Sometime during sunset, an airplane was heard approaching the camp. Or at least it sounded that way. As the roar of the engine grew louder, a large truck approached and entered the camp. It was about the size of a semi truck and appeared to be from the late 1930s. The hulking beast slowly rolled into the camp, towing a roadkill-esque muscle car from a home-built crane arm welded to the frame where part of the bed was cut off.
The vehicular duo rolled cautiously through the camp, the truck lurching to the left with seemingly any throttle input, as if it was trying to flip itself over. After finding a place to park, the engine shut off and the driver’s door opened, replacing one loud noise with another as heavy metal was blasting from inside.
The first one out was the driver. A fairly tall, lean-fit, blond man in a worn, dated flight suit. He scanned his surroundings, then turned back to the open door. “So, is this the place?” he asks, with a noticeable accent that resembled German.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” answers a girl who pokes her head out, then turns back to the truck. “This it, Leo?” she asks someone inside, who answers but is unheard.
“Yeah, this is it.” she says, finally hopping out of the truck. She stands slightly taller than the man next to her, and has very long black hair with purple tips. Her outfit is also as similar to his as much as it is diffrent, being a leather motorcycle jacket over a croptop coupled with a red plaid skirt and heeled knee-high boots.
“So, what is this anyway? You two have been awful secretive about this…” he remarks suspiciously to the girl, who has already started walking off.
“Everyone else here for the race too? I’m Jenny and we’re Aeromad!” she exclaims.
The man rolls his eyes and heads toward the back of the truck to start lowering the car.
MCP’s Shitbox Adventures, Take 2: The Tale of Giacomo Scarfiotti
March 10th, 2022
Residence of Alessio Sarfiotti.
The two men stared at each other, Alessio still clutching his Red Ryder BB Gun, the importance of a “Shitbox adventure”, as Giacomo had put it, being lost on the elder statesman. “A… shitbox… adventure? Giacomo, please tell me this isn’t going to be another one of your farfetched schemes that drags everyone through months of pain and suffering, ending with everything going to shit 5 seconds in and everyone regretting listening to a word you say.” Giacomo scoffed at this heinous accusation. “What?! No! Of course not! When have I ever-” Alessio shot him a glare, yet again piercing clean through his target, as Giacomo quickly faltered, though was impressed at his father’s ability to perfectly describe MCP’s experience in last years shitbox rally without having actually been there. How could he have known?!
“You know, it’s actually a bit impressive how you’re still knee deep in your shenanigans. I was hoping you’d grow out of it at first, but I stopped hoping after you tried to convince me to turn that shitbox “supercar” of yours into a le mans winner back in the 90s.” Alessio scoffed, remembering the disaster that MCP’s first car, created during the Supercar boom and dubbed the “Giacattolo”, sold around 5 of it’s 100 examples and was then entered into the GT2 class, a fine example of Giacomo’s ineptitude, yet also of his ability to seemingly move mountains despite it, even if the results were less than stellar. Giacomo, as usual, took offense to this. “Hey, I’ll have you know, 23RD! Is a perfectly respectable result.” Alessio lowered his sunglasses, meeting Giacomo’s eyes with his own. “Is it though? Is it really?” It actually was, considering the ramshackle nature of the wedge shaped brick on wheels, but Alessio couldn’t risk missing an opportunity to twist the knife juuust a little bit.
“Yes! It is!” Giacomo put on a defiant facade, but his father’s doubt, even if in jest, cut him just a bit. Alessio brought the conversation back to the topic at hand. “Alright, so… Whatever this shitbox adventure of yours is, You can handle setup. Just don’t drag me along. I’ve got targets to shoot.” Giacomo immediately stood at attention, mood shifting on the turn of a dime. “Sir! Yes Sir! I’ll assemble the crew right away!” And before Alessio could shoo him off, he sprinted to his room.
March 11th, 2023.
Alessio Scarfiotti’s guest room.
Giacomo’s laptop.
Though last year’s Shitbox Rally was a mild disaster, Giacomo had managed to keep in contact with most of the MCP members, though they hesitated to pick up whenever Giacomo called them, particularly when he did so at 3 AM on a race day. After lazing around and not actually making any effort into teambuilding, Giacomo booted up his state of the art gaming laptop, and opened up his Gmail to a hellish chorus of whirring fans pushed beyond their mortal limit, courtesy of the 597 tabs Giacomo had opened in the background. Giacomo’s mouse jittered and choked on it’s way to his inbox, revealing a bevy of spam emails which only put his computer under that much more stress. Slowly dragging his mouse to the compose button, he went about contacting the members of his band of merry men from the year prior. First on the list, Benjamin and Maria. As usual of international criminals, the two work together under various aliases and pseudonyms, and I’m sure you, the reader, can imagine Giacomo’s surprise upon learning that the name “Ben Dover” is not a real name that an actual person would be born with, not without being made fun of their entire lives at least. As such, at the conclusion of the rally, Giacomo found that Benjamin and Maria had hitched an Uber within seconds of the camp arriving, and after carjacking the poor driver, peeled away into the sunset, leaving Giacomo with a crumpled paper in one hand and Benjamin’s “Doctors log” in the other. The paper provided a list of 50 emails to contact the good doctor at if his services should be required again. Giacomo had actually hand written 50 different emails to each account earlier in the day, and had yet to hear a response. Upon preparing to restart the cycle again, a notification rang, alerting him of a new email:
Well, shit.
Further emails yielded no response, effectively ruling out the return of the doctor and his assistant. Why anyone would wait a year just to make a corny joke, we may never know. Perhaps it was his way to get back at Giacomo after spiting him, though stealing every dime he had while he slept was probably payback enough, wasn’t it? Oh well. Time to call Thibault.
The following is the extremely detailed and precise transcript of the phone call between Thibault and Giacomo, a phone call so important, that mere words cannot convey the consequences to MCP, let alone the shitbox rally and very possibly the WORLD ITSELF, if Giacomo screws this call up. Without further ado, with fingers crossed, lets hope our protagonist can successfully coax former World Rally Championship driver Thibault Prosper to join his shitbox rally for the second year running.
Ring Ring
TP: “Oh, hey Giacomo, what’s up?”
GS: “It’s time.”
TP: “Okay. Goodbye.”
BEEEEEEP
Oh. Maybe that was a good “Okay. Goodbye.” Giacomo tries to call him once more, only to receive a message that his number has been blocked. That’s 3 for 3 on nos, it’d seem. Giacomo fiddled with his thumbs for a bit, spinning around in his chair while contemplating his next steps. After a few moments of wasting time, Giacomo returned to his computer, yet to falter in his ambition to recruit at least ONE original member to MCP. After violently slamming his laptop a few times to speed it up, quickly composed another email, this time directed at Chad. As he began typing, however, another notification popped up on his email, seemingly forwarded to him from Chad himself, as if he knew that Giacomo was thinking of him in that very moment.
“Can’t do rally. I’m staying at my grandmas house for a week to volunteer at the homeless shelter, then we’re going to be baking cookies for orphans while sending relief packages to Ukraine. Then we’re gonna invite the worlds dictators to have a light conversation where I punch them all until they stop being dictators. Maybe next time. Sorry. You can use my shop in the meantime, though. The keys are behind your ear. Chad OUT” Lo and behold, Giacomo checked behind his ear, and lo and behold, the keys to a dusty garage in Nevada were revealed to him. At least, after minutes of trifling, he had found a base for this years rally.
MCP’s Shitbox Adventures, Take 2: The Tale of Giacomo Scarfiotti - FIN
Discord Prologue
Oct 24, 2022
Team Members
Ze’ev Wulfrith
- Age: 26
- Height: 5 ft 8 in (171 cm)
- 225 lbs
- Auburn, waist length hair
- Storm blue eyes
- Fashion Designer
- Libra
Ze’ev Wulfrith, also known as Z to his friends, is a fashion designer by trade. He currently works at one of the more well known fashion companies in the midwest while also managing his own tailoring and boutique commissions on the side. This is where the team name comes from. He has some rather eclectic tastes and is more than willing to put in the effort and time to make unusual choices work. He’s relatively introverted, but get him on one of his preferred topics he’ll talk your ear off. Hearing about a decent amount of the teams has him very excited for this trip. Hearing about some of the armaments that the other teams are bringing, as well as some of the possible dangers of the world they’re headed to, Z has decided bring a pepperbox style pistol, silenced P90, silenced sniper rifle, and his preferred weapon of choice, a zweihander that is almost as tall as he is. Hopefully he doesn’t have to use any of them, but it’s nice to be prepared. X3
Storm Breedlove
- Age: 25
- Height: 6 ft 2 in (187 cm)
- 210 lbs
- Light blonde, shoulder length hair
- Blue hazel eyes
- Auto mechanic
- Scorpio
Storm breedlove is the co-owner of a auto repair and restoration shop in the pacific northwest. He’s a bit more outgoing than Z, but falls squarely into the aloof, silent cool guy stereotype most of the time. He’s a massive dnd nerd and isn’t afraid to just brutally murder someone in his favorite games. Storm is the more mechanically inclined of the two, with a good amount of practical engineering knowledge and an eye for craftsmanship. He has a bit of military experience, despite being discharged for injuries he had prior to enlisting. Storm is fiercely loyal to Z, who brings out his golden retriever energy, due to them bonding so deeply at a young age. His weapons loadout is a pair of more modern pistols and fairly ornate long bow he uses for hunting. He’s also pretty excited about this adventure, but is also glad that it’s an excuse to escape the daily grind and be reunited with his favorite person for close to a month.
Cars
Rescued from a barn in northeastern Michigan, this late '30s Aether 11/2 has been lovingly brought back to life by Z. While not rusty by any means, the completely aluminium body was heavily pitted and worn from being neglected for nearly 50 years. The interior was completely mouse and moth eaten, and had extensive mold damage. However, Z used his sewing and archival skills to restore and remake the whole interior from pics of similar era Aethers. He decided on a celestial blue exterior and light blue and charcoal interior, dying some of the materials to match to give the 11/2 the level of grandeur it had when it was new.
While the body and interior were being labored over by Z, Storm was taking care of the unique mechanicals of this particular 11/2 Vitesse. The 5.5 L aluminium straight 8 wasn’t seized up when they found it, but it had been converted over coal gas Gazogene intake system. This meant Storm had to recalibrate everything in the engine to get it to run on the prerequisite low quality gas, as well as make a custom intake that would allow the car to be run on either fuel source with a minimum amount of fiddling. He was able to preserve the 290 hp the engine made originally, keeping the lightweight 11/2 Vitesse’s incredible top speed and acceleration intact. At Z’s behest, he also documented and duplicated as much of the engine as he could in his machine shop, sending out for the parts he couldn’t make. This meant there would be a full backup engine for this art deco beast on their journey across Nehmenweld, as well as blueprints for replacement parts to be forged in case of a catastrophic failure.
The 1938 Aether 11/2 Vitesse will be helmed by Ze’ev for the majority of the rally, given his talent at driving much larger cars.
1938 Aether 11/2 Vitesse
- 5.5 L i8
- longitudinal AWD
- 290 HP
- 363 Ft/Lb Torque
- 5.59 s 0-60
- 167 mph top speed
The support car for Faolan industries was also an acquisition through negligence. The owner of this odd piece of imported military equipment defaulted on their restoration and conversion payments, leaving it in limbo at the auto restoration shop Storm is co-owner of. Storm snapped it up quickly, as it was a prime candidate for their mobile accommodations during the rally (He also enjoys how quirky they are). The 52 H didn’t take too much effort to finish the conversion, since the harder parts like insulation and climate control had already been finished. Borrowing techniques from '50s prefab houses, sheet metal cabinets and other interior structures were riveted to the aluminum superstructure of the van. The engine of the 52 H is much more bullet proof that that of the 11/2, as well as being much easier to find a duplicate to haul along with them. The manual locking AWD system, while designed to be as rugged as possible, has similar idiosyncrasies to the 11/2, with both cars using Aether’s unique hydropneumatic suspension; easy to adjust, but very prone to leakage if not properly maintained.
The 1984 Aether 52 H will be helmed by Storm for the majority of the rally,
1984 Aether 52 H
- 2.5 L i6
- longitudinal AWD
- 144 HP
- 146 Ft/Lb Torque
- 7.99 s 0-60
- 125 mph top speed
its 2pm on the dot. The inherent quietness of people chatting is interrupted by the sound of an RLA 6.2 V8. Anyone with a brain would be thinking “oh god, a Helron”
But no, when they look, they see two purple cars, caked with stickers, two toned with black and an offset white stripe. Then they hear the hellish sound that only gamers would recognise. Blasting out of the cars at full volume, is the one, the only, GTA TLaD Theme tune
But the four door car of the two speeds up, and starts to cross in front of the two door sports car that was previously in front, and they were so close, that something white, like porcelain, falls off the back of the four door
When they cars got close enough, they saw the cars were clearly a 1978 Tiharris Summer and a 1984 Rhein Willow SR-50 Turbo. Two cars that were honestly, surprising to see considering thier cult status. Alas, these two cult classics had rolled up, even with a minor accident. They pulled up, and out came the Jokers who were inside.
J3 has entered the ring
S0 - Doubt
Wisps of lavender, acrid smoke curled from the dark hat, wide brimmed as it was. A pale hand patted at it, as though putting out some unseen flame, and reset it atop the straight, dark hair of its owner’s head. Kate peered out from beneath it, idly judging the folk of this place.
“I don’t know if I can make friends here,” the large and chitinous Octavia said from beside her, nervously chittering between phrases. “They’re all so… warm, and gross. Do they know they secrete so much fluid?”
Kate just sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, curiously free of any sweat.
“Yes, dear. That’s quite normal for the warm bodies of these places, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Her tones were tense and somewhat hushed.
“Sorry,” Octavia said in a stage whisper. She glanced backwards at the cars, feeling very conscious of their smallness when compared to some of the positively immense vehicles around them. “Do you think those machines are really gonna get us through this?”
“Of course,” Kate answered, surprised at Octavia’s doubt. “They’re the old magic, dearie. So is everything here. Should we stay steady and have faith, and supply them with what they need, they will go for as long as they already have.”
“Well, okay. But they don’t really look like the old magic from home.”
The two stood together for a moment, and upon Kate’s lips was the first genuine frown since coming. Her eyes cast over the motley colors and round features of the little vehicle she’d brought with her. It had with it a certain sense of danger, and though no more could be possible than she’d had in the past, it leveled some sense of hostility towards her she hadn’t felt in a great length of time.
“You’re right,” she finally admitted. Octavia looked sharply to her at that. “I don’t dare to claim mastery of this creature. But we have no other recourse, dear.”
“I know, sister,” Octavia sighed. “Let’s get the… pre-check? Was that it? Let’s get that over with.” Kate nodded, drew a many-toothed, long handled charm from her belt, and they split to open the hoods and worship the god-machines within.
TEAM HILLBILLY ROLLERS
PART 1.0 - THE ARRIVAL
Earlier parts
Pre-prologue part 1
Pre-prologue part 2
Prologue part 0.1
Prologue part 0.15 - Interlude
Prologue part 0.2
Prologue part 0.3
[Prologue part 0.4](PART 0.4 - Shitbox Rally 2023 - Stage 0 - #136 by Knugcab)
31st of March 2023
With both the vehicles out on road 99, Janne knew very well how they should get to Nevada. At least in theory after analyzing the mysterious equipment he had found for his old SALEM gaming console. The Wolverine had stopped in front of the Rugger. With a special cable he had connected the console to the diagnosis port on the Rugger ignition ECU, routed in a way so there was no need to have any doors or hoods open. He then put a chain between the two vehicles. To get them to Nevada at the same time, the Wolverine had to tow the Rugger. At least that was what his theory said. With the chain fastened to both the Wolverine and the Rugger, Andreas waved to Marie to take off.
“How do you think this will turn out?”, Andreas asked Janne, extremely skeptical.
“Oh, she will only have to gear up now, that’s easier than gearing down”, Janne said.
Meanwhile, in the Wolverine, Marie still had some troubles with the gearbox.
“Is this the gear I should start in?”, Marie asked Arne.
“Eh, no, I think you’re in low-reve…”
WROOAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
“RELEASE THE ACCELERATOR!”, Arne said.
“Release the…ehm, OK!”, Marie answered.
“NO! STOP! NOT THE CLUTCH!”, Arne said
In panic, Janne and Andreas saw the rear of the Wolverine grow in the windshield of the Rugger. Andreas honked multiple times to try to get her to react.
“Oh well, yeah…the accelerator!”, Marie said, taking her foot off the accelerator, with the gearbox still in low-reverse.
CHUG…CHUG…CHUG…CHUG…CHUG…
The tyres of the Wolverine was slowly spinning on the asphalt, while pushing the Rugger backwards with its bumper.
“Let’s take this ONE more time…” , Arne said, starting to lose his patience.
“We don’t need to, I think I’ll fix this”, Marie said, putting the gearbox in 2 high, revving up the engine and instantly releasing the clutch. When the chain stretched out, the Rugger jumped forward like if someone had shot it out of a cannon.
“GNARRRGHHHH!”, Andreas said shortly after the Rugger had taken off.
“What is it?”, Janne said. “Watch where the fuck you have the road!”, he said, since the Rugger was following the Wolverine in everything but a straight line.
“I CAN’T”, Andreas said angrily.
“Why?”, Janne asked
“THIS FELL DOWN FROM SOMEWHERE IN THE CAB!”, Andreas said.
Trying to not laugh too much when Andreas tried to remove a stuffed Garfield doll with suction cups from his face, Janne held the steering wheel with one hand, while tuning the radio with the other.
“Yes, it should be exactly at 88.8 MHz….And then when we reach a certain speed, this should work….”
“GNHHHHFFFFF”, Andreas said. “HOW CAN A DAMN STUFFED DOLL BE THIS HARD TO GET OFF THE FACE?”
“Relax…”, Janne said. “I have this under control, I can steer and since we are in tow, you don’t have to do anything….”
When Andreas finally had removed the orange velour cat from his face, he took a look at the speedo. The whole Rugger was now shaking violently.
“200 km/h? THERE IS NO WAY THAT THE WOLVERINE IS THAT FAST!”, Andreas said.
“Bingo, and that shows that we are already on our…”
“…way?”, Janne continued after a break.
They were absolutely in Nevada, but neither one of the cars had brakes that would really like a sudden stop from almost 250 km/h. Neither would the 8VZ in the Wolverine survive the revs at that speed. Fortunately, Marie managed to get it in neutral and coasted until it reached a little less insane speed. Without too much drama, both vehicles stopped at the side of the road.
“I better disconnect the SALEM immediately before we end up somewhere totally different”, Janne said, and tried to get into the back of the Wolverine.
“YAAAAAARRRRGHHHHHHHH!”, Janne shouted.
“MARIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!! COME HERE!”, he continued, and Marie jumped out of the cab.
“Yeah, what is it?”
“DID YOU BRING THIS GODFORSAKEN CACTUS WITH YOU?”
“Hey!”, she answered angrily. “You should be nice to Mr Spikey!”
“Why the… Why… Just why did you bring your ugly fucking cactus with you?”, Janne asked more than a little bit upset.
“I need to water it!”, she said.
“Water? It’s a plant from the fucking desert! Why would it need water?”, Janne said.
“I hate your damn cactus!”, Andreas yelled out of the side window of the Rugger. “AND I HATE GARFIELD!”. He threw the stuffed doll out of the window, only for it to stick to the spikes of the cactus.
“We don’t have the time for this now”, Janne said, disconnected the gaming console, and kicking the pot of the huge cactus to bring it a bit further forward into the camper. “We need to get to the start.”
A Wolverine with a sometimes crunching gearbox, swaying all over the road, followed by a Rugger managing to keep a somewhat more straight line, was driving towards the area where the start was said to be. In the horizon, Janne saw a Roadmaster minivan followed by a KKR coupé. (@Odyssey_Fan )
“Hey, follow that white minivan and yellow coupé”, Janne said over the CB to Marie and Arne in the Sanju. “I am sure they are also heading for the start!”. Little did he know that if they had followed them just a little bit earlier, they would have had unnecessary struggle with coming to camp. Now they were actually arriving at camp. Sure, with a crunching gearbox and sometimes jerky ride when it came to the Sanju, but still…
J3 Arrives, part 2
as the cars pull up, Jacia has a very pissed off expression, and a harsh blush. As the crew disembark, its noticed that they have matching outfits
Johnny and Jackie Disembark, Johnny grinning
“How is that for an entrance eh?” Said Johnny smugly
“I don’t think she liked it…” stated Jackie, hinting to the pissed off Jacia
“Johnny WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!” Shrieked Jacia
“I DIDNT BLOODY PLAN IT” said Johnny, defending himself rather intimidated
“What the fuck am i meant to do now!” screamed Jacia as she pushed him over
“I deserve this!” Johnny said as he falled over
“I guess we have to ask around to see if anyone is willing to let you use thier loo…or…if anyone has them…with the sizes of half the vehicles here i wouldn’t be surprised” Jackie stated
(No Johnnys were harmed during the production of this…thing)
TEAM FRIENDSHIP! :D
In collaboration with @Elizipeazie and
VSmgAB
Less-than-ideal first impressions
Riley and Freddie’s arrival into camp was pretty uneventful, having come in fairly late, and they spent most of their initial time double checking their bus’ readiness. It wasn’t until the announcement about the power that they first got to get close to all their fellow contestants, and get excited about who they’d meet.
But after Val’s announcement ended, as teams had started to file to the generators, Riley and Freddie found themselves a bit worried; not just about their loss of power; but about that strange interruption that had occurred mid-speech.
“Do you think he was okay? He seemed really troubled by something.” Freddie mused.
“Yeah, he stopped the whole parade to do something. Couldn’t see what it was over the people though.” Riley responded. “Either way we should probably hold off on contacting him until tomorrow. If it was personal, he might need space.”
“But what about our power?” Freddie realized. “if we don’t sort the issue out today, it might be harder for them to get us anything. And then we won’t be able to play our music! 
”
“Oh right, that’s a good point. Yes, we should talk to him now anyway; but be very brief and considerate about it 
.”
“Yeah, let’s wait until he’s helped everyone else, than speak to him. It’ll just be a simple clear-up, anyway! 
”
“ Alright! …by the way, you think his problems have anything to do with us? Since it happened right around our announcement.”
“Of course not, silly! He doesn’t even know us yet!”
And so the 2 put on some music (on their internal CD players), and hung out for a bit as they waited for Val to finish at the generators. Once they saw him walk off, they turned of their own songs, and started heading over to his trailers.
It took quite a while for the other teams to collect their equipment and hook themselves to the self-contained power grid, with Valentin making sure that everyone was using the correct plugs as announed earlier. Eventually, everyone was served and he already was feeling the latent desire to catch some sleep for tonight. As such, he checked the monitor-turned-dashboard of Robert II one last time for any irregularities, of which there were none, before closing the driver door and locking it.
He went over to his own trailer, opening the little hatch and digging for something within for a while, until he heard what he thought was a scooter or motorcycle puttering along camp.
As he came back out of from within the small capsule-like “room” he would sleep in, Riley and Freddie were already practically in front of him, courtesy of his diminished hearing skewing the sense of how far away the noise was.
Holding a folded up pair of black sweatpants in his hands, he initially just stared at the two cars in disbelief, doing little else for the time being.
“
Hi there! ” greeted Riley as she came to a smooth, controlled stop a-meter-or-two from Val. She had a bright-&-cheerful tone to her high-pitched, childlike voice. “I’m Riley 
, from Team Friendship! And this is my teammate 
, Freddie.”
“Hi! 
” perked up Freddie, in a slightly higher-pitched voice. Shortly after Riley’s stop, Freddie made a slightly rougher (but still controlled) stop at the same distance, and both of them “looked up” at Val by angling their bodies with their suspensions.
“You must be Valentin 
, from the speech earlier, right?” Riley asked, her voice beaming with an inviting and curious tone.
As soon as Riley started talking, his eyes went wide in realization that they were somewhat anthropomorphic cars. Obviously irritated, he backed away from them, somewhat hiding behind the far end corner of his trailer.
“What do you want?”, he quickly asked, his voice oozing fear and discomfort by the truckload.
The commotion and the sound of what sounded like two children talking to Valentin also attracted Norse to the scene. He also stopped to inspect Freddie and Riley for a minute and, while it was obvious that he also had issues understanding what exactly they were, he seemed to at least be less afraid but more cautious. In the confusion surrounding the two cars, he did not dare talk to them yet.
Riley & Freddie were aware of Norse nearby, but their attention was still just on Valentin for the time being. As Val moved towards the far end of his trailer, the 2 cars didn’t exactly follow him, but did lean to the side a few centimeters as though “peering” around the edge of the trailer.
“Sorry if we startled you.” apologized Freddie, his tone becoming a bit more cautious and concerned in response to Val’s hiding. “We don’t mean to be a bother.”
“We just wanted to quickly ask you about our team’s power supply situation. ” Riley explained.
“Contract is invalidated.” Valentin quips back from behind his “hiding” spot, still very easily seen courtesy of the sheer height of him.
“There is no human member in your team that could have signed the contract, thus voiding it.” he added in a tone of voice that was far harsher than he intended, made worse by the subtle rasp that came due to his voice not taking too kindly to shouting across camp for a speech.
“He’s right… can’t have a Tezda sign a contract under it’s non-existant legal name…” Norse mumbled in response, still watching the two “cars” hop around like what he would describe as two excited dogs on wheels.
“Well yeah, that’s why we signed it ourselves! 
” Riley gestured towards Freddie a bit, her voice and body language reverting back to the cheery tone she introduced herself with. Their attention still seemed to be only on Val for now.
“I sign things all the time! 
” chimed in Freddie. “Like sometimes, when the 
delivery guy shows up, they need me to!”
“Maybe on your child’s TV series it does! But a contract to sentient cars or whatever the hell you are is not legally binding to me!” Valentin blared back at them, his long fuse long burnt away by what to him is the most outlandish sight since he first met Shift Happens.
Norse, meanwhile, was mentally stalled in trying to compute a solution to the conflict of interest, made worse by the ongoing attempt at deciphering what the two guests actually are.
“Odd, us being cars doesn’t usually mean anything legal-wise.” Riley started to sound a bit confused…
“Oh, but that’s back home in the US” Freddie figured, turning away from Val for the first time to face Riley (by way of reversing in a quarter-circle). “they probably have different laws on Aetherii.”
“Good point, I didn’t think about that.” Riley turned a little bit to face back at Freddie, as the confusion in her voice dissipated. “New places 
always have different ways of doing things!”
“Exactly! Your signature doesn’t legally mean anything! I don’t know who or what you are supposed to represent, but i am willing to bet the 1.7% of me that is titanium by mass that i am infinitely more earth-based than you are!”, Valentin replied, still shouting his already compromised voice out of himself in a vaguely civilized way of shooing them away without directly telling them to ‘piss off’.
Norse managed to break his mental stunlock, but it only resulted in him quietly backing away from Freddie and Riley as they were talking to each other. Valentin, in turn, took a very brief moment to glance at Norse doing so before refocusing the cars.
“Well that’s a shame.” said Freddie, to Riley; he’d struggled to make out what exactly Val was saying at this point through his unclear raspy shouting, but had gotten the gist. “Guess we’ll have to run the engine at idle overnight to power the bus.”
“Hey, maybe this is a good thing!” Riley perked up with realization. “It’ll give us an excuse to meet new people! 
”
“Oh, you’re right! Once we’re done decorating 
our bus, we can use the time to explore all around camp every night , and hang out with as many teams as we can! 
”
As the 2 appeared to almost burst with excitement over the idea, the 2 turned back to Val one last time, and Riley started to say goodbye. “Thanks for the clarification, Valentin! 
Sorry to bother you so late.”
“Yeah, next time we see you, we’ll try to do it at a better time! By pal! ”
“Goodnight! 
”
As they said their last words, they turned around and started heading to their bus, (which was in the opposite direction of Val and about perpendicular to Norse).
“Please just go…” Valentin muttered, now substantially quieter as the relief of them leaving was setting in.
About 10 minutes after the encounter
Valentin and Norse were digging around in their respective compartments at the extreme ends of the trailer, re-doing the process of readying themselves for bed.
“I think i am going insane…”, Valentin grumbled, juust loud enough for Norse to notice, but not understand.
“Huh?”, he said, looking over at Valentin.
“I think that crash a year ago messed me up more than just physically…”, Valentin said to Norse, who again had difficulties understanding, which also was patently obvious to Valentin as his voice was pretty much FUBAR’d now.
Chucking whatever he was holding back into his capsule, he headed for the other end of the trailer where Valentin was to sleep in.
“Come again?” Norse repeated once more, now next to Valentin.
“Have you seen those two cars just now? I am seriously questioning my mental state right now, considering what happened a year ago…” Valentin reiterated again, turning around to take an uncomfortable seat on the edge of the hatch frame.
“Either we both are insane, or neither of us are. I saw it all unfold…” Norse remarked in an attempt to be of moral support.
Valentin was unsure if that statement was helpful or detrimental, given that Norse also was present a year prior.
The conversation goes back and forth for a while, eventually ending in nothing truly satisfactory, as the two made their way into their respective beds.
OOC note: the 2 car’s conclusions of Aetherii law are an uninformed assumption of the characters, and is in no way indicative of what local laws actually say.
PSA: How to write emoticons on the forums.
My team’s name contains an emoticon, which I’ve just remembered isn’t straightforward to write on the forums; because whenever you put together an emoticon simply, the site automatically replaces it with the equivalent emoji (for example, " :) " becomes " 
" ).
However, there is a way to get around this, and that’s by placing an invalid formatting tag between the colon and the rest of the emoticon (so " :<g>) " becomes " :) " ). It doesn’t matter what the tag’s text actually is, as long as it doesn’t actually have a preset purpose.
And actually, you can use this trick not just for emoticons, but for any time the forums automatically reformats your characters! Take this double period here: .. (normally that would have corrected to an ellipsis)
If you didn’t know that trick already, I hope you’ve found this useful. :D
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(This will be added this to my team’s introductory post.)
Team Taciturn, Ep. 4: Prepare!
Cal and Curt have arrived with their new Mara Irena Universal on the dirt path closest to their landing site. On their way back they discuss the arrangements they want to make for the rally before they set off for the long trek from Prince George, British Columbia to Nevada.
To-dos?
IDs!
AI?
Yes.
Spares?
Yes?
Dealer?
Junkyards!
En route?
Yes!
Modifications?
Bench!
Out?
Yes.
More?
Depends.
Tools?
Sure.
Else?
Provisions!
Autarky?
Yes.
Cans?
Mostly.
Tent?
Insulated!
Clothing?
Yes.
Blankets?
Yes.
Replicator?
Small.
Hidden!
Yes.
Conveniences?
Heater.
Small?
Yes.
Electric?
Yes.
Stove?
Same.
Money?
Replicate!
Much?
Again!
Fuel?
Nah.
Else?
Dunno.
Space?
Plenty.
Loot?
Check!
The first thing Cal and Curt made sure once they entered their cloaked spaceship in the woods outside Prince George was that their ill-gotten gains from their robbery on Cygnus III was still safely stored where they had left it.
Team Information: Shitbox Rally 2023 - Entries Open! - #52 by TheYugo45GV
Novel Warning Ahead
The Desert Drive
The clock struck 1:30, and immediately, the two car convoy went the wrong way, traveling due west. However, this was done, because everyone had agreed that they wanted to see the sights Earth had to offer in the southwestern United States. The journey along the Old Spanish Trail Highway was relatively uneventful, there was not much to see except miles of endless desert. Karl had taken command of the Ambassador, with Landon in the passenger seat, and Ramius, Karl’s six legged pet wolf, in the back amongst the luggage. Meanwhile, driving the IVERA was Aryton, alongside Denali who was in the passenger seat, and Amell who was in the back seat. They stayed in contact via CB radio, on a private frequency where no one could hear their conversations.
About half an hour into the trip they passed a small hamlet named Tecopa. It seemed desolate and deserted, so it was not a viable stop. Another 20 minutes later, they reached a town called, shoshone it was apparently called. It didn’t have much to offer either as it too was deserted, so it was on to Pahrump, following the so-called “Charles Brown Highway” as Google had put it.
After more driving through endless desert landscape, they finally reached Pahrump where again, there was no stop. Instead they continued on to the main highway that lay east of them, Highway 160.
As they pulled up to the intersection however, a distant horn was audible.
(OOC: I have made a piece of edited music for this segment, read slowly so you can get fully immersed, also turn your audio down because there’s a somewhat loud truck horn that plays at the very very start. Also, this is only to be played for the following paragraphs until the horizontal line at the bottom of these four paragraphs. P.S. Ignore the error message, you only need sound.)
Teh Musik
An articulated semi-truck roared past, horn blaring. With great haste, the convoy slotted in right behind it, Mayland in front, IVERA following, keeping a safe distance from the 18 wheeler. Along with all the other cars on the road, the Mayland and IVERA cruised along the flawless tarmac, behind the truck, the afternoon wearing on, the sun becoming ever lower in the sky. The clock fitted in the Mayland’s dashboard ticked for every second they drove, desert and mountains on either side slowly sliding, as the cars followed the 65 mile an hour speed limit. Through the windshields of both was a panoramic view of the terrain to the south as was the direction they faced. There was no dust on these roads, it would truly be smooth sailing all the way. The sky was blue, and cloudless, contrasting the mountains on either side as they stood idle in the sun. The road continued onward, nothing would stand in the way of the two cars, their rumbling V8s showing no signs of issue, as they carried the team across the vast sea of desert towards the starting line. The map showed no traffic for the rest of the journey. Which was good because they would not be late like Landon had expected.
Soon, the turn came, on to the other highway they were to follow. The asphalt here was not as good as the main highway, but they went onward nonetheless, driving further and further into the remote sea of sand. So it seemed, anyhow, that the camp was in the middle of nowhere, but if they were to make it on time, they would be unable to stop. Well, only for anything non essential. Fuel was one of those things, and the thirstier of the two cars would be in need of it soon otherwise they’d be stranded. The gauge needle went lower and lower, and eventually the light came on.
The blind hill was the last obstacle they had to overcome, but the Mayland’s engine sputtered a bit, though it didn’t die, it was a warning that they were low on gas, and refueling would need to happen soon. It was a steep slope, but the Mayland’s low end torque allowed it to keep the revs down and use less fuel as it climbed the hill. Once they were over, they’d probably pull over and refuel. But the navigation software showed there was a gas station on the other side. So maybe they could coast it the rest of the way there.
Indeed there was a gas station on the other side. Maybe about a hundred feet away. It looked abandoned but it would make a good place to stop and refuel. The IVERA rolled to a stop in the dirt patch which was the waiting area, while the Mayland rolled up to the pumps. Karl shut the engine down, as Landon got out, still dressed in full uniform walking toward the IVERA.
Denali had rolled the window down, and anticipated orders alongside the others.
“What you want us to do, General?” She asked.
“Well, ‘Ambassador One’ has just run out of gas and Karl told me it’s supposed to have a 25 gallon tank, so we could be here a while.”
Aryton then chimed in with a question. “Should we wait for you then?”
Shaking his head, Landon looked at Karl who was now examining the gas pump. “No, You guys go on ahead. Reserve us a spot in the camp, but wait for us to show up before you go in for tech inspection, I would like to be there.”
“Yes sir.” All three in the IVERA replied in unison.
A grind spread across Landon’s face. “Alright, you run along now.”
The IVERA slowly pulled away, but Aryton gunned it a little too flamboyantly, and it chirped the wheels, but regained traction and drove off into the distance, still looking as ridiculous as ever with the camper shell. The aggressive V8 exhaust note slowly faded into the distance as the car continued on.
“I got a bad feeling ‘bout this place.” Landon muttered to himself, “Something’s off.”
“Hey, Landon!” Karl called.
“What?”
“You won’t believe it, but the pumps work!”
“I suggest you make the most of it, and hurry up. Also be alert, I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
Karl glanced around. His wildcat instincts were telling him to run, and get away from here. He grimaced upon glancing at the abandoned shed across from the pumps. Landon did say to keep alert, but caracals and other cats had that wired into them.
He was never not alert.
Subconsciously, his ears were twitching and moving, listening for any sounds of danger. Landon’s ears seemed to be doing the same, he too had survival instincts, honed in by his military training most likely.
The towering uniformed fox began walking back to the car, from where he’d seen out the IVERA.
“Is the trunk unlocked?” he asked.
Karl replied, “Sure is.” Then tossed him the keys, he knew what Landon had in mind. More firepower. They did have their sidearms, Karl’s Automag Raven was tucked into his waistband around his back, while Landon’s Colt Anaconda revolver was in its hip holster. But, it was likely a good idea to have a fully automatic weapon on hand, in case shit hit the fan.
Landon popped the trunk, fished out one of the two UZIs, grabbed one of the spare magazines from the ammo box that contained them, and jammed it into the gun’s pistol grip magwell. The weapon also had a shoulder strap which hung loosely in the air as Landon had opted not to put the strap ‘round his neck. Satisfied, he shut the trunk with his left hand, locked it and gave the keys back to the caracal.
Karl meanwhile, had begun the refueling process, and the counter on the miraculously functioning pump ticked up the price, but since the station was likely abandoned, they were likely to just gas and dash.
In the distance was the sound of an engine, multiple actually. But, one seemed way closer than the others, seemingly coming over the blind hill. It was at this moment Karl, from his spot at the open driver door, spotted a rather modern camera watching them.
“Hey, come look at this.” Karl exclaimed. “Camera.”
Landon seemed shocked. “Oh shit.” But before he could continue, a gray in color 2001 single cab Chevrolet Silverado came over the crest of the hill behind them, occupied by two people. It rolled up to the gas station quite aggressively. The two men inside, got out, both of them had firearms, and seemed like they were rednecks of some kind. They appeared to be weary of the towering fox opposite them.
One of them, the driver, spoke into a CB radio. “Yo! Skeeter! You won’t believe this, we finally got them furries drivin’ through ‘ere.”
Both Karl and Landon tensed while Ramius had woken up and began watching through the rear windshield. Landon made sure to keep the UZI behind his back, so that these men didn’t perceive them as a threat. Yet.
“Alrighty now, you two are gonna come peacefully. Nobody needs to get hurt t’day, the boss want’s to ‘ave a chat with you. Don’t try anythin’ stupid ya hear?”
A silent click came from behind Karl, the hillbillies opposite them didn’t hear it because Landon had their focus. Karl quietly removed it from the filler neck and discretely closed the flap. The enemies were either too dumb to notice, or Karl was a master at stealth.
“What if we don’t want to come with you?” Landon replied, snarkily.
“You don’t have a fucking choice there, furball.” The man spat, somewhat amused by himself. “We’ll shoot you dead so fast, you won’t even blink, then we’ll skin ya and turn ya into coats.”
“Hmm. I guess threats are your way of making people obey you.”
The man chuckled. “Oh, the lil’ fox thinks the uniform makes him all tough. Well, I ain’t gonna back down. Now, take yer gun belt off an’ throw it to me. I’m not gonna let ya be a hero now.”
“I guess this is the part where you say you don’t want to repeat yourself?” Karl asked, with some slyness to his voice, making sure to shield his fear.
“Shut yer mouth, kitty cat!” The man snapped. “I’m the one given orders ‘ere.”
Karl sighed and readied himself. Whatever plan Landon had, he’d better enact it now.
“You heard me furball! Git your hands from behind yer back and put that gun in yer’ ‘olster on the ground.” Right at that moment he became agitated, and began to reach for his gun. “I ain’t gonna say it again!”
But, just as his hand was around his back and his fingers just barely touched the grip of the gun.
Landon took a deep breath. “You won’t.” he declared, sharply.
With swift grace, around came the UZI. The man’s eyes widened, and in his panicked frenzy to retrieve his firearm, managed to get it snagged on his belt, buying Landon even more time.
An ear piercing rattle of machine gun fire erupted in the calm of the desert. The unfortunate soul who’d tried to grab his pistol had now been shot 10 times in the span of a second, the other one also fumbled for his weapon but due to his close proximity to his friend, he too was cut down by the bullets. Furthermore, their truck was close enough to be hit, and the 9mm bullets turned the bodywork into swiss cheese, flattening both tires on the driver’s side.
Right at the moment of Landon opening fire, Karl dove into the driver’s seat of the Mayland and gunned the engine, jamming it in reverse, and flooring the accelerator. The tires, at first squealed in protest on the concrete pad as the 6.8L V8 put down all its power, before they hit the dirt and tossed gravel everywhere. Right before it hit Landon, Karl slammed on the brakes, and jammed the gear shift into drive.
Ramius meanwhile, as Karl reversed out of the pump area, had opened the passenger side rear door, and then jumped through the driver side rear window into this special dimension, before emerging from the gas station window, right as more of the hillbilly entourage came over the hill crest. With the UZI now empty and the Mayland next to him, with the help of Ramius, he leapt through the open door of the Ambassador, landing amongst the luggage which provided a surprisingly solid landing platform.
Right before the people in the trucks got out, Karl floored the gas pedal again, and the sudden momentum brought the door close enough for Ramius to hook a paw around it while Landon pulled him into the car by one of his hind legs, subsequently closing the door. On the other hand, under acceleration, the car threw up a second dust cloud, which provided a semi effective smoke screen and a gravel shower that disoriented the attackers, preventing them from opening fire. But a few of the crazy fuckers did, though their bullets hit everything but their mark, pulverizing everything except the Mayland which was already on the highway.
One of the bullets struck a nearby propane tank, puncturing it, and because of the round being incendiary, it ignited the gas resulting in an explosion, consequently destroying the functioning gas pump, camera, and lighting the now leaking gasoline on fire.
As the rear wheels fought for traction, the tail slid out slightly, driver side rear wheel threatening to hit the curb the gas pumps were mounted on. However, the concrete gripped the tires more firmly, causing the car to lurch and go straight again. With the car now moving, the dirt ahead of them was not a problem and the Mayland maintained a straight trajectory as it got onto the highway. With the car now finally straight, Karl welded his foot to the floor, the Ambassador’s V8 bellowing and roaring in defiance as it rocketed past 50 miles an hour. Behind them, there was a bang and a flash, as something blew up leaving flames and smoke licking at the air.
“Holy shit! I can’t believe we got out of there alive!” Exclaimed, Karl, still reeling from the adrenalin. He laughed triumphantly. “I ain’t dying today!”
“I’d rather be stuck under 60 pounds of wolf.” Landon grunted, as he strained to get himself upright, before falling into the massive gap between the seats. “Goddammit, tell your damn wolf to stop drooling on me. It’s ruining my uniform.”
“You need me to stop?”
“No! Keep driving, until the google map tells you to! Those bastards could be chasing after us for all we know!”
“Alright, Alright! No need to shout at me.”
Karl’s phone then lit up. “Turn right.” the google lady stated, flatly.
“Well, that was fast!”
“Huh? No! Wait! Karl!”
The words fell on deaf ears, and Karl slammed on the brakes, sending Landon, Ramius, the empty Uzi, Landon’s hat, and any other loose items flying, Landon landed in the gap between the seats that wasn’t taken up by luggage causing him to get stuck again. And right as he pulled himself up out of the gap, the Mayland, the 2 ton, 18 foot boat swerved violently to the right, and sent his hiking backpack and the smaller of his suitcases careening into him, only being stopped by his hands, as he reached out.
Landon winced as he tried to pull himself up “Ow! KARL! What in the fuck was that?”
“I had to turn, jackass! It would suck real bad if we missed the damn turn.”
With a roll of his eyes, Landon, with a lot of grunting and panting finally got himself unstuck. “It’ll suck when you have to pay to fix my damn uniform.”
“What was that?”
Oh God. “Nothing.”
The Mayland hurtled down the dirt road, and soon enough, just in time for Landon, who had finally settled himself in the passenger seat again, the starting camp had come into view. There were already a few cars on site, most notably there were two large trucks, one an RV and the other a reefer unit; there were also 4 Dione station wagons, two green and two orange, alongside trailers in respective colors. Among the other cars was an Ilaris Imbe that looked like it had been hacked up by an axe and put back together in a shed, accompanied by an Ilaris Itan ute. A Walkenhorst UTILXL in an emergency livery and parked nearby was an old Sakura Citrine 4 door. There was also a Tiharris Summer V6 and a Rhien Willow SR50 Turbo, a Sanju Wolverine, an IP Rugger, Schnell L30, Some obscure pickup truck with a camper shell along side a Saguaro T-REE 2000 Wagon, an incomplete kit car next to a minivan that looked like an airport rental car and of course the IVERA with it’s camper shell.
“We’re here.” Karl said, watching as the camp rolled past at 40 miles an hour.
“Then why aren’t you stopping!?”
“Huh? Oh shit!”
Again, the brakes came on, but this time, the front wheels locked, and then came the sound of gravel being pushed out of the way.
They had missed the turning by 40 meters.
Landon groaned. “Why don’t you pay attention? You’re a damn cat for fuck sake.”
“I got distracted.” Karl replied, jamming the column shifter into reverse and flooring it.
In the camp, most of the teams, and the three other members of Team Ambassadors, Amell, Aryton, and Denali, watched as the car that gave their team their name rocket past the entrance from the gravel road at what looked to be 40 - 45 miles an hour. Then came the sound of rubber on gravel and a dust cloud. The car sat for a moment, before it reversed back towards the entrance, spinning its wheels, throwing up more dust because the driver had welded the pedal to the floor. The V8 had a staccato bellow, as it bounced off the rev limiter, while the car reversed, all the way to the entrance before coming to a stop.
Karl then threw the column shifter into drive and then gunned the throttle, again, and turned into the camp, and almost oversteered into a cactus.
From the perspective of any third person, after rolling to a stop, the operator of the vehicle put the car into drive and again went pedal to the metal, causing its rear wheels to spin up out of control once more, before the driver swung the wheel to the right to turn into the camp, causing the car to oversteer, and have a near miss with a cactus.
Having held on for dear life, for the fifth time today, Landon shot Karl a dirty look. “Was that really necessary, Karl?”
“Hey, we’ve got here safely. Neither of us have any bullet holes.”
Like always, the reply was met with a roll of purple eyes.
DAMN BOI HE THICC, not as thicc as the first two parts, but still thicc nontheless. Till next time, Yugo out.
Machinas Con Passione’s Shitbox Aventures, Take 2: Re-hash
March 13th, 2022
Carson City, Nevada. McChad Auto Parts HQ.
On the outskirts of Carson City, Nevada, there sits a humble abode specializing in the tuning and maximizing the potential of the venerated American V8. The deep growls and throaty roars that would normally cascade off the walls of this hall of speed is instead replaced by three racers and a hefty supply of duffle bags. Our scene opens with young racers Johnny Scarfiotti and Ryouchi Katou attempting to communicate.
“Look, Johnny. I get that you and Giacomo get on really well. That’s great! Hey, I’m glad for you. When you start dragging my family into whatever kooky bullshit you guys get up to, I start having a problem.” Ryouchi had been happy to put up with Giacomo’s eccentricities in the past, particularly as the man was personally responsible for the past few years of his racing career, but his exploits were infamous, ill thought out and often carried out without even the slightest of filter between Giacomo’s thoughts and common sense. Ryouchi preferred to watch the chaos unfold from a distance instead of directly participating in them himself, becoming trivia fodder for racing historians to pick apart for shits and gigs 20 years from now. Johnny, in contrast, had a more romantic view of these “adventures” as he called them.
“Come on Ryu, don’t be like that! Think of it as a vacation, or a side hustle, something you can do to keep your senses sharp when you’re not racing!” Johnny beamed at his more experienced teammate, who scratched at the stubble that had grown in the weeks since his getting medically cleared to compete again. Though he’d yet to make a start, Ryouchi waited on standby “just in case something happens”, or so he claimed. “Yeah, but that’s ‘recreational’, with Giacomo, half the things he does bleed into ‘suicidal’. Whatever this is, it’d better be real convincing if he thinks I’m playing along for even a moment-” Before Ryouchi could finish complaining, however, a loud clanging of metal indicated the garage door had started opening, judging from the bevy of tools strewn about that had been leaning against the board. And there it was, like a scene out of a movie:
A Not-So Mercedes Renntransporter, known as the Blue Wonder and rarer then the chances of MCP finishing a race they start. A true work of art, though closer inspection reveals that the mirage isn’t as effective as it looks at first glance. The grille is wonky, bumpers inaccurate and this one’s apparently… road legal? Wait…
It doesn’t take long for Ryouchi to fill in the dots, as he sees a satisfied father and son duo beaming at him from the cab of the Renntransporter. Alessio slowly rolled down the window from the driver’s seat to address Hikiko, who’d nearly sprinted out the door to meet the two. Alessio, never missing a chance to look cool, pulled down his shades to address her with a smirk. “Didn’t see alot of these in F1, eh?” Hikiko, and by now, Ryouchi and Johnny, stood there in shock. Giacomo, seeing an opportunity of his own, had his own go at being cool. Hikiko, coincidentally, was about to respond to Alessios quip, saying something along the lines of “No, but my-” before being quicky drowned out by the throaty roar of the clearly not stock engine that’d been swapped into this… thing, courtesy of Giacomo nearly redlining the motor to get a pop out of the crowd, 3 strong and fervently watching with bated breath. Alessio quickly slapped Giacomo’s foot away, before turning to address Hikiko. “Welcome to the shitbox rally. We’ve got some work to do.”
March 15th, 2022
A Clapped out garage in the middle of nowhere.
"Well, Alessio… I did what I could to save the internals, the engine still runs like it just came off the lot, if you ignore all the scavenging it’s been through after it survived the owner being completely wiped by a shootout back in the late 80s. Is there any way you could’ve know what happens to this car after you sold it to the dude? You had to have known something.
Alessio squinted gave the junkyard dealer his 500 bucks, more then the car was worth at that rate, and got to work hauling it around, and brought it back to the little abode in Carson City. Though the drive was, of course, exceedingly thought filled for once as Alessio re-lived the days spent tuning the once sporty and excited engine, the toil required to fully strip the car out stitch by stich on the inside, the rusting and, of course, preserved bullet holes that had one ended the life of a former human being, though otherwise served as minor blemishes to the car’s pastiche of two bricks on top of another, with a windshield and set of wheels attaching the whole ramshackle affair together.
After some complaining on Ryouchi’s part about having yet to recieve an explanation, he resolved on spending weeknights preserving the car, fixing and welding whatever needed to be fixed, added, welded or conveniently replaced. At this point, he was so engrossed in the development of the car that he managed to completely ignore the cans of kerosene that had slowly filled the interior of the garage over the day. Alessio’s assistance in the matter of preservation and repair, along with the bare bones explanation of “well I’m a builder, I have to know!” was enough to stave off Ryouchi and Johnny’s curiosity, though Ryouchi’s doubt had ebbed into geniune enjoyment of having a project car of his own to help work on.
And so, the final sticker went on, and it was time for Giacomo to finally explain what the hell they were all doing here. ahem. "GENTLEMEN. Lady. Last year, we competed in SR2022 for the memes. This year, WE COMPETE FOR BLOOD! Johhny, Ryouchi, you will man the Faenza! Co driving will be the difference between life and death! Victory or defeat! Don’t dissapoint me! Us adults will be chillin in the big ahh blue wonder.
March 31st, 6:00 PM PST.
Shitbox Rally campsite.
And so, with car and driver decided, it was time for MCP to roll out, and roll they did, bringing with them a third car for a slight amount of trolling they had planned for the camp. Inside were some holdouts from Ryouchi’s little sister’s band class, willing to help Giacomo and MCP put on a grandiose, overbearing and yet slightly enjoyable performance to entertain the crowd, with Giacomo’s still elementary level guitar playing being supplemented with the vocal skills and stabe presence of the man himself Johnny, as Royuchi’s little sister, Koharu, recruited her homies to create The Greatest Set Ever Played Ever. It was so good everyone clapped at the end and everything, I swear. Johnny took his shirt off and Koharu overindulged in the drums so much she drum solo’d at least twice during the Genesis cover.
After getting past the covers and piddling around for about an hour, Koharu and friends packed up to leave, as it was a school night and nobody was ready to catch the planet tier asswhooping from the PTA if everyone wasn’t home and sleeping by 10 pm that night. And thus, our shitbox crusaders are left with a banana on wheels and the blue wonder, will they be able to take this little team to the checkered flag, or will their hopes fizzle and die like the oil temps on the Blue Wonder? Hang on, shouldn’t someone get that?
Machinas Con Passione’s Shitbox Aventures, Take 2: Re-hash - FIN
(AN: Sorry if things got sloppy. I’m literally fallign asleep writing this
Team M.A.D.
Part Zero Point Two
An Interview with: Team Shift Happens
In Colaboration with @Madrias
Urijah, Maxim, and Victoria figured their first interview, the hosts would be a good starting point. With that, make an approach towards team Shift Happens, equipment all ready for some sort of recording. Kaylie looked up from her notes as Urijah, Maxim, and Victoria approached, carrying various camera and audio equipment with them.
“Anything I can help the three of you with?” she asked. Urijah takes a step forward, a friendly smile on his face,
“Well, sorry to bother you, if you’re doing anything of importance. I’m Urijah Hunt, one of the members of Team M.A.D. We’ve come here to document the events of the Rally. We were wondering if you or anyone else would be open for an interview? Felt it would be nice to hear from the people running this.” He chuckles slightly.
“Not bothering me at all. Was just looking over the entry forms and trying to guess who was going to show up and in what order. As for an interview, yeah, I’m open to it. I’ll get Kivenaal in on this as well. Oh, and if you don’t mind him sitting nearby, I should probably let Kasiya know this is going on. He’ll be mighty upset if he misses out on something historical happening,” Kaylie said. She grabbed her walkie-talkie and asked for Kivenaal to meet her at the HD-GVs for an interview, then got up, her chrome left arm flashing in the sun for a brief moment as she walked to the truck and knocked on the rear cab door.
“Hey, Kasiya, grab your laptop and sit at the table. Take some notes,” she said. A moment later, Kasiya left the truck and sat down at one of the picnic tables, his laptop already booted up and displaying a text editor, though the characters already written on the screen were like nothing seen on earth. About two minutes later, Kivenaal wandered over, looking very out-of-place in his wild-west-gunslinger outfit, custom made for his four armed form.
“Anyone interested in some snacks?” he asked, giving a casual smile.
“If you offer them a bag of scorpions, Kivenaal, I swear by the Twin Suns of my homeworld that you won’t walk for a week,” Kaylie snapped. Kivenaal smirked and pulled out a bag of cinnamon jawbreakers from his leather duster’s inside pocket, then popped one in his mouth and promptly bit down on it with an earth-shattering crunch.
“Your loss, Kaylie,” he said, offering the bag to the three members of Team M.A.D. Uri and Vic denied the jawbreakers, while Max joyously took one, holding his camera off in one hand. Victoria took a couple of lav mics out from a bag on her hip, handing one each to Kaylie and Kivenaal.
“Just clip these on your shirt somewhere nearby your mouth, throw the pack into one of the pockets, and we’re all good to go.” She said, giving a brief thumbs up to both Uri and Max.
“Just listen to Max here on where he wants you to stand, and we should be good to go if you don’t have any further questions,” Urijah says, grabbing a hand held mic off of Victoria, “Actually, Vic, just do a sound check once they’re mic’d up, make sure the audio tracks are clear.” Kivenaal quickly figured out how to get his microphone situated, putting it on his shirt and putting the pack into the same inside pocket his jawbreakers had come from. Kaylie, on the other hand, turned to Kivenaal with a look that clearly stated she wanted some help.
“Kiva, mind lending a hand? I really don’t want to break their equipment,” she asked. Kivenaal smiled, then quickly clipped Kaylie’s microphone to her shirt and, after a moment of casual thought, pulled a bandana out of another of his coat pockets and secured the pack to Kaylie’s chrome left shoulder.
“There you go, Kaylie,” he said.
“Anything we need to say in order to pass the sound check?” Kaylie asked.
“I’ll be nice and not obliterate any snacks while using this. As funny as it might be to have an international scorpion crunch, it’s not worth getting punched by Kaylie,” Kivenaal replied.
“Soundcheck should be easy enough. Just answer this simple question, and we’ll get into it.” Urijah steps out of Max’s frame, and gives a thumb’s up for him to begin recording.
“Just speak clearly, If you can just give your name, what team you’re with, and a fun little fact about yourself.”
“Kaylie Lynn Malradi, from Team Shift Happens. Fun fact, I was Kaylie Lynn Grayson at this time last year, until I got married to Jayde, the big lion over there,” Kaylie said, motioning in Jayde’s direction with her chrome left hand, the titanium ring visible for a brief moment.
“Kivenaal Khakrin-Marinseien, also from Team Shift Happens. I was from Aetherii… A very long time ago now. I’m half-Valraadi, sharing a paternal bloodline with Rukari over there,” he said, pointing with his upper left hand casually toward Rukari, “and a Light-Aetheriian mother. I inherited her four arms.”
Victoria gives a thumbs up to Urijah, and he continues “Kaylie, Kivenaal, my first proper question then, What made you want to run this event for a second time after what happened last time?”
Kaylie smiled. “Despite the chaos of the previous event,” she said, “there was a fair bit of fun in it. Sure, we got attacked by the local wildlife and a team did have a casualty last year, and someone drove a stage drunk, but… We also saw a whole new world, met new people, made some friends.”
“I assume some of the people who ‘survived’ last year are then coming back for a second crack, or is it more wholly new faces this time around?”
“There’s a couple returning teams. Some “agents of chaos” who won last year, the Hillbilly Rollers, are returning. Team Not-so-slow as well, and they might get to finish this time. Couple recognized team names, but only one member in each that are the same, and those teams are Mravolinski-Chitco and Machinas Con Passione,” Kaylie replied.
“Then there’s the team providing power, who has two members returning from last year,” Kivenaal added. “Don’t ask me how to pronounce their name, I’ll butcher it.”
“and on the, uh, dangers of last event,” Urijah has a brief worried look on his face, “Are we likely to see the same sort of issues, or are we a bit safer this time?”
Kivenaal chuckled. “Short of scouting every mile on my own two feet, I’ve planned this route to hopefully avoid most of it. Plus, we hired a security team, hence the crew of soldiers over there. And, well, pretty much all of Shift Happens is armed, and Malavera did put it in the email that being prepared for danger isn’t a bad thing,” he replied, sliding back his duster for a moment to show the four grips of his revolvers before letting it return to his sides.
“That said, there will be snow, and from what I hear, traffic this year, so… Accidents are still possible,” Kaylie said. “But unlikely you’ll be facing something that makes this guy,” Kaylie said, sticking a thumb over her shoulder at Kasiya, who had his fingers outright flying over his keyboard, “look downright cuddly. Granted… We’re passing through a rainforest at some point, so… There could be snakes or jaguars. But hopefully not anything too bad.”
“Well, that’s certainly positive, and should make for some very pretty shots.” Max gives a slight chuckle at the statement from Urijah, before catching a glare from Victoria. “Assume we’re gonna have some very nice variety in terrain then, to match the likely variety of people?”
“Mountains, plains, rainforest-or-jungle depending on your preferred term for it, and then a good view of the coastline, ending on the beach,” Kivenaal replied. “Should be a good spread of scenery, terrain, road conditions. Kaylie picked one road based on what she’d like to take her personal car through, even though we can’t bring it. But, you’ll know it when you get there.”
“Yeah, I got into drifting after Rukari gave the Twin Hearts Racing treatment to my 2009 Grand Warden V10. It has twin turbos and nearly 900 horsepower going through a 6 speed manual and out the rear wheels. So, I picked a twisty road that I thought would be fun in suitable cars,” Kaylie admitted.
“Man, something like that would make me worry our Walkenhorst would fall over,” Urijah says with a chuckle, looking back over at where they parked, with Renee leaning on her camera on the roof.
“Your Walkenhorst should be about as stable as our HD-GVs,” Kaylie said with a smile.
“Now, speaking of cars, Are you able to tell us about the vehicles you’ve brought along for this adventure?”
Kivenaal replied, “Honestly, Kasiya probably knows the most about them, they’re his trucks, but they were in our shop for a while. What I do know about them is that they’re AWD, 10 wheeled, twin-steering behemoths from Kasiya’s home planet. They’re built for much higher gravity than ours.”
“They call them a “Heavy-Duty Ground-Vehicle.” HD-GV for short. They come in a lot of varieties, like the Carry All, designed to be a cargo transporter in either flatbed, tarp-top, box-van, or refrigerated cargo formats. Our Carry All is configured with a refrigerated box, and we have refrigerated trailers. The other one is a “Home Unit,” a custom conversion of a troop transporter into an RV. Sleeping space for four of Kasiya’s kind, climate control, and we’ve installed a microwave,” Kaylie added. “We also had to make it compatible with the EU power standards because, well, surprisingly enough, people from another planet don’t use Earth power standards,” Kaylie mentioned.
“They spent the better part of a day retuning the suspension for Earth gravity, too. Those things rode like go-karts before they cut the air pressure. Both are automatics, both have almost-900 horsepower V16 engines, DOHC, twin-spark, five-valves per cylinder, and will run on just about anything that you can pour in the tank and burn. They’ll spark ignite diesel, but run like crap on it,” Kivenaal added.
“God damn,” Urijah looks over at Victoria with a ‘You-really-want-to-look-around-don’t-you’ sort of look, “Well, I think that should be all the questions we have for now, we might come back to you during some camps as things progress if that’s fine by you?”
“Totally fine,” Kaylie said. “I’m always open for an interview, but you might get different people with me.”
“If you want a peek at the engine, I can open the compartment and it’s just inside. 16 cylinders, almost 22 liters of glory,” Kivenaal said. “I just have to be careful not to scratch the paint, Kasiya is very protective of his trucks right now.” Maxim ends the recording, and Victoria moves to grab the lav mics off Kaylie and Kivenaal, and she starts talking directly to Kivenaal,
“If you’re willing to show me around, I’d love to take a look at something so… Well, I’ve never really seen anything like it. Largest my work have seen have been like, ex-military troop cars.” Urijah gives a thanking wave, before moving to walk back toward where M.A.D. had set up camp. Kivenaal chuckled, then said,
“According to Kasiya, these are ex-military for his people.” He walked over to the HD-GV Carry All, carefully unlatched the cover, then swung it up and slid it inward to get it out of the way. There, in the engine bay, was the large V16 engine that powered the 10 wheeled beast.
“According to Takaraya, who is Kasiya’s father, if you really mean it, you can get all 10 wheels off the ground over a hill. If you’re looking for him, he’s the big gray wolf with titanium limbs.”
“Woah. That’s a big fucking engine. Wait, all off the ground? Holy… Wow, I might have to come back later when Uri isn’t dragging us around.” Victoria looks back over her shoulder at Urijah and Max walking back to their camp, then back at Kivenaal, with a smile on her face “Still got some of those candies?” Kivenaal nodded, pulling out the bag again.
“Got cinnamon jawbreakers here,” he said, before rummaging through another pocket and holding up, “Some mixed Jolly Ranchers,” followed by, “A slightly smashed bag of Skittles, the good ones before they swapped lime for apple,” and lastly, “Some sour gummy worms. Take your pick.” She pauses for a moment,
“I’ll just take one of the jawbreakers. Adiós, and have a good event. Hopefully no-one gives you any trouble.” She says with a smile. Kivenaal nodded, holding the bag of jawbreakers a bit lower so Victoria could grab one.
“As my people would say, Vuri ada ahd nevuri marin. Means “Strong wind and calm seas,” in Valraad, my native language.”
Maxim and Urijah returned to the Citrine, as Renee clambered down off the top of the Walkenhorst.
“So, how’d the talk go with the cats?” Renee quips as Max opens the rear of the Citrine. Max gives a bit of a sarcastic look, before Urijah cuts in.
“They’re actually really nice people. That cowboy looking one, Kivenaal? Really nice guy, even letting Vic have a look at the car as we speak.” He looks over, noticing Victoria is now on her way back, “Should be good enough for the intro of the doc. Should very much try get some more teams before things kick off tomorrow.” Max closes up the back of the Citrine, entering the conversation, “Honestly, I reckon they won’t even be the weirdest thing we see during this trip.”
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Chapter 0, Part I
📅 MARCH 24, 2023 - 12:30 AM PST
📍 Great Basin Desert, Nevada, United States
“Goddammit woman, we’ve been over this a hundred times already!”
“All it takes is one mistake and we’re dead. Just humor me.”
“Ok, fine.”
“First we go upstairs. We enter the mechanical room just before the mess hall and from there we can slip out. Taking the third access corridor should give us roof access. From there, we go down the fire escape and go a mile down the river bank to the loading bay. Logistics should still be processing that giant shipment that came in a few hours ago. I doubt anyone’s working on that at this time, so we can use that to our advantage. Finally, from loading bay B3 we can take the catwalk to the hangar.”
“Sounds good.”
“We’ll have a 2-minute window to make it to that mechanical room. And what are you doing??”
“Just in case.”
“You really think a gun is going to solve anything? If they catch us, it’s over. There’s no way we’re surviving a firefight. A gun’s dead weight. We have no choice but to try to slip out unnoticed.”
“Your loss. You’re gonna thank me later.”
“Whatever. You sure you wanna do this? There’s no going back, you know.”
“This place feels like a coffin. I’m leaving even if it kills me.”
“As if death has ever fazed you.”
Her hand carefully grasped the door handle and twisted, gently opening the door as silently as she could. If anything, the thunderous pounding of her heart was more likely to attract someone’s attention. She took a deep breath and looked down both ends of the empty hallway.
“Clear. Let’s go.”
The two girls slipped out of their private quarters and made their way down the hallway flooded with bright fluorescent light. Quietly traversing a linoleum floor was a task easier said than done, but by walking toe-to-heel, they made it up the staircase unnoticed. The straps of their backpacks bit into their skin as they ascended the stairs, pulled as tightly as possible to prevent them from making any noise. Peeking over the topmost flight of stairs revealed that the second floor was just as devoid of movement as the first.
“Is the mechanical room there?”
“Yeah, no shit it is. What, can a door grow legs and walk away?”
A lock of auburn hair fell loose as she peeked around the corner, looking down both ends of the intersecting hallway. She tucked it behind her ears and motioned to the other girl.
“Let’s go.”
They moved in unison, the cadence of their whisper-quiet footsteps in near perfect sync. Producing a ring of keys from inside her tank top, the only location where they wouldn’t jingle loudly, the door unlocked with complacence and they quickly entered the mechanical room.
The incessant clatter and drone of HVAC systems and the buzzing of lights filled their ears and the smell of mothballs assaulted their noses, but all they could focus on was finding a way out. Dull yellow lights flickered intermittently down the stuffy hallway, lights that cast a matte sheen off the other girl’s dark hair with accents of violet as they traversed the third access corridor.
“If that map was correct, this should take us to the roof.”
The redhead leaned into the door to influence it into a position more favorable for passing through, but her leverage was only sufficient to motivate it a few degrees at best before slamming shut. A breeze of chilly wind that slipped through the crack hinted as to why that might’ve been the case. Taking a step back, she pushed the door open with greater force and they stepped outside, the wind blowing the door shut behind them. Their hair waved and danced in the cold gusts of the moonlight that howled gently.
“Shit! Who would’ve thought it could get this cold at night here?”
“Well, we are in a desert.”
“There’s some vehicles on patrol. Think we can slip by?”
“Odd. There’s usually only three or so trucks at any given moment on the airfield. We should still be able to make it though unnoticed if we hug the walls. Stay in shadows whenever possible. Once we make it to that guard tower at 10-o’-clock, we can use the riverbank to get to the hangar.”
“Walking, walking, and more walking. Got it.”
“Got any better ideas?”
“Let’s just get this over with.”
The loud clatter of rusted metal fixtures beneath their feet didn’t seem to bother them as they carefully descended the fire escape hugging the side of their barracks, the closest semblance to something they could remotely call “home” for the past 1 and a half or so years. Home was more than just a place for the two girls. It was a loose blurry series of recollections spent burning alive under the ruthless Nevadan sun, feeling like the ground was about to give way under their feet after 8-hour sorties, and perpetually growing accustomed to new faces and voices that never seemed to stick around for more than a few months at a time. They were abandoning not just a physical space but a greater space beyond description that had shaped their lives for their last few years - memories. Memories that defined them in ways they preferred not to and memories that recollected sights, sounds, and rotten smells best left forgotten.
When their feet touched the solid ground of pavement, they walked briskly through the compound, staying close to the chain link fence that defined its perimeter, reducing their time spent exposed in the glittering moonlight as much as possible. Security trucks that rolled by were seen and heard long before they posed any immediate threat, and by quickly ducking behind the local flora such as a dumpster or forklift they were able to evade any patrolling security with ease.
Upon reaching the checkpoint at the guard tower, the two girls ducked behind a concrete barrier. A crew cab Seikatsu 10K with a M2HB mounted in the bed pulled up behind the gate on the outside and came to a halt, gravel crunching loudly under its all-terrain tires.
“Shit! Did they see us?” The redhead instinctively reached for the sidearm resting in her thigh holster. Her hastiness, however, was met with disapproval from the more cautious of the two girls. A hand on her shoulder and a stern look was all she needed to get the message.
Over the distant clatter of the diesel engine, they heard the driver of the truck walk towards the guard tower. The redhead peeked around the corner of the barrier and saw him waving to another figure climbing down the ladder of the tower. Both of them had rifles slung across their backs clad in what looked like “chocolate chip” Desert Storm-era BDUs with the unmistakable blobs of brown against a tan canvas. “Sup dude.”
“Bro, it’s chilly as hell tonight!” The guard jumped off the last few rungs of the ladder, his fist meeting that of the driver’s.
Both girls, apparently sharing the same braincell, rolled their eyes in unison. Boys will be boys, the redhead scoffed to herself.
“Tell me about it. Dude, Kyle had to take a shit in a bush and a snake literally bit him in the ass!”
“Holy shit! Was it poisonous?”
“Nah. You should’ve seen the look on his face. He didn’t even wipe or anything, he just ran over screaming like a little bitch. HAH! I hightailed it back here and called for backup, told them I had to cut the patrol short.”
“Jesus, didn’t think there’d be any snakes at this time.”
“Anyways, I’m gonna take him to the infirmary. I’ll talk to you later.” The truck driver mounted his trusty steed glimmering like white snow in the Nevadan moonlight. Through the heavily-tinted windshield, the girls could catch a faint glimpse of his comrade in the back seat, writhing in a great agony that went beyond description.
“Hold up, I’m coming with.” The guard ran around to the other side of the Seikatsu and hopped inside riding shotgun. “Matt was supposed to take my shift a half hour ago but that asshole’s nowhere to be found.”
“You’re just gonna leave the gate unattended like that?”
“Oh, please. We’re gone for 3 minutes at most. Besides, nothing ever happens at this time of the day. Not like anyone’s gonna slip in or out while we’re gone.”
“Surely.”
The doors slammed shut and the gate was pulled open with the hum of an electric motor. The two girls watched in silence as the headlights grew brighter and the truck flew by in a blur, but not before the right passenger window rolled down to let out the pleasant noise of the guard’s dry heaving. “It smells like SHIT in here!” he choked. Before they knew it, the truck had disappeared into the distance, leaving behind the faint smell of diesel fumes and a much more pungent smell that was immediately recognized.
“Aw, shit! God, he wasn’t lying, was he?” The redhead cringed and plugged her nose. “Let’s get moving!”
The two girls very quickly left the scene, managing to sneak through the closing gate and slipped into the pitch black of the barren midnight desert.
The riverbank could hardly be called that, having been reduced to little more than a bank of soft sand and dried bushes a few meters wide that snaked around the entire compound and went further south for a few miles. Water did flow through it on a seasonal basis, but being in some Nevadan desert in the middle of nowhere, that basis felt more like once every passing of Halley’s comet. The girls hobbled clumsily through the extremely fine grains that lined the dried-out riverbed which almost perfectly concealed the sounds of their footsteps albeit at a reduced pace.
15 minutes later, they reached a vantage point on top of a small hill overlooking the entire main airfield and staging area, a detachment of the base located on the opposite side of the dried-out river and a mile down. Peeking over the crest, the dark-haired girl took a pair of binoculars out of her backpack and scanned the area for any signs of substantial activity that couldn’t be easily avoided. Massive fuel silos, hangars, and warehouses painted in the ambient colors of the landscape towered over the acres of asphalt dedicated to the runway. Various aircraft ranging from helicopters to transport planes and even 4th-generation fighter jets could be seen in varying states of combat readiness, with some under tarps and some with a full combat loadout.
“You know, looking at it from this angle really makes it seem like there’s an entire army here,” the redhead commented.
“Wouldn’t surprise me at all. This is Shachou we’re talking about.”
“How’s it looking?”
“Same as before. Shouldn’t be hard to get in, but getting to loading bay B3 will be difficult.”
“Do you really think they’d question two pilots going up to one of the hangars unattended?” The redhead idly racked the slide of her handgun, revealing the brass-cased cartridge in its chamber. “For all they know, we could have a legitimate reason to be there.”
“I’m not taking any chances.” Her response was unwavering as it was cold. Everything went exactly according to her plan, meticulously calculated and revised to yield the lowest amount of risk possible.
“You know, you should be thankful that I decided to go through with your plan. I’m amazed we haven’t been shot dead yet.”
“And what would’ve you preferred?” The dark-haired girl fired back without hesitation. “Go in guns blazing?”
Her snarky comment was met with a dismissive “tch.”
Once the coast was evaluated to be sufficiently clear, the girls were once again on the move. The sagebrush danced in the cool midnight breeze, effectively obscuring their movement down the hill as they approached the airfield. Compared to the installation’s northern site they had just left, the southern site was far larger mainly by virtue of the airfield and was much more protected. Two layers of chain-link fence topped with razor wire formed a boundary that was nigh impenetrable for the two girls alone. They stopped a hundred meters short of a bridge leading to one of the main entryways, flanked on either side by a pair of spotlights shining down the road. A cursory glance through binoculars revealed more armed guards loitering around a campfire beside the gate.
“This… was unforeseen.”
“Don’t tell me you were thinking about walking right in?” scoffed the redhead.
“Of course not. It’s just… unusual. Security seems unusually light today.”
“It’s like they want us to just walk out or something.”
“Exactly.” Though apparently unfazed at this development, there was still a discernible sense of uneasiness in the dark-haired girl’s voice that the redhead picked up on. “I’m not liking this one bit.”
The girls continued with their plan. Under the bridge was a storm drain protruding from the embankment under the bridge. They had scouted it out weeks earlier during a training run, having deduced that it was likely their only option if they wanted to reach loading bay B3 without a confrontation that would most likely end up in their deaths. Three pieces of rebar obstructed the already-cramped opening, forcing them to shove their backpacks through separately and painfully wedge their bodies between the rebar in a sideways prone position.
The single flashlight the girls brought was hardly sufficient to navigate the echoey depths of the storm drain. After a few minutes of clawing around in the dark interrupted by the occasional ow! or shit! when one stepped on the other’s feet, they reached a break in the tunnel with a ladder off to the side leading up to a manhole cover. Climbing up the ladder, which was little more than a few bent pieces of rebar shoved into the concrete wall, the girls quickly ran into a problem that hadn’t been accounted for in their planning.
“Damn it! This piece of shit won’t budge!” The redhead cursed under labored breaths that echoed through the tunnel as she stood on one of the ladder’s rungs and pushed upwards with her back. Alas, the coffee table-sized wedge of solid iron did not raise even an inch. “It’s gotta be at least a hundred kilos!”
“Can’t you squat that?”
“Not in this awkward-ass position! Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna help me, you little shit?”
“Alright, alright, I’m coming.” Climbing up the ladder, both girls maneuvered into position while awkwardly balancing on one foot, forced to share what limited real estate they had on the ladder’s rungs. They braced themselves against the wall and mentally prepared themselves for an action that would most likely destroy their backs for months to come, assuming they weren’t already dead by then. Alas, this inevitability was made apparent when the redhead initiated the countdown.
“One, two, three!”
Pushing upwards with their backs, knees shaking and thighs searing with a burning pain, the girls finally managed to barely lift the manhole cover off the ground just enough for them to jam the flashlight through the opening. After peeking through to scan for any movement, they managed to roll the cover halfway out of the way before it crushed the flashlight that had so conveniently acted as a pivot. A certain ginger fit through the opening just fine, though the process wasn’t as streamlined for her partner.
“What’s taking you so damn long, woman?” she sharply whispered, head on a pivot as she scanned the suffocatingly narrow pitch-black corridors of the hallway they’d climbed into.
“My boobs-! Can you move it out of the way a bit more?” Looking down, she saw that her darker-haired associate had only managed to wedge her head and shoulders out of the narrow opening, one that was apparently narrow enough to stop the marginally more well-endowed of the two girls from passing through.
“Ugh, fine, I get it! God, girl, you don’t have to rub it in my face!” Bending down and squatting over the manhole cover, it was far easier for the redhead to lift it out of the way than trying to push it out of its hole from underneath.
“I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Little shit…”
Yet another few minutes of haphazardly pawing their way through their pitch black surroundings commenced, though this time it didn’t take them long to make their way to loading bay B3. Little more than a warehouse-sized detachment sectioned off from a far larger facility, the ground floor was packed full of pallets and crates laid out in a tight grid pattern. A catwalk was suspended from the ceiling and snaked around all four walls, eventually leading outside to the rest of the facility. The loading bay was vacant as predicted, allowing them to pass through and take the stairs to the catwalk.
The “hangar” was utterly biblical in proportion, its interior space sufficient enough to house an aircraft carrier or two with room to spare. Unfinished fuselages and chassis elements in varying states of intactness were scattered about the floor in a structured yet disorderly chaos, interspersed with heavy-duty construction equipment and scaffolding laid out in a labyrinthine fashion. Most of the equipment congregated around a series of 16 elevated platforms spaced evenly in a grid, each one containing some covered monolithic structure that towered over everything else. Even with the girls walking at a brisk pace, the space encompassed by the hangar was so grand that these distant objects seemed almost fixed in place like a faraway mountain range persisting in the scope of one’s vision when traversing great tracts of land.
They approached the platform closest to them, its ‘payload’ reaching and surpassing the catwalk they stood on 4 stories above ground level. Even when obscured, the silhouette formed by its ailerons and massive engines bulging against the thick canvas tarp pulled over its athletic profile and sharp yet sleek surfaces was unmistakable. The redhead pulled a flap of the cover loose to expose one of the surfaces, unsettling a thick blanket of dust. It was finished in a dull red paint pockmarked with dents, gouges, and scratches exposing the bare metal underneath. The words “ZIEGLER AEROSPACE AND DEFENSE” were emblazoned on it with an accompanying logo. Adjacent to it was the infamous logo of a black rabbit with an eyepatch.
“God, these are all ancient pieces of shit!” The redhead flung the cover back with violence, groaning in frustration. “Do we even have a single one-seater?”
“Not at this base, no. And she didn’t seem keen on bringing any new ones over here anytime soon.”
“She’s even said this is her best squadron, too! If she likes us so much, why do we still roll around in these shitty hand-me-downs?”
“Sink or swim… that’s Shachou for you.”
“Where’s our’s again?”
“C2.”
The catwalks were laid out in a similar grid pattern surrounding the platforms from above. Nearing their destination, platform C2, it was immediately apparent that something was wrong. They referenced the hand-drawn map they haphazardly scribbled onto a napkin and backtracked their steps multiple times, double and triple-checking the orientation of their map. Every attempt would lead them back to the same platform, theirs - there was no mistake about it.
Unlike the other platforms, this one was completely empty.
As was customary, the redhead was the first to break the unbearably deafening silence. She walked up to the railing and grasped it tightly, looking downwards towards the vacant platform. “So… where the hell is it?!”
“They must’ve moved it up to Sanctuary for repairs.” The dark-haired girl crumpled the map-kin in her hands and hurled it over the ledge, watching as it plummeted into the mechanical sprawl below them. “We did get it pretty heavily damaged during our last sortie.”
“Then what the hell do we do? That thing was our ticket out of here! We won’t stand a chance in anything else, not even a tank! There’s gotta be something else we can use…” She grew lightheaded with a grave uneasiness, the kind that made her stick to her stomach and ate away at her composure.
The ear-splitting shrill tone of crescendoing alarm suddenly rang through the entire building, followed by the flashing of red lights above them.
“SHIT! That’s not us, is it?”
“It can’t be. We’d know if we’ve been spotted.”
A series of distant explosions thundered all around them, sending great ripples through the catwalks and launching the girls airborne. It was as if they were in a snow globe that had just been rolled down a pyramid. The skylights above them shattered and cast a shower of fine glass dust shards raining down on them. The dark-haired girl landed face-first on the grated floor of the catwalk and looked up just in time to see her partner start to roll off and plunge to the fatal depths below. Lunging forward, she grabbed the screaming girl’s wrist and yanked her back up. The lights flickered above as the distant rumbles subsided. Through the holes where the skylights once were, the night sky blended with a brilliant yellow-orange glow as black plumes of smoke crept into view.
“You okay?”
Though a simple inquisition, those two words were enough to calm the hyperventilating redhead. She blinked as if to register the fact she was still in one piece and not a liquefied splatter on the ground 20 meters below, and looked at her guardian angel. “I- I’m okay!”
“Attention!” demanded a female voice with the thickest Japanese accent possible emanating from the speakers. “Enemy combatants have breached all major entrances of the north and south wings! This is not a drill! Combat Readiness Stage: Level 0! All personnel, rendezvous immediately with your CO and await further orders! This is not a drill!”
As she helped her fairer-haired partner back up on her still-shaking feet, not-so-distant rapid gunfire echoed all around them and seemed to get closer with every shot. “Shall we proceed with plan B?” she asked, posing the question with a collected calmness but with a sternness that beckoned haste.
“Now’s as good a time as any!”
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Chapter 0, Part I [cont.]
📅 MARCH 24, 2023 - 2:00 AM PST
📍 Great Basin Desert, Nevada, United States
One hour a day. That was all the time she was allowed to spend outside her cell, just like everyone else. One hour of suffocating under the heat of the Nevadan sun in the “courtyard,” a 1-acre field of sand bordered by chain link fence topped with electrified razor wire, before she would be sent back to the arid, frigid concrete walls of her confines felt more like a purgatory than anything else. A single flickering light bulb hung in isolation above the concrete slab that was her bed, its incessant buzzing steadily stripping away at her mental fortitude like layers of an onion.
Just before succumbing to her delirium, an explosion sent ripples of shockwaves cascading through the building. Catherine snapped back into consciousness and abruptly sat back up in bed, her stomach painfully churning with adrenaline. She was in a state of lucidity and alertness she hadn’t felt in months. Legs trembling and ears still ringing, she stumbled over to the door of her cell and peeked through the tiny opening. In a sweeping motion, the other cells lining the walls grew dark, and soon enough the entire building was entombed in an impenetrable darkness. Sirens and alarms wailed in the distance, a mere backdrop against gunshots that rang painfully close and stabbed at her ears.
Beams of light cut through the darkness with blindingly bright, rapid flashes of light. Shouting and screaming punctuated with bursts of gunfire erupted all around her. Catherine shook the door handle with reckless abandon and tried to force it open, her chest heaving in rapid succession with every panicked breath she took.
Suddenly, the electronic lock disengaged and the door flung open with little resistance. And so had the one next to her. And the next. When emergency lights finally turned on, Catherine realized that every cell door had suddenly been unlocked. This blessing in disguise very quickly became more of a curse as the panic increased tenfold. She ran to the nearest exit and immediately stumbled and smashed her face into the ground, her legs having given out underneath her.
The other prisoners, unsurprisingly having the same idea, all made a break for the single point of entry and exit. Hundreds of footsteps thundered all around Catherine as she struggled to rise to her feet amidst the flowing rapids of bodies that would push, trample, and shove her back to the ground. Gasping in pain, she steadily rose to her feet once again and limped towards the exit, leaning against the railing for support. She looked towards the ground floor and watched as a handful of prisoners lined up against a wall were mercilessly gunned down by a group of mercenaries wearing all black BDUs, one that contrasted the usual desert camo pattern she saw the guards wearing. Her breathing had been reduced to fervent panting and all higher functions ceased to exist as her survival instincts kicked into overdrive.
Just before she could reach the corridor leading to the central wing of the prison, she was once again knocked to the ground by what felt like a sledgehammer ramming into her shoulder. She winced and cried out, struggling to stand back up on her battered legs that felt as if they were made of jello. Suddenly, a pair of large hangs grabbed her by the ankles with a painful vice grip. By the time she registered what was happening, she was already being dragged into a nearby cell. The blood streaming from her nose left an intermittent trail of bright red on the ground as the last remaining prisoners ran by, gunshots still ringing loudly and screaming erupting all around.
Mustering what little strength she had left, Catherine jerked one of her legs free and kicked the man dragging her square in the chest. It felt like she had just kicked a brick wall, and before she could wind back for another strike, he braced both of her legs under his arms, truly immobilizing her. “LET GO OF ME!” she screamed in futility, trying to wiggle her legs free as she held onto the bars forming the wall of the cell. With a powerful yank, her grip was painfully torn loose as she was thrown into the corner of the cell that reeked of unwashed asscrack and semen. She finally caught a glimpse of the man who was about to violate her, or kill her, or maybe both. He stood almost 6 and a half feet tall wearing a bloodstained wifebeater and orange jumpsuit stretched around his barrel-chested physique. The ground shook with every heavy step he took towards the helpless, trembling Catherine, who winced and curled into a fetal position having accepted her fate, her sole wish being that the mercenaries’ bullets would soon find her and tear through her body to end her suffering as quickly as possible.
“Oh, hi!”
A muffled shout erupted above her. Catherine’s eyes shot open to see that a damp pillowcase had been pulled over the man’s head and tied off at the neck with a makeshift rope made out of torn bedsheets. It all happened too quickly for her panicked mind to properly process, but in the blink of an eye someone - or something - had climbed up onto the man’s back, legs wrapped around him from behind as she stabbed him in the neck with reckless abandon. A fountain of blood spouted from the gaping perforation in his neck as he toppled over the railing end over end, limbs flailing wildly. All was silent for a second, then a resounding crunch echoed from below.
Catherine lay paralyzed on the floor of the cell, staring off blankly into the distance having apparently forgotten how to breathe. Her guardian angel, a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl who was taller and slender than herself, bent down and brushed Catherine’s snowy bangs to the side with a bloodied hand, the other loosely holding a shank made out of plastic utensils that had just tasted its first blood. “Are you okay? Can you walk?”
Catherine was swiftly stirred from her catatonic state with a backhand across the cheek. She gasped and locked her eyes with the irises of shimmering topaz of the other girl’s. “Y-yes!”
“What’s your name?”
“Catherine!”
“I’m Noelle. We need to get the hell out of here stat! There’s some trucks in the warehouse we can take. There isn’t much time left… I overheard some of them saying they’re gonna bring the whole place down! Let’s go!!”
Noelle took Catherine’s hand and pulled her back up. Hand in hand, they ran down chilly corridors of concrete and rusty catwalks that noisily clattered underfoot as ear-splitting gunshots and shouts, screams, gurgles echoed all around. Lifeless bodies were strewn all over the floor, riddled with bullet holes from which a dark liquid seeped onto their orange jumpsuits. Bullet holes and splatters of red adorned the walls around them. Whoever this girl was, prisoner or not, she knew this place like the back of her own hand.
They finally arrived at a large maintenance warehouse in a matter of minutes. The howling screams, gunfire, and explosions reverberated all around them, albeit somewhat less quietly now. “Are we here yet?” Catherine asked in between deep, almost heaving breaths, having just gone through the most intense physical exercise she’d experienced in weeks, if not months.
“We’re here, but…” Truck trailers loaded with various heavy machinery and forklifts were lined up neatly along both sides, but the trucks Noelle mentioned were nowhere to be found. “Damn it!” she shouted, more in annoyance than anything else. “I swear they had a bunch here… unless that backstabbing son of a bitch set me up! When I get my hands on his candy ass I’m gonna fuc…” while her words trailed off into unintelligible grumbles, her annoyance turned to anger with the clench of a fist. She suddenly turned to Catherine and smiled with reassurance, abandoning in an instant the facade of contempt she so quickly turned to. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out. Trust me! I’m- we’re getting out of here in one piece!”
“FREEZE!”
Catherine gasped and froze in place at the sound of the mercenary’s command and multiple rifles being raised. She could almost feel their laser sights piercing through her back. Mortified, she slowly looked over to her right, seeking any vestiges of comfort from Noelle who stared off into the distance in silence, not returning her gaze.
“Hands on your head, and get on your knees! Slowly!” he barked, inching closer and closer with his two remaining squadmates. The two girls had no choice but to comply, Catherine in particular struggling to squat down as the adrenaline started to wear off and the pain began setting in.
“Sir, what should we do?” shouted one of the other mercenaries, his voice noticeably younger than the first. The tip of his rifle trembled then lowered timidly as he looked to his squadmates. “They’re just kids!”
“You heard the man. Nobody gets outta this shithole alive,” spoke the first mercenary gruffly. “Command says they’re useless without the substrate and we have no idea where the hell that is, let alone if they even have any here. We’re disposing of them all.” Those last words tore Catherine’s heart apart as an imminent, inescapable dread filled her.
“W- what do we do?” Catherine’s whispers to Noelle betrayed her rapidly faltering composure, though it wasn’t much of a secret to begin with; she trembled uncontrollably as if she physically felt the very presence of death drawing near. Her words fell on deaf ears, the brunette simply staring off into the distance. There weren’t any tricks left up her sleeve, and Catherine seemed to understand this with a silent whimper of resignation.
The younger mercenary swallowed and remained silent as every fiber of his being and conscience fought against the orders he had been given. “Can’t we just-”
“You heard what I said!” The first mercenary lowered his rifle and grabbed his bitchy subordinate by the collar, pulling him close. “They ain’t worth the trouble. In fact, I’d even say we’re doing ‘em a massive favor! You, on the other hand, seem quite opposed to all this. You know what happens to those who disobey orders. Now do as I say and light them the fuck up or you’re next.”
Catherine’s tears stung like alkaline as they rolled down her rosy cheeks, her sobs drowning out the sound of the rifles being charged behind her. She closed her eyes and buried her face in Noelle’s shoulder and waited for the bullets to tear her body into shreds.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
Catherine winced as a great blaring of horns sounded from behind. Not gunshots, a single train horn that seemed to drown out every other sound and even conscious thought. Noelle tackled Catherine out of harm’s way as the horn grew louder, followed by a displaced vortex of wind battering their bodies. The girls looked up and watched dumbfoundedly as an eight-wheeled armored truck barreled into their would-be executors at full speed, its wall-sized steel bumper sending them flying before their bodies were ground into a crunchy paste under massive 50-inch off-road tires. Whatever was left of their mangled remains was thrown up into the wheel wells and twisted into oblivion like pretzels, crushed bone and tattered viscera scattered everywhere.
The tan behemoth ground to a halt as its air brakes loudly hissed. Blood and congealed chunks of red dripped from the bumper and was splattered all over the front of the truck. Fearing the worst, Noelle swiped an AK from one of the bodies and aimed it at the driver’s side door as it slowly cracked open.
“Is that how you treat the person who just saved your ass?!” shouted the driver. “Ungrateful little shit!”
“Who the hell are you?” Noelle shouted back, keeping her rifle aimed at the open door.
The driver stepped out. It was a girl not much older than herself with auburn hair and freckles. She wore a white tank top under a red and white bodysuit, the top half of which was tied around her waist. Suddenly, one of the piles of twisted flesh and crushed bone previously belonging to the mercenaries gasped loudly with a choked gurgle, raising an arm towards the redhead. She drew a handgun from her leg holster and fired a single shot at his head that squelched in response. Silence rang out once more.
Noell’s eyes fixed on the driver’s suit and blinked in bewilderment as if she had been graced with a divine epiphany. She’d seen them all throughout her childhood, their distinctive designs burned into her mind from page after page of her father’s military magazines or hours upon hours of war documentaries.
“You’re…!” she gasped.
“You gonna keep staring like that or are you gonna get on?” There was a second girl inside, hidden from sight. “Come on!”
Not wasting any more time, Noelle and Catherine climbed inside the truck’s cabin. The thousand-pound door slammed shut behind them, and with an ascending growl of the massive turbodiesel V8, the truck quickly reversed out of the warehouse and smashed through a jammed shutter door as if it was a .50 BMG shell passing through a block of butter.
“Hold on!” The redhead’s shouts were barely audible over the howling of the 11-liter engine and its turbos that whistled like a banshee. She yanked the emergency brake and spun the steering wheel, causing all four girls to lurch to the side as the truck snapped about its vertical axis. Throwing the transmission in neutral and then drive as the truck ground to a rotational halt, she then stomped on the gas pedal. A primordial roar erupted from the exhaust as all eight tires gripped the pavement and sped through the airfield, launching the truck through a destroyed security checkpoint.
Noelle glued her face to the 2-inch thick bulletproof glass and watched as the base disappeared into the distance, multiple plumes of smoke rising from raging fires as helicopters circled overhead. The explosions and gunshots all around them quickly subsided and gave way to the omnipotent rumble of the diesel engine and all eight tires spinning through the rough trail of sand and rock.
“Is anyone following us?!” the redhead shouted, still alert.
“No. We might’ve been seen, but anyone who did is most likely too busy defending the base, let alone able to pursue us,” the dark-haired girl riding shotgun reasoned. She looked over her shoulder. “You two okay back there? Anyone hurt?” she asked the girls in the back.
“I twisted my ankle, but I’ll be fine.” Catherine sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes. “You saved us… thank you! Thank you so…” She tried smiling at the two girls in front then immediately burst into tears, sobbing loudly.
“There there, it’s okay, Catherine!” Noelle hugged the hysterical girl tightly. She buried her face in Noelle’s chest, muffling her wailing as her undershirt grew soaked with tears. As she stroked Catherine’s hair, she looked up at the two girls in front. “Who are you two, anyways?”
“We’re pilo-”
The dark haired girl elbowed the redhead.
“Ow! That hurt, you bitch!” she barked. The entire truck briefly jerked off-course as she recoiled in pain.
“We’re mechanics,” said the dark haired girl. She definitely had an accent, but Noelle couldn’t narrow it down to a locale more specific than Southeast Asia.
“Like hell you are! I’d recognize those suits anywhere! The 7-pin connector on the upper back, the electrode patches… you’re Ex Machina pilots, aren’t you?”
“…”
“Why aren’t you helping your buddies out back there? Going AWOL? Or could you be…” Noelle fell silent. “One of them?”
“If we were one of them, we wouldn’t have saved you, would we?” The dark-haired girl leaned over and cocked her head rhetorically inquisitively.
“Maybe you’re just trying to take us alive!”
“I’m sure those two guys we turned into tomato soup would agree!” The redhead snapped.
“True. Where are we even gOINg anyway?” Noelle asked, her voice raising as the truck bounced over a particularly large rock.
“I have no idea. Anywhere that isn’t here,” said the dark haired girl. “We can’t use GPS because they’ll track us down from our phone signals.”
“Maybe we can use the stars to help us navigate!” Noelle suggested.
“Do you know how to do that?” Just from the tone of her voice alone, Noelle could hear the dark-haired girl raising an eyebrow.
“…no… do you?”
“All we know is that we’re going south. We’ll eventually run into a highway and from there we’ll figure something out.”
Catherine and Noelle may have been saved from certain death by these two girls, but now what? The truck continued to careen down the rough desert trail, cutting through thick dried brush and flying over every surface irregularity with ease through the dead of the night. She couldn’t help but feel like the further they drove into uncharted lands, the closer they were approaching some event horizon that loomed closer and closer, accelerating them on an inescapable trajectory to their fates, whatever that may be.
If there was but one certainty she could take relief in, it was the fact that she would bear no reservations for the future and take everything in stride, come what may.
“Hey, by the way, what are your names?” she asked, leaning forwards and peeking at the two girls in front.
03/24/2023 - 3:00 AM PST
Great Basin Desert, Nevada, United States
“The fire in block C of the barrack’s west wing has been contained!”
“All remaining personnel have been accounted for! Rendezvous and await further orders!”
“All remaining hostile forces have been eliminated! Mobilize the rapid response team and form a perimeter around both sites! Scramble all aircraft!”
The vibrant orange and yellow plumes of flame that leaked into the starry canvas looming overhead had subsided to localized, dull glows that belched herculean clouds of smoke skyward. Helicopters and fighter aircraft had been continuously scrambled for the last half hour to search for any remaining survivors and eliminate any stragglers from the invading force.
A luxury helicopter flanked by an attack helicopter and two more gunships each carrying an entire complement of armed soldiers landed on the main airfield, the vortices from its rotors sending dust and sand flying all over the runway in a turbulent wind. A Seikatsu pickup truck screeched to a halt in front of the luxury helicopter as its side doors slid open. A girl wearing aviators and a black face mask hopped outside, her asymmetrical braided twintails flapping in the wake of wind created from the rotors above her head.
The driver of the pickup truck stepped outside and opened the passenger door for the girl, saluting to her as she stepped in. He ran back inside and the truck sped off to one of the damaged buildings containing the barracks, its rear tires shrieking and scrubbing against the scorched pavement. “Good to see you, boss,” he spoke with a relaxed tone that conveyed confidence yet urgency. “Just on time as usual. We’ve sustained heavy material and personnel losses in the attack. 177 casualties have been counted so far and the number is continuing to climb by the hour. The entire attacking force, 221 in total, is mostly accounted for and dead, but we’ve captured a few for questioning as you’ve requested. Over half of the 2000 onsite prisoners, however, were killed in the attack.”
“I knew this was coming.” The girl stared out the window as visions of smoldering wreckages and covered bodies being carried on stretchers into ambulances, or dumpsters, rolled by.
“E- excuse me, boss?”
“It was only a matter of time until something like this happened. I’m just surprised they sent so little.”
They sped through an underground tunnel connecting the north and south sites of the base, surfacing not a minute later into the north site. It wasn’t hit as badly in the attack but some buildings had still sustained heavy damage. The building they parked in front of in particular was hit on its west wing, leaving a gaping hole in the wall across multiple levels through which massive plumes of smoke rose.
“Here we are.” The pickup truck’s diesel engine rattled to a stop and the glow of its reflector lights faded away as the driver and the girl stepped out, closing the doors behind them. The driver swept his hand across the building from the relatively intact east side to the not-so-intact west side. “We’re still running the numbers, but so far all personnel in the east wing have been accounted for.”
“Good.” The girl adjusted her sunglasses as they walked up the stairs to the entrance. The door was waiting for them, already open. Chaos would be a tame descriptor for the scene unfolding inside the barracks. Debris and broken glass were scattered all over the floors, their white luster having been lost under a layer of dust that had settled. Medics carried wounded personnel out of the building in stretchers and hundreds more in varying states of injury lined the walls and walked about, helping clear the wreckage and move bodies around.
As soon as the girl stepped inside, however, it was as if someone had risen from their coffin at their own funeral. Every pair of eyes focused on her, every able body immediately saluting before she belted out an “ATTENTION!” with a booming voice that betrayed her small frame. The commotion had been silenced in one fell swoop.
The girl and the driver, evidently her second-in-command, slowly walked deeper and deeper into the barracks. The presence with which she carried herself demanded a fear out of the men around her. Not a fear that arose from danger, but a fear that was more akin to a deep respect and naturally inherited a devout following not unlike that of a cult. Even those who had been so badly injured they could hardly stand or remain still saluted as she passed by, earning them a rare nod of acknowledgement that eased their pain.
Finally, they arrived at a women’s bathroom. Two exceptionally strong and tall soldiers held up a gravely injured mercenary by the arms, one of his legs hanging on by a single sinewy thread. “Here’s one of the enemy combatants we’ve captured,” her second-in-command spoke. “Would you-”
BANG!
The mercenary’s head flung back in two loose flaps of red, painting the tiled wall behind him in a flurry of red and gray chunks that dribbled down slowly. Even the two soldiers flinched in surprise as they dropped his body to the floor with a wet slap. The girl swiftly turned around and walked out, holstering the still-smoking revolver as she continued walking down the hallway.
“…and here we are,” announced the second-in-command as they stopped before a long corridor leading into a well-furnished common room. A sign reading “VTR-51 Strike Bitches” hung from the ceiling. 22 young women in tank tops wearing colored jumpsuits tied around their waists lined both sides of the corridors, each one standing next to one of the 12 doors in pairs. The oldest couldn’t have been older than 24.
As soon as the twintailed girl stepped into view, they immediately turned to her and saluted. “At ease, girls,” she said calmly. With open arms, she smiled warmly at the girls under her facemask. “It makes me so happy seeing you’re all in one piece!”
“Sha- boss…” sniffed one of the girls near the middle. Her curly, shoulder-length hair bounced as her shoulders twitched with every sob. “I’m sorry… I’ve failed as a pilot! I couldn’t defend the base… I couldn’t save them! Bec- because of my failure… others have died!”
“Shut up, you conceited bitch!” her partner whispered.
The twintailed girl, evidently known as ‘Boss’ around these parts, approached the distraught girl with booming steps from her boots that made the other girls shudder. She was so wrought with shame that she couldn’t even bring herself to look at Boss in the eye, burying her face into her hands, teetering on the edge of breaking out into full-on wailing. She gasped as Boss suddenly hugged her tightly, gently patting her on the head and feeling the soft locks of her curly hair between her fingers.
“There, there,” she cooed. “Everything’s okay.” Those four words were like a ballistic missile to the Three Gorges Dam. If she wasn’t crying before, the curly-haired girl was wailing now. Her less compassionate partner merely rolled her eyes.
“SHACHOU!!!” screamed a male voice.
“WHAT is it?” She shouted at first, lowering her voice as to not disturb her beloved Strike Bitch. She snapped her head in the direction of the disturbance. A soldier stepped out of one of the doors. Specifically, the door which had no pair of girls standing nearby. “Two pilots are unaccounted for!”
Boss, also evidently known as ‘Shachou,’ pried herself free from the crying Strike Bitch’s tight embrace and stormed over to the unattended door. Stepping inside, she immediately knew what had happened to the pilots. The room was neatly prepared (even the bed was made!) but entirely devoid of all personal belongings. The bathroom was similarly empty. Though these two pieces of evidence, however damning, might have been inconclusive, Shachou realized something else about the room, a third something that was particularly damning.
“GIRLS!” Shachou’s booming yet high-pitched, even nasally, voice was always startling for anyone within earshot. She exited the abandoned private quarters and slowly walked past all the other girls, arms folded as she eyed them down one by one. “It appears that two of your colleagues… are lost. They are not missing. They are most certainly not dead. No, it is something far worse!” Her spoken word had turned from a mere utterance to almost a raspy, guttural snarl. “They have lost their sense of duty. They have lost purpose. And consequently, they have lost their purpose within us.” She launched a clenched fist skywards. “Those that fail to share the vision of Black Rabbit are no better than dogs or rats that feed from and filter through filth! Those who are led astray… they are forever disavowed by Black Rabbit, forever bound by shame until death!”
Shachou turned around to face the girls one last time before leaving.
“The weak, the sickened, and the lost must be culled to ensure the survival of the others. Girls, you’ve got some hunting to do.”
"BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT BLACK RABBIT
Dossier
Lorelei Emmerling Rothbauer
Age 20 (DOB: July 2002)
Height 1.65m
Nationality 
Affiliation Black Rabbit Corp., 88th Armored Division "Desert Rrats," VTR-51 "Strike Bitches" [DISAVOWED]
Cars 1973 Diomedes Phoenix Laguna Seca TR-454, 1993 Zeiss J12 5.7, 1999 Graf-Zeppelin SC700 V12 Roadster "Blackbird"
Wanted Dead or alive, preferably the latter
Bio Lorelei is an ace pilot who previously worked for the infamous private military company Black Rabbit Corp. and is now one of the co-leaders of Team [Black Rabbit Disavowed] and their main driver. Hardworking and equally stubborn, she prefers to get things done her way and believes she’s the only person competent enough to lead the team to victory. Frequently butts heads with Mona as a result of her arrogance.
Extended Bio
She was born and raised into a life of wealth; her father is a chief research officer in defense contractor McIntosh Kinetic System’s skunkworks program and her mother founded fast food chain “Klara’s Broiled Firebird (KBF),” extremely popular in the United States and southeast Asia. Some might think such a privileged upbringing would yield only the most spoiled of children, but this was far from the case. Just like her parents, she had to make sacrifices and put in the same amount of work her parents did in order to enjoy her own share of success. As a result of this upbringing, imbued within her is a staunch resolve only rivaled by her fiery attitude.
She excelled in her studies, but found academia and research uninteresting, nor was she particularly keen on running the family fast food business either. She needed not only a thrill but a greater purpose she believed in and could work - or fight - for. After hearing about Black Rabbit Corp.’s controversial activities and the vision of its founder, she dropped out of university and enlisted in their land-based combat branch as a combat pilot, quickly becoming one of their best. Upon the personal request of Black Rabbit’s Shachou, Lorelei was placed in the elite VTR-51 “Strike Bitches” special forces squadron, itself a part of the “Desert Rrats [sic]” armored division feared for their brutality, coordination, and efficiency. Though it was far from glamorous work, Lorelei found it strangely therapeutic as much as she found it thrilling. All she had to do was follow orders, so it was nice to just get told what to do instead of worrying about the future or where she was going in life.
Although she was born in Germany, she was raised and spent much of her life in Austria, and thus considers herself as such. Highly passionate, focused, and dedicated in everything she does, and as a result, can be very competitive and even hostile at times. She’s learned not to rely on others and to get things done herself. Outside of work or any competitive environment, she’s energetic, outgoing, and sometimes behaves erratically, but genuinely cares for those who are close to her and looks out for them.
Fond of Japanese culture and enjoys cosplaying; she has an Instagram page with ~500k followers, where she uploads her photoshoots. Was popular in high school and university, but her strict parents prevented her from going on as many dates as she would’ve liked.
Mona
Age unknown, early 20s (DOB: February 2000-2004)
Height 1.65m
Nationality 
Affiliation Black Rabbit Corp., 88th Armored Division "Desert Rrats," VTR-51 "Strike Bitches" [DISAVOWED]
Cars 1998 Hinode Bison 1800
Wanted Dead or alive, preferably the latter
Bio Mona is the second co-leader of Team [Black Rabbit Disavowed] and the team’s co-driver and navigator. She was also an ace pilot working for Black Rabbit Corp. but was recruited into their pilot program against her will after they kidnapped her. She may appear quiet and reserved at first, but when the situation demands (or when Lorelei’s giving her shit again) she can be just as assertive and confident while remaining humble.
Extended Bio
Not much is known about Mona besides the fact that she’s a college student who does gigs for model and idol work on the side to pay for study expenses. She was “recruited” (see: kidnapped) by Shachou in 2020, who took a personal liking to her after watching her perform at a local concert in Jakarta. Strangely, Mona grew close to her captor and even became fond of her. Even stranger was the fact that Mona’s dancing skills, honed from years of rigorous training and performing at venues, apparently carried over quite well to piloting. Impressed by her rapid progress and natural adeptness, Shachou promoted Mona and placed her in the VTR-51 “Strike Bitches” all-female elite squadron, where she was Lorelei’s copilot. Although pilots must be well-synchronized for optimal performance, the two girls did not get along very well at first and were even hostile at times. As they went on more operations together, they grew more comfortable with each other, although to call them anything more than colleagues would be foolish.
Her mother is Indonesian and her father is Chinese. She has a younger brother in middle school who gets on her nerves sometimes, but no matter what happens they always make it up to each other. She’s currently learning English and Japanese and is still rusty in both, but making quick progress.
Catherine Ridley
Age 25 (DOB: March 1998)
Height 1.57m
Nationality 
Affiliation n/a
Occupation Nursing student, paramedic
Cars 1993 CAL CV2500SD Ambulance, 1999 CAL Raider II Desperado RZ5
Wanted Alive
Bio Although Catherine - arguably the most normal person on the entire team - joined Black Rabbit Disavowed of her own volition, the circumstances that forced her decision were not, making her question if she really had a choice in the end after all. Not only is she the team’s paramedic, she’s one of the few things keeping everyone (mostly Lorelei and Mona) together and the sole voice of reason.
Extended Bio
Born and raised in Bakersfield, California, she now lives in Los Angeles for her university’s nursing program. Strongly prefers to avoid conflict. Exhibits strong big sister vibes according to friends because she’s very approachable and compassionate, yet not afraid to show a bit of tough love if that’s what it takes. Having endured a rough childhood including her parents divorcing and a toxic relationship a few years back, she can occasionally have trust issues. In spite of this, she’s never quick to make judgements and she has a capacity for forgiveness, though she isn’t as considerate to the few who have especially wronged her beyond redemption. She can also seemingly de-escalate any tense situation.
She was captured by Black Rabbit Corp. during the infamous “Yellowstone” incident and was held as a prisoner of war for some months before being freed by pilots Lorelei and Mona.
As a nursing student working part time as a paramedic, Catherine volunteered to serve a similar role in Black Rabbit Disavowed to express her gratitude for Lorelei and Mona for rescuing her and Noelle. She’s experienced enough to treat team members’ injuries even during a rally stage, but given the conditions of Shitbox Rally, the lack of modern medical equipment will pose unique challenges for her to work around. She dreams of converting her ambulance into a camper and going on a road trip across the continental United States, but needs the time and money to do so (and some friends to go with).
Noelle Markman Porter
Age 19 (DOB: November 2003)
Height 1.70m
Nationality
Affiliation n/a
Occupation Economy student
Cars 1998 Hephaestus Apache Sport 4x4
Wanted Alive
Bio Noelle is Black Rabbit Disavowed’s wild card. Highly unpredictable, there exists no absolute certainty concerning whatever goes on in her mind or what her ulterior motives are. If Catherine is the one who calms the team down, Noelle’s the one who riles everyone back up. But her hair-trigger tendencies aren’t a detriment to the team’s performance or its members; if anything, her chaotic nature might be her greatest asset. She can think on her feet and is extremely opportunistic, favoring high-risk, high-reward approaches. The other girls would agree that Noelle’s modus operandi is bold, if not reckless, but her energy and call to action is often the push that everyone needs.
Extended Bio
She was born and raised in Tacoma, Washington. Exhibits strong girl-next-door vibes. Upon first glance, she appears to be a very sweet, straightforward girl with a bit of sass, although some will note the odd sadistic and almost psychopathic episode from time to time.
She usually wears preppy or modern Japanese/Korean-inspired outfits, though she had an “edgy Hot Topic” phase back in the day. She has a penchant for gossip and likes to start shit between friend and foe alike. Likes pickle soda. Frequently gets road rage due to her impatience and short temper. Like Lorelei, she is also an only child. Usually sings in a higher register, but because she enjoys 2000s punk rock and a large variety of other genres, she can sing a few octaves lower as well. Enjoys karaoke parties with friends and has an unusually powerful voice given her small frame.
Like Catherine, Noelle was also captured during the “Yellowstone” incident then rescued during Lorelei’s and Mona’s defection. Although she doesn’t fulfill any particular role within the team, she is unusually knowledgeable about consumer electronics, the tech and defense industries, military technology, military tactics, military history, psychological warfare, and torture methods.
Team Shift Happens
Prologue, Part 1
Prologue, Part 2
Prologue, Part 3
Powering Up
Driver’s Log 2
April 1, 2023, Shitbox Rally Starting Location, Nevada, 10:00 AM
The Drivers Meeting
Malavera looked out over the crowd of drivers, standing on top of the Home Unit’s rear cargo platform to make himself visible to everyone. He thought back over the arrivals yesterday, the tech inspections he’d performed, the mix of vehicles that would be running soon. Everything from Team M.A.D. getting some mirrors attached to their vehicle in the parking area, to the Sinesian Rejects’ “Frankencar” were now considered legal. Some vehicles clearly were proper shitboxes, one truck returned from the year before, there were a couple of airplane-engined monsters out in the field, a very-wide military truck, and a few large vehicles for good measure.
Realizing everyone was standing there waiting for him, courtesy of Kayden warning them all, “If you don’t shut up, I’ll make Kaylie’s roar yesterday sound quiet,” Malavera mentally prepared his driver’s meeting speech.
“Welcome, everyone, to the second annual Shitbox Rally! Like last year, I hope there will be many more to go after this one. Unlike last year, where I had the drivers’ meeting early and let things sit for a while, this year, we’re doing the meeting before we go. Kaylie, Jayde, and Rukari are currently passing out rings for your team members. Yes, this is why your application form asked for your ring size. Last year, these were copper, this year, we had them made in braided silver after some concerns that copper turns people’s fingers green. These rings are important, as first and foremost, they are going to allow you to communicate with the locals. Second, they act as a tracking beacon for our team, so if you’re stalled and need a rescue, we know you’re stuck. Third, they act as an emergency teleport back to here. This time, we’ve ensured that, yes, you will be transported back here, not to wherever you think home is. We’ll have a few people checking in on the campsite every few hours in case people have had to use it.”
He took a deep breath, then continued, “To use the ring, turn it while it’s on your finger and say “I want to go home” three times within 15 seconds. Jayde assures us that this time, the teleportation will not damage your vehicles, and so each person can use their one-way teleport safely. The last person to leave will bring the car with them. In the case of two car teams, it’s the last two people. Also, and this was mentioned by Kivenaal, do not, under any circumstances, use the teleport ring in the Rift. As he put it, “Trying to find where all the pieces of you ended up could be a real pain.” You’ll also find that Kayden is handing out folders with maps inside. These are the “recommended” routes, of course, but if you find a shortcut, you’re free to try taking it. However, Kivenaal has mentioned many of these are already the fastest route to take.”
Malavera took another deep breath, then added, “With that out of the way, let’s get into the rules, shall we? The big one is called, “Don’t be a dick.” If someone’s stuck in the ditch or has their hood open, or calls out for help over the radio, remember, this isn’t exactly a race. It’s better to stop and help someone out than it is to blow their doors off while hanging a moon out of your window and blaring an air horn. After all, you might be the next one broken down, and I’m sure you want someone to help you out when you have car trouble. The second rule was mentioned in the email, but for those who only skimmed it, or have forgotten in the long months since that event, it’s “Leave nothing but your tire tracks.” Don’t throw your garbage all over the world. Don’t chuck broken spare parts into the woods. Now, we’re not going to go out of our way to insist that, if you’ve had a catastrophic failure and parts came flying out, that every part must be picked up, but if you’ve had a spark plug get mechanically regapped by the piston, or an air-filter get clogged up, don’t throw those parts. Store them away and either dispose of them in a garbage can, or take them back home. If you’re eating food from plastic containers or drinking beverages from aluminum cans, make sure they end up in the garbage. The locals will not be happy at finding Mudweiser cans in their river, or Tasti-Cola bottles tossed onto the roadside.”
Malavera then glanced over the field, locking eyes with a couple of people in the crowd. “Last year, those were basically all the rules, but this year, we have to mention a few more. It shouldn’t have to be said, “Do not drink and drive,” but last year, someone did. Last year, that someone got their team ejected from the competition. This year, if someone does that, well… One, not just will they be banned from Shitbox Rally for life, Jayde has mentioned he will personally make sure that you spend the next 3 Aetheriian years in a Nehmenweld jail cell, as that is Nehmenweld’s punishment for “Drunken Operation of a Motorized Vehicle.” For those of you thinking 3 years sounds a bit short,” Malavera said, pausing so Jayde could take over in that moment.
“By your years, I am 54 years old. By the years I’ve counted for most of my life, however, I am a bit over 35,” Jayde said.
“For those less mathematically inclined, that means one of their years is a bit over a year and a half here,” Malavera said. “Another rule is that you are not, under any circumstances, to bump any of the four steam cars or their trailers while in the convoy. Not just will you piss off Val, you’ll piss off me. Val might cut your team off from power and demand you go home. I might break your legs first before Kivenaal sends you home. Likewise, I’d advise not bumping into the HD-GV units or their trailers. Kasiya is very proud of the deal he got on them, and he was the one who had them painted. If you scratch or scuff the paint, well… We’ve been working with him on when it’s okay to confront people, and if you really want 500 kilograms of 3 meter tall werewolf pissed off at you, go right ahead and bump those trucks. Last, but not least, do not mess with our camp lights. If you short out the lighting circuit and trip the breaker, we’re leaving the camp in the dark. Have fun finding the shit-house when you can’t see it, and while it’s dark, pray we don’t encounter any local wildlife.”
Malavera then decided to wrap up the meeting. “Now, we’re starting at 12:00 PM. You can call it noon, or 1200 hours if you prefer those terms instead. When we enter or exit the Rift, you need to be single-file. The door isn’t wide enough for people to go through two-at-a-time safely. While we’re in the Rift, we will be driving in a convoy, at 55 miles per hour. If anyone needs fuel, we’ll stop and fill up from onboard reserves. If anyone breaks down, we’ll stop and try to help out. With all of that said, we’ve got one hour and 42 minutes before we have to leave, so, get your brunch going, pack your supplies, stow your power cables, make sure your cars are ready to go. I think that’s about everything.”
Kasiya, standing there in his light gray armor, looked out over the crowd, then said to Malavera, "You forgot to tell them, “Good luck and have fun!”
Malavera face-palmed both of his heads, then said, “As the armored werewolf said, Good luck, stay safe, and have fun!”
Team VSmgAB & Team Shift Happens
Prologue 3.1
Prologue 3.2
Campsite Power Speech
Friendship! :D’s sentient cars.
Pre-Race Camp
April 1st, 2023, Shitbox Rally Starting Location, Nevada, 08:57 AM
Takaraya groaned as he got out of bed, having had his first proper night in the Home Unit. The climate control system had done wonders to keep the interior at a comfortable temperature through the night. He pulled on his uniform clothes, then opened the door and headed toward the trailer attached to his vehicle, opening the roll-up door and grabbing the plate of leftover burgers from yesterday’s cookout.
He made his way back to the Home Unit, popping a couple of burgers into the microwave and turning it on. A moment later, the microwave, climate control, and LED strip lighting suddenly shut off. Takaraya sighed, set the plate down, then headed back outside to talk with Valentin.
He first checked to make sure the plug was still connected, and it was, then approached Valentin and, looking a bit guilty, admitted, “Valentin, I… Might have tripped one of our breakers. Left our climate control on and tried to reheat a burger.”
For Valentin and the remainder of the team, the morning was relatively uneventful, especially considering that Valentin was already awake at about 6AM, joined shortly thereafter by Norse. Breakfast was crude, but functional, consisting of what loosely could be called “bread”, but actually was closer to a bread-shaped cracker with minimal toppings.
Soon after, they were joined by the ‘speshul forces’ and Constantin, who themselves also had breakfast of similar quality, albeit with more variety.
Thus, a little circle formed around Robert the Generator Railcar, with completely random chit-chat between the various members and Mary being lost in fantasies again, even if Valentin remained awkwardly quiet.
At this point, an unexpected, yet totally familiar click came from within Robert, prompting Valentin to check. Sure enough, circuit breaker #3 was tripped, belonging to Shift Happens.
Now realizing his mistake of welding the driver-side rear door shut, he unfurled himself from the other rear door, already noticing Takaraya on his way here.
“That happens. Did you turn off the overload or otherwise ensure that it won’t immediately trip when i try and re-enable it?” Valentin inquired with a voice about as hoarse as one would have after 40 years of extensive chain-smoking.
Takaraya smiled lightly, then admitted, “Climate control is still on, but we lost power when I tried to reheat breakfast in the microwave.” He understood that Val’s voice was rough as hell after yesterday’s events, he’d even half-expected that to happen.
Valentin just raised a finger, indicating to Takaraya to wait for a moment, after which Valentin went around to the other side, crawling through what once was the rear bench and over to the breaker panel. With the breakers being a simple switch, re-establishing power was not hard at all, as he closed the acrylic lid back up and reappeared from within the car.
“Should be good.” he said, now even garnering interest from the remaining group.
“You sound like absolute dogshit…” William commented, remembering what Valentin should sound like.
“Tell that to Kaylie and the sentient cars.” Valentin replied, trying his best to avoid elaborate wording in an attempt to not make the situation worse than it already is.
“Sentient cars!?”, William, Rohan and Hans called out, somewhat in unison and immediately getting up to look around for them without luck.
“Yeeeah… you’ll see at the driver meeting.” Norse added, filling in for Valentin in this case.
The group of soldiers just looked at each other, then at Constantin for confirmation.
“Get all the intel you can. You did not try and thus stayed oblivious.” He commented in a tone of elitism, which was not particularly well received by the recruits.
“Yeah, those sentient cars are the reason my son is suited up in his environmental-protection suit today,” Takaraya grumbled. “He brought it with him because that suit is the chassis for his AI assistant, Layara. He’s worn it once before, and that was to park it in the Carry All. Now he’s wearing powered armor out of nerves and fear. Because what we really need is the 500 kilogram wolf running around in 1100 kilograms of armor. He probably weighs as much as some cars here do, and that’s concerning, because while he is trained to use it, he doesn’t necessarily remember about the extra weight. Thankfully, he sticks to the vehicles, and they’re built for people to wear armor and drive them.”
He then looked to Valentin and said, “Thank you for taking care of the breaker. I’ll try to remember in the future to turn the climate control off before trying to reheat food.”
From Valentin’s point of view, the conversation was ended with a simple thumbs-up as he returned to the others.
More talking between the others with usable voices followed until 10AM, where the driver’s meeting was set to take place.
As such, they all got up and headed over to the HD-GV Home Unit and watched Malavera do his thing before returning to their cars, each of them wearing their respective language and teleport rings.
With the important things done and departure time approaching, each half of VSmgAB went about packing up what needed packing up, the military half of which unplugging early to ‘get it done’.
At about 9:30AM, Valentin disabled power supply to anyone who was still plugged in by that time, followed by him unplugging any remaining cable, leaving them there for the customer teams to fetch.
What followed were the last preparations to the trailers and cars before they were to head through the rift.
Stage 0:
SR Starting Area to Shiverwind Point through the Rift
Camp Challenge: None.
Temperature during the stage: 20°C
Temperature in Camp: -5°C
Nighttime Low: -10°C
Weather Conditions:
In the Rift, the weather is dead calm, with a cloudy dark blue sky, very slightly humid. Due to it being the Rift, conditions are rock-solid and don’t change at all for the duration of the stage.
Once at camp, the weather immediately changes to be substantially colder, with gusts causing noticeable windchill, but otherwise relatively calm winds. It doesn’t snow or rain until we depart the next morning.
For those returning from the year before, driving into the Rift was, well, not exactly a routine experience, but at least vaguely familiar. For the new ones, it was surprisingly nerve-wracking, having to drive into an oversized metal shed that was clearly not big enough to hold half of one of the giant trucks, a shed they’d all had a chance to wander around and look at, a shed that now opened up into a vivid, dark-blue portal.
First to drive through was Kasiya behind the wheel of his Carry-All, carefully guiding the huge vehicle with its refrigerated box and refrigerated trailer through the opening. Then Takaraya followed him with the RV and the second trailer, the two vehicles rumbling down the road at a decent pace.
Then, those who had experienced the trip the previous year decided they’d go as well. They were followed by the new arrivals, with the last car cruising in and the garage door closing soon after, dropping everyone into the Rift’s navy-blue embrace.
Several times along the trip, stops were made to allow for onboard refuels, with Takaraya reminding everyone, “If you did not bring enough fuel, the cost is $20 per gallon from our tank.” Likewise, there was a rather long stop caused by several breakdowns that happened pretty much at once.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we reached the other side. Kasiya rolled quietly through the now-open door into the arctic hellscape that was Nehmenweld’s southernmost civilized point. Any further south, and it’d be in the Southern Icefield. Cars equipped with thermometers rapidly announced the plummeting outside temperature as it plunged down to -6°C. What couldn’t be easily told was the -15°C wind chill until it became time to make camp. For some, this came as an unpleasant surprise. Nevada had been warm and the Rift had given us all a cool, moist reprieve from the desert sun. As soon as everyone arrived at Shiverwind Point, we found out just how brutal the cold could be when a sudden gust blew through and chilled everyone to their bones.
Like the year before, we chose to set up camp after our long drive through the Rift. The brutal conditions made pitching tents quite unpleasant, in some cases quite dangerous, but with a bit of effort and a gratuitous amount of foul language, most people had at least some form of shelter prepared. By the time the sun began to set, everyone had a place to stay, even if some of those places had to be bargained for, or relied on friendships to make it happen.
Next Stage Expected Conditions:
Road Speed: low
Road Condition: moderate
Traffic: low
Police: high
Deadline for Top-Gear-Mode and/or Aggression changes: 9PM GMT, April 3rd.
###Team Shift Happens
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Support
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 2 / 2
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
HD-GV Home-Unit:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
HD-GV Carry-All:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Being experienced with this sort of thing brought a certain amount of confidence to the team. Kasiya took the lead and lit the way the best he could, the full brightness of the HD-GV Carry-All’s headlights tearing through the darkness. Just behind him, Takaraya maintained a safe distance between Kasiya’s trailer and the HD-GV Home-Unit he was driving. The 55 mile per hour drive, of course, was interrupted a couple of times by refueling and breakdowns.
VS Mobil Generator AB
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Support
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 1 / 1
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
VS 221S “Robert”:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
VS 221S “Regina”:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Val and his three other drivers carefully piloted their priceless steam cars into the Rift, taking care not to ding up the trailers on the way in. Once inside, it was relatively peaceful, at least, until everyone else’s troubles started.
Team M.A.D.
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Top-Gear
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 3 / 3
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Walkenhorst UtilXL FireRescue:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Sakura Citrine LWB:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Urijah and Victoria made sure everyone had cameras rolling before the car passed through the gateway and into the Rift. They documented every breakdown, every fuel stop, and even the last minute changes of clothing being done as soon as the second gateway opened, a bitter cold reminding them that, yes, they had just driven “faster than light.”
Team Sinesian Rejects
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Top-Gear
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 3 / 6
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Ilaris Imbe Sport S 1.3:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Ilaris Itan Base:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Ianis, as soon as he had the opportunity, floored the ute. He ended up having to slam on the brakes once he realized there wasn’t really room to overtake, not after Kasiya saw his attempt to slingshot past everyone and casually let his giant truck drift into both lanes. TJ was a bit more restrained, settling in with people in front and people behind, hoping like hell they didn’t become the aluminum-and-blood filling in a truck sandwich.
Team Not-So-Slow
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Single
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 3
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Schnell L30 1.9 SE Executive:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Izzy and Matt had some understanding of what the Rift was, so they headed in without any worries. Other than some breakdowns from the others turning the Rift into a parking lot a couple of times, things went well.
The Ambassadors
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Top-Gear
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 2 / 2
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Ivera Executive LXT:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Mayland Ambassador:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: Tires
Time lost to breakdown: 01:35:29
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Karl had more knowledge than Landon with regards to the Rift, not that he knew a lot about it. However, this meant Landon hesitated, ever so slightly, and let Karl take the lead in the Mayland Ambassador. Landon settled in just behind it, two comfortable cars from two different eras cruising along until Karl blew a tire. Turns out, rusty lug nuts are a real pain to remove, and having supplies sitting on the spare tire makes it that much more of a chore to fix a flat.
The Knockouts
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Top-Gear
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 6 / 1
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
1325 Facelift:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Papillona 606 S:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Kate and Octavia settled into a comfortable cruise, just getting used to the casual pace of everyone in the Rift. It was peaceful, even when other people had breakdowns to fix.
Team Mravolinski-Chitco
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Support
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 1 / 1
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Saguaro T-REE 2000 Wagon:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Kontir Cunningham 1.9:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Mat and Amanda lead their cars into the Rift after Pi mentioned that it “was safe last year.” When other people had breakdowns, the crew tried their best to give some help where it was needed.
Team HETS
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Support
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 3 / 3
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Franklin HiWay Rally:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
FM VanGo:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Spanners, Mopey, Gran, and Nanna set forth in their two cars like adventurers on a quest. Every time they had to stop, there were, of course, the inevitable questions, stories, or other little quirks of traveling with two “old people” in the cars.
Team Flaming Gallahs
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Single
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 1
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Priscilla II:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Slow and steady wins the race. Whenever the group stopped for fuel or repairs, they helped out by providing music for the people stuck wrenching or juggling jerry cans of fuel.
Team Friendship! 
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Single
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 2
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Bazard E-Series:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
After several stops and watching a few hasty repairs being made, the bus exits the Rift and rolls into Nehmenweld.
Team Hillbilly Rollers
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Support
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 2 / 2
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
IP Rugger 4x4:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: Powertrain
Time lost to breakdown: 05:11:56
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Sanju MDM44 “Wolverine”:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Things were going very well until Andreas fried the clutch in the IP Rugger. Thankfully, they had spare parts, and even more thankfully, they were able to enlist the help of Kasiya and Takaraya to act in place of a proper lift. Marie, of course, complains that if she didn’t have to drive, she could have had five hours of chugging beers instead of sitting there watching them fix a broken car. Arne, on the other hand, is just glad that they’re stopped as Marie’s gear changes were as smooth and graceful as a brick in a washing machine.
Team Sane Insanity
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Support
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 5 / 2
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
KKR S2:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: Chassis
Time lost to breakdown: 3:59:57
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Roadmaster Voyage:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
It was more fun revving the hell out of the mid-engine sports car than expected. This was counterbalanced by the nerve-wracking nature of trying to not get scuffs or scratches on the rental minivan while grouped up in a horde of other vehicles, many of which were in rough enough condition to not care about yet-another-baseball-sized-dent in the bodywork. The fun “Rev the engine” game came to a sudden stop, however, when one of the half-shafts fell out. Almost 4 hours later, the car was on the move again.
Faolan Industries
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Support
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 3 / 3
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Aether 52 H:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Aether 11/2:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Ze’ev and Storm set off on their voyage with the two oldest-looking cars in the camp. Thankfully, there were no breakdowns for them.
Team Taciturn
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Single
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 3
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Mara Irena 2.0 UR:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
The two cloaked aliens escaped into the Rift, their cheap Mara proving to be more reliable already than some of the competition.
Team ReUnity
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Single
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 6
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Ursula F5 400I cross 4x4:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Anthony took the wheel for this stage, driving cleanly around a pack of other drivers.
Team Spy Kids
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Top-Gear
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 4 / 4
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Reekayns B210:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Mocabey Pioneer XL:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: Tires
Time lost to breakdown: 00:21:32
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
It was fun until it wasn’t. Turns out, the low tire was low enough that it came out of the bead and had to be swapped out until you can get the tire seated again.
Team J3
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Support
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 4 / 2
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Tiharris Summer V6 J3:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 1
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:10:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Rhien Willow SR50 Turbo J3:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
It’s an interesting start to the rally, watching all these other people having breakdowns. About the only bit of excitement was a close call when Jacia almost rear-ended Johnny and Jackie.
Team Aeromad
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Support
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 3 / 3
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Juggernaut 862 Custom Aeromad:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Torrento Providence II Aeromad:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 2
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:20:00
Breakdown: Powertrain
Time lost to breakdown: 04:57:05
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Ah, the joys of using crashed airplane parts in your vehicles. It turns out that the massive 994ci V12 in the muscle car needed a little bit of tuning to get it running right, and after almost 5 hours of tinkering, luckily nearby the guys who fried their clutch, the V12 is roaring like a tiger.
@Tzuyu_main & @FallingComet
Team Black Rabbit Disavowed
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Top-Gear
Distance Traveled: 177.6Miles
Aggression: 5 / 5
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Seikatsu Diesel Galactic:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Dauer 836RS Darien:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Not much is happening for the Black Rabbit crew. It’s mostly a bunch of waiting around while a couple people fix broken cars.
Sheriff Scott’s Posse
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Support
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 4 / 4
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Warren Warlock FH:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Bowie Bearcat:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: Tires
Time lost to breakdown: 03:13:45
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
With no one to chase and no need to rush, they settle in behind a few other cars and try to enjoy the trip.
Team “486”
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Support
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 6 / 6
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Kaufmann Viera Custom:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Kaufmann Kleinbus Custom:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
It was a fairly boring drive for the team, just mostly following the other cars. Well, when they weren’t waiting on cars to be fixed, that is.
Team Magdelena
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Top-Gear
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 3 / 4
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Baumhauer 423 Vier Group A:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Hinode Rusa Ambulance:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
There is a certain joy in driving an old ambulance. One of those joys is driving with the lights on and the siren screaming. Even if you’re stuck in the equivalent of rush-hour traffic, it doesn’t get old.
Team Machinas Con Passione
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Top-Gear
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 4 / 6
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Mercedes Blue Wonder Alessio:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 1
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:10:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Faenza Spirito SP-C:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 1
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:10:00
Breakdown: Tires
Time lost to breakdown: 00:10:54
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Celebrations go around among the crew this time. When some of the new guys ask what all the cheering is about, Giacomo explains that this year, they only had to refuel once in the Rift, whereas last year, it was twice. In his excitement, he kicks the dry-rotted tire on the Faenza, accidentally popping it. Almost 11 minutes later, a slightly-less-shit tire is on the car.
Cunning Stunts
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Support
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 3 / 3
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
VHT Supermobile (Sand Hopper):
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Contra UTE:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
There’s a certain special feeling you get, tailgating a rental minivan in a giant truck. You know he’s not going to brake check you, he’d end up having to buy the van. And so it’s fun to cruise along, trying to see just how close to the bumper that you can get without touching it.
Team Till D End
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Support
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 3 / 1
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
JMX Linx Turbo Injection:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Avantii Trailduster Camper:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Between the Rift turning into a parking lot for several hours and the knowledge that you had a camper, there were serious considerations about whether or not it’d be worth getting a nap in while a few people fixed the clutch they blew up and the engine that was running like crap.
Basedworks
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Support
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 3 / 6
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Basedworks RV:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
MCMOTD:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: In Convoy, Helping Others
Time lost to breakdown: 00:00:00
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
As they set forth in the giant RV and the “Edgelord Special” as Malavera had called it, the crew settled in among the rest of the drivers, trying not to cause too much chaos.
Team Gunship
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Single
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 4
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Haapala Streetcruiser:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: Powertrain
Time lost to breakdown: 04:31:15
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
The open roadster hurtles into the Rift, leaving the crew momentarily shocked by the unexpected temperature difference. Things were going well until the engine conked out. Fun fact: Engines don’t work so well when the battery dies courtesy of a non-functional alternator. Fortunately, a spare part is found, the car is jump-started, and other than another issue caused by a loose plug wire, things go smoothly.
4 Dicks in a Truck
Finish Position: N/A
Support/Single/Top-Gear: Single
Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Aggression: 4
Team Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Team Travel Time (Aetherii): N/A
Centurion 9000:
Travel Time (Earth): 08:54:44
Number of Refuel Stops: 0
Time Lost to Refueling: 00:00:00
Breakdown: Tires
Time lost to breakdown: 01:04:35
Stopped by Police: N/A
Time lost to Police: 00:00:00
Total Distance Traveled: 177.6 Miles
Total Time: 08:54:44
Tailing the pack of cars with a semi and RV trailer, the crew settles in for a long journey. They’re forced to stop settling in and go fix shit when one of the inside dually tires decides to blow up.
Team Information: Shitbox Rally 2023 - Entries Open! - #52 by TheYugo45GV
Long Chapter Ahead
This chapter was written in collaboration with @Madrias
Good Public Relations
Following the rather exuberant entrance to the camp, the occupants of the Mayland got out of their car. Karl kept the driver’s door open, and leant against it and the roof, while Landon shut the passenger, and straightened his medals and uniform jacket following the chaotic drive to the camp.
“Y’know, for how much shit I give you, you seem surprisingly tolerant.” Landon began. “I’m real grateful you got us out of there safely.”
“Hey now. I just followed my instincts, I am a cat after all. One that knows how to drive better than most professionals.” Karl replied, thankful. “Plus, you and I have proven time and time again that we are weirdly good at improvising.”
A chuckle came from Landon. “You know what they say, great minds think alike. Anyway, I think I’m gonna go introduce myself to the hosts.”
“I saw two Khalans when we pulled in. I think I’ll hold back a little bit considering what my uncle did to my family’s reputation.”
“Your uncle?”
Karl nodded. “Yeah, he tarnished our reputation with his betrayal of the code.”
“You have a code?” Landon queried, a note of confusion in his voice.
“Uh-huh, it’s… it’s a long story. Now go on, I’ll join you later.”
The general looked across the camp towards the heavy duty trucks parked on the far side near the trailers and the Diones. Well, he did see one of the Khalans wearing some sort of military uniform and it was maybe a wise idea to get to know the hosts, and besides, establishing good relations from the get go was how wars were avoided. The General sighed, he was taller than anyone on his team, just a little over 6’ 6", and his uniform would probably make him stand out especially since it strongly resembled Soviet service dress uniforms. A country that Karl told him about that had collapsed long ago. Regardless, he twitched his ears and donned his peaked military cap before starting his approach dodging around the Ivera’s hood.
Takaraya looked over as a fox-like being, about six-and-a-half feet tall, started making his way over toward him. He glanced over at his son, who was writing something in a notebook with the cab door half open for airflow, again almost oblivious to the world around him. He looked back at the fox, his own amber eyes trying to pick any and all details up that he could, even with his inability to see color.
Eventually, the fox made it to within speaking distance of him. “Wing Commander Takaraya Wintermoon. State your business,” Takaraya said, naturally a bit on the defensive side because he knew his son didn’t really like being around military people.
Kasiya looked out of the cab door and groaned. “Great. More military people,” he muttered to himself. “At this rate, Nehmenweld will think it’s an invasion.”
Remaining focused on the Khalan that had just greeted him and introduced himself. Landon stood at ease, hands behind his back, standing fully upright, as though he were addressing troops.
“Greetings Commander. I’m Supreme General Sabourne of the Velkaristan Armed Forces. Your uniform tells me you’re in the Royal Air and Space Force.”
Takaraya gave a light nod. “Good to meet you, then, General,” he said, his metal hands reflecting a bit of sunlight as he moved. “Kasiya, you might as well meet him,” he called out.
Kasiya set his notebook down on the seat with a muffled thump, shoved the door open the rest of the way, and stepped out, rising to his full 10 foot height as he crossed his arms. “Kasiya Wintermoon, leader of the Nehmenweld Expedition for the Interplanetary Historical Preservation Society,” he said, looking down at General Sabourne.
“Pleased to meet you Kasiya, I presume your the commander’s son.” Landon began, offering a handshake, despite the size difference. “I’ve heard of the Preservation Society before, my… uhm… associate has told me all about it.”
“I am Takaraya’s son, yes,” Kasiya replied, accepting the handshake and trying his best not to squeeze too hard in the process.
Takaraya, on the other hand, looked over toward the cars as Landon mentioned his associate. “Now that is curious. Your associate is aware of the Preservation Society, and you’re here as well… You’re looking for something in Nehmenweld,” Takaraya said. “They wouldn’t assign high-brass to a mission like this unless it was dangerous. I’m not here on mission, my orders were to heal up after my accident, and I got involved with the rest of this crew on this event.”
Kasiya watched Malavera duck inside one of the plastic portable toilets, noticing Kivenaal checking his phone a few moments later. He glanced over to Landon, then added in, “There are a few things I can think of that might be of value enough to send out a General. The big one, however, is the Sacred Chalice of Aureia, some Aetheriian goddess of peace and healing. Well, it’s either that, or you’re looking for the Dragon-shard, a sword that burns with eternal fire.”
Takaraya noticed that Kivenaal ducked inside one of the “porta-potties” as well, then gave a chuckle and shook his head as he figured out what was going on. “They’re going to get caught if they keep doing that,” he said to himself. He then looked to Landon and smiled. “It’s often been said by my father that Kasiya would make a good diplomat,” Takaraya said.
“No, I wouldn’t. I can’t lie enough to keep myself in office for a day,” Kasiya replied.
“I’m here because the High Council ordered me to be here. Plus, My friend over there,” Landon pointed to what was evidently not a fox, bent over through the window of the older of the two car. “He’s the one who pulled the strings to bring me here. I’m certain you’ll instantly recognize who and what he is. Especially since he told me about it on the way here.”
Meanwhile, the being had found what they were looking for, and then stood up. It was none other than a Caracalian, a species on a neighboring planet to Panthiri Prime, that was comprised of the smaller wildcats.
Landon then continued. “He’s the one who’s brought that giant boat over there. A Mayland Ambassador I think it is. Next to the Ivera over there, with the RV lookin’ thing.”
Takaraya studied the other being, then sighed. “A Caracalian. Which family? There’s one where, depending on the branch, I have very specific orders I am to follow,” Takaraya said.
Before Landon could answer, however, Kaylie stormed over and asked, “So, what went through your mind when you raced past the camp in a cloud of gravel and dust?”
Kasiya, rolling his eyes, then said, “Landon, here, was not the one driving. Yes, I know your first name, General. I read the entry forms and logged them in earlier for the historical record.”
Karl meanwhile had walked up, and he stood about similar to Kaylie’s height, as he came up from behind. He wore civilian clothing. “I think you could blame me for the driving. You see, Landon and I were attacked on the way here. Wasn’t until he pointed out that we missed the turning on the road over there that I saw how fast I was going.” He paused, before addressing the two Khalans, and also offering a handshake.
“Karl von Heislingberg, I’m certain that name isn’t pleasing to hear given recent circumstances, but I can assure you, my father, Ayren has dealt with the traitors. You must be Takaraya, the son of his Majesty the king, Wintermoon.”
Kaylie sighed. “Yeah, the only reason I was upset was the rock-shower you threw behind your car. We’ve had team members pelted by rocks before, it’s not fun.”
Karl flashed a small grin across his face in response.
As Karl introduced himself, Takaraya sighed. “I am the son of Dakala, yes. And while your father may have dealt with the traitors, Karl, I still have my orders that, should I cross paths with Erran and his line, I am to shoot them on sight. Luckily for you, I got an update to my orders a while back that changed it to just his branch of the family.”
Kasiya sighed. “The last thing the galaxy needs is another fucking war,” he grumbled.
Karl gave a light nod, in response.
Takaraya glanced over to the portable toilet again and chuckled as he saw Kivenaal walk out of it with a light grin on his face. A few seconds later, Malavera stepped out, looking a little unsteady on his feet at first, but managing to hide it well after a few steps. Kaylie had followed his glance and sighed. “So that’s why they asked Jayde to sound-proof the toilets,” she said, shaking her head.
“Y’know, Takaraya, my dad did tell me he spoke with the king, about what to do moving forward. So, I guess the both of us should expect some form of message at some point.” Karl concluded, ignoring what was happening in the background. “Plus, I’m glad to see you walking around again, given what happened.”
Landon meanwhile, watched in the background what was happening. He flashed a little bit of confusion on his face but then spoke up. “You seem to know the commander, but that’s his son that’s next to him, he’s an archeologist like you I think.”
Karl glanced up at the much taller Khalan. “You must be with the Historical Preservation Society. I recognized the color scheme on the HD-GVs over there. I can tell one of 'em is a Carry-All.”
Kasiya nodded. “I’m the leader of the Nehmenweld Expedition,” he said, looking to Karl. “My truck is the Carry-All. My father drives the Home-Unit. We’re both hauling a trailer that’s made from the rear half of a Carry-All as well, so we have plenty of supplies.”
“And plenty of weapons,” Takaraya said, smiling. “We’re probably not the most heavily armed team here, but we are prepared.”
Landon and Karl glanced at each other, before Landon started. “Well, we didn’t know what dangers we would face so we did too. We had to use one of them though, as Karl might have stated.”
Karl meanwhile had reached around his back and removed his sidearm. It was an Automag Raven with a shorter barrel, around 6 inches. He examined the weapon, demonstrating very good discipline.
Karl drawing his weapon had the end result of Kaylie, Takaraya, and Kasiya drawing their sidearms. Kaylie’s Walther P99 was, perhaps the most normal weapon of the three as she held it low, with the barrel pointed in a generally safe direction and her finger outside the trigger guard. Takaraya had a very large, heavy semi-automatic handgun that clearly had been stamped with a new caliber, declaring it now fired .458 SOCOM instead of the old .46 KAL. Likewise, Kasiya had a revolver, rechambered in .500 S&W Magnum, holding 7 rounds and having a “short” 6 inch barrel. None of the three weapons were particularly shiny or showy, and were instead very practical handguns.
Of course, the “gun show” got Kivenaal’s attention, and he approached the group and drew his four Smith & Wesson Model 500 Magnum revolvers, with 8 inch barrels, nickel-chrome finish, and custom walnut grips. “Sorry that I missed our introductions,” he said. “I’m Kivenaal Khakrin-Marinseien.” He holstered his weapons quickly, prompting Kaylie, Kivenaal, and Takaraya to do the same. “Would’ve been here earlier, but I had… Other duties to take care of.”
“Not sure that having a bit of “fun” with Malavera in a portable toilet exactly counts as “other duties,” Kivenaal,” Takaraya said in response.
Neither Karl nor Landon said anything, they stood there and pretended to mind their own business. “I think we could set up some sort of gun range. Especially with that hill as a back stop.” Landon pointed out, “If we have any tables to put targets on, perhaps.”
“Landon, they’ve brought a giant transport truck. It’s going to have room for all sorts of supplies, I’m gonna assume they brought some form of table at least.”
The general simply looked at him, unamused, but understanding. "I guess it won’t hurt to practice a little bit and maybe show of some of the firepower that we’ve brought. “Especially considering our…” He trailed making sure he could trust absolutely everyone, satisfied, he finished his sentence. “Mission.”
“You mean the range I busted my ass earlier to set up?” Kivenaal asked, motioning toward the range he’d built earlier, complete with targets at reasonable distances. “Granted, Takaraya helped - it’s very helpful to have someone who has nearly no limit to the number of sandbags he can lug around - but we set the range up because we expected people might want to shoot.”
Karl glanced at the range, putting up a hand to shield the sunlight. “Well, I guess that means we’ve got something to pass the time. Also, Landon, please go change out of that uniform, I’m overheating just looking at you.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that it’s insulated? I’ll change out of it later, once more people arrive.”
“Okay, alright. Let’s go see the range then.”
Kasiya laughed. “Karl, if you think what Landon is wearing would be hot, take another look at Kivenaal,” Kasiya said. Kivenaal, giving a light smirk, showed his leather duster, leather vest, button-up shirt, jeans, and leather chaps to Karl, before making an explanation of his own.
“My fur is rated for -40 degrees Celsius. A couple months ago, it would have been rated for far, far colder. You’ll survive,” Kivenaal said, chuckling.
Karl simply shrugged, knowing he was a being that could exist in warm temperatures being a cat mainly found in desert climates.
As the small group headed for the range, eventually making it to the firing line, Kaylie added, “If it’s really that bad here for you, I’ll let Jayde know. Just bring a spare shirt so he can put a cooling enchantment on it.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I should be alright.” Karl replied politely.
Kivenaal smiled, then said, “Pick a lane. Plenty of targets available, after all.”
Takaraya chose the far lane, thumbing the safety off on his pistol and taking aim at a mid-range target, firing one shot and landing just off to the right of the bullseye with a one-handed shot.
Kaylie gripped her handgun with her right hand, carefully wrapping her chrome left hand around her natural right hand to support the weapon, then cracked off her first round and managed to hit the top of the close-range target.
Kasiya, likewise, aimed at the close target, using both hands to steady his revolver, then put a hole a few inches low of the bullseye.
Kivenaal, however, drew all four revolvers, picked the mid-range pistol target, and promptly put four holes within an inch of the bullseye.
The Automag was a familiar weight, and instinctively, Karl racked the slide and gripped the weapon with both hands. He took aim at a mid-range target as well and fired three times, one went left, the other one right and one just right next to the bullseye.
Landon meanwhile, selected one of the further targets holding the gun with one hand fired off all six rounds from his revolver. Two bullets hit directly in the center of bullseye, side by side, one went low, hitting just below the bullseye, the other three hit just above the two holes in the center.
It soon became clear as Kaylie, Kivenaal, Kasiya, and Takaraya unloaded on their targets that some of them were much better shots than the others. Takaraya was resistant to the heavy recoil of his rifle-chambered pistol, proceeding to keep all of his shots within a very tight group, similar to Landon. Kivenaal pelted his target with all four revolvers, leaving a cluster of 20 holes all grouped in the space of a human’s fist. Kaylie’s target looked more like someone had fired a shotgun at it, with a bunch of 9mm holes scattered around the top of the target, with none of them really making it to the bullseye. Kasiya, despite his usual claims of being a bad shot, managed to put seven rounds into a space the size of a CD on his target, centered around the bullseye.
Reloading their weapons also showed their familiarity, as Takaraya casually ejected the magazine, put it into a pouch on his belt, retrieved a full one, and loaded it into the weapon with well-practiced ease, dropping the slide-release and chambering a round. Kaylie, on the other hand, was a lot slower on her reload, taking her time to make sure she lined things up properly before shoving the loaded magazine into her P99. Kivenaal holstered two revolvers, swung the cylinders out on the pair remaining in his hands and knocked the spent shells free, loaded them with a pair of speed loaders, and closed the cylinders back up, holstered that pair, drew the empty set, and repeated the process, before drawing the other revolvers again. Kasiya, however, swung the cylinder out, emptied the shells out, and then put 7 new ones in, one at a time, from a pouch of ammunition on his belt.
Karl meanwhile, had left to go get something, and Landon seemed to know what it was, as he returned with a large very high quality rifle case and a metal box of ammunition that had Holland & Holland scrawled on it with permanent marker.
He set it down on a plastic folding table and popped the latches, and opened the lid. From inside he lifted what was very much a Czech CZ-550 safari hunting rifle crafted from materials that looked ridiculously expensive. It also had a high end professional grade sniper scope that had up to 12x zoom and a shoulder strap hanging from the sling anchor points.
To load the weapon Karl pulled the bolt back and inserted three rounds of .375 H&H Magnum, then once the weapon was loaded, he slapped the bolt closed and then shouldered the rifle and took aim, adopting a steady stance with his feet shoulder width apart, and his right foot slightly behind and to the right. Flattening his ears, he pulled the trigger.
There came a loud bang accompanied by a huge muzzle flash, the rifle bucking violently as it sent a .375 bullet down range punching right through the bullseye and thrown up sand and dust into the air.
“Okay, if we’re playing with rifles now,” Kivenaal said, holstering his revolvers and pulling his lever action rifle from across his back, “I can do that.” While he was busy loading his suppressed lever action rifle with .45-70 Government rounds, Takaraya walked over to the Carry All, opened the back, and got his rifle out of it, returning a few moments later with what vaguely resembled an M16, but scaled up to Takaraya’s size, and holding one hell of a chunky magazine in it. He racked the charging handle, pulled the stock into his shoulder, and then set the weapon to semi-automatic, blasting one of the distant targets with a .50 BMG round. Kaylie casually caught the flying shell casing with her left hand and set it down on the table, avoiding it hitting either Kasiya, Karl, or Landon.
Kivenaal’s response, however, was to chamber one round, flip up his precision rear iron sight, dial it in for the range of that distant target, and put one right through the bullseye. “Just be glad Malavera’s not over here, we actually stand a chance of looking decent. If *he’s * shooting with his rifle, we all look like a bunch of rookies,” Kivenaal said.
Landon had left for a moment but returned clutching what was a G36 but with a heavier barrel, and a dual helical drum magazine that was loaded. Karl was eyeing worriedly.
“What? We’ve got enough 5.56 to last us months.” Landon remarked, racking the charging handle. What came afterward was a full auto 750 round per minute burst of 5.56 ammunition lighting up one of the closer range targets. “Forgot I left it in full auto.”
Then he flicked the firing selector into semi auto and fired off a few more rounds.
Takaraya rolled his eyes at the burst of full-auto from the G36. “I can do that as well, but it’s not needed while fighting paper targets,” Takaraya replied, punching a few more half-inch holes in one of the targets.
Kivenaal, meanwhile was trying to sight in on the furthest target available, cracking off a shot and landing it in the bottom left corner of the target board.
“Low and to the left,” Malavera said, joining the line with his PGM Hecate II in his hands. He pulled the bolt back, put a fresh magazine in the weapon, and carefully slid the bolt home, then shouldered the rifle and looked down the scope. “Calling my shot: Top half of the eight, furthest target,” Malavera said, before carefully squeezing the trigger. Sure enough, he put a round into the top half of the 8, rather than hitting the large bullseye a couple inches below it. He took a brief moment to reload, catching his spent brass as it left the chamber and putting it on the table, took aim at the target, then said, “Center of the bullseye.” Another shot, and another hole where Malavera claimed it’d end up being.
Kivenaal looked to Landon, then said, “This is why I said Malavera would make all of us look like rookies.”
The general gave a nod, before leaving to return the rifle where he’d brought it from.
“You want to give the rifle a try?” Karl asked him as he returned. “Yeah sure.”
Landon took aim, and fired, hitting one of the further targets dead center. Before firing again, hitting a little to the left of the previous bullet.
Malavera finished off a group of five shots, each time calling his intended target, before he unloaded the weapon and returned it to its case in the truck. Takaraya unloaded his rifle, taking the time to make sure it was returned to a safe condition with an empty magazine stored in the rifle. Kivenaal finished up his target practice with his lever-action rifle, putting it away after he’d emptied the weapon. Kasiya and Kaylie made sure their handguns were loaded, yet safe, returning them to their holsters. Takaraya took a bit longer as he reloaded the empty pistol magazine at the range and put it back in his pouch, then holstered the rather large handgun.
“Was good to have a bit of range time,” Kaylie said, smiling. She led the crew back to the HD-GVs after making sure the spent brass was collected up and put in the metal bucket, keeping their range clean.
After the others had left, Karl and Landon packed up their weapons, and returned to where their team’s vehicles were parked. It was around this time, Karl looked over at where the trailers were.
“I guess you still want to meet new people, eh Karl?” Landon asked, walking up from behind the car.
“We did introduce ourselves to one of the host teams, so why don’t we go and meet the other, host team?”
“Maybe later. Speaking of which, Where’s Ramius?”
“He’s around the back of the Ivera with the others, he’ll join us if he wants to when we go and introduce ourselves to the other hosting team. Jayde or whoever, seems to be a mage.”
In the back of Karl’s mind Ramius began speaking. “He is a mage, you moron. Plus, I’m able to communicate with him and the one of the Valraadi in the same way I do with you.”
“Is he telling you off again?”
Karl gave a nod.
“Thought so.”
With a final glance towards the trailers and the steam generator, Karl and Landon soon rejoined their other team mates, and began to run through the mission plan again which they did as other teams arrived after them.
Till next time.
Prologue part 1.1
Carol’s Private Autoshop, West Coast, USA
Sunday evening
Rarchet sound
Ding
The sound of mail notification
“Oh? another client?”
Carol walks over to her laptop
click
“… ……… …!!!”
Carol looks over to many vehicles scattered around the autoshop
“No, no, definitely not that one… that one is too nice… hm… … …”
Her eyes now hovering over a disassembled JMX Linx Turbo Injection that’s sitting on a lift
“Ah! this will do. But will I be able to finish restoring this in time tho… Oh well, If not then I
should prioritize restoring the internal stuff.”
Carol goes back to working on client car
A week later
“Okay, let’s check the dates where my replacement parts would be arriving”
Carol opens the ATZONE website
“!!! Ah you can’t be for real right now… I guess the left headlight and running light won’t be replaced then. But at least I can still fix the bulb inside the housing.”
Ding “Ah! gotta get back to work.”
The next day
Beep Beep Beep… Beep Beep Beep… Beep Be-
The alarm clock shuts off
“Yawnnnnn~ … …!”
Carol gets up from her bed and walks to the bathroom
Foooooooo
“Ah! … oh, that was silly giggles”
Carol turns off the valve
“… Ah right! in the mail they said that the place we will be going to is quite dangerous. I should get ready…”
Carol dress up and drove to a gun store
Door opens
She looks around the store for a few seconds… she can’t seem to decide
“Um, excuse me. I want to buy a gun. I need something that is powerful but is not too expensive.”
The gun store owner turns his head around looking for something and eventually picks up a combat shotgun
“Well lady, this one will do.”
Carol immediately accepts the recommendation and purchased the shotgun
“Thanks for purchasing.”
Carol makes her way back to her autoshop
“I got this for quite cheap, but It should do the job.”
Carol walks over to the back of the autoshop to test fire the shotgun
She loads in the 12 gauge shells before pumping
POW pump POW pump POW
“Hehehehe this is fun, but I should stop before someone calls the cops.”
This concluded today’s activity
Few days later
POW pump
“Wow~, this “Dragon’s breath” shot is quite amazing. giggles”
She unload more shells till she runs out
“(Okay, that’s it for the shooting. Gonna head back now…)”
Carol went back inside the autoshop to check on that infamous mail message again
“Hmmm … … … Ah! I know who to bring with me.”
As she figured out. She gets into her JMX and drives off to go meet someone
To be continued on part (1.2)