Forewarning for those who don’t want to do much reading: This is going to be a long post. For those who haven’t seen my previous entries into RP-based challenges before, I like creative writing, and I have somewhat an over-arching story going on between my characters in just about every role-play challenge. As a result, these first posts, with team information and the background information tend to get mighty long.
With that said, kick back, grab your popcorn and your beverage of choice, and enjoy the ride, because here comes:
Team Outta Time
Driver: Jake Storm (30)
The hero of our little story, and the primary driver for the team. Having finally mastered driving stick in the Meatball Run, he’s confident in his ability to handle a modern five or six speed manual. How will he do when facing the frightening Three-on-the-Tree?
Mechanic/Navigator: Cody Acorne (34)
The reason we’re here in the first place, and the navigator, mechanic, and co-driver. He likes racing cars in his free time, but those cars typically had turbochargers and nitrous-oxide, body kits, and bright neon lights. With no fancy computers to tell him what’s wrong, he’ll have to rely on intuition, and luck, to keep their carburetted pickup going.
The Car: 1952 Bricksley Chieftain 3100
The Little Truck that Couldn’t. FWD, 3.1 liters of boxer-4 goodness under the hood, and a seat covered in what certainly seems like recycled military cots, this little ‘truck’ was owned by Jacob Jasper in Nevada, the father of Mark Jasper, who at the time was Sinistra Motors’ engine team lead. Jacob was a not-quite-retired moonshiner and shine runner, and he had his little Bricksley loaded up with a full bed of shine under the tarp when a bright flash happened out in the desert. This offered just enough time for our two ‘heroes’ to swipe the truck and its cargo, and disappear into the night.
Late in June 2018, Storm Automotive basement, Sub-Level 5, 3:00 AM
“Seriously, Jake, I don’t see why on earth you believe that conspiracy. Luke Light looks nothing like Luke Sinistra. Yes, Mr. Sinistra hasn’t aged, but he’s running a car company, he’s rich, he could just have a really good plastic surgeon. Luke Light is still a robot.” Cody said, though still followed Jake as they walked through the basement, four sub-levels down from the usual accessible areas.
Jake knew once Luke saw how he’d rigged the elevator, the security would dramatically increase again to keep him out of Sub-Level 5. The basement and Sub-Level 1 were practically open to the public, and two through four were prototypes, testing labs, design rooms, all kept so top-secret it’d make people swear Storm Automotive was a military outpost, not a car-manufacturer.
He looked to Cody, then replied, “There’s too many things that don’t add up, but way too many that do. Light was built by the military, and right now he’s owed a real big favor from some real high brass. So why hasn’t he cashed in that favor, gotten repairs done? I think he’s waiting for some next-level synthetic soldier stuff, get himself transferred into a body that looks human. Then there’s Sub-Five. Remember the first time we went down the elevator?”
“Oh, here we go again. Yes, it took five seconds between one, two, three, and four, and ten seconds from four to five. Yes, we’re walking around in ‘4-and-one-half except it was labeled as 5’ but that really doesn’t mean anything, Jake. There’s practically nothing in here. Some tables, chairs, bits of an old 40’s era car, and a desk with a ratty old terminal perched on it.” Cody said. As they got closer, they heard the quiet whirring of a fan, and after Cody wiped the layer of dust off of the screen, they saw the brilliant amber peeking through.
PASSWORD:
“Great, just what we expected, a locked computer.” Jake said. “Give me a couple minutes, Cody, we’ll get into that room soon enough.” Jake sat down at the computer, while Cody rummaged about in the desk. “Won’t need to hack it, Jake.” Cody said, handing him the worn-out sticky note.
PASSWORD: Sinistra
ACCESS GRANTED. UNLOCKING DOOR.
The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, and the two slipped inside, kicking a bit of exhaust pipe into the door’s path so it couldn’t close and lock. “Rather it sets off alarms instead of making this our tomb.” Cody grumbled when Jake glared at him. They opened another door inside the smaller room and stepped inside, closing the wooden door behind them, where they found themselves in a bare-metal room, barely bigger than an office cubicle. On the desk in front of them was another terminal, with a clipboard sitting nearby.
ENTER DATE:
The clipboard had a list of dates scrawled on it, but one was circled. “Jake, put in ‘Mar. 23, 1952’ and see what happens, and I’m willing to bet we just get one of Luke’s elaborate ‘Quit with the conspiracy bullshit’ messages.”
Jake rolled his eyes, but punched in the date.
ENTER DATE: Mar. 23, 1952
SYNTAX ERROR.
“Oh, it’s going to be like that, is it? Fine, I’ll play your game, computer.” Jake grumbled.
ENTER DATE: 3-23-52
SYNTAX ERROR.
“Maybe it does want the whole year.” Cody said. “Half the computers around here are like that.”
“You’re probably right, but I’m making one additional change, just to be sure.” Jake said, before poking the keys again.
ENTER DATE: 03-23-1952
DATE SET. DESTINATION PRE-CONFIGURED. DOOR 1 LOCKED.
GENERATOR AT SPEED. STARTING TRANSPORT IN 10 SECONDS.
“What the fuck!?” Jake yelled, leaping up from the desk in a blind panic as the lights got brighter in the room. Before Cody could respond, there was a bright flash, and the two of them vanished from the little room.
March 3, 1952, Nevada, 12:01 AM
An explosion and blinding lights woke Jacob Jasper from a light sleep. “God damn bastards.” he grumbled, getting up and grabbing his shotgun. “If they’ve blown up my still…” The old man staggered off toward the tree line, exactly the opposite direction he needed to go in order to find Jake and Cody, but exactly the right direction to go find his still was still in one piece for now.
Jake looked at Cody in a blind panic, then said, “It’s not a dream, is it?”
“If it is, we’re having the same nightmare. Either that, or Luke’s got one hell of a VR room.” Cody said, getting up and making a run for the Jasper residence. Jake was forced to follow, cursing the whole way. “The hell are you thinking!?” Jake hissed as they stopped next to the truck.
“Clearly, if we’ve gone back in time, Jake, we need to do something to get rescued. Means we’ve got to get noticed.” Cody said. “So I was going to nick his truck and then we do something stupid, make ripples so we get found.”
“Dude, you’re not thinking clearly. If we make ripples, we could fuck everything up. Haven’t you ever watched Back to the Future?”
“That the time travel movie with the aluminum car in it?”
“It’s stainless steel, you twit. How the hell can you call yourself a car guy and not know the DeLorean… Anyway, the whole plot of the first movie is that the main guy screws up his parents meeting, and it threatens to erase him from existance if he can’t make his parents actually meet up. What I’m getting at is… We need to make ripples in some way to get noticed, but without changing the future. Which means we need a plan.” Jake said.
“So, what’s your plan?” Cody asked, watching as Jake lifted the tarp on the truck bed.
“We nick the Bricksley, sell this shine, buy ourselves a paper and some clothes that fit the times we’re in, come up with a plan once we kinda blend in.” Jake said.
“So, odds of him coming after us or sending the cops after us?” Cody asked.
“Pretty low. Whatever we don’t spend on a newspaper and clothes, and some set aside for whatever our plan ends up being, we leave in an envelope in his mailbox.”
The two quickly found out taking the Bricksley Chieftain was easier than they initially planned, as Jacob Jasper had left the keys in the ignition. Cody took the driver’s seat and started the truck, then drove out of the driveway, keenly aware of the rattle and clank of glass jars behind him.
After a few experimental sales, they managed to sell the moonshine, and by that time, the sun was already high in the sky when they made their way into town. Jake and Cody were both keenly aware of the stares they were attracting, wearing sneakers, blue-jeans, and t-shirts, and knew they needed period correct clothing before anyone would take them seriously. With what seemed like not-a-lot-of-money in hand, the two of them headed into a clothing store, only to head back out again in almost-proper suits.
“Can you believe it!? $70 for two suits and two pairs of shoes! Cheap as hell!” Cody said, grinning at Jake. Jake smirked, then said, “Yes, and cars only cost about 3-grand, so keep that in mind.” They bought a newspaper and thumbed through it until they found an article about an upcoming race, the Corso di Fruinia, and that there was still time to make the boat trip if any American drivers wanted to show those foreigners what real auto racing looked like. Included in the article were prices for a shipping company offering discounts to any racing teams willing to use them to ship the cars and drivers, which was quickly factored into how much they had left.
“So, setting aside $100 for personal expenses while we’re in Fruinia, and another $200 for our emergency fund in case things don’t quite go to plan, we’ll be able to return the rest of this to the guy we stole the truck from.” Jake said.
“Wait, what!? We’re going to-”
“We’re paying him back for his shine and some for his truck, so that he doesn’t decide to call the cops or his buddies after us while we’re trying to get to California.”
“Oh. That makes sense, then. But we’re time travelers, we can’t honestly state why we’re doing this.” Cody responded. Jake grinned, then said, “True, but we can leave a note saying the Martians borrowed his truck, and that the fuel in the back will be enough to get them home.” Cody burst out laughing, then nodded, handing Jake the ballpoint pen he had in his pocket. “Saves you having to mess with 1950’s fountain pens. Plus, it’ll confuse the hell out of him why the Martians wrote on '50’s paper with orange ink.”
"Dear Human,
We would like to apologize for the disturbances last night. Our ship ran out of fuel on our way to Venus, and we were forced to stop here on Earth for fuel. We offer our thanks for the fuel in the back of your personal transport, and our sincerest apologies for not returning your wheeled vessel to you, but our trip was a matter of great importance.
Your friends, The Martians.
The two of them stuffed the extra cash into the envelope, along with the note, then dumped it in Jacob Jasper’s mailbox as they made their way to California to set sail for Fruinia.
To Be Continued…