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Time: Late evening
Place: On the blacktop, between the lights
Who: Our hero and a mysterious vagrant
Why: Natural phenomena need no explanation
This story is as follows.....
We meet our hero on a lukewarm evening, in early spring. Weery from his daily duties the custodian of Corporation X's data-stores and training at a private indoctrination center, Captain Saturn makes his way through the halls and into the conveyance holding block to mount his mighty black steed. Some call it "Redline." The origins of these beasts are clamoured with riddle and fancy, myth and mystification. No one know where they come from. They only know that they "are."
Eager to return to his lodgings the Captain smartly enters the captain's seat, adjusts his instruments, fastens the restraints, primes the ignition for the preliminary engine engagement sequence, and makes it go for launch. The rumbling serenity of the powerplant is felt through out the cockpit. The acoustical pleasentries must be attuned to compensate. "ahh, lamb o god".
The Captain invokes the speed and accuracy of Mercury, carefully navigating an ever increasingly dangerous route to his destination that is littered with the flotsam that most call communters. These savage beings threaten their own existance. Their nature is chaotic and is self-depricating like the snake that eats it's own tail. Who can tell us what compels these mindless zombies into existance? Regardless of such dire straits our hero is never phased, ever focused on his task. Getting back to base without alerting the presence of the local authorities is priority one....except....
(Here is the first hand account of our hero's adventure)
It was a slow night. Training was a slight bore. I was rushing home to watch my soaps when the Radical Interloper Conveyance Engagment (R.I.C.E.) monitoring system detects rouge blip inbound from six o'clock. I pay no special, just gonna enjoy the road.
We come to a halt at a traffic light.
He must be using some type of cloaking mechanism, my R.I.C.E. system can't decipher the make of his transport. Oh I see...it's a Forward-Deflector made of carbon. There are no outward signs of aggression. No ear-bursting peacock mating call nor is he pulling forward to meet eye-to-eye. We all love a good stare down, but this one is positioned almost in my blind spot to throw me off. My instincts urge me to stay sharp, as this one might try to be sneaky and get the jump on me. No matter his tactics...we're ready.
The light goes green and then I hear the surge of his engine, i had already planned on taking off rather expediently, but this was an unexpected plus.
I feel him hook up and instinctively I methodically engage my thrusters, in a smart-manner as to not overload my polymer-traction-devices.
At 35 mph I hear the turbo-sneeze, almost as if it was saying, "achooooo!!! i don't know if I can handle this" Too bad for him, I had another 10 mph to go before I needed to upshift. This worked in my favor, for the slight stall in his acceleration allowed me to gain an advantage in this duel.
I was brimming with confidence when it became time to enact the 2nd-Gear Effect. This is when the beast is at its prime, hungry to consume. What is its favorite snacky-poo? Rice-cakes, of course!! Our advesary committed to not be bested by what he saw as an inferior opponent, feverishly gives it his all. The front end oscillates in a bitter manner when the beast tries to mate its feet with the ground. A thunderous roar overcomes the cockpit. The only thing that can be heard is the sound of the battle; nothing else exist. "ACHOOOO" We hear again. It's all or nothing now. Nothing holding us back. Full-throttle!!! With the tyres mated in holy consumation with the blacktop, THERE IS NO ESCAPE. WE JOUST AND CAPTAIN SATURN SHALL HAVE HIS GLORY!!
"achoooooo" says the turbo-powered vagrant
I'm still in 2nd, thank Hephaestus for tall gears, we've not yet met our 70mph limitation.
Were is he? I must have left him behind. Oh my, you could fit a bus between us. Did he prematurely accept defeat, or did he just bite off more than he could chew. Silly vagrant.
One thing is clear, he's definitely humbled. He trailed behind me far far away, not wanting to show himself after that pitiful display. I slow my chariot waiting for to acknowledge his folly.
Another traffic signal....good...we'll see what were up against.
SRT-4 badging...body style of a domestic neon...ahhh...a SUPER-SKITTLE.
Capt. S: Ho there!
That guy: Ho, Warrior! I've never been bested by the likes of these. Quick is your temperment, even Apollo would be worried. Praytell...what manner of deviltry have you envoked to attain such shrewd hurry.
Capt. S: Stage 2, my friend, mounted down with firm Bwoody, traction is all. Power is nothing without the guile to weild it
That guy: Aye...farewell, to you and your stag.
Capt S: May the wind be to your back!
Thus concludes our tale. Until we meet again...
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03-29-2007, 10:38 AM
Linear Mode
