REGICIDE OR ROADKILL? - OVERDRIVER’S FIRST AND FINAL CRASH
The annual Death Derby 800 ended in tragedy today as the reigning champion, OverDriver, spun out of control in a fiery blaze on the sixth stage of the race whilst attempting a flick turn on the Car Czar. Caduceus officials have declined to offer any word on condition, with an official spokesman stating that patient confidentiality was of utmost importance.
“ Every turboblazer out there should be lookin’ at this like an opportunity.” Marco Santiano, known in the underground racing scene as the eponymous ‘Car Czar’, spoek during a press conference. “ The throne’s ripe for the taking. It’s just a manner of who gets there first.”
C:>/ver
FUTILITY V 2.01 [DRIFT_DEMON.exe]
C:>>> WARNING! ACTIVE VIRUS DETECTED.
C:>/attrib 0VER_DRIVER.inf
C:>/del 0VER_DRIVER.inf
PROCESSING…….
C:>/ERROR ERROR ER123132R4345O
His hand was shaking. Not his meat one but his metal one. He frowned. Strange. Augs weren’t supposed to be human bone and blood, full of imperfections, but cold metal, artificial, cold perfection. He heard some Hyperhuman sophist in the past that transitioning to áscendance’ had different effects on the soul and how acclimating you the experience could take time depending on past experiences. Phantom pains. The body denying what the mind had already accepted. Some experts pointed it to past psychological trauma being responsible for the phantom pains or choppy back alley augmentation techniques. Keah was more inclined to believe in the latter, especially considering the history of how he’d gotten the aug in the first place.
The OverDriver should have been gone just as his right hand was gone. He saw the crash along with a hundred thousand people through the live streams that day. The front hood was up in smoke, tumbling and spinning like a jagged storm of sharp and hurt. The last thing Keah saw was a Cacadeus EM van zooming up on the driveway before the video recording cut off. The psychedelic hellscape of the Duat made him seem more and more like a ghost, as the lurid beats of the shock jockeys in the background pumped up the rhythm, much to the enjoyment of the crowd of moving bodies.
There were very few things that could surprise Keah. His time in the Death Derby had weeded out any sense of shock remaining in him after the Pilgrimage. You couldn’t afford to let your guard down for one second on the towering asphalt of the Detroit Stacks. The former racer couldn’t figure out whether he was staring at a carefully constructed black market tech or whether he was suffering a bout of drug-induced hallucinations. Gaea Naturae didn’t manage to invent cloning technology yet, no matter how much the conspiracy buffs on the Labyrinth liked to crow about. Or maybe Duat was really the land of the dead.
He stared at himself through that dark abyss in the OverDriver’s helmet, his reflection glimmering in the depths of the polarized glass. Meanwhile, the OverDriver’s hand grazed the rim of a shot glass, the liver-curdling scent of his drink bleeding through Keah’s filters. For all of his quirks, alcoholism was not the Asphalt King’s most recognisable traits. Keah was wondering what other things had changed as the bottom half of the Prism Helm retracted to reveal a mouth, overgrown with peppery hair. Nursing the bottom of the glass with his palm, the racer downed the vile concoction in one movement, his head tilted back.
Something had changed after that crash. This OverDriver wasn’t the same one he tied with on the Detroit Stacks a decade ago.
“ So, care to join me for a drink?” The OverDriver lifted his empty glass up and shook it slightly, the ice cubes jingling against the sides like a bell. He nodded towards a shot glass to the left of him on the bartop. “ Don’t worry. Drinks are on me. Relajante, Demon. Does it look like I’ve got five Tinmen in the shadows waiting to fridge you? Sit down. 24 hour delivery service must be just downright tiring for a turboblazer like you.”
“ Pay’s good.” Keah lied.
“ I bet.” The OverDriver chuckles were like the coughs of someone on their deathbed. “ How many years has it been since we last met in Detroit? -”
“ We’re not in Detroit anymore.” Keah cut him off, impatient with his rival’s antics. “ Bio-eth grew out of fashion 10 years ago.” He crossed his arms, still standing arm’s length away from his former rival. “ What are you doing in the Reclaim Zone, Mackwell?”
That got a reaction. The hand gripped around the perspiring shot glass was paper white now, shaking. OverDriver’s “ I don’t go by that name anymore, Keah.” He repeated it, pronouncing it as if the name was a wad of chewing gum grinding in between his teeth. “Keah. People whisper your true name on the streets but you pretend that it doesn’t exist. Living as someone you aren’t. It must have been like tearing off your right arm.” His helmet then turned to gaze at Keah’s shivering prosthetic. “Oh, right. Your hand. You’re still sore about that, aren’t you? ” The OverDriver raised out a hand and gripped his shoulder like an iron vice, patting it firmly. “ What happened down in the Stateboard…... It was bound to happen eventually. I needed to get your wheels rusted a little.”
Keah brushed the hand off him like it was an ant. “ Answer the damn question.”
“ Why so defensive, Demon?” The OverDriver lifted his own glass towards him as an offering. “ Can’t we just talk like old frie-”
That was another one of OverDriver’s tendencies. Being a talker. He supposed that was how he became so popular with all the media hubs. Without a word, Keah snatched the shot glass from his grasp. A single twitch and his mechanical phalanges flexed, powderizing the shot glass into glitter that drifted away onto the dancefloor. “ You’re not my friend.” Keah grunted out. “Now, answer the question.”
“ Well, after I show you a little something, we’ll be friends in no time flat.” Sliding his hand into the innards of his greasy leather jacket, he produced. He threw a sheaf of laminated documents on the bartop. Physical information was a rarity nowadays with the advent of holo projections and Labyrinth info processors. Keah examined them closer. No, not any ordinary documents.
Pictures. Pictures of Samoans. Pacific Islanders. Polynesians. Islanders that were thought to have been lost forever to the neon tide. Faces frozen in pain, loneliness, desolation. In damp cells. In labs where they were prodded on. In chop shops where young children limbs were being replaced with metal and chrome. Guinea pigs. How long? How many had been lost while he stayed ignorant, racing about like a hooligan in the Death Derby? The supposed ‘ lies ‘ that were the foundation of Ark had been vindicated. His stomach churned, knees wobbling, as the frantic rhythm of the Duat's beats didn't help the broiling headache that pounded in his head.
it's not your fault. it's not your fault. it's not your fault. you could have known. just drive the fuck away from this mess. Keah’s nails bit into the meat of his palm, drawing blood whilst OverDriver sidled over, gauging Keah’s reaction, seemingly apathetic to the content of the pictures which he had procured. He then spoke out. Not in that calm, nonchalant voice that had been one of his most emblematic characteristics on the track, the ability to stay cool underneath pressure. No, it was strained. Like a piece of twine stretched to the point of nearly snapping. Desperate.
“ Have I got your attention now? Good. All you need to do is provide information for me on Petrukov’s campaign. On a need to know basis, of course. You’re her driver so try and make small talk with her. Find out her plans. Her secrets. Everything that you can possibly know and relay it back to me. In return, I’ll work something out with my higher ups. See if we can’t do a little pro quid quo, you know what I mean.”
The OverDriver flicked something tiny and twinkling towards him, Keah catching it in his palm. He looked at it. A platinum cred-chip with the logo of Amalgamation laser etched on the alloy. Keah looked back towards OverDriver, staring at his former rival in a new light.
“ A little million and a half should help you swallow it down. ” The OverDriver sidled over towards him “ So, what do you say- URK!”
Keah was never really a man of violence. He never really had the propensity for merc work that some of his other cousins in the Ark had. Still, there was a certain satisfaction feeling meat squish underneath your titanium fingers. The OverDriver was gasping, trying to gulp down precious oxygen, as Keah clamped his eight-fingered cybernetic aug around his throat.
“ Guess you don’t know me as well as I do.” Keah lifted the still gagging OverDriver and slammed his head against the side of the bartop. Keah heard the sound of something shattering. Good. The OverDriver groaned, his neck still pressed against the side of the table. “ So, where are my people?”
“ Where you’ll go soon if you don’t start cooperating.” The racer squirmed his head around to look up at Keah. The blue eye peering through the cracks in his helmet narrowed in a satisfied grin. “ Under my wheels.”
Just before Keah could ask what OverDriver meant, the dance floor screeched to a halt, its momentum stilling as something hammered the walls of the Duat, shifting the ceiling. Suddenly, one of the counters - where the famed UltraBartender of the Duat served - came crashing down, the wall behind it compacting and crashing down, bottles of oriental liquors and strange tinctures raining down on their guests. Keah could see a smooth ooblong chassis sailed through the air and flattened two unfortunate sods that were standing near to the Ultrabartender into gauche hood ornaments. As the dust settled, Keah could make out what exactly had invaded the sovereignty of the Land of the Dead. A Victory Ultra. Prototypical. Experimental. Only one model existed in the world and it belonged to the person whose throat he was crushing in his grip. The wheels turned and twin argon headlights focused in on Keah. 1,800 horsepower of ethyl fueled 2-ton titanium tore through the now screaming crowds and straight towards both him and OverDriver. Something was odd, though. There was no one driving the car. Keah just managed to let go of the OverDriver, diving out of the way. The wind knocked out of his lungs, Keah shakily stood up, watching as the OverDriver had now entered the driver's seat, both of his hands taking the reigns of the gull winged steering wheel.
" Like I told you once before, Drift Demon, you either have a quick death or live a quick dream if you want to live in this world." The engine suddenly roared up a notch as the OverDriver pressed down on the throttle. " Now, let's see which one you'll choose today."
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