Yeah, I’m planning to bring a giant tow truck as mine
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Another question: Jacias species has some quite extensive lore, and one of thier abilities is to teleport items so long as they know where they are and where they are going to. I understand this is quite overpowered, so would Jacia be told not to use that power?
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Gran has a similar ability…She wants and it generally appears… 
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mf can spawn themselves some bitches
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@Jaimz68
you may enter two cars with roles split as desired
if they stay together or not is decided before start or between stages (see “Top Gear Mode” in post #1).
both cars will have separate calculations for breakdowns and range
if the cars stay together, the slower one dictates speed of both cars
@IDK158
magic is a thing in Nehmenweld and not explicitly banned
i once again refer to common sense of actions and their potential consequences relative to those from a world where magic isn’t a thing
2 Likes
Team Sinesian Rejects
Team information
Previous part
Next part (Part 0.34 - Behold!)
Part 0 - C’mon!
February 24, 2023
Sat behind a computer, Alauran Caere stares at the email application on the device, waiting for an all-important email verifying the competition-readiness of the racecar he and TJ have been working on. They’ve spent months making it, and tuning it to perfection. Any moment now…
Eventually, the notification sound hits him, mouse shooting directly to the mail that has just come in. Reading the subject, his expression turns to utter disbelief.
“Your vehicle has been rejected for the Annual North Ulan-Sinesia race”
He reads over the rest of the email, the thought of wasting several months engineering the perfect car starting to sink in. It turns to pure frustration, which is let out by him exclaiming:
“Oh f-ing come on!”
This seems to draw the attention of TJ, sat in the other room, who enters the room at a brisk pace, stopping next to the desk where the computer is sat on, then asking:
“Hey, what’s the problem?”
Alauran turns his head to face TJ, who promptly looks away, before replying:
“Well, apparently, the car we’ve been working on has 0.6 too many horsepower.”, emphasising 0.6 with a gesture.
TJ’s face turns sour, before looking around the garage. He then says:
“I guess since the air is colder there it must’ve made a little more horsepower than in the shop here. All the reason to add more margin, lesson learned.”
Alauran moves his hand up to his face before slowly moving it down to the eyes in the most dramatic facepalm possible, keeping his hand there, then saying:
“Lesson learned? Seriously? We’ve worked on that piece of crap for five months. What are we going to do now, wait and do nothing for months until the next competition opens up?”
TJ steals the mouse away from Alauran and moves so he can use the keyboard, searching up a list of upcoming races and rally competitions.
“Nope…nah…too expensive…too little time…”
He then sees a competition that catches his eye…‘Shitbox Rally 2023’. The website links to a forum where the competition is heavily discussed. He then comments:
“We’ve got time for this one, and the money too. What do you think?”
Now, Alauran wasn’t ever really a fan of participating in banger racing. Spectating 24 hours of Clunkers and LeMons pretty much turned him away from it. He looks at it, looks at the participant list, and decides:
“Well, it’s better than sitting around doing nothing.”
TJ then grabs the keys for his ‘lightly modified’ 1962 Ilaris Icon, gesturing for Alauran to hop in, saying:
“Alright, we better come prepared, the forum says wild shit about what happens in that rally, so let’s start now.”
They get seated, TJ starts the car, and they drive off, looking for clunkers on sale. Oh, what joy they would find.
After a few minutes of driving, they spot a little blue hatchback on sale. It looks pretty mint, so they stop. Looking around the car, it is immediately apparent it’s a 1973 Ilaris Icon, the vehicle that followed up TJ’s own '62 Icon with a new platform. Alauran rings the bell of the home.
It swings open, nearly knocking Alauran from his feet. An elderly woman greets the two. Alauran then states:
“Hey, we’re interested in the car you’re selling, mind if we take a look at how it is and runs?”
The elderly lady smiles and grabs the keys for the vehicle. She walks up and unlocks the car, opening the door for the two, before handing over the key. TJ throws it in the ignition, and the car fires up. A bit of cold revving later, TJ looks satisfied, then asking:
“How much do you want for the car?”
The elderly lady thinks for a bit, saying:
“I would have asked three-thousand, but you two seem so happy with it…I think you can have it for two-thousand five-hundred. Your little car looks great, it will be in good hands.”
TJ looks satisfied with that price. Thinking for a bit, he then shakes hands, before handing over the money. The old lady then hands over the second key, taking the ‘For Sale’ sign back. Alauran exits the car, stepping in to the older '62 Icon. They drive off, the lady waving them a goodbye.
Eventually they arrive back at their shop, parking their cars there. Alauran goes to the computer to register their car, before realising the maximum price is actually 2000 dollars. He yelps out a swear word, at which point TJ also knows what he’s realised.
Alauran’s face has reached tiredness levels never seen before. TJ tries to fake a smile and says:
“Oh well, at least we have a nice little hatch now. Suppose we can keep it around.”
February 25, 2023
Alauran and TJ step in to the 1962 Ilaris Icon once more to hunt for more, and this time, less expensive clunkers. TJ has had good experiences with the used re-sell section of the Ilaris dealership, so they decide to head there.
Some amount of driving later, the duo arrive, and see a dilapidated ute parked out front with a sale sign on the windshield. A 1983 Ilaris Itan. It’s of the Ilaris dealership itself, with ‘ILARIS SERVICE’ written on the side. They decide to head in, and Alauran asks about it:
“We’re curious about the ute you have out front, mind if we take a look?”
The person sitting at the counter genuinely looks surprised at them being interested in the thing. He swiftly replies:
“Sure, but know that the engine has…severe mechanical damage. It doesn’t run, basically.”
TJ looks unphased by that statement and walks off to inspect the clunker. Alauran asks:
“How much do you want for it?”
The man behind the desk replies:
“Two-hundred and fifty bucks, and she’s yours.”
TJ, standing next to the car, gives a thumbs up. Alauran then counters with another offer:
“It doesn’t run. Two hundred bucks and you have a deal.”
The man thinks for a bit, before it sinks in that the offer for 200 bucks is probably the only offer he’s going to get for a non-runner of this age. They shake hands, and Alauran hands over 200 bucks.
After heading back to the shop to get the car that can actually tow things, they slowly but surely drag the dead Itan back, where they can get a real close look at what went wrong with the thing. After trying to start it, and it not budging, they remove one of the cylinder heads, where a pool of water greets them, one piston physically bent sideways in the bore. TJ mutters:
“Well, it certainly had a drink. Think we can swap the engine with one from the junkyard?”
to which Alauran nods. They take out the work truck to the junkyard.
Searching around the junkyard, they find a couple of candidates, who run. Judging by the fact that it’s a rally across an entire country, they decide for the most reliable option; an ACR X4Series four-cylinder engine. They take it out of the crumpled mess of the hatch it was sitting in, and pay a couple hundred bucks for the engine. It’s quite a decent upgrade over the poverty-spec V-6 that was installed by the factory, producing forty more horsepower.
Loading it up in to the truck, they drive back to the shop, where they start modifying the Itan’s engine mounts. They have the fuses for the engine mounted somewhere near the original fusebox, which makes for slightly confusing maintenance. Eventually, they mount the engine in, and give it its first run…on shit gasoline. It hesitates a bit before sputtering up, the knock sensor telling the engine to push back the timing pretty much as far as it can. TJ and Alauran then mount an external roll cage and a camper shell.
After this great success, TJ calls up Jas Kan’aan to take a look at the beautiful creation. Arriving a few hours later, his first reaction is laughter.
“Gh-is that seriously a rally car? Who did you buy this from??”
TJ smiles, replying with an affirmative to Jas’s questions.
Jas then continues laughing, eventually saying:
“What-whose car is this? You’re not running it under our team, right?”
TJ replies:
“No, screw it. We’re running it under Team Sinesian Rejects.”
Alauran laughs a bit at the name, before Jas says:
“Oh, this is for the shitbox rally, right? Well, I’ve seen the results of last year’s, why not paint it pink for good luck? It’ll cover up that Ilaris Service text at least.”
Seeming content with that suggestion, TJ gives him the go-ahead to turn it in to a thing of beauty…
4 Likes
Jacia boutta win over the entire rally group by teleporting in some portaloos
1 Like
Team Shift Happens & The Valentin Schrant Mobil Generator AB (VSmgAB)
Prologue, Part 1
(Incoming 2 part post!)
March 25th, 2023, Twin Suns Towing and Garage, Parking Lot, 11:34AM
A little over four months had passed since Valentin was last in the US of A, performing field testing with his steam-powered 80s wagon. Since then, a lot has changed.
First off, a second steamer has since been constructed, largely equal to Robert, but with a normal interior meant for normal-sized people. Regina, as said vehicle has been named, shall allow the “common consumer” (read: someone that is NOT Valentin) to test the vehicle and see if it has any chance of being practical.
For the Team of Shift Happens, business largely continued as usual, until distant rumbling of massive diesel engines could be heard together with the distinct hum of knobby off-road tires. Immediately, it was obvious that this was not one vehicle approaching, but multiple. Looking east towards Las Vegas, not much could be seen, barring a few cars heading away from Twin Suns Towing and a beige/ khaki one approaching, followed by what seemed to be a truck of similar color.
As the vehicles approached, they revealed themselves to be an entire military convoy, consisting of four HEMTT military flatbed trucks, each towing a fitting flatbed trailer, another HEMTT with a crane at the back and two configured to be a semi-truck. Ahead of these, three HMMWVs led the way.
Eventually, they seemed to slow down and pull over, stopping on the hard shoulder of the highway just shy of the Twin Hearts Racing parking lot driveway.
For a good two minutes, not much happens, barring the menacing rumble of 6 truck engines idling by the roadside until a somewhat familiar person wearing non-US navy dress uniform steps out of the front-most Humvee, heading across the road and approaching whoever was already outside on the Twin Suns Towing parking lot.
Kaylie and Kayden were “busy” with a couple of relatively normal looking cars on the lift, currently finishing up their oil changes when the loud military trucks arrived. Jayde seemed almost oblivious until it was clear that he had earbuds in and was listening to some music. Kasiya had glanced out the door and then gave, at least in Kivenaal’s opinion, a half-hearted excuse to clearly not be the one to deal with this mess at this time. With Malavera in the office and Takaraya out on the road on a roadside service call, that didn’t leave many options. Kivenaal sighed and walked outside to meet Constantin, wearing his dull-gray mechanic’s uniform and a pair of sensible work-boots this time.
“Good morning,” Kivenaal said, before taking a moment to actually check his watch, confirming that it was, in fact, still morning. “Hate to say it, but I don’t think our lifts are quite rated for those vehicles,” he quipped. “Anyway, I’m Kivenaal Khakrin-Marinseien, and this, as you probably could tell from the signs, is Twin Suns Towing. What can I do for you?” Kivenaal picked up the metal water bottle he had tucked into a pocket of his cargo pants, opening the cap and taking a long drink before putting it away, returning to studying the man standing in front of him. “You know, you seem oddly familiar to me.”
Before Constantin even addresses Kivenaal, he raises his right arm, drawing some circles in the air with it. Immediately afterwards, all the engines that had been growling in the background are shut off, followed by every single person sat within the convoy exiting.
“Good morning. Rear Admiral Constantin Schrant. Our arrival has been announced for today by the Swedish Navy and the United States Military. We are due to deliver equipment provided by civilian Valentin Schrant,” he sternly replies, having lowered his arm again.
In the meantime, a group of five eager soldiers trot across the road with Heckler&Koch G3 assault rifles in hands, lining up behind Constantin and forming an uncoordinated bubble there. Soon after, they are joined by the Army Motorists, one for each vehicle present for a total of ten. On top, a pair of familiar faces in Valentin and Norse also arrive.
“Good Morning, Kiva,” Valentin said as he made his way past the slew of soldiers in uniform.
Kivenaal thought for a moment, then smiled. “That’s why you were familiar, we have met before,” he said after Constantin introduced himself. As Valentin walked up and greeted him, Kivenaal grinned, then quickly replied, “And to you as well, Val.”
Kivenaal looked over the group of soldiers there, noticing the differences in uniforms between the armed ones and the Army Motorists, more for his own curiosity than anything else.
The radio on Kivenaal’s belt crackled before Takaraya’s voice came through, “Takaraya here, roadside rescue is done. Returning to base for lunch. Estimated time of arrival is 1200 hours.”
“Just a reminder,” Malavera replied over the same radio, “we’re supposed to have guests at some point today.”
Kivenaal smirked. “Well, he’s just as observant as he usually is.”
“Yeah we have a bit of a situation here now…” Valentin mentioned as the introduction stalled for a moment, “The starting area obviously is not here, we still need to fill two largely empty days and neither Robert nor Regina -or the carriages for that matter- are allowed to move under their own power.”
“You heard it, boys! We’re heading into town for a couple days. HEMTTs; pack up and head into town. Look for lodging with suitable space and report findings. The remainder stays here for the time being, but please get the cars off the road.” Constantin ordered, resulting in all ten drivers walking off again.
Shortly after, the engines sprang alive, with the HMMWVs turning across four lanes (two per direction) to enter the Twin Suns Towing parking lot. Somewhat neatly aligned on top of the lines due to the massive cars in use, the drivers return to the group while the bigger trucks disappear into the distance towards Pahrump, Nevada.
“Solved. Back to business. I am here to keep track of this bubble of dunces over here… Lodging for myself and the recruits is provided by Mr. Schrant aboard the ‘train’ he has for your event. Said event shall be used as an extensive training mission for our recuits over here.” Constantin sternly explains, motioning to the group of recruits being very far from serious.
“Yep. Got contacted by the navy directly for help containing you lot… Trip is already returning profits, which is nice since those carriages ain’t cheap.” Valentin added.
Kivenaal chuckled as Constantin, surprisingly efficiently, dealt with the convoy mess outside their shop. “Was about to say, if you really needed parking space, we’ve got dirt behind the shop, but… I wouldn’t envy anyone who’d have to ride to the hotel with Kaylie. I’m fairly sure she’s got the meanest modified '09 Grand Warden on the planet with 850+ horsepower.”
Kasiya had heard the engines start up and the trucks driving away a moment ago. Deciding it was safe enough, he racked up the mess of 50-pound weight plates he’d been using, put the hand bars away, then headed upstairs with surprisingly quiet footsteps for someone who weighed 500 kilograms. He ducked into the customer waiting area, then again through the already-rather-tall set of doors, stepping out into full view of Constantin, Val, Norse, and the five recruits as he returned to his usual 3 meter height. Of course, as soon as he actually looked out into the parking lot, he regretted his decision, seeing only one familiar face and the rest being complete strangers to him.
He looked for a reasonable way to leave without meeting the crew of military humans, but was foiled by Kivenaal’s quick thinking.
“Hey, Kasiya, got some new friends for you to meet,” Kivenaal said with a knowing smirk.
Kasiya nervously stepped closer, looking like he’d much rather go hug a cactus than interact with people he’d never seen before.
“Well, go on, introduce yourself,” Kivenaal said, nudging Kasiya with one of his four elbows.
Kasiya gave a light grimace, though managed not to show any teeth while doing so, before he said, “My name is Kasiya Wintermoon. I’d say it’s good to meet you, but… To be honest, all of you make me a little nervous.”
As Kasiya approached the group, Constantin could very obviously see that Kasiya was not comfortable for one reason or another.
“Mags out, secure weaponry,” Constantin ordered, much to the dismay of most recruits as they remove the magazines out of their rifles, storing them on their tactical belt in a pouch. They each racked the slide a couple times to make absolutely sure that the gun is empty, thus dropping a single cartridge out of their respective guns. As per firearm safety, they still considered the gun loaded, pointing the barrel at a semi-random bit of asphalt between the soldiers and their hosts at Twin Suns Towing.
“Greetings. Rear Admiral Constantin Schrant, accompanied by sailors Jacknabbit, Reynolds, Patel, Mullern and Dupont. Someone here should have been made aware of our arrival ahead of time…” he briskly recited, with each mentioned member nodding a little as he went along. The drivers, who were ignored either by accident or on purpose, gave a semi-serious stare towards Constantin, who returned a face of confusion.
“I… have no idea who you are. Lack of nameplates does that,” he admitted, followed by them introducing themselves with aggressively generic US-based names.
None of the soldiers present showed much of a reaction to Kasiya’s appearance, but Norse was in a state of awe.
“Njordal Eikeland… you’re a sight…” he muttered, investigating Kasiya as best he could.
Kasiya nodded. “The ones informed of your arrival are Kaylie, Jayde, and Kayden,” Kasiya said, pointing them out respectively to the best of his ability, though with his height, he knew there was a chance that his pointing might be a bit ambiguous.
When Norse spoke up, Kasiya looked over to him, then gave a polite nod.
Kivenaal chuckled, then mentioned to Norse, “Four months ago, he didn’t look quite like this. Then again, Kayden put him on a diet and exercise plan, and then Kasiya found out he’s more social in a gym environment than he is like this. He’s been my workout partner for the better part of those months, and I’ll be honest, half the time I was calling it quits before him.”
It was at this point that Kaylie finished with her car and walked over to the group, wiping the grease off of her hands to the best of her ability. “Good to see you, Constantin,” she said, giving a light smile. She looked up at Kasiya, seeing he still looked a bit uncertain, a little nervous, then back to the crew. “Well, it’s progress, at least,” she said. “Four months ago, he’d have bolted for the hills at the sight of you.”
“Can confirm. Was an even larger lanky bit of bamboo like i was.” Valentin mentioned towards Norse.
“You still are,” Norse protested, totally oblivious to the transformation Valentin has been undergoing.
“You shall see…” Valentin countered, grinning, only to be startled by one of the recruits cheerfully running off towards a forklift on the parking lot.
“OOH! A FORKLIFT!”, he shouts as he practically sprints over with all his 5’2" glory.
“Where the fuck are you headed now!?” Constantin blares, watching him take a seat between the blades of the forklift, grinning back at the group ear-to-ear.
“I wanna play with the forklift!”
“YOU ARE NOT PLAYING WITH THE FORKLIFT! GET BACK HERE!”
“But i’m comfy…”
“THIS IS NOT A TOY! IT’S AN ACTUAL PIECE OF LOGISTICAL EQUIPMENT!!!”
At this point, sailor Reynolds chimes in, attempting to help:
“Look, Arsenic. We’ll get the briefing done first and then you can play with the forklift, okay?”
“Aww… okay.” he replies, returning to the group in defeat, thus also leaving Constantin in confusion.
“Yeah… shit like this is why we are all here…” Constantin mutters as he stares down the shortest person present. He then returns to the hosts: “Is there a place that isn’t a parking lot, in which we could discuss formalities of our presence at your event?”
Kaylie blew out a long breath, then made a motion with her left hand that Kivenaal understood. While Kivenaal rounded up all of the spare keys left around much of their equipment, Kaylie said, “We have a video room downstairs, but that’s a little bit small for 16 people. However…” she stopped to think for a moment, then gave a somewhat malicious smirk, "If no one’s afraid of heights, I know Rukari’s made a bit of an outdoor lounge on the roof of Twin Hearts Racing. At last count, there’s 24 seats up there. 20 that could fit your group and weren’t specially built to handle some of our larger crewmates.
Kivenaal walked back around the building, then said to Kasiya, “Hope you don’t mind, but I gave the keys to Layara.”
“Well, I doubt anyone is getting those keys back without permission,” Kasiya replied.
Kaylie chuckled, then said, “If the roof isn’t a good option, our next best locations are either the starting area, or Takaraya and Kasiya’s place.” She checked her watch, seeing it was 11:49 AM. “If we can wait until Takaraya gets here and put up with him eating lunch during the meeting, that’d be better.”
Of course, Kaylie had only just gotten the words out when the low growl of a large diesel engine announced Takaraya’s arrival, the huge “Rescue Rig” turning toward the parking lot with the clank and clatter of tools in the integrated toolboxes. He parked up the truck, and having been notified of the special request by Kivenaal, removed the truck keys as well, clipping them to his belt as he dropped out of the truck.
Takaraya walked over to the group, titanium arms glinting slightly in the sunlight, carefully studying the group. He could tell they were military from a mile away, and that the person standing in front was of fairly high rank. As his eyes swept over Constantin’s uniform, his stride changed from easy-going, not a care in the world, to his old, precise military walk, carrying his frame tall and proud. He stopped, turned sharply 90 degrees to his right in front of Constantin, then gave an Earth-style military salute.
“Wing Commander Takaraya Wintermoon, reporting for duty, Sir.”
As Takaraya reported himself as being a Wing Commander, Constantin scanned his uniform in search for anything indicating rank or nationality. Upon discovering nothing that he recognized, he very obviously had a foul mood, followed by a face of doubt.
He just kept staring at Takaraya for the better part of a minute, trying to make sense of his claims, potential nationality, among other things.
Eventually, he returns the salute, instinctively calling out “at ease” as if he was a random Swedish Navy soldier.
“Uhm… roof sounds like a plan, i think…” he blurted out afterwards as he collected his thoughts again.
“YAAAY! Penthouse Parteeey!” one of the recruits chuckled from behind him, prompting some laughter out of Norse and the other recruits and another stare-down from Constantin.
As Constantin commanded, “at ease,” Takaraya let himself settle just a little into a more relaxed position.
Kaylie smiled, then grabbed the radio off of Kivenaal’s belt. “Kaylie here. Mal, let Rukari know we’re going up to the roof with visitors. Also, can you get the others to join us?”
“What am I, your answering service?” Malavera grumbled over the radio. “And give Kiva his damn radio back.”
Kaylie looked up at Takaraya and motioned inside the building, giving a malicious smile as Takaraya started on his path toward the office. She looked to Constantin and the others, then said, “I understand he’s having a bad day, but there are right and wrong ways to answer the radio.”
Sure enough, within two minutes, Takaraya was walking back out, calm as usual, carrying Malavera over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “If you keep struggling, Mal, you will get out of my grip and end up landing on your heads,” Takaraya warned, walking over to the tuning shop.
12:01 PM, Twin Hearts Racing, the Roof
With almost everyone now present, even (and especially) those who didn’t want to be, Kaylie settled into one of the chairs and looked at the others. “Pick a seat,” she said, motioning to the multitude of old automotive seats perched on various different height-altering materials. “Be careful, the vinyl is going to be a bit warm. Oh, and stay out of that one,” she added, pointing to one seat that was a little extra tall. “It’s for Kasiya so he can sit comfortably up here. You don’t want to be in it when he gets up here from the bathroom, one of the things we’ve been working on with him is when it’s okay to confront someone.”
Up on the roof, people went about claiming their seats.
Like a group of overly talkative classmates, all the recruits were practically sat on top of each other, with Constantin nearby in case stuff got too lively.
Valentin and Norse lined up on the other side together with the drivers, who elected to not take a seat at all, instead standing in a corner like misfit security guards.
“Alright. Previous experience tells me that the chosen route may contain hostiles. As such, we are bringing a number of weapons and associated systems for defense. With this being the US, armed civilians are expected to be participating as well. Though i am not sure how heavily they are armed.” Constantin starts, thus addressing the elephant in the room.
“If i hadn’t eaten one of your colleagues Van’s for dinner a year ago, i could’ve gotten a hunting license… My father has a restored Kar98 decorating the wall…” Valentin grumbled, garnering substantial looks of amazement from both Norse and the recruits.
“I got the news. Guy was discharged less-than-honorably before having left the hospital room. Last i heard he ended up working fast food retail…” Constantin commented, “Anyway. As evident, we are bringing rifles of various kinds, handguns a fixed-wing drone for scouting among other things. Heaviest we have is .50BMG. Low end is 9mm, disregarding a privately-owned compound bow.”
“Karma…” Norse mumbled with Valentin nodding in agreement.
Kaylie nodded. “Well, I can say with honesty that all of us carry. Some concealed, some open,” she said. “Personally, I carry a 9mm handgun, concealed. I’m a decent shot at the range, but I understand that, well… When under pressure, accuracy suffers.”
Rukari gave a light smirk and moved his coat just a little, showing a hint of black. “I carry two Desert Eagle, in .50 Action Express. Was one of few handgun that fit well in hands.”
Kaylie smiled. “Well, that’s Rukari for you. His English doesn’t get much better than that, but, when shit hits the fan, he’s a decent shot.”
“I bring shotgun this year, too. Not go wrong with 12 gauge,” Rukari added.
Kayden just simply chuckled before he said, “Colt 1911, hip holster open carry. .45 ACP, modified trigger guard for my hands. It’s functional and simple.”
Jayde shrugged. “I know it’s a revolver, holds 6 rounds of .44 Magnum, and it kicks like a mule. Other than that, I couldn’t tell you. I know how to shoot and can hit targets, but I’m going to be boldly honest and say that I hope I never have to make that decision. It’s not that I can’t shoot another being, but I live by a very specific code that says I am not to cause unnecessary suffering.”
Malavera admitted, “Desert Eagle in .44 Magnum as my backup, but I’ve been getting some range time in with my PGM Hecate-II in .50 BMG. Expensive as fuck to shoot, but I’m capable with it. Three-centimeter group at 400 meters. I know compared to you military folks, that’s not impressive, but, I did that from a crouch, not prone.”
Kivenaal chuckled. “I guess I’m probably the one who usually carries the most firepower in the moment. In my normal clothes,” he said with a smirk, “I carry four Smith & Wesson Model 500 Magnum revolvers. Yes, I can shoot one in each hand. No, I’m not giving a demonstration of that, either. For range, I use a lever action rifle in .45-70 Government with a precision rear iron sight, and to save my ears, I have it fitted with a suppressor.”
Kasiya then admitted, “I’m not currently carrying it, but I do own a revolver. It’s been rechambered in the same cartridge as Kivenaal’s revolvers, so it’s certainly powerful. I’ll be the first to admit, though, that I think I’m a miserable shot.”
“He’s better than he lets on,” Takaraya said. “As for me, my duty weapon is rechambered in .458 SOCOM. Yes, I have a rifle cartridge in my handgun. I’m also not bothered by recoil. I do have an assault rifle, I know how to use it, I just don’t like openly carrying it.”
“Yeah, and this big fucker,” Malavera grumbled, lightly shoving Takaraya’s left arm and realistically moving himself more than he moved Takaraya, “shot off half of my ammo the last time I gave him a box at the range. Thought the damn thing was semi-automatic. Had to cut my range day short because I didn’t have any ammunition left for the PGM.”
Takaraya chuckled. “Well, you did say I could keep shooting until you hit the target. Anyway, I also have a compound bow, 175 pound draw, but I use it for hunting and, well… It was part of my recovery process.”
“Three centimeters at 400 meters range is special forces territory. By that, i mean actual special forces and not the ‘special’ forces we have here. Sailor Dupont has shot 8cm at 100m. Granted, with the Automatkarbin 4 and not a sniper rifle,” Constantin explained, thereby annoying every recruit except Jacques, who proudly smiled at the compliment.
“Standard issue equipment consists of aforementioned AK4, chambered 7.62mm NATO and a 9mm Pistol 88. As far as i am aware, we also have various other firearms in stock for varied terrain and situations, but i’d need to check the supply list for specifics.”
“I am starting to see why everyone here wants to have a gun… If some people start, it will spread due to perceived safety…” Valentin commented, “I have shot a firearm exactly once before, at some hunting club. My wrists did not like the recoil at all, and that is ignoring the fact that i have stupidly large hands that need to go somewhere…”
Norse just waited for things to end, since he had absolutely nothing to provide to the firearm debate.
Malavera gave a polite nod as Constantin explained that he was actually in special-forces territory with his shooting. “To be fair, I’ve had a very long time to practice with various rifles at long range,” Malavera admitted. “And I’m pretty sure that, under pressure, Kiva here could out-shoot me.”
Kivenaal gave a light half-shrug, then said, “I doubt it. I’ve got the basics down, but I hate telescopic sights. And at those sorts of ranges, with my kind of weapon, you start running out of sight adjustment rather quickly.”
When Valentin mentioned that his wrists didn’t like the recoil the one time he fired a gun, Kivenaal smiled. “I can understand that. I’d guess you’re more of a rifle person, transfer most of the recoil into your shoulder,” he said. Remembering what Val had mentioned earlier, Kivenaal pulled out his phone and looked up the weapon, nodding with approval. “Yeah, Kar98k, not a bad looking rifle. Powerful enough to stop just about anything, bolt action, internal magazine. A very functional weapon.”
Kaylie, however, decided to move forward with the discussion. “Well, you know that we’re going to be armed, so, I suppose it makes sense to let you know the ones in our group who are most likely to be alert during the night. That’d be Kivenaal, who has some minor issues with sleeping, but has an incredible resistance to sleep deprivation, as well as Malavera, who sleeps every-other-day around here, and Takaraya, who follows a similar schedule, but sleeps less than Malavera. Of the three of them, I can pretty much guarantee you that Takaraya has the best visual acuity, even though he has some rather… significant issues with color vision.”
“He read the printers’ information off the bottom of an eye chart when we had his eyes tested,” Kayden admitted.
Kaylie then pointed out, “I’m not sure who handles your group’s medical needs, but, Kayden is our field medic. Hopefully his services won’t be needed in the field, but, he is trained and he’s capable.”
“Speaking of your group’s needs,” Jayde said, “We need to know what level of independence you’re requesting. I mean, if you’re fully self-sufficient, that’s perfect and settles this issue 100%, but otherwise, we need to know if we need to bring extra supplies.”
“Beyond first aid in combat settings, none of us are medically trained. Limitations to crew and cargo capacity prevented assignment of actual medics. I also have not been made aware of any medical training of allied civilians.” Constantin explained.
“When in doubt, more morphine.” William chuckled from across the roof, sending the others into manical laughter.
“Special forces…” Constantin mumbled in response while crossing his arms.
“I doubt it helps, but i got extensive first aid training far beyond what is needed for getting a driver’s license. Haven’t managed to get said license, but it did prove useful a few times…”, Norse commented, finally having a slither of hope in being helpful while also facing some discomfort as he remembered the last time this was the case.
“Can testify. He is the reason i am still around.” Valentin added.
Kayden sighed. “I’ll honestly state that I’m trained but not licensed. However, I do know enough that, in an absolute emergency, I’m still better than nothing. Combined with Norse having exceptional first-aid training, I’m confident that any injuries sustained will not be life threatening.”
Rukari nodded, then added, “He is reason I still walk, not roll around in wheeled chair,” he said, casually rolling up the right leg of his pants to reveal the light gray plastic and titanium limb sitting there. “Learned about two week after Val go back home that springs bite.”
Kayden gave a light nod, then explained, “His spring compressor broke and shot an automotive coil spring into his right shin. Completely shattered both bones. Fun thing about Rukari here, he’s got an unusual blood type and, with exception to his brother, there’s no one really around to match that, so I had to make a decision. I could risk his life to maybe save his leg, or I could take a lot less risk with an amputation. Considering that the only change Rukari has made in his life is walking with a heavy mahogany walking stick, I’d say I made the right call.”
Jayde admitted, “That said, we learned from last year that most injuries will be minor. Cuts, scrapes, bruises, that sort of thing. Norse will be much better at caring for those kinds of injuries than Kayden would be, guaranteed his bedside manner will be better.”
Kaylie smirked and replied, “You knew that you were going to be on crutches for a while after that corrective surgery, Jayde.” She then looked to Val as she knew he was about the only other person who she knew would understand. “Jayde was so annoyed with the compression sock that he asked Kayden for a solution to it.”
“Because it’s irritating to put one on. I don’t know how Kasiya puts up with two of them every day,” Jayde replied.
“I put up with it,” Kasiya said, speaking up for the first time in a little while, “because the discomfort of putting on and wearing the socks is mild compared to the discomfort of falling just because I stood up too fast.”
“To be fair, Jayde, if you’d have followed Kasiya’s example in the gym, you wouldn’t have needed that surgery, and might not have needed the sock,” Kayden remarked.
“So, formally, he is the most qualified medical professional here.” Constantin concluded, pointing at Norse in the process.
“Looks like it… Though without medical infrastructure, first aid only goes so far.” Norse confirmed.
Constantin felt a need to return to night duty for a bit: “For night duty, we will rotate in pairs for five hours each. Who is alert at what time will be decided on a case-by case basis.”
“Speaking of which, someone needs to periodically check fuel levels overnight. I certainly cannot get out of bed every couple hours without needing another couple hours to get going mentally,” Valentin mentioned in reference to the camp generator, “the fuel tanks should last until dawn if filled at sunset, but you never know, right?”
“Got it. We’ll incorporate fuel checks into the patrol rounds and notify you if needed,” Constantin said in response, procuring a small booklet and a pencil out of his pocket to take notes in.
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Kaylie checked her phone quickly, then said, “Looks like we’re also good on the “No Smoking” rule. I was worried for a moment that I was going to have to go into specifics, but no, looks like everyone’s agreed, no smoking in the camp.”
Kivenaal shrugged and admitted, “I can put up with no cigars for a while. And I’ll make Rukari eat his pipe if he lights that thing up in camp.” He then glanced over the various weapons the recruits had, then mentioned, “If it’s safe to do so in the area and you’d like us to do so, I have no problem setting up a shooting range. It’s something that, well, it doesn’t take a lot of time to do properly, but benefits everyone in general as long as it’s used respectfully.”
Malavera then said, “And by “respectfully,” he really means don’t be the assholes doing mag-dumps and trying to hit people with your shell casings, or the assholes deciding that they’re going to blow off a few rounds in the middle of the night. Seriously, you might think she’s harmless, but if you wake Kaylie up and we’re not in danger, I’d suggest wearing a cup to protect the family jewels.”
“If i cannot light one up in camp, what is in camp?” Jacques inquired, being the only smoker amongst the overseas guests present at Twin Hearts Racing.
“The power lines supplied to the various teams have a length of 100 meters. So i’d say that whatever is within a 100 meter circle around Robert counts as being in camp.” Valentin suggested, prompting some confusion within the recruits.
“Who’s Robert?” Mary inquired.
“…The generator car used to supply power to the camp. All the cables originate from there,” Valentin replied quickly, somewhat dumbfounded at how this piece of information was not known to everyone by this point.
“OOOOHHhhhhh!” Mary said in a moment of realization, having been wondering what the nameplate was meant for.
“Target practice seems appropriate, location permitting. We need to secure anything that is ahead of the marksman currently on the lane or lanes. That includes anything directly either side of them and behind the targets to be shot at,” Constantin commanded, with visible excitement coming from the recruits at the prospect of actual firing of weaponry.
Kivenaal smiled. “I always walk the range before I put any targets out to make sure I know what is in the path and make sure it’s safe to shoot into that area. When possible, I prefer dirt backstops, but if that’s not practical for the area, we’ll bring along plenty of wood to act as bullet stops. That’s on top of already using plywood target boards with paper targets, and hanging sand-bags behind said target boards to catch most conventional rounds. I take range safety very seriously,” he said, looking to Constantin. “If I don’t think it’s safe to build a temporary range there, I won’t do it.”
“Obviously, we’ll all have to provide our own ammunition,” Takaraya added. “We have a relatively limited amount of supply space.” As Jayde went to protest, Kaylie elbowed him in the ribs and shook her head once, before Takaraya continued, “Likewise, we’ll stay out of your ammunition.”
“If you use the range,” Kivenaal then added, “you need to clean up your spent casings, and I’d appreciate the help taking it down before we get ready to move camp the next day.”
Kaylie checked her notes, then said, “Looks like that’s all the concerns on our list to bring up. Anything you guys need to discuss with us?”
“There is one thing…” Valentin started, pausing for a little for dramatic effect, even if unintentionally so, “We have four cars. They need to get to the first camp from here, from the last camp back here as well as to and from the rails. The problem is that i cannot drive four vehicles at once, not to mention the fact that i don’t fit into three of them. Ideally, a radioman is assigned to each car when on roads to avoid ‘texting while driving’ problems,” Valentin explained.
“Four cars, you said?” Constantin asked, thinking of an idea on how to solve staffing.
“Yes. To be specific, Robert is the one i will be driving, with Norse acting as Radioman. The three remaining cars are named Rainer, Ramona and Regina. On rails, i can control all cars from the very front with no need for intervention by anyone within the other vehicles,” Valentin specified more accurately, completing Constantin’s plans.
“Alright, sailors! Atteeentioooon!!!”, Constantin blared across the roof, thus semi neatly lining up the five recruits, though it did take some time to do as it was totally unexpected.
“In Order, state the highest vehicle license you currently hold.” Constantin ordered to the recruits, himself getting up to face Johan, being the shortest member and thus first to start.
“Class C1E!”, Rohan called out, followed in order by Mary calling “C1E” as well, Jacques with “BE”, Hans holding a class “C” license and William finishing the callout shouting “A”.
Valentin joined Constantin in standing in front of the recruits, sneakily reading off of their name patches on their respective uniforms.
“Looks like Patel, Jacknabbit and Dupont are valid drivers license wise. Not sure about you, but i doubt you will be comfortable in any of the driver’s seats,” Valentin commented, followed by Constantin dismissing the solders to their seats again, mildly annoyed at how authoritarian the process has been.
“Well then… Patel and Reynolds to Rainer, Jacknabbit and Muller to Ramona, Dupont and myself to Regina,” Constantin added, also returning to his spot next to the recruits.
“Got that sorted, then. Just need to label the cars accordingly sometime.” Valentin mumbled.
Kaylie nodded, then mentioned, “You’d said to us, Val, that you might need a bit of time at the track to get people familiarized with the vehicles, so I had Rukari make an appointment a while back.”
Rukari smiled. “Did not know when you would arrive today, so, I schedule day at track for tomorrow. Track is yours for whole day. Well… Almost all yours. Other vehicle on track will be driven by Kasiya. He-”
“I wanted a bit of practice with my truck and the trailer I’m towing,” Kasiya mentioned. “Rukari scheduled it alongside your practice,” he added, glaring lightly at Rukari, clearly showing his light disapproval of that strategy.
“Will get you out of shell you hide in, might make friends,” Rukari replied.
“I won’t need all day to do that training. At worst, maybe two or three hours. It mostly is a normal car with some quirks attached to it. Though we could use the remainder of that day to gather more power tools, now that we have more manpower… and womanpower and 64 wheel changes per day to do.” Valentin countered.
“We will check available supplies today evening and have any additions shipped by the time the event starts.” Constantin mentioned, now that the question of power tools came up.
“We’ll just get the remainder from harbor freight or Walmart or wherever.” Valentin noted, as he did not have immediate access to anything the soldiers would be bringing.
Kasiya gave a polite nod to Valentin as he countered that he’d need at worst three hours to train the crew, and then intended to pick up some more power tools. “I can understand that. I’ll probably take an hour, maybe two, to get a good feel for how the trailer and truck behave together.”
“I’ll bring the other unit and trailer along, just in case Kasiya wants to practice hauling doubles,” Takaraya mentioned, smirking as Kasiya grimaced just at the thought of that.
Kaylie smiled, then asked, “Have we hit all the topics we need to in this meeting? I don’t mean to sound like I’m in a rush, but we do have tools to clean and equipment to wash.”
“Kasiya and I will take care of the HD-GV units. We’ll be more than busy enough with those and their trailers,” Takaraya said.
Kaylie nodded, then said, “Kiva, you get to clean the flatbeds. And make sure you get those burger wrappers off the back seat.”
“Eat lunch in the truck once and forget the garbage and it gets brought up for months,” Kivenaal grumbled.
“I will wash rescue truck,” Rukari said, knowing how Kaylie’s “game” was played.
“Good. Jayde, mind cleaning the two small wreckers?”
“I can. I’ll be the first to say I hate cleaning the towing apparatus, but I’ll clean the trucks,” Jayde replied.
Kayden smirked, then said, “Before I get voluntold, I’ll take cleaning out the office fridge. After all, last time Mal did it, he threw up in there.”
“I did not! I hit the trash can. And that was Rukari’s fault for leaving a fish dish in there until it went bad,” Malavera replied.
“Well, hopefully you won’t have that issue while washing the forklift. Seriously, you left it in the front of the lot again instead of parking it up, so clean it and then put it away,” Kaylie said. “I’ll clean up the tools, toolboxes, and lifts.”
“If anything else needs deliberation, we can gather again.” Constantin said, with Valentin and Norse nodding in approval.
“Meet you tomorrow at the track, then.” Valentin added as they all got up from their seats and headed downstairs.
With a mighty thud, the HMMWV doors closed with every member taking their seat, soon afterwards filling the lot with the rumble of engines and humming of tires as the group headed into town.
Not long after the military vehicles left, the Shift Happens crew got to work with cleaning up their vehicles and equipment, punctuated by moments of intense swearing as Rukari scrubbed down the completely filthy rescue rig, upset that his plan to get an easy job had been foiled by someone doing an off-road rescue earlier that day.
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Team Sinesian Rejects
Team information
Previous part (Part 0 - C’mon)
Next part (Part 0.67 - Wonderful pieces of sh-)
Part 0.34 - Behold!
March 14, 2023
“Grand reveal… behold!” Jas exclaims, lifting a dirty bedsheet off of a ute in a dramatic fashion. As the dust settles, the true colours of the vehicle show…pink.
TJ starts with a slow clap. “It’s beautiful,” - he states.
Alauran cuts him off. “…Why does it have a dick on the side?” - he blurts out. Following this, Jas loses it.
Alauran slowly shifts his attention downward, looking at what is clearly not pink paint.
“And…what about this?” - he says in the most deadpan voice possible. Jas seems amused by the question.
“Well, Al, paint’s expensive. Especially pink metallic, for some reason. I’m not spending another fifty bucks on a bucket of paint. Besides, it looks great without the bottom half covered in unicorn vomit.”
Alauran seems to realise he’s not getting a logical explanation for the crimes against paintwork and relents, letting out a sigh. Silence follows, before Jas breaks that up again.
“Oh, and Ianis has heard of the competition, and he’s interested, though he can’t get a clunker on the road and running by the time that it starts. So he’d like to join you two.”
Ianis was a bit of an third-,no, fourth wheel when it came to the group of friends, really only having stuck around for the car things with TJ and Alauran, making it a bit of a surprise he still wanted to join them in this event.
“Really? Neither of us has spoken with him for months.” - TJ says.
Briefly pausing, he continues: “…and besides, we don’t have any space in the ute for him anyway, since it’s a two-seater, and not a bench.”
Jas looks a bit saddened by the fact, but he’s not surprised, since he has eyes and has seen the interior of the thing.
TJ, seeking to cheer Jas up a little bit, says: “Well, I suppose, since we can enter two cars-”
Alauran cuts him off again. “You want to build another shitbox up?”
TJ scoffs, continuing on: “Well, if you didn’t cut me off I would have said that on my own. But yes. There’s plenty of junk in the junkyard that has a chance of running and driving. If we’re lucky we might even find a whole car. Personally I think it’ll be good if we all reconnect, so I think it’s worth the effort. Besides, we’ve got a few weeks and the rest of the budget to blow.”
“And,” - TJ says, “since we’re unlikely to find a one-seater, why don’t you tag along with us, Jas?”
Jas seems to think about the proposition for a while, probably considering the fact that he wouldn’t be able to play video games during that time, not seeing the fun in sitting in a cramped shitbox interior with questionable stains dating back to the stone age.
“…sure.” He mutters, after an uncomfortable moment of silence.
TJ then turns to Alauran, who has been standing, looking at his phone for the last few minutes. He nearly drops it as TJ asks: “And you? Think it’s okay?”
Alauran shoots his head up to meet the eyes of TJ.
“Uh… Yes, that’s okay.”
“Well, let’s go then.” TJ then gestures for the two to get in to the work truck.
It’s around noon when they arrive at the junkyard, the familiar face of the owner greeting the three.
“Okay, we should have discussed this while we were driving, but what exactly are you looking for?” Jas asks to TJ, who responds, “Well, something light and nimble will give us an advantage. The length of the rally is probably tempting a lot of slow, heavy and unwieldy executive cars. If we just sacrifice our health for driveability, we’ll probably be a bit faster than everyone else.”
Alauran nods, and Jas lowers his head before TJ starts walking.
“Most of these are garbage.” Alauran says. TJ goes on to respond: “We’re in a junkyard, what did you expect?” - they continue walking.
TJ then abruptly stops, looking intrigued at some wreckage.
“TJ, isn’t this just another wreck? The entire front end is bashed in. Surely we won’t be able to straighten that out.” Alauran says.
TJ, looking slightly offended, replies: “It’s not just some wreck, it was an Ilaris Imbe.”
Alauran doesn’t look convinced. “…and what’s so special about that?”
“It’s special because it’s made from the car equivalent of tissue paper. It’s weak, unsafe, but most importantly, it’s light. It’s called…aluminium.”
Alauran remains silent.
“Okay, maybe the tissue paper analogy wasn’t great, but you get the point. Imbes are light and nimble. We want this kind of car.”
TJ, after waiting for a response, of which he gets none, goes to look behind the wrecked Imbe to see for any more treasures. He then spots a red-coloured Imbe, this time with side collision damage, though the roof seemed to have remained undamaged, which could not be said for the white Imbe up front.
“We are in the money! If this starts I’m taking it home and none of you can convince me to do otherwise.”
The keys are conveniently already in the ignition, which he turns swiftly. After a brief moment of cranking over, the engine fires up, and gives a few sputters.
“Okay TJ, great that it started, but how the hell will we get this thing to…like…drive?”
“We’ve got two car carcasses, one damaged in the place that the other is not. We’ve got welding tools and a saw, it shouldn’t be that hard.”
Alauran, and Jas too for that matter, stand in a cloud of disbelief. Alauran eventually exclaims: “You want to cut and weld two cars together?! Made out of aluminium? What are you smoking, because I seriously need to get on that shit.”
TJ then simply replies: “Yes.”
“You crazy idiot, I’m in.”
TJ gets out a quick laugh, Alauran finally getting out of the shitty mood he was in for at least a brief moment. Jas on the other hand doesn’t really know what to think of it.
Returning to the shop, they immediately get to work Frankensteining the two car-cadavers back in to one living car. While Jas suggests painting it hot pink, TJ and Alauran declined. “It’s perfect how it is now.”, TJ says.
Neither of the two car’s fenders were entirely straight, so they cut them in two to weld them on at a different angle. By the day, the car became more and more messed up, but looked more like a car than a wreck. A mess of a car, but not a mess of a wreck. Eventually, the roof of the white Imbe came off and the roof of the red one went on.
Jas, understandably, was concerned about the safety of the vehicle, to which TJ responded by riveting on a few supports on to the weld joints, along with installing a rollcage, though he didn’t install any of the other equipment needed to not get yourself killed with a rollcage. Jas wouldn’t know anyway, and the benefit of installing it would be minimal anyway, since the structure would probably collapse somewhere else.
By the 27th, it was done. Oh, how beautiful it was. Fiberglass hood. Custom two-tone paint. Racing stripes. It was great.
“Alright, let’s call Ianis over. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see our work…”
Bit of a hasty one here, apologies for any poor writing. I ran out of time in the day. It's 1 AM :skull:
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Prologue
The Calm Before The Storm
February 28th 2022, 2:40PM
Kiovograd, Velkaristan.
A traitor had been found within the highest ranks of the military. The whole debacle began when Velkaristan’s neighbor country, Atlantea, was outraged that Velkarstani naval forces conducted an attack against their operations in the Amaeris Sea. After initial investigations, the Velkaristan High Council discovered that someone had ordered the Velkaristan Royal Navy’s Seventh Strike Group to launch an assault on the group, leaving an aircraft carrier heavily damaged, crippling two of its destroyer escorts, killing 10 sailors and injuring another 25. A total disaster, on an international and political scale, bringing tensions to an all time high. In the weeks following, the High Council, Velkaristan’s primary governing body, launched an investigation into the incident, which predictably stalled at least until someone found the traitor had made a critical error signing his real name on an official document.
As the sun bore down on the dry, wintery roads, A Velkaristani Government owned Leclerc 54X, rolled to a stop in the driveway of the Military Headquarters, directly adjacent to the staircase leading to the main doors. The passenger side rear door opened and from it, stepped Supreme General Landon Sabourne. He stood straight up to his full height, dressed in his military service uniform, which kept him warm despite the frigid temperatures outside.
Landon sighed sharply, his breath visible as a cloud in the icy air. He didn’t notice the car pull away, his mind elsewhere. The High Council had waited long enough, and so had the others. The others of course were the ones who shared the supreme rank with him. The Supreme Generals, Admirals and Air Marshals, they were known as. These were Alexey Kobylov, one of the only arctic foxes in history to bear the rank of Supreme Air Marshal, Supreme Admiral Frenando Ramos, a common red fox who was the oldest of the group, Eduard Dupont, a common gray and the other of the two Air Marshals, then there were the two tibetan foxes, General Xavier Denslington and General Marcel Braddock, then General Adam Stearn a red like Ramos and Sabourne but with a lighter shade of orange fur, and finally the other of the two Admirals, Keenan Torrez, an antisocial fennec. In total, there could only be 2 Air Marshals, 2 Admirals and 4 Generals at one time, making the total number of supreme ranking officers.
The Federal Building was the primary government and military headquarters, five stories tall, situated atop Ten Acre hill, in the heavily guarded Overseer Park across the Kiovo River from downtown of Velkaristan’s capital, Kiovograd. The location gave an unobstructed view of the city’s skyline from the building’s fifth floor. From the windows, it was an incredible view. Skyscrapers stood against a background of a cloudless blue sky and snow capped mountains, with the sun glinting off their glass windows. The triangular pylons of the cable-stayed Kasimov Bridge were in the distance spanning the mouth of the Kiovo.
The unrelenting overcast weather was finally gone almost as though it foreshadowed the conclusion of a political fiasco.
The traitor, on the other hand, had turned out to be the one Sabourne had suspected of betraying everyone, from the very start. But, this had been discovered a week earlier, and none of his fellow military officials knew of it because he had sent out an order to withhold the verdict, just to be fully sure that the traitor was indeed who Sabourne thought he was.
The two soldiers standing guard, flanking the main doors saluted the general upon seeing him before letting him through.
The huge doors closed behind him, gently returning to the closed position thanks to the hydraulic door closer, before the latch bolt clicked back into its position as well. On the other side lay the modern art deco lobby which always somehow impressed him, a large flag was painted on the far wall above the elevators, a red rectangle with three yellow stars in the upper left hand corner. But, he couldn’t pay much attention. The council and his colleagues were waiting for him.
Within minutes, the elevator arrived on the fifth floor and immediately, as its doors opened, Landon was greeted with the top floor lobby area, where down the hall and to the left, was the meeting chamber.
How could anyone in their right mind betray their oath and abuse their power to destroy international relations, with a neutral country no less?
Sabourne paused for a moment to take a deep breath before removing his peaked general’s hat, putting it under his arm and entering.
Almost immediately, Air Marshal Kobylov began expressing his disdain, in his signature heavy russian accent. “You better have a good reason for dragging us here, Sabourne. We’ve waited long enough.”
“Don’t fret about it Alex, There’s no need to. The wait is well worth it.” Sabourne replied, indifferent.
Kobylov sighed, but before he could speak again, Denslington, one of the two tibetans, interrupted him.
“I hope you haven’t wasted our time with this escapade. We gave you one extra week, and I expect that you have something admissible.”
From the shadows came a voice, from them emerging Keenan Torrez, the fennec. “Of course he does! The traitor is very likely going to be revealed. Isn’t he, Sabourne?”
Sabourne feigned a smile, but in his eyes, Torrez could see the discontent. “Yes, and you’ll be pleased to know who he is.”
Torrez, despite his height of a good six feet and two inches, still had to look up slightly to maintain eye contact. He scoffed and turned away, his left eye twitching subtly.
“That is enough.” A voice called from somewhere above. This voice belonged to one of the seven people on the High Council. In the viewing area above where the 8 military officers had gathered, there were seven shadowy figures, foxes of course, but no one could tell their true identity.
“General Sabourne, You have the results of your investigation, yes?” One voice asked.
“I do.”
The seventh voice then said one word. “Speak.”
“Understood. Now, as you may recall, the international incident in the Amaeris Sea was believed to have been orchestrated and masterminded by someone amongst myself and the other generals. Someone could say there is an imposter among us.”
A red fox, similar to Sabourne in age and physical appearance, then entered with a hand truck with three boxes on it. “This is quad star General, Jason D’Leon. He will be joining us, I hope?”
There was silence, and then a female voice was heard. “Very well.” it said.
“Now, over the past two months, I headed the investigation into the incident, and if I’m being honest it completely baffled me. For weeks, the only information I had was that Torrez and Ramos were the only two that had access to naval communications and that someone had forged Ramos’s signature on an official document. However, when I discovered that Torrez did not have an alibi for that period of two weeks, it all made sense.”
Torrez raised an eyebrow. “So? That doesn’t mean I was not at home.”
“Of course, no one saw you, which makes sense given you requested two weeks of leave.”
The fennec sighed and began pacing, making sure to hide his relief.
Sabourne glanced at him, before resuming. “Anyhow, It’s interesting how the traitor managed to pull off their plan and get away with a forged signature, only to completely give themselves away by using their real signature on the document to clear the attack order, not to mention the fact they tried, and failed, to frame a fellow military official. But wait, there’s more. I had several of his accomplices arrested, all of whom confessed and testified immediately.”
Dupont, the shortest of the group, joined the conversation. “Still, That doesn’t tell us who the traitor is.”
A sinister grin spread across Sabourne’s face. “That’s what I’m getting to. The fact still remains however, whoever tried to set one of us up, failed in covering up their tracks.”
Braddock and Denslington looked at each other and then Sabourne, somewhat surprised, but not looking any less judging. Of the two of them, Braddock was the one to speak up, motioning to the handtruck with his left hand. “So, there’s a traitor who’s fucked himself, pardon my language, by trying to set one of us up?”
Sabourne gave no reaction. “Don’t forget that he also used his real signature to sign the clearance document, and that several people who were part of his scheme ratted him out. Now, inside those boxes,” he pointed to the hand truck, “Is all the evidence I need to prosecute the treacherous parasite, not just for this act of treason. Oh yes, it goes back two years.”
Torrez seemed to be far more nervous than he usually was. But, Sabourne did not acknowledge it, instead walking to the hand truck and tapping the box sitting on top of the other two.
“In this one box, there’s enough evidence to prove that Admiral Ramos–”
“That’s preposterous!" Ramos broke in, his sharp Spanish accent cutting the air like scissors cutting paper. "There’s no way I would even think to betray my oath and my nation. How can you accuse me!”
Well, Ramos had been set up to take the fall, even if he had been a prime suspect at first.
“You didn’t let me finish, Ramos. It’s enough evidence to prove that you were who was to be framed.”
Ramos’ hazel eyes widened, in surprise and shock.
“The traitor is Torrez.”
The fennec froze and whirled around, his ears tensing and tail bristling with anger. “What! Are you crazy!? Ramos is clearly a traitor, I’m being framed here!” He exclaimed, pointing first to Ramos and then to himself.
“And that’s what you wanted us to think.” Kobylov said flatly, still standing at ease, on his side of the table.
Then, Stearn began, beginning to pace up and down the room. “Torrez, everyone knows evidence and testimony do not lie. From what I can see here, it looks like you left behind a mile long list of it in your desperation to shift suspicion onto somebody else. Plus, you yourself were betrayed by your own co-conspirators.”
Meanwhile, D’Leon, Braddock and Sabourne were sifting through the contents of the boxes. Sabourne listing off the documents he’d retrieved from the boxes, tossing them on the table in the room, each of them signed with a poorly done forgery of Ramos’ signature, one of them done unmistakably in Torrez’ handwriting. One document however, bore his actual signature.
Naval Combat Protocol A-77R.
“A transcript of a radio message you sent to the strike group," Sabourne tossed the folder on the table in the center of the room. “Combat Directive 0-421, signed with this pathetic forgery. A sail order for the Arcadius, again, the same pathetic forgery. There’s more signed with this false nonsense, but the one that screwed you over, was Naval Red Alert Protocol A-77R. Do you know what that means? It means engage on sight, leave no survivors.”
There were 8 items removed from the box, now on the table.
Torrez huffed furiously, his fur and tail bristling, his hands balled into fists.
The General sighed again, and then began to explain. “Maybe if you didn’t screw up trying to set up Ramos to take the fall instead of you, and signing the A-77R form with your name You’d have gotten away with it."
“Fuck you–.” It was all Torrez managed to say before Sabourne cut him off.
“Ooh, one more thing, I also discovered that it was you who was behind the attack on our motorcade a few weeks ago. Remember? You tried to have the Captain of the Arcadius assassinated. The goons you sent after us? Well, I can tell you, most of 'em were gunned down, though not before they wounded the captain. He survived, made a full recovery and testified against you the moment he was fit for questioning.”
Sabourne began pacing back and forth, both disappointed and disgusted with Torrez. "Only advice I can give you is, the next time you want to assassinate someone or frame your fellow generals, maybe don’t make stupid mistakes or, send thugs that would rat out their employer the first chance they got to save their sorry ass, to do your dirty work for you. Oh, but that’s right, there won’t be a next time, will there?”
Torrez’s anger reached the boiling point, and he lunged towards the taller fox. “Alright you fucking twit, come at me then!” But before he could lay a hand on Sabourne, Kobylov and Braddock grabbed either of his arms and restrained him. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you, you bastard! You won’t live to see another day, Sabourne, you hear me! I will end you!” He shouted, fighting the hold Highbridge and Braddock had on him, both of whom, despite being quite strong, struggled to restrain the slimmer, but heavier Torrez.
Sabourne stared him down, getting within inches of Torrez’s snout, the menacing purple eyes boring into the traitorous brown ones. “I ended you. You’re the one facing the firing squad, not me.” He hissed, being extra ominous.
Right at that moment, the Velkaristan National Police, and Federal Enforcement Agency operatives, entered the chamber, taking Torrez into custody.
Colonel Laurent, a military police officer in charge of the arresting group, walked over to him, and in a monotonous and professional tone and recited the one sentence no enlisted officer or soldier in the Velkaristan Armed Forces or even an ordinary citizen would ever want to hear.
“Keenan Torrez, You are under arrest for treason of the highest order, you are ineligible for trial and you will be executed at dawn tomorrow. You face the firing squad, unless requested otherwise.”
Torrez continued to try and resist, his attempts futile, and was handed over to the police before being taken away out of the room by two officers, accompanied by Laurent.
“No! Let me go! I’m being framed!” He shouted in defiance, as he was taken farther down the hallway.
Before Laurent left, he turned back to Sabourne. “You didn’t tamper with any of the evidence, yes?”
He nodded. “No, I’ve got a car waiting to have it taken to police headquarters. I will make sure it gets there.”
As Laurent left, Sabourne turned back to face his fellow generals, and Denslington was looking at him, between glances as he fiddled with his medals on his uniform. “You don’t have a car waiting, do you?”
A chuckle escaped him. “Yes, though it’s not an official one technically, I left one here yesterday. I’ll be using it instead.”
Denslington shrugged. “Very well.”
Meanwhile, Kobylov had walked up alongside. “Don’t mind him, he’s just relieved that you didn’t accuse him.”
A sigh came from Sabourne. “I wasn’t planning to.”
Shrugging, Kobylov went to leave the room. “It doesn’t matter, you did a great job exposing Torrez’s treachery, just make sure you don’t forget the evidence.”
Landon smiled. “That won’t be a problem. I’ll see you soon.”
With the business here now finished, the only thing left to do was pack up the car and head out.
In the parking garage waited a 2008 Mayland Ambassador GTS. It was a brilliant car, but it didn’t belong to him, instead it was his brother’s car, lended to him because his daily driver, a battered Westminster SUV, had jumped the timing and bent several valves, and left the car unusable, and very likely unsaveable.
D’Leon stopped short of the car while Sabourne popped the trunk.
“So, that means I’m on the council’s list to replace Torrez?” D’Leon asked.
“Probably, but the High Council has several other candidates on their list.”
“Won’t they at least consider me?”
Sabourne loaded the first box into the car. “I’m sure they will.”
The lower ranking officer smiled. “Thanks. Will you put in that good word for me then?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll do it when I get the chance. Until then you should just wait.”
The younger fox straightened his coat, stood at attention and saluted. “Understood, thank you sir.”
By this time, Saboune finished loading the boxes into the car, D’Leon took no time noticing before he grabbed the hand truck and walked back to the elevator.
The General watched his subordinate leave and sighed. He had potential, D’Leon, he was one of the most skilled soldiers in the entire armed forces. A natural born leader, empathetic, loyal, brave, courageous. He was probably the best candidate out of anyone on the council’s list to replace Torrez, but disputing the council’s decisions wouldn’t go very far anyway.
Sabourne shut the trunk lid with a gentle slam, walked over to the driver side door, swung it open, and climbed inside. The door shut with a resounding slam, the garage’s walls amplifying it. After some shuffling about in the seat, Landon shoved the key into the ignition, and turned it. The starter motor’s staccato cranking came first, and then like thunder, the V8 followed, its smooth burbling harmony filling the cabin, and the garage around.
Eventually, after navigating the maze of streets, the Mayland scampered its way up the entrance ramp to the highway, its V8 engine bellowing in defiance, joining the traffic effortlessly. Traffic was light, rush hour had ended an hour ago, but it still consisted of the usual regular commuters and commercial and military trucks.
Within 20 minutes, Sabourne arrived at the police headquarters, immediately spotting Colonel Laurent accompanied by his assistant. They didn’t say anything, simply taking the boxes away.
The next morning, Landon was wide awake, for he knew that today, Keenan Torrez would not breathe his last breath. The firing squad had been told to stand down because, late last night, Torrez had revealed that he was merely a pawn in a larger game, and in exchange for his life and witness protection for him and his family, he would tell the government what he knew.
It was on the orders of the council that this execution would be how they faked Torrez’ death.
Sabourned sighed. He had been awake since 5 o’clock in the morning, thanks to the hour and a half drive to the prison. A half hour drive to help a traitorous snake escape execution, it was a total waste of time mentally preparing to kill.
Dawn would be in 20 minutes, the sun was pretty much just about to come above the horizon. Torrez was walking what would have been his last mile by now. The mountains and the conifers that surrounded the prison grew more and more visible as the sun slowly rose. Right as the sun emerged above the horizon, a buzzer sounded and Torrez emerged from the building, in full uniform, his hands in handcuffs and accompanied by two soldiers, either of them clutching an HK G36.
They brought him to the compound, where the other seven of his former fellow military officials stood. He knew they hated him for betraying his country and weaseling his way out of being executed, but since he was a vital asset for the Velkaristan government and that they at least understood that he’d been coerced into treason because his family had been threatened, Torrez didn’t mind it.
Right then, one of the two soldiers that escorted him out of the prison, struck Torrez in the back of the knee with the stock of the rifle, forcing him to kneel. Of course, they likely had no respect for him, but those were their orders.
The fennec raised his head and locked eyes with the red fox towering over him.
“I said I would end you, Landon.”
Sabourne drew his Colt Anaconda revolver, pulled the hammer back with a quiet click and took aim, placing the barrel just short of Torrez’s forehead. Both of them knew the gun was loaded with blanks. If anyone was watching from nearby, hidden out of sight, they’d simply assume Torrez had been executed.
For maximum effect, Torrez would bite down on a pill containing a fast acting anesthetic just before Sabourne ‘executed’ him, which in turn would simulate death via gunshot wound to the head.
“I’ll see you on the other side, Sabourne.” He jeered, taking care to whisper, before biting down on the pill.
Sabourne did the same. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
Right then, he pulled the trigger. The hammer flew forward, striking the firing pin.
A resounding bang rang out in the calm of the morning.
Just a bang. No bullet had exited the barrel.
Torrez jarred, the anesthetic kicking in. He fell forward, landing face first into the grass.
Then, as per military tradition, a moment of silence was given, even though Torrez was not dead. But it had to happen, no one knew if someone was watching from the dense forest that surrounded the prison on all sides.
ONE WEEK LATER
Landon jerked awake, his alarm clock blaring, its harsh crow calls tearing up the serenity of the morning. The small timepiece chirped a total of 8 times before a furry fist slammed down on the snooze button, silencing it and sending it falling from the nightstand. The clock’s display read 8:25 as it fell.
“Shit!” Landon hissed, as the clock clattered to the floor.
Another morning, another day.
He rolled onto his back, blinked, and then rubbed his eyes. Home, or technically, his brother’s house. Outside the window, the lake was a mirror, and in it, the slightly blurred reflection of the surrounding conifer forest and mountains, standing against the deep blue sky, basking in the early morning sunlight.
The mornings never got old, peaceful serenity, especially with the distant sounds of the city and the mountain resort-like scenery outside the bedroom window that overlooked the lake behind the house.
The house itself was pretty large, it was built similar to how regular mansions were but it used log and timber details, resulting in something that looked like an enlarged mountain cabin, which evoked a warm, rustic feel. Every house in Mountain Lake Estates was designed like this, an oversized log cabin style mansion. The entire neighborhood consisted of these houses, all built for Velkaristani Government officials or titans of industry.
Landon laid his head back on the pillow, and yawned. It was one thing to be a Supreme General, but it was another for a general to live in a house that didn’t belong to him. Although, he could only dream of having a house like this. A general’s pay was decent, but not enough to sustain this lifestyle.
Landon’s brother, Andrew was not the type to leave siblings hanging, that was for sure. Especially if it was his closest brother.
Unfortunately, the only downside was that he was set up in a bedroom directly next to one that belonged to Andrew’s older son, Aryton, which on occasion, during the night, had muffled but still audible sounds coming from it. These sounds made Landon shudder to think about what might be happening, even if he already knew what was happening.
Regardless, he needed to get up and get ready, it was the end of a week long leave period.
March 7th, 2022 (Caracalian date + time: March 11th, 2022. 5:20PM)
Rural countryside, Caracalia, Panthiri System.
The sunset turned the sky a deepening shade of orange, dusk was in 30 minutes. It didn’t matter, the huge villa was in sight, still relatively far, but it meant the endless oil fields would start to thin out, eventually being replaced by the natural greenery and forests, at least until the plantations that dominated most of the landscape would take all that away.
Karl Von Heislingberg expertly piloted his Mayland Mark V along the unpaved dirt road, but paid attention to the gigantic, growling V8 that sat under the hood, or the speed limit. He needed to get home at all costs, even if he risked being seriously injured. His light athletic clothing did very little to keep him cool, but the adrenalin didn’t let that get in his way.
He had been at the family marina where he kept his yacht, helping with the planning for the new harbor office, when the call came through. Marcel only said it was urgent, but how urgent was it? Did their father’s cancer return? Was he dying? Was he already dead? Was the house burning down? Was someone cooking meth again?
The Mark V came flying up the access road, coming to a halt in the roundabout driveway, its front tires giving a quick screech from the sudden stop. As Karl got out and approached the entrance, the family butler, Mr. Warner was opening the mansion’s doors for him.
“Master Karl, It appears your family needs your presence, it’s imperative.” He said, as they walked into the foyer.
“I already know, Marcel called me. But, thank you anyway.”
The butler smiled and left as Karl went towards the stairs leading to his father’s study. Eventually, Karl reached the third floor where his two older twin sisters, Cheyenne and Camile were walking past.
“Hey, Karl. What’s going on?” Camile asked.
Karl shook his head. “I don’t know, I’ll explain later.”
Now on the third floor, he began walking towards the study. He glanced into Junior’s bedroom, no one in sight. Marcel’s bedroom, still nobody. Rocco’s study, and Harlowe’s bedroom, not a soul.
Alarming.
His paced increased, slowing down upon reaching his father’s study
Upon entering, his father, Ayren was sitting at his desk, examining an open book with a magnifying glass, while Junior was out cold in an armchair and Rocco, laying down on a nearby couch, read a magazine. Marcel on the other hand was in the bathroom apparently.
As it turned out, the urgent matter didn’t concern his father’s health.
“Dad? You called me?”
The elderly Caracal looked up from his desk.
“Ah! Karl!” He exclaimed, startling Junior. “Just who I wanted to see.”
Just as Karl took a breath and before he could say a word, Junior interrupted him, displeased at being awoken so rudely. “Father, do you really have to shout?”
Both Karl and Ayren shot him a slightly dirty look, to which Junior responded with a roll of his eyes.
Then Karl resumed the conversation. “You do realize that you can’t have someone tell me I’m needed urgently, and then not tell me what’s so important. I was worried that your cancer came back.”
His father’s ears twitched. “Oh. Well, my apologies. Yes, I called you here because I’ve got to tell you something.”
Just then, Karl’s mother, an elderly female caracal, entered the room. “I found my father’s old archeology journals and I discovered something. Something big.” She explained.
“And what would that be mother?”
“The Sacred Chalice.”
Everyone within the room and the nearby bathroom snapped to attention, even Marcel, who peeked out from around the bathroom door, shirtless for some reason.
“It’s real?” Everyone asked, almost in unison.
“It’s not confirmed but it is likely,” Ayren began, “and we have a rough idea of where it might be.”
Karl ran his hands over his ears and began pacing up and down the room. “Seriously? That thing? Everyone and their mother is hunting for it and you want to go after it, even after all these years?”
His mother nodded. “Yes. I found has worryingly powerful supernatural properties that could be dangerous. If it falls into the wrong hands the consequences will be immense. So we must retrieve it before it falls into the wrong hands.”
Karl had sat down. “Is that why you called me up here?” he asked, begrudgingly.
His father grinned, before grabbing a map and spread it over the desk. “It appears to be located on Aetherii, in Nehmenweld.”
“Nehmenweld.” Karl echoed. “I know that place.”
“Good. Once you get there you must find and pick up the trail your grandfather left behind."
Karl’s ears stiffened and he raised an eyebrow. “But, where does that trail start? From what I’ve heard that trail began there years before the fall, Gramps used time travel to get there, and not to mention Aetherii has been long dead. I’m not sure its coordinates are even present in the freighter navigation databases anymore.”
His father nodded. “That’s exactly the problem, those freighters are the only long range ships we have and even if we had the coordinates, we wouldn’t be able to land our ships there, because of the purple death fog. The only way that we could safely retrieve the chalice is to go back hundreds, if not thousands of years before the fall.”
“Okay. What about Erran’s treachery and the diplomatic situation with the Khalans, then? I’m not sure it’s wise to travel while that’s happening.”
“That’s been sorted. No need to worry about it anymore.”
A nod . “Okay, I won’t be coming up on the radars of Khalan bounty hunters any time soon, right?” Karl quipped, grinning smugly.
His father smiled, and shook his head. “No.”
“Alright, I’m going to go to my room and see if I can’t figure out a way to time travel and traverse the universe at the same time.”
Upon saying this, the caracal stood up and left, and began the trek upstairs to the attic loft that was his bedroom. Upon reaching the top a powerful feeling rose in the back of his mind when a voice began to echo, a voice that no one else but Karl could hear.
“It took you long enough. Seriously, you left me locked in here all day.”
“What? Did you trash the room again?” Karl asked, out loud.
“Of course not. When will you realize that I’m meant to be fiercely loyal to you? I won’t be destroying your stuff if you tell me not to.”
A sigh escaped the caracal. “Hey, you’re the one who decided to follow me out of your mirror realm and be friends.”
“Oh don’t be ridiculous, Karl, I know exactly why you got stuck in the in-between. If it weren’t for me, you’d be having issues getting back home. Don’t be so ungrateful.”
Another sigh.
Well that’s an overstatement.
“I heard that.”
Karl facepalmed, his ears drooping. Then, he entered into the room where, on the other side, a silver furred six legged wolf was waiting for him. It was known as a silberwolf, a canine capable of jumping through any reflective surface to enter different dimensions. Fiercely loyal, and friendly, and often mischievous. The wolf also had a name, Ramius.
The wolf sat there, next to Karl’s bed, panting, with his tongue hanging out, panting. “You could at least have the decency to have opened a window in here.”
Karl spoke up again, still speaking out loud. “The window does it automatically, it’s timed. Plus, I’m surprised that you didn’t jump through the mirror on the back of the door and go into your dimension or whatever it is.”
The dog seemed to lose confidence. "I thought it would be boring.”
“Then why complain?”
Ramius retracted his tongue and closed his mouth. “I, uh–”
Shrugging, Karl stood up and moved towards his desk. “No matter, you did a great job.”
“Thank you, I guess?” The wolf said, his voice still echoing in Karl’s mind. “Anyway, while you were away, you got a message.”
“A message?”
“Yes, a message. Ever heard of it?”
Karl rolled his eyes. “Let’s see what it is then.”
There was an email, delivered at 4:43 Caracalian Universal Time, from someone named Glasswalker.
“It looks interesting.” Ramius chimed, perhaps too excitedly, making Karl grimace.
“Can you calm down? You’ll give me a damn headache.”
“Sorry.”
The email said something about a “shitbox rally”, using a vehicle tuned for 85 octane fuel costing under 2k (or equivalent currency). Nearly 5000 miles, through a dangerous territory called… Nehmenweld!? Karl’s eyes widened, it was the perfect opportunity. He would be alone, and in peace–.
Minimum of two team members.
There went that plan, but maybe… What was it like in Velkaristan this time of year?
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Introducing...
Two cars rolled to a stop. The ground behind them smoked, and police sirens screamed, only to cut off in a heartbeat. Stinking of ozone and sulfur, the very air seemed to recoil, then rush in. For a moment, only the rumble of motors disturbed the silence; then they too stopped, and the steady tick of cooling exhaust was the last sound.
From the first car, a harlequin mockery of an old Korean wagon, stepped the littler of the two. Her dark hair fell in a long curtain around her, and she donned a wide-brimmed, comically large and cartoonish witch hat. With the motion of her standing, a purple cloak ensconced her, and she cast around a single, glittering and sharp eye, bright with intelligence and half lidded in a distasteful squint.
Her partner vehicle, the pink, short, yet much longer of the two, clunked its door open. From within unfolded a large, green chitinous thing. A pinkish facsimile of human hair, though in texture perhaps more similar to unspun silk, dangled from its skull. Eight red eyes, mockingly arrayed as though human eyes and hairpieces, scanned around at all times.
Pushing on the door with its single clawed hand, it rose to a height well above seventy inches, and its foot pressed into the earth with an ominous weight. Yet when it parted its mandibles, a manner of speech that ought to be impossible for such a thing, lipless as it was, echoed out. It was humanlike, raspy, but effeminate and highly pitched, with an echoing undercurrent of vibration that brought to mind the buzzing of insect wings.
“Kate, are ya… sure ‘bout all o’ this?”
“Yes, yes,” the first girl replied, evidently named Kate. Her voice was a mirror of the other. Smooth, smoky, and perhaps an air of deep exhaustion. She removed a watch from her breast pocket and opened it; seemingly satisfied with whatever she saw, she nodded. “There stirs here a confluence of space-time. Perhaps from all corners, through the odd angles even. The watch is ticking faster; participating in this may even get it half sprung.”
“And if we win…”
“Yes. That is why I must forge ahead, separately from you; your lovely countenance does you no favors in spirited driving.”
The taller creature couldn’t express its face; but the claws of its hand scraped along a chitinous blade, which stood in lieu of the right arm. Its thin feet shifted left, then right, and it cast its head around in a strange, erratic manner.
“I- I don’t wanna go alone, not for all these weeks.”
“Dear Octavia,” Kate replied, grasping the chitin that would, on a human, comprise the forearm, “You’ll be near me again at camp. Take your time and enjoy this world- it is young, hale, and not so tortured as our home and so many others.”
The creature nodded, and they clasped claw and hand in a familiar, long-practiced gesture. Kate squinted, eye gaining a little twinkle and dimples appearing at the corners of her upturned lips. A light tease entered her voice.
“Let us gather with the other competitors. Who knows, dear, you may even find a friend.”
Octavia harrumphed, and they got into their vehicles, puttering off towards the beginning of their journey.
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I fucking love them no joke
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Team Sinesian Rejects
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Part 0.67 - Wonderful pieces of sh-
March 27, 2023
As the orange glow of sunset starts to seep in to TJ’s workshop, the rumbling sound of a big-block V8 breaks up the tranquil silence. Pulling up to the garage door, Ianis climbs out of the imposing silhouette of a muscle car. He takes a bit of a moment to stand up before walking up to the door next to the garage.
Alauran , who is standing in the doorway, mutters: “Long time no see.” – eyes switching between looking at the muscle car and Ianis.
“Pleasure to see you three again. What have you all been up to?” – Ianis makes a small gesture towards the garage, eager to see the cars that were built for the rally. He waits expectantly for the door to open.
Behind the wall, TJ’s voice rings.
“You know, the usual.” – The garage door flings open. “Like that.” – he continues, pointing at the modified Ilaris Itan, furnished with ‘new’-ish parts and a fresh coat of hot pink metallic paint, courtesy of Jas, pink phallic-shaped blotch of paint standing out.
He goes on to make a dramatic presentation pose, showcasing the white-pink ute in all its glory. Seeing Ianis unimpressed, he pulls himself straight again.
Ianis looks disappointed. He shifts his cold gaze over to Jas, responsible for most of the exterior…styling.
“Honestly, I don’t know what I should have expected…but this is actually ridiculous. Pink? You’re joking.” – Clearly not being a fan of the new paintjob and graphics on the car.
TJ’s tone shifts a little bit. “Hey, that wasn’t my idea. Besides, it’s just as ugly as it was before. And why are you here to judge the looks? C’mon, let’s see how it drives.” – He shoves Ianis in to the car with a swift movement. Ianis tries to hold on to the sun visor, snapping it off in the process, and still landing face-first in to the driver’s seat. Jas, who is sitting at the computer watching the ordeal, tries his very best not to laugh.
“This is not funny.”
Ianis repositions himself, face either red hot with anger, embarrassment, or both at the same time. Buckling up, he starts the engine.
“Well, I can tell this definitely isn’t stock. Where’d you get that four-banger from?” – He says, trying his very best to hide his annoyance at the manoeuvre.
Alauran comes up with the answer, after some silence.
“You know those hatchbacks that nobody likes but nobody can complain about?”
“Those ACR Alakis hatches?” – Ianis swiftly answers.
“Yea, the X4-series engine from that. Boring as all hell, but it was the most reliable option that TJ could find in the wreckage.”
“Well, it better at least be an upgrade from the shit-spec V6-engine.”
Alauran thinks for quite some time before giving a little shove to TJ for him to continue talking.
“Well, we haven’t gotten it to the dyno, but the factory output should be 170-something horsepower, which should be a substantial upgrade from the 120 that the car shipped with. We have lost some torque though, but I suppose we won’t be using it for heavy hauling like it was designed to.” – He goes on to hit the bonnet, continuing, “And besides, the car will probably fall apart before the engine gives us hateful thoughts to out in to a tree.”
Ianis decides he’s ready to drive it, promptly throwing the slush box automatic in to drive, tires belching smoke as he spins them. Despite the dramatic start, the car is…not fast. He goes for a few corners around the lot, the car going sideways with screeching worse than a six-year-old being forced to go to bed playing Fortnite. Soon enough, he drives the ute back in to the garage.
Exiting the car, he closes the door, emits a sigh, then kicks the door in, leaving a dent.
“Wow, that car is a piece of shit. And it’s wonderful.”
TJ and Alauran are just staring, not knowing exactly what to say. Ianis continues-
“It tries to kill you at every turn. It’s comedic, almost, beyond the fear factor of being in a shitty car with no attention paid to safety that is about to slam in to a wall if you don’t do anything.”
TJ emits a subtle smile, pondering what to do now.
“We could just…put the sway bar from the back on to the front. That’d work, although they probably don’t fit perfectly. Nothing a hammer won’t fix, however.”
Alauran looks at TJ funny, before saying, “TJ, please continue being like this.”
Something then catches the eye of Ianis, who decides to lean over to take a peek.
“Okay, what the FUCK is that?” – He exclaims, eyes locked on the white-yet-red car hidden behind some toolboxes and welding equipment.
“It’s…err…well…it may have been two cars at some point. There is a small possibility of that.”
“Okay, but what is it, or what was it supposed to be? It honestly looks like someone took a cow and smeared blood over all the places where black spots were supposed to be. And why is there red scribbled in pink over the black hood?”
“First of all“ – Jas speaks up for the first time. “Don’t insult such beauty-”
Ianis cuts him off. “Strong words for someone who’s painted a dick on to a car and called it art.”
Jas stutters for a bit before relenting and shutting up. While they can’t exactly blame him for his reaction, TJ and Alauran are a bit dismayed by the insulting of their handiwork.
“…and you expect this shit to run for five-thousand miles? With a roof less strong than most soda cans? If I had to define a fucking liability on the road, this would be it.”
“Don’t judge it before you drive it.” – TJ says, defensively, as if the car is something he’s proud of. He gives it a smack on the black fiberglass hood, which promptly pops off of the clips that held it in, revealing the work that was done to the engine bay.
“Uh…as you can see, we cleaned up the engine bay, installed a skid plate, and greatest feature of all…we installed an aftermarket frunk.”
Ianis looks at the plastic container in front of the engine, intrigued. “…frunk?”
TJ turns to Ianis and narrows his eyes in to a death stare, muttering, “Frunk.”
“You’d be surprised at how much engineering went in to it.” – TJ goes and touches the heat shielding, which quickly reveals itself to be aluminium foil, as it tears pressing a little too hard. He pulls back his hand, pretending to have burnt himself.
He quickly goes and picks up the hood, and tries to clip it back in to place. After some minor struggling, which Ianis took note of, he manages to get it back on, then hopping in to the car, inviting Jas and Alauran to hop in the backseats while Ianis steps in to the passenger seat.
“Alright, let’s get this puppy started…” – TJ says, confident in his and Alauran’s creation.
Some…minor sputtering and complaints from the engine later, it fires up, and they rocket off with the engine billowing blue smoke out of the tailpipe.
“It came from the factory like that.”
“Yeah, and it came with all these stains from the factory too, I’m guessing. Also, why do you have a roll cage without harnesses and a HANS device?”
TJ whispers. “Shh…”
“What? I’m raising genuine concerns about everyone’s safety here.” – Ianis starts to raise his voice.
TJ snorts, holding in a laugh. “You expect the salvaged half-car Frankenstein to be safe?”
Ianis looks at TJ, a little frustrated, but goes on. “Well, at least, I’d fucking expect the ‘safety features’ you installed to not make the car more unsafe.”
“Your expectations are much too high for something that’s held together by weld jobs made at 4 AM.”
Ianis releases a deep sigh before slumping back in to his seat, seemingly defeated at the utter lack of giving a shit that the rest of the team is presenting. Well, there’d be no backing out without ridicule.
TJ throws the poor Imbe around corners at speeds which are definitely not legal, nor sensible considering the state of the car.
“It’s…got…sport tires!”
“They’re definitely bald, or not actually sport tires.” – Ianis replies, in a deadpan voice.
“It’s got shitty sport tires!”
“That doesn’t make it any better…”
Coming up to a corner with way too much confidence, TJ overcooks it and spins out, with them ending up on the wrong side, scraping the guardrail.
“Well done! Awesome! You managed to spin a front-wheel-drive shitbox.” – Ianis goes full ham mode on the sarcasm, throwing out a few more low-brow insults at TJ’s driving skill before he runs out of things to say and goes quiet again.
As the evening turned to night, TJ went to check the damage. It’s no wonder the Ilaris Imbe got a poor rating in crash tests – the bodywork was pretty warped from the run-in with the guardrail, which he promptly fixed by hitting it with a spanner until it looked ‘good enough’ again.
Jas then calls out for everyone.
“Guys, the entry needs us to take pictures of ourselves. Anyone up for that, or do I have to go and dig through my photos to find less-than-glamorous pictures?”
The light threat for (probably really old and manky) photos going on to the entrant list gets everyone to gather in the main car.
“Wait, we’re missing something.”
“What are we missing?” – TJ asks.
“The engine hoist needs to go on to the ute or it won’t be complete-”
Ianis interjects, “Then do it yourself, if you feel we need it.”
After much struggling to lift the hoist by himself, and with kind encouragement through laughing at him, Jas manages to lift it on to the ute, mostly. Not wanting to go and climb up on to the bonnet and moving it in to place, he decides it’s good enough half off of the improvised external roll cage doubling as roof rack.
CRASH
Ianis shoves himself to the side when the forward armature of the hoist comes crashing in to the windshield, leaving a great big hole in it.
Alauran, half in shock and anger goes to say: “Gah… was that really needed, Ianis?”
“You could have done that without crushing my lungs together, but okay.” – TJ tries to smile through it.
Meanwhile, Jas remains frozen, probably knowing that the next few days before they leave will be absolutely, and rightly, filled with ridicule.
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Finally a Bio on Jacia
Full Name: Jacia Valiara
Profession: Mechanic
Daily: Vietta SS-8
Personality: very much “be gay, do crime”
Backstory: ill keep it short for this. Basically a creature called the Warholmer attacked her home dimension. Her and the other survivors decided it would be best for them all to split up. Since then she may have won the lottery and fully restored a Vietta SS-8. Shes known Johnny since college, both taking a games design course. She is actually Johnnys maintainer
Favourite musician: GlitchxCity
Biggest Achievement: Driving from Russia to Spain nonestop
First Language: Russian
Favourite Drink: Caramel Latte
Random Info: she has tiny horns hidden under her hat
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Team Not-so Slow
Chapter 1, Part 1- Modding the car.
(goddamn i’m so rusty)
After some time of waiting for the parts to arrive after ordering them some time ago for the car, they eventually arrive in the mail, This consists of an better intake, some engine tuning parts and a bull-bar, why do they need that for? It just looks cool, Oh and the raised suspension, can’t forget that.
Matt and Izzy think about respraying the car. Izzy then disagrees, saying
“Blue works well on this car, leave the color alone, it looks fine.”
Matt then thinks about painting the car white like a canvas, looking a bit unimpressed at his own idea. After some back and forth, they eventually both agree on respraying the car. It might add a little bit of 
flair!
“Mhm, maybe if we spice the coloring up just a bit, just maybe, it’d look less plain, actually, what if we just keep it simple, a stripe or something you know, nothing overkill?” Matt says as Izzy starts sanding the car’s paint to get a decent looking paintjob, and then wiping it down after a while, and then priming it with some primer.
“Yeah, that could work. Actually, you know we should do this more often, it’s fun to travel around like this.” Izzy replies with a bit of enthusiasm to her tone. A few hours later or so, the whole painting process goes over, the car is in a nice shade of white. Matt then goes up to Izzy with a roll of duct tape to do the livery stripes with
Matt: I have some duct tape you wanna borrow, it does the job!
Izzy: Hm, surely it should work, right?
Matt: I mean, it saves a few bucks, but we could try.
Izzy: right.
Matt: Let’s go along with it and see how it holds up.
The two start working on various areas of the car, using black duct tape for the stripes, which could be probably be easier to vinyl wrap it, after 45 minutes of doing the stripes, Matt uses a stencil and spray paints the team number “42” onto the side doors of the car. And some other un-mentioned junkyard specials later. Looks like a downgrade from last year’s car, but it should be more reliable in the long run.
Matt: So, we’ve got everything we need?
Izzy then checks the garage, and then the car’s trunk for the things we may need later on during the challenge, essentials are in check, a car jack, a few bottles of coolant, some oil, brake fluid, brake cleaner and the tools, etc.
The new whip. Small changes, but it’s simple.
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Rules Update:
Following a discussion that happened on the Discord, the following rule has been put in place:
Characters should be 18+ in Earth Years. If you need an underage character, ask for an exception. You will need a reason for why this character needs to be here. Exceptions are not guaranteed.
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Originally written by @AMuteCrypt
Roleplay, Consent And You
There’s been a decent amount of discussions around this on the Discord, and I figure having this written up here is very valuable tool. Please note that this does not supercede any of the rules or requests of Madrias, Elizipeazie and the forum staff more broadly. Instead, this should be seen as a guide, a broad idea on how to get things running smoothly and to make sure everyone has fun.
Let’s take the tea and consent video. How do you go about making a cup of tea for someone? You ask if they want tea. Then, if they say they want tea, you make it for them and give them the cup, but you leave the actual drinking to them. Roleplay is a lot like that too. How do you roleplay making a cup of tea for someone’s character? You offer it in-character, they accept the offer, you describe making the tea, they describe their character drinking the tea. Who knows, maybe their character hates tea, or is allergic to caffeine, or… Makes sense, right? Similarly, how would you get someone to come take a look at something cool in your car? Would you grab their hand and force them over to the car? I hope not, you ask them to come over. RP is the same. Don’t describe the other person’s actions, don’t write it for them and force them to come over. Make an offer in the RP, let the other person accept. Don’t force them to. Make sure that the other person is involved in what their character is doing, make sure that they have agency.
This strategy of in-character offers works fine 95% of the time. Cups of tea, showing something cool, games of catch etc. The other 5% of the time is when you have things where there is a reasonable chance that the human on the other side of the screen (or a reader going through the thread) might be made uncomfortable by the content. Remember, there’s a human on the other side of this, a human who is just looking to have fun. Flirting and hitting on someone’s character, in-character abuse touching on sensitive topics, stuff like that can easily ruin the fun. In those cases, in-character consent is not enough - and it can be hard to get while making things feel natural. In these cases, make sure to escalate it to the actual human controlling the characters. Give an explanation of your ideas, talk it out, and be willing to accept no as an answer.
So, let’s say you’ve made a post with some touchy topics. Let’s say I want to make a post where a character is abusing alcohol. Good news everyone, the forum has a nice, simple way to give people warnings about sensitive content and choose to skip it - the [details] collapse. Put sensitive content in one of those, so that potential readers can choose what they want to read. If I don’t want to see that sort of thing with my cereal and coffee in the morning, I shouldn’t have to. A simple [details=“CW: Discussion of Alcohol Abuse”] makes everything much, much more fun for everyone involved.
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bold of you to assume im human
Really tho, this was a good thing to mention
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alongside this, my characters ages arent a problem, a 23 year old and two 45 year olds
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