[i]“ Listen here and you better listen good,” The man in the finely dressed designer suit looked upon him contemptuously in the darkness of the filthy room. He could barely make out the details in the gleaming beam of blinding light that washed down upon him like a shower-head. His captor slowly entered into the light and Mack always knew the familiar features that he’d been acquainted with over the past few months. A chrome scar cut across his forehead with brown-tawny hair that looked like it’d been cut apart by a razor. A torn ear that looked as if it’d been mauled apart by some sort of out-wall troglodyte. A beret rested on top of his head, stolen or earned, he didn’t dare ask. He barely had the courage to glance back up at him, out of fear at the leash in Lazlo’s sweaty ganic right hand. “ Tonight’s the night where Campbell either becomes king of the hill or us Zoners have to sweep the shit for the next 4 years. The night where I decide whether to cut my losses or to keep you alive. If I see you scamper back to the Stacks or cut your losses…..” A titanium-fibred hand tugged him by the roots of his hair and forced him to look up into his grimy face. He unconsciously struggled against his gel bonds, the tension causing the molecular structure of the binds to harden and his arms to snap back against the chair. Lazlo had a chunky e-cig stuck between his lips, the blunt end awfully close to touching his eye. You’ll be sipping out of a straw forever in a retirement home and for you, that’s your own version of hell. Isn’t that right….,” The gang leader took a drag of the tobacco-lined pipe, breathing in the tobacco fumes before grinning down towards him in a merciless sliver-toothed smile. “ OverDriver?” “ Now….” Lazlo took a squat remote out of his back-pocket, flipping open the trigger and hovering his thumb over one of the myriad of buttons on the device. “ Do you understand?” Mackwell Fordwell Sloane finally lifted his head up, anger burning in his belly as he gritted his reply out like a tire screech. “ Crystal.” [/i] [hr] [b]LOCATION:[/b] OLD RAIL STOP [s]AUTOSHOP[/s] - SOUTH CITY [s]REPAIR[/s] [b]DATE:[/b] 2064 [s]RPM[/s] - 11 [s]MPH[/s] - 8 [s]HP[/s] [b]LOCAL TIME:[/b] 19:00 PM [hr] [center][h2]>://OVER_DRIVER[/h2][/center] [center][i][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MV_3Dpw-BRY]We go all, all, all night long[/url][/i][/center] [center]Interacting with: [@OppositionJ] and [@Hour Error][/center] Dexter Campbell instructing him to drive down with a selected team to the outskirts of the Reclaim Zone to investigate the Old Rail Stop definitely didn’t fit Mack’s vision of what he would be doing on the last and final day of South City’s election process. Sure, it was no sweat for him to navigate through the hustle and bustle of traffic of the Reclaim Zone but it all felt a little fishy to him. After all, weren’t they technically interfering with the elective process by investigating possible interference in the election process without any warrant? Eh, who was he to act like he was a bastion of outstanding citizenship? Moving through Reclaim Zone traffic today posed a slight annoyance to him. Traffic had prevented him from reaching triple digits on the speedometer and Monica had been left wanting for the thick sweet aroma of burning ethyl and steaming rubber that only he could provide. There was only the odd drug-popping bokozotsu and hideously reckless driver (Only he was allowed to endanger others on the streets) that nearly got a rise out of him. Regardless, the arrival of Election Day had been a headache for him. He’d driven Campbell across and fro the Reclaim Zone for campaign speeches and publicity events more times this month than the course of the entire campaign. It’d been a slow ramping up of tasks that came with the duties of his job. All of the electro-jockeys and holo-casters had been debating about how Campbell would be the rightful ‘reclaimer’ of the Reclaim Zone. Now, every eye in every America Mega-City and more abroad was laser focused on Campbell’s and Gatch’s debate like a high-grade orbital sat. Although, something on the radio had caught his attention during the long drive to the Old Rail Stop. Rott had dropped out. Rott, the self-described defender of the common chromed up Zoner, was nowhere to be found or heard from. Maybe, his red ledger had caught up with him finally? Perhaps, that had been the reason for why Campbell had sent them out on this last-minute mission? Was it related to what they were investigating right now? Maybe that was what Cantos was - Oh right , Cantos was talking right now. Mack hurriedly turned down the electro-pop music playing within the confines of his Prism Helmet, slowly turning down the volume to the point where Cantos quiet voice was audible enough to hear through the audio transceivers inside his helmet. Cantos was being aggravatingly boring at the moment. He was the definition of bored right now. Mack’s eyes rolled underneath the featureless black visor of his Prism Helmet, rolling the soundless mechanical windows up and down in a monotonous rhythm to pass the time. One of his gloved fingers kept playfully tapping the side of the smooth rubberized plastic of the steering wheel as he continued listening to her enigmatic mumblings, his Tele-Path allowing him to interface with one of the many audio receivers laid in between the thick aluminium alloy plating of Monica’s chassis. Something about Cantos made him shiver with goosebumps every time she gave him a pensive look or stared in his general direction. Fixers. The very thought of Cantos spilling his secrets like a decker rifling through someone’s online pornography collection made him cringe inside. Fortunately, he didn’t think that wasn’t on his case yet nor knew that secret that nestled in his bones and joints, the secret that made him ache inside with nerve-wracking terror for the last 12 months. He glanced outside the window, looking at the destitute ruins of the Old Rail Stop. The abandoned light-rail station had been an artifact of previous attempts to upgrade South City’s infrastructure. Perhaps, it was some person’s last shot at bringing back some semblance of civilization to the teeming mass of disenfranchised souls here in the Reclaim Zone, souls that were preyed upon by degenerate gangsters and heartless corporations alike. The massive mag-level trains were collecting dust and rust in the empty rail-yards, some tipped over their side while others had been picked and cannibalised apart to sell on the market. Mack doubted that the city council had even placed an actual voting booth in the place to begin with. If Campbell didn’t win and Lazlo was forced to pull the plug on him, Mack had an contingency plan. A good one. What was it - Oh, right. Mack inserted a key into his front compartment, making sure that no one was looking before eyeing the plastic bottle that he’d bought through the Net. He shook it to make sure of the contents inside, something jumbling around in the inside. He knew what they were. Dart Pills. The seller told him the chemical compounds were derived off some stupid coloured frog in South America. The dosage inside the bottle was enough to promise him a painless death by shutting down his parietal lobe before degrading the entirety of the neurocytes in his brain in one instant. It took him time and effort to plan this over the last six months but it was a Hail Mary if he ever saw it. [i][color=Yellow]Please don’t tell me that you’re still dead-set on fridging yourself. There’s gotta be another way out of this.[/color] [/i] “ There’s no other way out, doll. There’s no other way.,” He repeated it twice like a mantra, as if it made all the sense in the world. 12 months. 12 months of begging the most vile of Ripper Docs for a way out of his condition. 12 months of trying to research on the Net to get out of his dilemma.12 months of keeping his mouth shut to the rest of the campaign team about his condition. 12 months of finding another way because the OverDriver always found another way out, no matter the cost. If Campbell lost, then, there was only one way out and that sure as shit wasn’t going to be spent rotting in some retirement home, forever paraplegic from feet to chin. [color=Mediumvioletred][i]“Well….let’s get to looking around. Maybe, we’ll get back in time to taste the cocktails of victory….or defeat.” [/i][/color] Unfortunately, Cantos’s joke didn’t lighten his mood one bit. He clutched the bottle tightly, his hand shaking slightly from the weight of the ultimatum he made to himself, before he gingerly placed it back. “ Look, doll. It’s better this way. Trust me,” Mack murmured to Monica inside his Prism Helmet, pressing a switch located on the back of the helmet to remove it. The Prism Helmet slowly unfolded, visor sliding upwards and the upper helm splitting apart in two, gas hissing out as the internalized pressures of the Prism fell back down. Whilst the laminate shell was insurance for preventing his brain splattering on the walls, it would ultimate obscure his sight more in the Rail Stop than help him at all. He set it on the seat left of the driver’s seat before placing his hand on the door handle to push it open. [color=Yellow]How long are you going to be gone for, babe?[/color] “ Not long, doll,” Mack grumbled as he opened the door, striding outwards. He walked around Monica, sliding his hand across her yellow-coloured frame as he made his away towards the back storage. He took the Street Shredder and his A.B.C out of a net mesh compartment that he hung on the underside of Monica’s storage boot, opening up the breech of the Shredder to make sure it was loaded before locking the depleted uranium shell back in. He then took four extra shells for insurance along with an extra flechette mags, inserting them into one of the many belt pockets in his trench-vest before closing the boot with a slam. It was Reclaim Zone practise to be armed wherever you went, even if he wasn’t expecting a fire-fight inside the Rail Stop. He hid the Shredder and the A.B.C within the depths of his trench-vest, the guns hidden from plain sight. He then popped out a banana flavoured carb-bar from one of the side pockets of his trench-vest, unwrapping the painfully shiny wrapper and tossing it on the ground haphazardly. Just another drop in the ocean of detritus and filth that accumulated over time in the Reclaim Zone like a infectious mould. He motioned for Cantos to go forward, locking down Monica’s main sub-systems with a thought of his mind as he let the hum of the Tele-Path bleed off into the crevasses of his mind, cutting the connection. With one last gander at his Monica, he turned back from his dream and turned back to the task at hand, chomping down on the sickeningly sweet food bar. The relentless pressure of addiction that’d been hammering down on his head for the last hour or so subsided. He thought for a moment about shouting out some sort of empty platitude such as “Be careful!” or “Good Luck!” but he’d seen Cantos in action before. The fixer had a little bit of street samurai mixed in her blood, especially with that fancy katana she waved around. She didn't need it. Eh, why not? It would most probably be his last words to her anyway if Campbell flunked out of the race. “ Ssh’tah shave, Kantosh.” He spoke out loud, crumbs falling out of his mouth, offering her words of encouragement. He watched her silently, continuing to eat his carb-bar, as her lithe form begin to slip down into the wayward shadows of the train station like a phantom until she disappeared from sight. He leaned back against the resting form of Monica, unsure of what to do. He was a devil behind the wheels, not a devil behind the rifle. In hindsight, sending out one razor-girl as part of the RailStop Crew wasn't a great plan. Divide and conquer was going to be their initial strategy but he was a devil behind the wheels, not a devil behind the rifle. There was only one other razor-girl that he knew and Sister Blue was currently out of commission. He grabbed his Prism for a moment, placing it on the front hood of his car before turning on the radio and connecting to the inter-linked radio that Delilah had built for them all. “ Well, m, glad that Cw’ampbell has sn’aken snh’e initiatife tah envastigate thas, - ” His mouth-filled mumblings paused for a moment to swallow down a bite of the pre-packaged snack before continuing to speak with a clearer voice. “ - but I think it’s just the nerves of the election getting to him. Rott drops out. Gatch’s riding on his tail-pipe every second. Honestly, I think it’s just paranoia.” He took a moment to clamp his teeth down on the chewy granulated bar of pure synthesized sugar rush. " Whaddya think we’re gonna find, Cantos? A big trap , a whole lotta crap or a couple of sorry saps?” He eyed the open front of the Rail Stop. Most of the silicate windows had been shattered, allowing for a couple of easy entrances into the innards of the train station. However, instead of approaching an avenue that was barred with shards of broken glass, Mack spotted a set of train sheds that connected into the main building. "I'm gonna wait for Weaver to arrive, " He spoke in the radio whilst internally wincing at the thought of having to talk with the outspoken anti-augmentation engineer. " In the mean-time, I'm planning to go through the front and meet up with you in the center, Cantos."