calling no attention…
In an encrypted email to the Gryphon Gear team Rayyan offers the use of Sabre Corporations aerospace division to move the vehicles from the USA to the UK in Sabre Aerospace’s MT30 Alcock (Named after the captain of the Vickers Vimy Bomber that made the first non-stop transatlantic flight) from Sabre Aerospace’s airfield in Waco Texas to one of the many airfields that is owned by Sabre Aerospace in the UK. Attached in the email are low key stealthy directions to the airfield.
Vos had flown his Kodiak to Wichita KS for a series of dramatic upgrades. Over the course of (insert however long he’s been away) He and His team had retooled pretty much every aspect of it. When race 4 starts. He’ll be there. He picked up the phone to contact any member of the team he could to catch up. Unfortunately, everyone was off the grid. Noone answered their phones. Finally, after two hours, he finally got Tom and asked what the hell was going on.
Only slightly rattled by the events at Bonneville and points East, Kristina also ends up in Grand Junction, CO. Skittering across multiple two-lane highways through the mountains, she found a cheap motel on US 50 and slept for the night. It was 7:30 AM, and the cold was not her natural habitat. Between it and the young woman in West Wendover, she was spent.
She awoke to housekeeping knocking on the door at 4 PM. She had overslept! Thankfully, she had been notified during her slumber. 3 days until the race in Tulsa. She had caught a lucky break since there was no way she could have made it 900 miles in only 8 hours without drawing attention. She sent housekeeping away, insisting she would go to the front desk and pay for another night. Just then she got another message. This time it was from Rayyan offering an alternate route to Tulsa…1950 miles via Montana! No way was she heading north to go south. Her car might be fast, relatively speaking, but it was no airliner. She would take US 50 over to Dodge City, KS, and make her way south from there into OK. She got dressed quickly and walked up to the front desk to pay for another night so she could keep her promise to housekeeping.
After a light dinner, she got warm huddling under 2 comforters,3 blankets and her pyjamas. At 3AM, she woke up again and headed out for the drive to Tulsa. ETA for Tulsa: 8 PM on the 19th.
After praying to all kind of superior Entities (female angels, Jesus, Joey Ramone, some bunch of aliens, and even my grandpa) to keep Testis on going, after the cops problem been solved, i could eased my foot on the throttle.
Already had a callus on my foot.
Chose to avoid highways and followed some advices.
After some miles, I stopped to rest. Starving and short of money, I could pick up some delicacies along the way: beetles, cockroaches and all that was crispy and flavorful! I grill them with some Gin and they tasted like roasted duck!
Slept a few hours in the car, washed my face with some Gin, and put me on the way to Tulsa again!!
In which HERE COMES A NEW CHALLENGER. Kubboz enters the fray! And I take some liberties, though not the same kind of liberties that some of us seem to fancy 
**[size=200]S[/size]**trop’s eyes flew open to an unfamiliar room.
Slowly, he rose, seeing a sunset filtered through the faded curtains. Over the next few minutes, details and recollections of the past day’s events flooded in, and he rubbed his eyes, finally realising where he was. That’s right, somewhere called Grand Junction, or more specifically, some cheap motel alongside the highway which ran through Grand Junction.
He pulled out his phone and checked his messages. There was one from Rayyan ‘Balls ‘o’ Titanium’ Rawat, proposing an alternative route to Tulsa which was, oh goodness, completely in the opposite direction that he had gone since he, like most everybody else he imagined, had turned south to avoid passing through Salt Lake City. Then there was another one from the same Rayyan, offering the use of an airfield in Texas, so they could get to the next stage without too much trouble. Oh, that was convenient. And interesting. And he had to think about that one, especially how he was planning to move all twenty five cars and what kind of hardware he had access to and what kind of people he knew to access that and oh god what if it was a trap-
Nevermind. He’d scope that one out later. Stretching, he rose and immediately felt his stomach grumble. Guess that was his next priority sorted.
He had been sitting in the diner maybe about ten minutes, mushing his way through overboiled carrots and peas when a familiar face walked in. In leathers both top and bottom, messy “just woke up” blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, the only lady of the League, Kristina, strode in. Strop’s spirits rose, pleasantly surprised to see a familiar face in this tense interlude, but hesitated, not sure whether he was about to blow some kind of cover. About ten minutes later, he realised, what was he thinking, what would anybody else know? So he got up and moved on over.
Preoccupied by some internal monologue, Kristina blinked in surprise as she recognised the horse guy approaching, and again when he actually asked, “May I sit here?”
“Of course, you don’t have to ask me!” There was the scrape of a chair and Strop sat down, where they sat in a slightly awkward silence. Or rather, Strop was being awkward, and Kristina, casually leaning back in her chair, was half the picture of amused, half bemused.
“How are you holding up?” Strop belatedly realised why this felt so awkward. Kristina’s outfit scarred with the relics of battle and a life that had surely seen far more hardships than he had, it felt hardly right to be asking. But he was reassured by a small smile. “Not too bad, considering.” Then she leaned forward and lowered her voice, “Good job putting this together, it’s one hell of a ride.”
Strop smirked, relaxing. “I’m glad to hear that. Though I think it’s going to get messy from now on.”
“Ha.” Kristina grabbed her glass and swigged down the last of their contents. “Probably. Nothing I haven’t seen before, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“I thought as much.” Strop half pointed at her. “You looked like the kind of woman who could handle yourself in a pinch.”
It was Kristina’s turn to examine him: “Well, what about you? How are you doing?”
Strop half-laughed, “Truth be told this is getting a lot bigger than I intended. You know, have a few nutjobs drive around places, perhaps a little mischief here and there, travel the world, race on a few tracks and sit down and have a few beers afterward. Guess I didn’t think about it enough.”
“Or I think maybe you wanted it to turn out this way.” Kristina had a bit of a twinkle in her eye. “Admit it horse guy, you guys share the same madness as everybody who signed up. You couldn’t possibly have expected otherwise.”
Strop looked down, fiddling with his hands. “Yeah. You’re right.” He looked back up, doing his best squared-jaw impression as he raised his glass. “And we’re gonna see this ride to the end, so buckle up and hold on to your asses!”
Kristina laughed, “I’ll drink to that!” Facetiously she raised her empty glass and a clink rang through the diner. Then she rose, “Hey, I’m gonna go catch some sleep, it’s still a long way to go. I’ll see you at Tulsa, OK?”
“Yeah.” Strop nodded and waved. “Take care.” Kristina almost shook her head as she left the diner, not sure how remarkable it was that McHorseguy was the first male she had a conversation with on this trip who didn’t try to get in her pants.
Mostly by Kubboz, with minor edits for continuity
Strop sat in his Peapod, pondering the timing of his next move. It was about seven now, the sun barely sinking over the horizon. There was still a good nine hundred miles to cover, which meant maybe about eighteen hours of driving, in two days. It was almost like a full time job. Then there was the fact he still wasn’t sure where the rest of the Gryphon Gear crew were, though they had said they’d catch up to him later. He sure hoped the Peapod didn’t decide to pop a gasket or blow the manifold now, pushing nine hundred horses out of a flat four wasn’t exactly healthy for the engine.
His reverie was interrupted by a roar of a flatplane. He took a peek out of the window to see which contestant he could talk to, and spotted a green estate. From what he could see, it was a heavily tuned Skoda, which would not be out of place in his League. Why was it here though? The car was then switched off, and a man in an olive green uniform, and a black cap with blue M written on it got out of the car. Strop could immediately see a giant hammer strapped to the man’s back, and as the mysterious guy approached him, he understood he was the one he wanted to talk to. And then the man pulled out his ID.
Strop’s eyes widened, and he braced against the door, ready to slam the weird hammer toting guy if he tried anything funny, a panicked “who the fuck brought cops to this place” running through his head. And then he noticed the ID was not actually a police officer’s badge. Instead, it read as following:
MODERATOR SQUAD
Moderator Jack Cossack
Member ID 21
“Look “ Jack Cossack finally spoke up “We have a problem…”
“Well, yes, we do.” Strop could not quite recall who the hell the Moderator Squad was. “There’s some random guy with an enormous hammer at my door and I don’t know what he wants.”
“Really? I can take care of… “ The Moderator began responding with a worried tone, but then he realised he was the one Strop talked about. “Well, I’m a Moderator! We oversee the activities in the world, ya know? Why, you might ask? Well. All the police forces, courts, etc. are trying to make sure nothing illegal takes place. The Moderator Squad, well, the Moderator Squad cares more about BAD things taking place. Now, let’s talk about your street league…”
Strop’s eyes widened. Shit. It was all over now…
“Hey, man.” Jack looked at Strop confusingly. “What’s the matter? Why do you look like you’ve done something wrong, huh? I’m on your side, calm down. Obviously, it IS barely legal, but it’s not bad! I mean, you promote breaking the boundaries of engineering, your presence alone promotes fair sportsmanship. Not to mention, you going all world tour with your racers allows them to experience different cultures. Man, you’re doing a GREAT job!”
Strop’s eyes widened, again. Shit. Someone might hear this moderator guy.
“What’s the matter then, what is wrong…Mr Cossack?”
“The Moderator Squad believes someone tries to sabotage your league. See, that police chase before the race…we’ve got proof it was not a coincidence.”
“What…? You mean, someone tipped them off?”
“Yeah, after all, you guys had been speeding along the highway away from Wendover. How many squad cars do you think Wendover have, compared to how many there were coming from the West? You guys had pretty much every donut munching Utah cop on wheels after you, in the middle of the night, on the most deserted stretch of highway in Utah. Doesn’t add up does it?|
“So who’d do such a thing and get such a response?”
“Ah… here’s the thing: we do not know that yet. It could be anyone, really, from a bunch of influential ecoterrorists, to someone with connections and some personal vendetta against you.”
“Oh…”
“I believe you won’t be able to handle the events that will unfold alone. You need to get some protection,” Jack Cossack continued, and then chucked from a dick joke he formed in his mind involving getting protection. He would not tell it though. It’s not time for that now.
“What do you mean?”
“You see my car?” Jack pointed at his Skoda: “It’s a squad car code F three L one C fourteen C zero M eighty-one.” He then scribbled the code F3L1C14 C0M81 on a piece of paper and gave it to Strop. “It actually fits the criteria of your contest. I mean, it was built by Skoda for a pro-street league long before this era, but then Volkswagen found out and withdrew the Skoda’s submission. What a bunch of dick eaters. The Moderator Squad found the car in a barn and refurbished it just half a year ago. It is my squad car since then. Skoda actually build, believe it or not, a one off twin turbocharged V8 just for this car and squished it into a body of a green Felicia Combi…”
“I think I see where this is going…”
“Oh yes, back to topic. You would plant me as a racer, and I would overwatch the events all undercover, trying to spot any clues, and trying to protect ya all from what is going to happen. What do you think?”
Strop scratched his chin, turning the offer over in his head. In the back of his mind, there was the vague impression from a previous life he may or may not have lived, that the Mod Squad were your best allies, and your worst enemies. In a time when he really didn’t know who was what was which, he knew at least which he preferred. He stuck out his hand.
“Welcome to the Barely Street Legal League.”
Strop felt the vibrating in his pocket through the vibration of the Peapod on the highway, and fished out his phone, not bothering to pull over.
“Strop, we have to talk.”
“Noah. How nice to hear from you.”
“No, this is serious,” Noah insisted, though he always looked so serious nobody was ever sure when he might or might not be crying wolf. “Waxwell’s found a few points of interest.”
“Oh?” Strop’s ears pricked. “Such as?”
“You know that super cop car that could outrun Tom’s Brimstone and probably half the rest of the cars in the BSLL? Yeah, well, it’s called the Hasira.”
“Okay, that’s really informative.”
“Let me finish asshole. The Hasira’s top speed is estimated at four oh seven. It’s got more power than almost every car in the BSLL, only it’s equipped to intercept and disable racers. It’s got a bigger armory than a Republican NRA member’s gun cabinet. It’s a street racer’s nemesis… and it was made by Normandy Automotive.”
Strop almost dropped his phone. “Normandy!? But isn’t…”
“That’s right. Now consider, just where our friend from Normandy might have been instead of running with everybody else in Bonneville…”
Strop pounded one fist into the other, the steering wheel jumping sharply to the right due to the ridiculous amount of torque Peapod pushed. Cursing, Strop dropped the phone and grabbed the wheel just in time to save himself from plowing off the highway into the prairie beyond. Groping at the passenger seat, he finally found his phone and picked it up. “I’m gonna truck slam that bastard, just see how HE likes that.”
“Easy now,” Noah said. “Normandy isn’t exactly the most transparent of companies. They do a lot of no-questions-asked transactions, so we don’t know just how much to infer from this. But yeah, watch your back.”
“Right.” Strop’s mouth set grimly as he started the ascent into Colorado’s rocky ranges, coaxing the car around the winding highways. “Well, I’ve got a source of my own so I’ll do some checking.”
“A source of your own?” Noah immediately sounded suspicious. “What kind of nutjob have you picked up this time?”
“Trust me,” Strop said, knowing full well that it tended to have the opposite effect on his Gryphon Gear colleagues. “He’s a friend.”
FUN STATISTICS:
Number of guys Kristina has burnt after making unsolicited advances on either herself or her car- 3
Number of tyres nuked so far- 56
Bugs splattered on windshield- 237
Number of confused mechanics who have never seen anything the likes of the car that just pulled into their garage- 17
Number of bottles of Gin 8bs has consumed- 13
1 Like
It’s time for the conspiracy theory’s
13 bottles… and 2 of them used for personal hygiene…
Yay.
Jack did get into the league. Of course, he had a purpose other than winning. (more accurately, ensuring the league would finish in the first place) However, deep in his heart, he knew he was completely nuts, just like everyone who would race a 1000 hp monster on tires less than 300 mm wide.
“Ok then” he tried to maintain a professional attitude “I’ll contact you when I have anything new.” And the Moderator went back into his car. He ensured the hammer’s safety switch was on - A concealed shotgun might be a bit dangerous without following the gun safety procedures. Then he sat comfortably in the driver’s seat (well, as comfortably as possible), with his hammer, still strapped to his back, resting in the specially made cutout in the seat. He glanced over the account of the events, as reported by an informant in the police. The fact that informant was ordered to get to the highway in advance, the outrageous number of police cars, and that barely street legal squad car, all were indicating this was no coincidence. Everybody knew that much. The EMP weapon on the cop car was even fishier. Not everybody can get their hands on those.
Jack was worried about his Skoda. Of course, it was not packed with electronics as much as the modern cars, but he was at risk too. Of course, he had prepared for just the fuses going out. Every Felicia has its fuse box easily available from the interior, in the passengers leg space behind a lid which can be opened with no tools. He has made a note, describing which fuse was responsible for which electrical system (with the vital engine systems fuses circled), and prepared a set of spare fuses and some rubber gloves, in case he needed to change them on the run.
There however was something bugging him in the data he was provided. The super cop car looked…familiar. He thoroughly looked at the photo of the car at night. He glared at the lightbars, at the darkness surrounding them, at the lit taillight cluster…
…that’s it. The taillight cluster. It was a trademark Normandy design. Heh. No wonder the police would go to them to get their secret. The M-Squad had ordered some of their cars too. The no-question-asked attitude of this car manufacturer was at value, considering the Moderators weren’t always opposing illegal, as the presence of Cossack is BSLL could tell. The same thing, he realised though, would make it horribly difficult to investigate who financed the car. Not that good of a lead, it seems… Wait. The Normandy founder. He is one of the contestants. And he was not present during the race. It’s worth checking whether he has to do something with this mess, even if it only ends up with clearing out the suspicions about him. Now, where is the nearest Normandy property? Right. Wichita, Kansas.
Jack turned the ignition on, set the GPS in his phone to there, and a while later, was on the road, with Turmion Kätilöt blazing through the basic audio system. A while later, he passed a black-greenish E30, which according to his data, actually was driven by one of the contestants, the lady of this competition.
“Wait… what?”
[OOC] That’s right, kubby from the mod squad is on the case! (Actions that Jack Cossack takes within the story, in character, do not reflect actions kubby takes as a mod)
Kristina rambled down US 50 at quite a sensible pace so as not to attract attention so close to Utah’s borders and the events of the 17th. She smiled smugly as the thought of her finally getting event points in the League, and on her birthday! Now she felt like she deserved to be here with the rest of the lunatics wielding ridiculously overpowered cars doing a dance with the Devil himself. She had validated points, not just “you’re a fucking lunatic” points, and this made her very happy. Her grandfather would not approve, but he wasn’t here to waggle a finger at her so she felt smug, just the same.
As she approached Cañon City on the Eastern edge of the Rockies rolling out onto the plains of Colorado, she spotted an unusual looking car in her rear view mirror. It resembled a Renault, or a Volkswagen. Then it hit her. She had seen these cars before. It was a Skoda Felicia. They were famous for being a popular Central European manufacturer from the old Iron Curtain. Pretty rare in the US though. As it rumbled past her…wait…rumbled? “What in the holy hell is that thing?” she said out loud. Skoda was a 4 cylinder manufacturer, but that was hardly a 4-banger car. It’s like some crazy person had stuffed a V8 into a factory 4 cylinder body from Europe. [size=85]Did she really just fucking say that shit?[/size] It zipped by, thundering the ground as its motor churned out hellish tones, and then it was gone.
At about 5pm, she came into Cimmaron, KS, about 20 miles before Dodge City, and decided to stop for the night. It was 9 hours since she had eaten, and she could really use some rest anyway. The got a room at the Cimmaron Crossing Motel and went to the Richie’s Cafe for some dinner. Chicken Fried Steak and Eggs Over-Hard went really far in curing her growling tummy. As she downed the last sip of her chocolate milk, a cop walked in to order coffee. She thought this would be a good time to pay her check and exit. She got back to the motel and parked the car behind the building, just in case. After a few hours of uneventful television, she went to bed. Tomorrow was another day and she had only a short 5 hour drive to Tulsa from here. She would probably stop along the way to visit with some old friends in Oklahoma City, if she had time.
11PM, and she was out like a light. With any luck, tomorrow would be just as uneventful as today, especially given the events of 2 nights ago!
Thursday the 20th started really quietly for Tom and Elena. After some decent breakfast together and an extra coffee for Tom, he went to inspect the Brimstone closely to make sure the modifications hadn’t caused any damage. Everything was fine. So with everything working and the hotel being paid, they drove off at about 8am with the car in quiet mode. It was certainly quieter than a Corvette, and as a result Elena wished the car had a radio. Wearing some leopard boots, tight jeans and a tight leather jacket, she sat on the (front) passenger seat. Cruising down the roads at what Tom felt like 20mph (actually around 60mph as the speed limit said), they enjoyed the landscape and the smooth roads. After about 3 hours, they stopped by at a cafeteria and had a nice coffee (Cappuccino for Tom, Latte Macchiato for Elena) and continued their journey. After another 2 hours or so of driving, they decided to look out for a noble hotel because Elena insisted it should have a Jacuzzi as she needed some rest because of the Brimstone’s sharp suspension.
Not necessarily against the idea of a jacuzzi, Tom drove slowly to make sure they didn’t miss one hotel. After about 15 minutes they found one that met the requirements, so they went in and paid for the night. Having found the jacuzzi, Elena got in her bikini, and other people in the hotel looked at her with their faces like “Really?! Bikini when it’s freezing cold? She’s just showing off…” but they had no idea what kind of stress the past few days had caused, and it was a good thing they didn’t know about it. Anyway, with Elena chilling in the jacuzzi, Tom had another idea of what little mod he could install for the Brimstone: make it so you have to push a button to turn on the rear numberplate lighting. That meant installing a new electric circle for only those lights. After some time he had figured it out and it worked properly. Now, if the police would chase him at night, they wouldn’t be able to see his numberplate very well, making it harder to identify the car as the one they were looking for.
With the work done, he joined Elena and after about half an hour, they got out of the jacuzzi, got dressed and went for lunch. After that, they played some pool at the hotel’s pool tables downstairs. Elena then went to have a massage whereas Tom thought having a massage would be too boring so he went to the gym for a workout.
With time flying by in the afternoon, they went for dinner together at about 7pm, and then they went upstairs into their suite. It was a very comfy place indeed. And there was a really nice bed for two. Unlike the suite in the previous hotel and especially unlike the Brimstone, their room had really nice sound insulation so that people outside didn’t hear what was going on inside their room. Despite that, they didn’t go for what you’re probably thinking at this point, mainly because they needed some more rest to prepare for the long journey tomorrow, but also because there was still a window through which people (and especially the police) would be able to see them…
I took a break from writing today to present to you two more cards. The car that caused so much trouble in the last round, and of course, Kubby’s Modmobile:
Black & Decker makes me think of power tool
I’m still annoyed at myself for not just posting the standard Debranua, which would be leading at this point.
After the discovery of the Normandy Hasira, Banks Automotive decided something should be done about it. Thus a new car was made out of a prototype shell lying about.
The Banks Mortiginto!
But, most importantly it has the same capabilities as the Hasira, including a higher top speed.
Wichita, KS
Jack arrived to the Normandy’s building. It did not look all flashy, considering it was not outside criminal influence, but it was not a derelict ruin either. It actually tried to pass off as an ordinary car workshop. The Moderator stopped his car next to the Normandy’s facility, trying to think of anyone who could see Vos in here the night the chase happened, and witness about him reliably. Staff would either refuse to testify, or say he was here, regardless of whether he really was in this building or not. Clients… Even if they were eager to testify, it would not be likely that any of them would just happen to be here in the relevant timeframe. Then he noticed a light blue Normandy rolling out of the Normandy’s property. That was not interesting however, what was interesting was that on the late afternoon before the whole Hasira thing, another Moderator, whose name I won’t disclose here, chased after a notorious drug dealer in such a Normandy, and it ended in some gun shot holes in the light blue car, as well as some dents.
What was even more interesting is this was the drug dealer in question. He got here after he got away from the Squad, most probably, and they decided to fix the car, asking no questions, probably. Considering where his pursuit was, he would arrive here at the night of BSLL police chase, which would make him the most valuable witness he had as this time. It was only a matter of catching him. Jack stepped out of his car, loaded his hammer-gun, made sure it was ready to shoot, and took a good aim, ready to get rid of the tires.
Unfortunately, the drug dealer spotted him. He accelerated in his car.
“Stop, hammer time!” Jack Cossack took a shot, obliterating the targets left rear tire. The witness was not BSLL material - he could not handle the loss of traction in one wheel and spun out anticlimactically, then crashing into a wall of the opposite building. Jack approached the damaged vehicle
“Why were you running away, huh?”
“F*** you”
“Mind telling me a few things?”
“F*** you”
"You like dropping F-bombs, don’t ya?
“F*** you”
“Well, I have an F-bomb for ya”
And Jack Cossack dragged the drug dealer out of his car, tied him up, and threw him into his Skoda’s trunk. Ah the advantages of having an estate, with lots of cargo space.
…
Ten minutes of driving later
“Man, stop! This is a sliding deathtrap, not a car”
“Do you even drift bro? Get it? The pun I mean?”
“Argh! Not another one of these!”
“Why, it’s a lot of pun to me!”
“Oh come-”
And then Jack drifted his car round a tight corner
“SHIT! How can this european shit have so much power!?”
“My Felicia blows your mind, doesn’t it? It’s an F-bomb after all. Get it? The reference to ten minutes ago?”
“ARGHHHH”
“Ready to talk now?”
“I’ll tell anything, just let me out!”
While Jack was never sure whether it was his driving or his jokes that broke people he interrogated, he not only got hold on information about the man’s drug cartel, but also that “this guy” (Jack showed him a photo of Vos) had nothing to do with his cartel. As in, “Yeah, it was easy to get a car from him, but he did not know shit about what we were doing. And he did not even fix my car this time. Was working on some whack-ass Kodiak all night”. So Vos was in the Normandy building. Nice. He called to lower ranking M-Squad guy to pick the drug dealer up, telling him that he was very cooperative. He also told him to wait at Normandy’s building’s location, since he needed to investigate inside a bit.
Inside investigation failed to turn up any interesting leads. He still needed to call to his M-Squad office to report his finding… Hmmm… he had to go outside, since he had no reception in the building. Wait. No reception… If Vos was in the building all night, how could he call and tip the police off? Well, the witness probably was not watching Vos all time, but still, Jack had no actual clues against him. Hmmm… Since he stopped here anyways, perhaps it would be the time to get something to eat?
He reached into a car refridgerator he always had in his trunk, and munched on his mum’s cake he decided to take with himself on the road.
Later in the afternoon, Vos came rumbling back into the shop to finalize a few suspension tweaks. He found an odd looking green something-or-other parked in front of his shop. The owner of said green something-or-other was sitting against the driver side door eating… cake of all things. Not only was he eating cake, but he was eating it with a level of passion someone normally associates with a person on death row’s last meal, or their wedding day kiss, not… cake. To peg the weird-o-meter, he had a godamn hammer strapped to his back. Well… Not so much a hammer, but a fucking maul. Why, in this day and age, would anyone waltz around with a maul, left Vos mind swirling.
He parked in front of the front door, and climbed out of his Kodiak in a very tepid manner.
Having slept very well last night, Tom and Elena woke up and at breakfast, they talked about their plans of not only when they would go to Tulsa and which route they would take, but also how they would get there safely in case they encountered the police on their way. “Last time’s strategy didn’t work well, so i don’t think it’ll work next time either”, Tom said. “Yes”, Elena eplied, “i think you’ll have to think of something else…”. - “Wait… You know, normally i drive a Mantis HP so i got the papers of it with me… since the numbers in quiet mode are so similar to that car, i could just tell the Officer that this is my own Mantis HP though, being the company’s CEO, i had its exterior modified.” - “Hmm… not a bad idea but what if they don’t believe you? What if they look under the bonnet?” - “You’re right. We gotta think of something better…” - “Wait, isn’t there an AMW dealer somewhere around? You said AMW is a big company with dealerships all over the world.” - “There is indeed. But how would they help us?” - “Well, borrow a Mantis HP there and put the Brimstone onto a trailer and tow it to Tulsa. If the police stop us, you can say that you’re about to test a new prototype on a closed runway like the one in Tulsa.” - “That’s a great idea! And i’m also gonna remove the numberplates before loading it on the trailer because if it’s a Prototype it shouldn’t have numberplates.”
They did as they said. Elena enjoyed the Mantis HP much more than the Brimstone because it did have a radio, a decent air conditioning system and softer suspension. Quietly and legally, they drove towards Tulsa. Of course, they attracted a good amount of attention in the Mantis HP with a silly looking prototype like the Brimstone on a trailer. But, as they had expected, the police were okay with what they told them. About two hours later, they reached Tulsa. They were some of the first to arrive and they were glad they had made it.