Darkwind - Viewing Topic: Last Roundup

Juris
Hessians
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'Pretty Boy' Warren Moore wasn't so pretty anymore. 41 years was ancient in the post-Burn world. Moore remembered the birth of deathracing, and had been a legend back in the day on the track and with the ladies.
But then he'd lost an eye and hit the neoamphetamines and washed out after a bad mash-up on the track. He still had nightmares of the fire.
He'd been living on the streets until being picked up by the Hessians. He'd been brought into the office before Gen Pierce, who gave him a simple order with a kind smile - 'get yourself cleaned up and try to die before you get old.'
He'd done as she said - rehab in Elms for a couple months rid him of the habit. Then he was given a Moray and told to hit the road. He'd painted it green, like the one in Bullit - a movie nobody else remembered.

Now he hurt.

He cursed himself for his cowardice. He'd gotten away from a brutal ambush in Scattered Grounds. A Stingray and a Moray had suddenly just appeared 40 meters in front - how the hell had he missed that? He escaped by driving his car off a cliff - but then he'd broken his nose on the fall and surrendered. He cursed his lack of courage - he knew he could've made it clear if he'd just been thinking straight - but a punch in the nose would do that to a fella.

Then came the scorpions. He didn't see them at first as they were almost invisible against the red clay of the scattered grounds. He'd made for the high ground but they'd scrambled up the sheer slope like spiders. The first was only a couple feet away when he brought his Kalashnikov to bear - it tore a gash in his leg with its stinger as he sprayed it with bullets. It clawed him again before it went down. The second one got caught up in the corpse. Moore stopped running and swung around. "Least now I've got the balls to fight" he thought grimly.

It took three burst before the shell of the second one cracked open. Moore felt the poison coursing through his veins and knew he was done. 41 years, top of a hill, two dead scorpions at his feet. He staggered to the top of the hill and lit a fire. He could see for miles. The sun was setting, it was cold - both from the poison and the temperature. The guts of the dead scorpions were steaming.

He sat down and warmed himself from the fire. The hallucinations were coming on - his brain was probably on fire. "This is better than meth" he laughed.

He thought of all his victories, the ladies, his wasted life, his return. He'd won a single pro race after his return - the crowd had gone wild. Chanting his name.

One last thought - looking down at the dead scorpions. "I died a winner."

S8186

......................... vet wv pvp1 pvp5 pvp4 race1 zom pvp2 deathrce1 pvp3 combat1
Posted Dec 9, 2011, 7:07 pm	Last edited Dec 9, 2011, 7:09 pm by Juris