NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is kinda invite only. If you want to be involved, please TGram me, or ask in the OOC thread. Thank you.

Compitition is the natural order of life. From the earliest fights over food, to the modern day sports events and elections, compitition is the single most prevalent human urge. Even the meekest of individuals have their moments of pushing against an outside force. It is natural, and almost important, for two forces at any one time to be competing.

The ground shook violently, almost as if an earthquake was striking. However, the vibration didn't come from the moving of plates beneath the earth's crust, but the raw power of the turbocharged inline six cylinder engine of a black Nissan Skyline GT-R screaming down Imitora's IH-5 towards Northampton. The car, making wel over 600hp, screamed as it slid past one hundred and seventy miles per hour. However, his opponent, a blue Acura NSX, still held a lead. By 200, the race was over. It had lasted just under a minute.

Imitora comes to life at night. Clubs open, restraunts prepare for their busiest shifts, and as the work crowd slowly snakes their way home from long monotonous days of cubicle life, the sportster in everyone comes out. It starts off small, a light to light race between two sedans, driven by bored, middle age, middle management workers. As teh sun slowly starts to set, the younger ones come out. Thier Honda Civics and Acura Integras buzz along the freeways and steets of the nation, challenging each other for dominance, money, fun, but most of all, respect. If your out in front, you lead. To lead, logically, is to not follow.

It increases in severity, and by the time the sun kisses the horizon, the younger crowd in their high thirteen, low fourteen second cars, take second to the real players. Massive horsepower Vipers, Cobras, and Z06s shoot it out over approximated quarter miles, fighting to see who has the ability to push their car to the limits of acceleration. On the highways, Supra's, RX-7s, and Skylines battle for dominance, weaving dangerously in and out of traffic, shooting into a break down lane to avoid a near collision, only to all be upset by the turbocharged ///M3 that none of them saw comming.

By midnight, the street culture of Imitora is in full swing. Parking lots are full, divided by invisable boundries. On one side, the wanna be gangsters and rappers show off SUVs and Pickups with wheels no smaller than twenty four inches, custom ICE systems that turn thier Caddilac or Mercedes into a rolling movie theatre, and hydrolic systems that shake the ground as large, old muscle cars bounce up and down. Loud rap music blared over the sounds of engines, and someone with well over 10,000 Imitoran Credits worth of speakers and equipment was winning it all, as TI's Motivation could be heard on the other side of the parking lot.

On the other side, the fighters sit. Warriors at heart, they live for one thing: the race. They could care less about the money, though a little bit of cash for gas is always appricated, or the respect, though everyone needs a group of loyal followers. No, all they want to do is compete. That is what they desire. They drive flashy cars, a rainbow of colors dot the parking lot as Porsches with color changing paint jobs roll through lines of BMWs, Mercedes, Toyotas, Pontiacs, everything. Racers sit, letting their cars cool from, or warm up for, a night of racing. Blow of valves hiss, exhausts roar. There is no such thing as stock in the minds of these warriors, no. To them, stock is simply going into battle unprepared. Their armor comes in names like AC Schnitzer, Veilside, Bomex, and StreetGlow. Thier weapons are called HKS, GReedy, SLP, and Apex'i. Thier steeds are called ///M3, Supra, Trans Am, and Viper. They are our modern day nights, and live for one thing, and one thing alone: compitition

"Good turn out, especially this early on Saturday. You gonna run at all?" a rugged looking man asked another sitting next to him. He took a long sip from his drink, which, despite a long, drawn out, complicated and Itallian sounding name, was simply coffee. He was dressed casually, a white button down short sleave shirt worn open, with a black fitting "wife beater" underneath. He had a slight sounther draw, and his jeans hung just to the top of well worn New Ballance tennis shoes. His curly brow hair was cropped tight, but long enough to let people know it currled. He was Thomas Gibbson, or to his close friends, just plain old Hoot.

The man next to him was the all but infamous Robert Fortier. Dressed equally as casually, a loose fitting Lucky brand TShirt covred his frame and Lucky brand jeans hung down to his Doc Martins, and his black hair was worn spiky. He was drank water from a bottle that had a fancy design on it, but it still tasted like regular water. He sighed, not audible past Hoot, and shook his head. "Naw, I dont think I'll be pushin it tonight. Lutz just got outa an over night, his dad is one hell of a lawyer. Suprised too, he was looking at about 10 years for reckless endangerment. I think I'll be taking it easy tonight anyways, almost got pinches last night right after Andrew did. Wanna lay low."

They sat at the mesh styled table, looking out at a parking lot full of race cars in street car guise. People wandered in and out of the lines of cars, peaking in, looking hard through limmo style tinting, and pearing into engine bays to look at the dressed up power houses of the cars. It was a car show that rivaled some of the professional events, and it was held every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night. Not to far from Robert and Hoot were two cars, a Royal Saphire Pearl Supra, and a Saphire Mettalic Black Trans Am. They watched them carefully, waiting for a challenge. They heard a noise behind them that sounded like a pissed off Hornet buzzing aroun a microphone, and a motorcycle made of Carbon Fiber, and branding the name Aprilia, pulled up next to them, almost on the side walk where the table was located.

"Hey Fortier, when am I gonna get to see this 'Bussy you keep talking about. You say its supposed to be faster than my baby here?" The man looked Mediteranian of some sorts, dark chisled features. His bike was a superchardged and nitroused Aprilia Mille R1000 RSV Factory, a VTwin sporting a carbon fiber body, and countless moddifications. He held the claim to the fastest bike in Imitora, but Fortier was convinced that once he was done, his Suzuki GSX-R 1300 Hyabussa would put the Factory to shame

"Soon enough man, soon enough."

"Aight. Well, I gotta roll, guy over here on a Ninja thinks he can run me. See ya."

"Take care man, and watch for the cops. Bike crimes are another five years," Hoot added.

"They gotta catch me first," the man replied, and soon the bike was out of the parking lot, with the neon green Kawasaki right on his tail.

Across from the parking lot, a line of BMW 545i Squad cars and 330ci Chase cars waited. The police didn't mind the imprompteau car show, but cracked down heavily on racing. One of the 330s pulled out to follow the bikers. The officer didn't stand a chance in hell, and Fortier suspected that one of the air units might be out eventually tonight. He sighed again, and reclined more into his chair. He rubbed his chin, scratching the light stubble.

"Ya know, we gotta do something. Like, something really big. Show the cops that no matter how hard they try, they're not getting anything done ya know? Hell if not that, lets do something randomly spontaneous and fun."

"We always do random and spontaneous shit. Lets do something not random for once," Hoot said, sarcastically.

"You know what I mean. Somthing big. Shit, when was the last time we drove to Jameston?" Fortier asked, refering to the southern Imitoran town that almost rivaled Northampton in size.

"Fuck man, dont tell me you wanna make that long ass drive down and back. What is it, 16 hours round trip? Entire fucking day just for a few hours of fun. Nah."

"Well, it summer here. Sun down is at 8:00, sun up at 9:00. Thats what, thirteen hours?"

"Yeah, I fucking hate that number too."

"So, lets make the drive in thirteen hours."

Hoot looked at Fortier confused. To make the drive in thirteen hours, a full round trip, would be difficult, to say the least. They would have to drive at no less than one hundred and seventy miles per hour the entire way, and even then, that would be cutting it close. He sighed, and stood up, walking over to the Trans Am. He lightly kicked one of the Z06 wheels, and turned, leaned on it very gently, and looked back at Fortier. The song was still playing.

"If we push it, we might be able to make it. But we'll have every cop from here to there and back, plus the highway patroll, watching us."

"Who said it would just be us. Lets get everyone on this. Lutz, you, me, everyone. Shit man, we could out number the cops."

Hoot sighed again. He knew when Fortier was set on something, its was in. He'd have to make some calls to other friends of his, get them in on this. He stood up from his lean, and walked over to a trash can, throwing the rest of his drink away, then back to his car, and opened the door.

"You call Lutz, tell him whats up, and I'll call some of my boys. If were gonna do this, we gotta do it right."

Fortier nodded in agreement, and he too approached his Supra, and slid into the drivers seat.

Moments, later, they were on the highway. Hoot, having left earlier, had near four car lengths on Fortier's Supra, when he looked up, and saw the blue Toyota screaming up on him. He downshifted, and slammed on the gas, the powerful LS1 V8 roaring, his rear tires breaking traction for a moment, then felt the power of gravity as he was slammed back into his seat. However, it wasn't enough, and the Supra continued its pull. Hoot could hear the large turbo charger screaming as the blue car sped by him. They took thier seperate exits, and began making phone calls to those who would be interested.

It took less than three hours before word of the event was on the internet. This would be an event that would put the gumball and cannonball runs to shame. The players run wouldnt even come close. Importation noticed that cars were slowly starting to come in with drivers on a more frequent basis. Search engines burned looking for information on how to get cars into Imitora, and may a higher up with a fast car who thought they had diplomatic imunity found their way into an Imitoran jail cell.

The date was set, the objective clear. There and back, from one end of Imitora to the other, in thirteen hours or less.

OOC: Go ahead and post your characters arriving, and we'll get this thing started.

Northhampton International Airport, Cargo terminal 13
The Antonov AN124's engines wound down, and the entire rear end pivoted aside as wide ramps powered down to the tarmac. The throaty roar of a semi heralded what a portion of the cargo consisted of and a tractor trailer rig slowly made it's way down. It's custom paint job gleamed in the early morning light, an irridescent green that was so dark it was all but black. A pair of million dollar palaces on wheels followed, similar in external decor, even their broad picture windows hidden behind custom tinting. The low profile 'space ball' antenas that sat between the skylight domes hinted at full satellite uplink capabilities.

The cargo master, livieried, like the plane, in the uniform of the Tanaaran Air Force, next waved out four passenger vehicles. Two were unremarkable but immaculately kept, 1987 Buick GNX's. The semi and the motor coaches had been handled by the loadmasters asistants. The two Buicks were driven down by a pair of causally dressed men in their early thirties. Their looks were similar enough to make one guess that they might be brothers, stair stepping the years.

The next turned all heads though, even stopping a cargo hauler rolling past as its driver stomped on the brakes and whistled. Mirror silver gave back fun house distortions as it flowed over curves or shattered in a thousand pieces at sharp edges. The true shape of the low slung body was hard to define, to visually break where materiel, earth and sky met and parted company. Then it moved, the wide wheels bringing it revolution by revolution to settle on the unrelieved dull black of the tarmac. The drivers door pivoted up to resemble the gull's wing that gave it it's name and the driver eased long legs out. Once free of the vehicle she tossed bright hair back, enjoying the freshening dawn breeze. It was going to be a glorious day she knew as she looked about, taking in the scenery and smells of the bustling international airport. She couldn't help a wide yawn and the stretch she gave had other wolf whistles sounding. She didn't blush but waved back with a absent smile.

The final car was almost as eye catching, done in deepest matte silver that shifted hues in the changeable dawn light, fading to a misty rose and artic blue that echoed the edge of land and heaven. It's gull wing driver door swept up to disgorge a petite lady dressed in bright caribbean hues that made her warm mocha skin glow. Dinah did so love color.

"Okay one and all, lets get the Hexx and the 'Breaker loaded" She clapped her hands sharply as Siam and Dani, who had left the plane via the passenger stairs, shambled up. The Antonov's passenger accomodations were nothing to write home about, leaving the living cargo stretching and groaning as they eased cramped muscles.

"Yass, boss" Came the ragged chorus as the rear doors to the trailer swung wide and the loading procedure, as careful as the one hours earlier when they'd loaded aboard the lumbering cargo plane, bagan. Hexx1 and the Spell Breaker had their remote controls activated and were 'walked' up the ramp to the loading frame, where they were carefully padded and secured, so that they rested just inches from the ceiling of the trailer. The rest of the trailer, below the cars, was filled with all the supplies one would find in a specialists shop. The doors were secured and sealed. Large amounts of money had changed hands for that seal, but then again, money had never been the object of any of those assembled desires.

Siam and Dani climbed into the posh captains chairs of the motor coaches, Dirk and Alton sliding behind the wheels of the GNX's, while Dinah claimed the drivers side of the semi. The Hexx's driver, having been up for well over forty eight hous collapsed on a spacious bed, asleep instantly, a stuffed cat tucked under her right arm.

On board computer mapping sysems guided the small convoy out of the airport and towards their desitnation elsewhere in Northampton

Two Days Later...
In the world of street racing, there were two classes, well three classes of racers. Old school, new school, and wannabes. Old-school drivers were seen in the muscle cars and their compatriots that were so popular years ago. New school drivers built their cars from the increasing quantity of import vehicles. Tonight, amidst the outer rurals of Imitora, one car rolled at the legal speed limit past several squad cars.

The driver turned his head to study the cars of the police and give a slight nod as they watched him. He turned his sapphire eyes back to the road as he kept moving. He smiled for despite the obvious upgrade of police cars these days, they still didn't have what it took to keep up with guys like him.

The engine of the '73 Camaro (http://groups.msn.com/_Secure/0UwCZAiMZPBF32rCJRQ8EJAGt1k0o1p!E1aX8TluffZq8wHmhsWDb!6l!j0SuwjXCCwaSeRKDjOb6LFHbZg5cECn5d!DEteuuHK1 yTWSfpfjjoZwImInyrfFeDTN6jWwk/73cam19514-A.jpg) roared suddenly at the edge of town, indicating its eight piston, 6 liter LS6 block was nothing to ignore. Tires ripped into the pavement as the Camaro suddenly lurched forward with stunning speed. Glancing down at the speedometer, the driver smiled as he saw the meter reach 60, 70, 80, and kept rapidly increasing. The CD player belted out Aerosmith's 'Sweet Emotion' to the rumble of the engine as the Camaro roared down the highway at a comfortable 110 miles per hour. The cops were nowhere in sight at the moment, and even if they saw him, catching him was another thing.

About twenty minutes later, the Camaro roared past a highway sign stating the city of Northampton at the next exit, two miles down the road. Slowing down, he attained the speed of eight miles per hour over the speed limit and held the car there as he rolled into the outer limits of Northampton. Looking around, he saw that this city was indeed a city for the nightlife. He smiled. He only hoped it was still as good as what some of his buddies back home had said in the quality of Imitoran racers.

To his right, a parking lot sat, chock full of souped-up cars and bikes, their owners not too far from them, or browsing the engine bays of other cars. Noticing an empty slot, he pulled into it in reverse and shut the engine off, but left the keys in the ignition so the stereo could keep blaring. Getting out, he adjusted the visor across his brow and walked to the front of the car, taking a seat upon the hood. He was silent as ever, watching, listening, and learning by the minute the rules of the road in this country, the traits of the cops. He overheard one hot and slender brunette talking trash about the highway police and their tenacity in catching racers. He raised an eyebrow as he realized he had gotten into the town with luck, if the cops were indeed as bad as this girl was spouting.

He looked around at the other cars and sighed slightly. No matter what anyone said, the imports never had the same allure of street racing as the muscle cars of old. They held their own class of power, their own respect, and ultimately, their own records of the road.

The brunette, Holly Lutz, former girlfriend of Fortier, finished her tirade about the Imitora police while warning a few younger looking racers, and began to walk back to her car. The other racers, both males, liked her for a bit more than her words of advice. Her tan skin reflected her Spanish ancestory, as did her fierceness. As she walked back to her car, a red Audi S4, she noticed someone was leaning against it. And it wasn't anyone she knew. Fights were common in the Northampton street scene. Most rivalries were solved on the road, but some just had to be solved with a right hook.

Her walk turned into a jog, and by the time she reached her car, she was at a full run, and dove out into a flying tackle. She slammed into the man leaning on her car, dropping him to the ground. As he move to stand, she drove her fist hard into his stomach, and tossed him to the ground. However, he kicked out his legs, catching hers with his, and she dropped to the ground. He jumped to his feet, and stood over her. A crowd had gathered and some people had started cheering by now. He was about to kick her in the ribs, when the fight upbruptly ended. Not becuae his concious took over, but becuase Fortier moved past the crowd, and grabbed the man.

His left arm came around the attackers neck, grabbing it tightly, with his right arm coming under the attackers right arm. He lifted him away, and tossed him to the ground effortlessly. The man came up to attack Fortier, head down as he charged, and Fortier side stepped, driving his knee up into the mans stomach, then delivering a violent upercut, breaking the man's nose. The man dropped to the ground, then stood, running off. The crowd disapated, and Fortier helped Holly stand. She brushed off her shoulders, and some dirt off her jeans, and just nodded at her ex. "Thanks," she said abruptly. She was fine, but her pride was hurt. Fortier contemplated follwing, but descided not to.

On the other side of the parking lot, Hoot approached the new commer in the Camaro. It looked like a regular 73, but sounded a bit differently. Fortier was walking over as well, just to see what Hoot was up to.

Hoot appriciated the old car and the power it probably held, and he too was a muscle car guy. However, his muscle came in the form of a 2000 WS.6 Trans Am. He approached, hand extended. "Hey, haven't seen you around here before. Name's Thomas Gibbson, but most people around here call me Hoot. Thats a nice 'Maro, but it don't sound like a 350. What ya got under the hood?"

Lance looked up as two men approached, one coming from the fight that the sexy brunette had instigated. He nodded silently as the one who called himself 'Hoot' introduced himself. Hearing the man's appreciation for muscle cars, he studied him for a moment before getting up and walking to the driver's side and popping the hood through the open window. He returned to the front of the car and lifted the hood, locking the bar into place and turned to Hoot.

"Why don't you see for yourself?" he stated cooly. He nodded with a smile to the engine bay and continued, "Ripped out the old block and put in the LS-6 block in its place. Six liter V-eight. That with a few other modifications brings it to about 555 horsepower. Just did a 1/4 mile run on the way into town, capped out to 11.5 seconds, without the nitrous. This baby loves to run, and run she does."

He stroked the edge of the bay with a hand, before turning to Hoot and extending his hand. "Lance Freeman. From the streets of Tarlachia."

Once the Spell Breaker and the Hexx had been off loaded at a short term leased warehouse, Dinah had given them a final going over. She would be taking the semi ahead to Jameston, the halfway turnaround point. Siam would trail her in one of the motor coaches, stopping near the quarter point with food, drink, first aid and most importantly - fuel and spares. She trusted Alton and Dirk, the teams junior mechanics to handle things, and knew if things got beyond them, not that much was, to yell for help. It was also her job to note road conditions and 'local problems' - things that the locals knew about but wouldn't bother mentioning to outsiders.

Mercedez Merrideath Hexx, Mercy, or MMX to friends, slept nearly tweleve hours, waking to a glorious sunset. A hot shower, a change of clothes, and a gourmet meal, cooked by her, and shared with friends had her in a ebulent mood.

"Alton, Dirk, you've got pictures of Fortier. When we find him, we find the fun. Dani, once that upload is finished, let me know."

The team's computer expert nodded absently as her fingers flew over the keyboard. "Right Mercy, I'll join you later with the landsat photos."

Dirk and Alton headed for the Buicks, while Mercy slid behind the wheel of the Hexx. It took them less than an hour cruising the streets of Imitora's capitol city to find their target. It was easy really. Their police band radios, chipped to the local frequency, had given them the location of the largest mass of police vehicles. Those watching the large parking lot filled with fourwheeled wolves in sheeps clothing.

"Dirk, Mercy, I've found us an opening not too far from where Fortier is now" Alton spoke into the lipmike of his cel phone as he slid the GNX into the large gap. The former holders of the gap were a block or so down the street, being frisked by the local cops. "And our info was correct, they are very agressive, it's like running a gauntlet."

"Have to do something about that, or the 'presence' will shut the fun down before it has a chance to get rolling" Mercy agreed as she turned into the far end of the lot and rolled past the display of cars slowly. With a smooth spin of the wheel she backed the Hexx in to the center of the gap. Dirk would take the far side, the two GNX forming a protective barriacde on either side of the Hexx.

Mercy kept a discrete eye on Fortier. for once the picture had actually looks like the person she grinned to herself. She stretched long legs clad in skin tight jeans so old and loved that Mr. Strauss's legendary fabric had faded as white and as soft as a baby's blanket, out of the gull wing drivers door.

Alton and Dirk pulled brightly hued folding beach chairs from the Buick's capacious trunks. The equally bright hawaiian print shirts did nothing to hide physiques that looked far more inline with swat operators than grease monkeys, but no holster bulges showed. The weaponry was discretely concealed in the cars currently. A table and ice chest followed.

Finished setting up space they nodded at Mercy and moved off, splitting up to wander about and inspect the competetion.

*tag for a decent read*

Fortier was on his way over to Hoot when he noticed a rather large gathering at one end of the parking lot.

GNX's? He thought to himself, noting the new presence. The Buick GNX wasn't exactly a pretty car, or a really refined one. It was a Buick after all, but the turboed motor in them could make serious power. He had had four GNXs come through his shop, and he had worked on all four. He hadn't seen these ones before, and he began to walk over in order to investigate.

Hoot, on the other hand, was fine on his own. He looked on at the LS6 sitting in the engine bay of the Camaro, and nodded. At 6.0L, the V8 had definately been stroked out another three tenths of a litter, not an easy task with the LS6. He looked around in the engine bay a few more moments, before turning back to Lance.

"Well Lance, its a pleasure to meet ya. Always good to see someone else here with a pasion for muscle. Mines the double oh Trans Am over there, LS1 with LS6 heads, plus a few more other go fast goodies," he said, pointing over to his car. He looked over his shoulder, Fortier had wandered off. "My buddy's around here somewhere, hes the one putting this all toghter. Probably looking at the other cars or trying to find his camera, wants to make a movie outa this. Anyways, this is one nice 'Maro, do the work yourself?"

Lance gave a nod with his reply, "Yeah, but I also had a few old dogs give me a hand." He smiled slightly, remembering Mike and Irving, the old dogs he had spoken of. They were true muscle car lovers, and knew so much about it.

He lowered the hood and turned back to Hoot for a brief moment before turning away and making his way toward Hoot's trans am.. "So...tell me about the local blues. Who's hotshottin' it? Who's a good ol' granny on the road?"

Reaching the trans am, he turned and gave a sly smile, "Let's see what steroids you're pumping into this beauty eh?"

Mercy fished her race book out of the minute stowage compartment behind the drivers seat, and suantered over to the beach chairs. Laying the thick leather binder on the table she sorted through the contents of the self contained portable fridge. Finding the bottle of her favorite late evening wine, a rich white from the Alsace region, Dopff & Irion Estate Gran Reserve, she pulled the flutes from their padded carryall and poured herself a glass.

Sipping it slowly she perused the book, which held the team's strategy on the upcoming effort. The data was raw, and chaotically presented as Dani had not had the time to refine it. However it presented a usefull over-sight on Imitoran roads, law enforcement, and other useful bits of information. The extreme sentences that were being handed down of recent on charges of street racing had her frowning. She began wondering how big a 'kitty' would be needed to be gathered for 'preventive maintence'.

Hoot reached into the car, and pulled the hood release latch. It sprung open, and Hoot pulled the hood to its full upright spot, the four "nostrils" pointing up, as if searching, sniffing the air for blood. The engine shined with its chrome dress up kit, mostly just polished parts really, and two custom made fuel rails covers did just that. Two braided chrome lines signaled the presence of Nitrous, and the letters SLP were branded prominently on many parts.

"Pretty much a full over haul of the LS1. General bolt ons by SLP, with an LS6 head. Got a real agressive cam by Lunatti, and the Zex nitrous. Best time was a high ten without the spray, mid ten with. The regearing of the back end reall helped out, gets of the line alot quicker, plus that B&M Ripper shifter makes those shifts perfectly."

Lance gave a slight whistle and looked over at Hoot. "Oh yeah...you and I are gonna get along quite well out there on the asphalt."

He heard the brunette hollering her pretty voice off at yet another wannabe not too far away. Turning, he leaned against the Trans Am and chuckled with a shake of his head.

"She's a turbo charged racer herself, ain't she? You know who she is?"

"They're my chase cars, Fortier" Mercy looked up from the piles of data as the Imitoran playboy stopped near Alton's GNX. She could see sudden suspicion in his eyes, and waved to one of the empty beach chairs.

"Yes, I know who you are, though we've never met. You might have heard of me, Mercedez Merrideath Hexx...or you might not." Her accent was definitely not Imitoran, but softer, perhaps a hint of southern U.S. mixed with something equally fluid. She raised the bottle of Dopff & Irion Estate Gran Reserve slightly, offering him some, as one hand drew out a fresh wine glass.

"Care for some?"

Hoot looked at the girl Lance was talking about, and chuckled.

"Holly over there? Man, shes a bit more than turbocharged. Shit, she's flat out nitrous injected. A little too fiesty for me. Spanish girls. She and Fortier dated for a while, three or four years. She was an ICIA analyst, did a bit of field work. That S4 shes so protective of is just a daily driver. Bone stock. Shes got another car she races, not around here tonight. I dunno if shes gonna run at all durring this thing, or if she'll just find some guy to ride shot gun with."

He watched as Holly, who could have a sweet disposition when she wanted to, chewd out some guy for checking her out. Her long brown hair fell gracefully around her shoulders, and even though it was a bit unkempt, it only added to her sex appeal. Her tight red super short sleaved tshirt and a pair of form fitting black jeans only showed off her frame.

Fortier turned to look at Hexx. He gave her a once over, and another one, before shaking his head to the wine. "Not a big wine drinker. Hurts my throat. The name's not familiar, and I can't say I've seen you around here before. Care if I ask what brings you to Northampton?" He knew the obvious answer, the race, but the chase cars meant a crew, and a crew meant someone looking for more than just a race.

"Besides the obvious," he added. Former military and INSA Black Ops contacts had informed him of some rather large aircraft arriving as of lately, including some off loading rather high dollar cars. Higher dollar than the hundred and seventy five thousand Fortier had spent on getting the Supra custom tuned, or the near two hundred thousand he had dropped into his ///M3 so far. "After all, with a set of chase cars, you had to get more than just one ride through customs. So I think your here for more than just a fun little 13 hour rally?"

"Actually I'm an agent of the Tanaaran government here to get a ground level look at your transportation infrastructure, before making a report on a invasion scenario."

She snorted delicately then gave him a look of such wide eyed over the top innocence that she had to laugh. Her deep crimson tailored camp shirt showed off her upper assets perfectly, and despite the dampening light of the parking lots hazy lights her golden blonde hair gleamed.

"Come on over and see what you're going to be up against."

With lazy grace she stood and sauntered over to the Hexx. Leaning into the lowslung car she made sure that he got a long look at even longer legs. Once she'd activated the release, the cover of what most would consider the trunk of the racer, rose on silent pistons and revealed a Chrysler ME-412, a quad turbo AMG V12, heavily customized and easily capable of a thousand horses.

The Veyron whined as Jalil slowed to legal limits – it lived for speed, it breathed road and spat dust…

“There, there, easy now fleet one, soon, soon enough.”
(http://www.rsportscars.com/foto/04/veyron03_02_1024.jpg)
His passenger slurped the last of his frostyice, wiped his blonde moustache off on his sleeve. “Jal, you know this is a car, it’s not like its going to talk back or anything.”
Jalil sniffed. “I hear her reply in how she handles corners, in how she runs her heart out on the straightaway…”
Zeker ‘Biff’ Guzman shook his head. “I’ll keep her running fine, Jal. Just keep your delusions to yourself.”
“You may laugh, my oily friend, but who has won the last five races we have been in?”
“Five races? I count three, including Dakar.”
“Five. Dakar, Monaco, Trada Skaros, New Roska, and Fairmont.”
“Jal.” Biff shook the cup, frowned. “Let’s be real here.”
“Real? What Real?”
Biff continued, nonplussed. “Fairmont was you running over two amateurs, which doesn’t count even if you wanted it to. And there was no race in New Roska.”
“Oh? And what do you call us, the highway, three hundred miles an hour…”
“And half the Rosian Highway Patrol after us.”
“We won, did we not?”
*cough* “If you call crossing the border at mach one ‘winning’.”
“I do, my friend, I do.”
Biff coughed again. “Hey, whatever floats your boat.”
“Indeed.” Jalil slipped on his shades. “And tonight, my boat will be floated once we take this challenge, and show it what a real man can do with it.”
“Whatever you say, Jal. There’s the turn. Looks like the competition is already here. We must be late.”
“Late?” That got a snort. “A Mash’al is never late – they would not dare to start without me.”
“Right. Ok. Just give me a few to load up the fueltanks before we start, eh?”
“Yes, yes.” If the conversation was not about him, Usman Jalil ibn Shu'aa na-Daanish Mash'al’s interest could be measured in milliseconds. “Put it on the card.”
“Gotcha.”

The Veyron horsed it’s way into the lot, engine whuffing in expectation… with a bound, Jalil was out the door – leaving Biff to swear as he brought the car to a halt from the passenger seat, a fact which Jalil was completely oblivious to as he cornered the nearest blonde.

“Hello, I am… Usman Jalil ibn Shu'aa na-Daanish Mash'al, perhaps you have heard of me? I race cars.”


While Jalil made his moves, a still muttering Biff swapped seats and moved the Veyron into the gas station.

“Best you have, and fill her up.”
“Right boss.”

Biff smirked as the fuel began to fill up tank two – he hit the pressure switch under the dash, feeding the fuel over to tank one, under higher pressure. When it topped off, a second touch put the feed directly to tank one, pressuring the feed into tank two.

“That’ll be…. Two hundred and…?” Biff laughed inside as the poor guy tried to make sense of it.
“No problem. You take Visa?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Great!” He hopped out of the car, tapping on the burglar alarm. “I have a few other things to grab, you mind?”
“Have to verify the card…”
Biff handed over his VCL Triple Diamond card with a flourish. “Sure thing, bub. I’ll be on your magazine rack when you’re done. You got frostyice here?”

Mercy looked up as another would be winner purred into the lot and her eyes went wide. That was one of the rarest of the rare, then her eyes crinkled and she had to bite her lip to keep from bursting into laughter as the driver leapt from the Veyron, like a leopard cub trying to make his first kill, and overwhelmed an unsuspecting blonde. He was instantly dismissed from Mercede's consideration with such antics and her eyes went back to the Bugatti as it wheeled through the lot and into the gas station next door.

"Oh my what a beauty" she commented softly to Fortier, as she admired the flowing lines of the car. The faintest touch of envy shown in her eyes, then a tiny frown creasted her forehead. That Veyron was taking on far too much gas. 'Some one's put in an extra tank. Very professional. I doubt leopard boy thought of that' she thought as she turned her eyes back to where the driver was still leching over the bedazzled blonde.

Grinning up at Fortier, she nodded slightly toward the driver. "Lets go find out who thinks one chesty blonde is more important than that" indicating the Veyron. She didn't bat an eye at the irony of the comment. She knew well how looks could turn men's heads, and had used hers to her advantage before...she just didn't think much of the men whose heads had turned. At the moment she was all professional driver, and serious competetion had just shown up.

Biff sucked at the blue frozen drink while he considered the Official Maps.

Not quite what our MAPSCO says... might be a few shortcuts the locals might not know about... cops might think we'll just stick to the main roads... hmmm....

"Hey, Pops? You done with my card?"
"Yessir!"
He's seen the limit maybe? "Great. Put me down for a refill, the map, candy bars, six-pack and six bottles... and this stack of reads."

Porn might have been normal. Maybe even the latest car magazines. Or comic books. But...

"Cosmopolitan?"
"Not really, though I like to lean that way."
"I meant... nevermind." The clerk dutifully rang up the pile of fashion magazines and 'scandal sheets'.
"You have any 10W60 oil? Two bottles. And two gallons of windshield wiper fluid. Got any skritchies? And a lottery ticket. Can you help me take it to the car?"

Trunkspace was a misnomer - the Veyron's 'trunk' barely held the purchases that didn't go into the passenger floorboard.

With slow certainty, Biff put his name on the offered paper.
"There ya go. Thanks again."
"Thank you, sir."
Biff gave a wink. "Sir? Eh, I work for a living. See ya on the flip side."



The Veyron purred and pranced forward into the mass of competitors vehicles, her silver lines dismissing any other car as lesser to her presence.



Jalil, on the other hand, didn't even notice the other drivers approach. "That will be just fine, a night on the town - let us say, in about thirteen hours? I should be right" - and his foot slapped the pavement - "here."

He smiled at his own joke as she giggled.

The blonde giggled playfully, letting Usman think he was a player. "Hello, I am… Usman Jalil ibn Shu'aa na-Daanish Mash'al, perhaps you have heard of me? I race cars" she thought to himself as he continued on, bragging about a toy that obvioulsy daddy had bought. Everyone here races cars, dumbass, she wanted to say, but decided against. She didn't want to hurt his pride, and have him go home and cry to daddy. After all, a splat as big as that car could make would be fun to watch.

In the gas station, the attendant acted freindly enough, but he all but scoffed when the man asked him to help bring his purchases out to the car. He worked the register, and that was all he did. The credit line was impressive, yes, but he had seen similar numbers, and even bigger ones. Money didn't impress him. After all, when your dead, money is just green paper that wont do shit. He wondered if any of the international competitors knew that Imitoran police were notorious for being one of the few entities in the nation that wouldn't take bribes.

Robert was still examining the quad turbo AMG motor. Their use of a bi turbo, as opposed to the normal idea of the twin turbo where one turbo spools the other, was one of the better ideas Daimler Benz had thought up. He looked up, saw the Buggatti roll in, and heard the hint of jealousy in Hexx's voice. "Compinsation," he said, then went back to examning the motor. He noticed that he was talking to Janice, a well known girl around the streets. Not known in the biblical sence, mind you, but known becuase her boy friend, who was currently doing his duty in the Imitora Colonial Marine Corp, drove a McLaren F1 powered by a custom made BMW V10 twin turbo making around 3500 hp at the crank. That translated into just over 2500 hp at the wheels. Ronny wouldn't be participating this year, as he was currently stationed at an Imitoran embassy.

Despite more intrest in the complex German motor, Fortier followed Hexx. It was bad form to check out someone's car when they were looking at another.

Just as Hexx approached Usman, a red Audi S4 rolled up. Holly called to Janice, telling her to get in. The blonde smiled, and winked playfull, despite her lack of intrest, and got into the S4 right as it rolled away. Hoot watched from a distance, still standing next to Lance. "Damnit," he said to himself, quietly, watching the S4 roll away. "Fortier wont like this."

Stopping to let the scarlett Audi whip past and scoop up the blonde, Mercy looked up at Fortier. "Compensation? Possibly, but I don't intend to find out"

Mercy's walk had become a long legged stride that had not a trace of sway to it, and her posture altered subtly. Fortier would catch it, he was quite familiar with how an officer moved, one who, unimportantly, just happened to be female.

Alton and Dirk faded out of the crowd, Alton heading over to the team's space, and Dirk manuevering his way around to discretely cover Mercy's back. The arrival of the Buggati was beginning to draw a crowd, as had the drivers hitting on an obviously well liked local.

"Good evening." Mercy's voice was cool and the accent now ever so slightly clipped, but she held out her right hand in friendly enough fashion to the Bugatti's young driver. "I'm Mercedez Hexx, and you are?"

Lance looked over to Hoot and asked him with a smile, "I thought you said she wasn't hookin' with Fortier? The way I see it...I like girls that play hard to catch...and, I've got the muscle to catch her..."

He glanced back to the camaro and gave a sly grin back at Hoot. He turned to watch as the Audi rolled down the way, its engine purring like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey. He smiled as he saw the liscense plate SHEDEVIL.

"Oh yeah..." he stated with a laugh. A thought slipped into his mind, momentarily distracting him from Holly's memory in his mind.

"Hey Hooters,"

That earned him a narrow look.

"When's this dance start?"

"Well, the way she just pulled out, I think shes off to get her other ride," he said. "They aren't but he still looks out for her. One of those kinda things, ya know?"

He watched the Audi pull out, and heard the German V8 roar as it took off towards the highway.

"Well, not to long here I imagine. I think Fortier wants to leave tommorow, so we can have the weekend for the race. Leave Friday, get back Saturday, party Saturday, sleep Sunday." And on Monday we be at it again he didnt add. "Of course, that's only my understanding."

He looked over as they approached a Buggatti. "Man," he said, looking at several high dollar purpose built race cars, "some people are really taking this thing seriously."

Lance nodded as Hoot explain Fortier's position with Holly. He kept pace as they neared the Bugatti. After hearing Hoot's comment, he replied.

"They can spend all the money they want, but sometimes, simple is best." He looked around at some of the other cars that were of lesser monetary investment, but still respectably invested in. "Besides, there's nothing like being your own grease monkey and knowing exactly how your ride likes to race."

OOC: Oh, that's how we're playing. Alright...

IC:

Jalil adjusted his shades, looking over the - feh - competition. "This may be a short race, my friend."

Biff looked out from under the dashboard. "Short? Well, thirteen hours. Not exactly endurance." He glanced around. "Where's sugarpants?"

"She? She was a lesbian." He inhales. "But you could tell, she wanted me."

Biff rolled his eyes and continued to work on the underside of the dashboard.

"You do not believe me?"

Biff's shaggy head popped up again. "Jal, I was there for Rome. I believe you. I believe you. I'll even write it down if you like. Please, let me finish this. These might be invaluable later."
"Yes, yes, whatever you say." He looked at the back of the card. "Removed the plates already?"
"Yep. They're in the trunk."
"Clever." BYEBYE read the back plate. "We are to be racing just like these common people..."
"Yeah, common." Biff's muffled voice came out of the plush interior. "Look, I don't know how long we've got, mind finding out?"
"But of course. Anything for you, my friend." He listened to the V8 yammer it's way onto the highway. Third valve is a little slow... and not enough brakes on that turn, just shy...


"Good evening." Mercy's voice was cool and the accent now ever so slightly clipped, but she held out her right hand in friendly enough fashion to the Bugatti's young driver. "I'm Mercedez Hexx, and you are?"

"Usman Jalil ibn Shu'aa na-Daanish Mash'al..." he took her hand and swept into a bow - but not quite a hand kiss as realization struck. "Mercedes, perhaps like the car, but with a Z? You are here for this... Cannonball Run?" She is here? Why is she here? Certainly not money... fame? Chase? Speed? Jalil racked his brain for the trinket's he'd heard on the circuits - legal and not so legal - while his english slid into "foreigner dialect mode"...

"Yes, with a Z" Mercedez's smile widened and her nose crinkled ever so adorably. Noting, with nothing showing on the suface, his minute freeze and grinning like a shark inside. Her voice was warm and appreciative. "You're Usman? I remember your win in the Dubai Challenge Series. I couldn't be there, just hated to miss it."

She took a brief glance at the Veyron, and turned back to the Vastivan, answering his question with a twinkle in her eyes. "It's a race, of course I'm here. Fortier, here, is the designer of the First Imitorian 13 Hour Challenge."

Making the introduction with the ease of long practise. "Robert Fortier, owner of Northampton Import Automotive Specialists, might I introduce Usman Jalil ibn Shu'aa na-Daanish Mash'al, of Vastiva"

She looked over at Fortier, and asked the question any number of people wanted the answer to.

"When do we start?

Fortier nodded off the introduction. He was giving his I'm an ass hole Imitoran attitude, an attitude that few could pull off well. "Its a pleasure," he said dryly, before looking at the Bugatti. It didn't quite understand why so far, two people had entered with cars that were obviously purpose built. However, he did note that the Bugatti had filled up on the regular premium fuel, not the high octane racing stuff it needed to survive with out pinging. At least the AMG quad turbo in Mercedes car could handle 92 without having timing problems. Then again, his Supra, even on high boost, could run just fine on mid grade, and if the shit really hit the fan, he could pour some of the slop 80 stuff in their with an octane booster.

"Nice car," he said, not allowing any emotion into his voice. It was something he had learned in the military. Normally, he was easy going, and fairly laid back, but there was something about these two he didn't trust. He had damn near shot Mercedez, after all, last time somone he didn't know called his name, he was in Iansisle, hunting down some paid assasin, and trying to get revenge. The other time involved a lawyer, and nobody likes lawyers.

He heard Mercedez question, and nodded. It seemed everyone wanted to know when the rolling would start. He looked down at his watch, it was just clicking past one thirty am. He looked over his shoulder, where some of the "rich" were standing, gaurding their SL 65 AMGs and ///M6s. A few even rolled out in the high dollar Ferraris, Enzos and near race F355s, and a few 550s. There were no Modenas, it was considered the "low end" Ferrari, and most Modena owners were ass holes anyways. A couple Lamborghinis were there also, a Murcialgo and two older Diablos. This was turning out to be a real compition. Fortier wondered how they would react when they found out there was no prize money or car or anything. The prize of "winning" was knowing you didn't get caught by Imitoran cops.

"Soon enough," he said, answering Mercedez's question, and looking back at the Bugatti. "But not yet. I recomend getting some rest, theres some decent hotels around here. We wont be starting till tommorow, give us the weekend to run the race. More party time afterwards," he finished. He shook Hexx's and Usman's hand, thanking them for comming, and excused himself.

On the other side of the parking lot, Hoot nodded in response to Lance's statement. "Exactly. I mean, I doubt half these people here even know how a damned engine works. Let alone an blessed one," he added, chuckling at his own rather unfuny joke. He saw Fortier slide into his Supra, turn the ignition, and start to drive away. The loud trance from a custom sound system quieted as he rolled up to Hoot and Lance.

"Hey, I'm headin home, gonna get some sleep before the race, got the info I need?"

"I'm gettin in now man, should have it for the...wake up," he said, nodding. "Oh, this is Lance, from Tarlachia, he'll be racing. Got a nice 73 with an LS6."

Fortier blinked. It was odd to hear of a clasic musscle body running new age motors. It sounded like an interesting car, and Fortier would be glad to see it in action. He nodded. "Pleasure to meet ya," he replied, nodding. "If ya need any help hear, just ask Hoot, I'm sure he'll be able to."

With that, he gunned the engine, downshifting, and lett the BOV hiss loudly as the large T70 turbo spooled. It whined loudly as he pulled onto the street, now devoid of squad cars, and quickly it rose to a scream as it began sucking in air, forcing more compresed oxygen into the motor, and by the time he it the onramp, now doing 125 miles per hour, it was at a full wail. For those in the lot watching, he downshifted, and let off the gas, the BOV hissing loudly again, and a ball of flame shooting out of the exhaust pipe.

Hoot watched as the Supra excelerated away. "Damn that thing is loud," he said. He looked back at Lance. "Well, I think I might head out of here to. Ya need a place to crash? I got an extra room, and I doubt Amanda or Cookie would mind."
_

*Several Hours Later*

The watch read 3:30am, and the three young men stood quietly outside a non descript building. They were dressed in jeans and black sweaters, and one held a video cammera.

"And...we're going," the one with the cammera said.

The leader of the bunch stepped infront of the cammera, his black curly hair making it look as if he had a mask ready to be pulled down. "Hi, you may all know me by now as the one and only Andrew Lutz," he said, giving the cammera the hand gesture known only as 'the shocker'. "Tonight, we're here at the Northampton county sherrif substation, where they keep some of these fine pieces of equipment known as squad cars. Can you say that with me kids? Squad cars," he repeated slowly.

He back walked to the door of the substation, and held his hands out, as if holding up the words 'Northampton County.' "As some of you know, my boss, and good friend, Robert Fortier, has put together a 13 hour race that goes across our fine nation, and comes back. I, Andrew Lutz, shall be documenting this fine race. Using these squad cars here," he said, pointing to the line of six BMW 545i's, "we will first attempt to simulate this race. Ready?"

The cammera man nodded, causing the cammera to follow his nod.

"Ok then, GO!" he shouted, and Andrew along with the third man took off running. They leaped up, onto the hood of the first squad car, then jumped, from hood to hood down to the last one. "FIRST LEG DONE!" he shouted as they ran and touched a tree, and turned to run back across the cars. Andrew lepped onto the trunk this time, and repeated the actions, leaping from trunk to trunk, leaving good sized dents. When he reached the last car, he lept onto the roof, and started dancing.

"And thats how you do it folks!" he said, dancing in a little circle on the roof of the car. Suddenly, a light came on inside the station, and voices could be heard shouting. "Shit!" Andrew swore loudly, and the three "young adults" took off running. Andrew jumped on the back of a pink Suzuki GSX-R 750, and put his hands around the driver, obviously a female. "Go!" he shouted, and the motorcycle took off.

The other two jumped on a Honda CBR 750, and as the driver reved, the passenger, the cammera man, turned and held up both middle fingers to the police officers, now outside chasing after them, waving their flashlights eradicately. "FTP!" he shouted, as the driver sped off.

"What the hell was that," one officer asked another. He was cut off by the cursing of a third officer.

"Oh fucking hell, look at the cars!" he said, as they turned to see their squad cars, heavily dented on the hoods and trunks.

Usman Jalil ibn Shu'aa na-Daanish Mash'al had one word for Fortier - Loser.

He gave a simple shrug, got into the Veyron, sealed up, and headed out into the night, at legal speeds.

For about forty-five minutes.



Sixteen hours later, the Veyron pulled into a private drive not to far from the race start. As the garage door slid shut, Biff stretched himself awake and rolled out, ready to add some more adjustments to the car itself.

Jalil, on the other hand, went up to the bedroom suite, stripped, and fell into a deep sleep. The night had been entirely uneventful - dark, quiet, depopulated.

And most importantly, he mused as sleep claimed him, no cops that way.

An hour later, Biff took his first break - a working break, but not anything he wasn't used to. It took a few minutes to retrack through the secure servers, add the code buffers, then to use the HSI Screamliner series to hack out local and highway police report functions.

By the time he was done with "lunch", he'd confirmed it - they hadn't been seen, noted, or bothered with.

The laptop broke connection and folded up - there wasn't the slightest worry about detection, having bounced through nine thousand separate servers - including two which wouldn't exist in.. four, three, two, one....

He grinned, finishing off the last of the chocolate milk.

Having real money was fun.

"Yeah...saves me from bookin' a room in a hotel around here. Besides, I don't like leaving paper trails for the cops."

He returned to his car and slid into the seat with ease. The engine roared suddenly, causing some to turn their heads in his direction. He grinned at the looks on some of them. Figures...they don't realize the beauty of muscles till they see and hear 'em.

He kept the gears in neutral, revving the engine a few times, checking his meters. He knew nothing would be wrong, the car hadn't given him any trouble since he had first built it. It was a hell of a car, and one he took pride in.

The gears shifted left then up as the gears locked into first and the clutch held down as he revved the engine one last time and released the clutch. The tires sqealed against the pavement as the Camaro launched out of its spot and out onto the road after Hoot's own car.

He silenced the stereo, preferring to listen to the throaty roar of the LS6 sitting just under the hood of the 75 classic. It was music to his ears, a finely tuned and performing orchestra.

He thought back to the more pricey cars he had seen earlier. They were fast, he could tell. He would need to see what he could do to really test them. As an idea formed in his mind, he laughed aloud, his voice drowned out by the Camaro's own rumble.

"Time for a rumble baby!" he cried out, slapping his hands against the steering wheel a few times and laughing.

Mercedez watched Fortier roar off into the night. "Compensation much?" She growled to herself. Fortier's dossier had much nicer things to say about him than the impression she was being handed.

Usman's rudeness didn't upset her, she expected it after the talk that went around reached her. If it wasn't about him then it didn't interest him. There was a nickname for him that didn't get used in front of him. Useless.

She look a short time to wander among the other cars on display, complimenting a finely kept Diablo here, listening in on a heated discussion on the merits of blowers there, generally meeting and taking the measure of the others who had shown up for the race.

Alton and Dirk were having fun, showing a steady stream of interested racers the workings of the Hexx and discussing the capabilities of the one of a kind car. However it turned three before Dani called and said that she'd gotten all the additional information. Exhausted, she wasn't going to do anything other than sleep. Mercy agreed, she was still somewhat tired herself. Signalling for the two brothers to pack up she slid behind the wheel of the Hexx and turned the V12 over with a gentle touch.

The Hexx wasn't tempramental, but Mercy fancied that he prefered to be driven by a woman, and specifically her. Shaking off her thoughts from earlier she looked around and with delight noticed that the last pair of Imitoran patrol cars had vanished in pursuit of a quad of dueling neon hued rice rockets.

Mercy did a perfectly done drift out of the lot and settled the Hexx down onto the street like riding a rail. Seconds later she was at sixty, seconds after that she topped a hundred and by the time she hit the same on ramp that Fortier had taken, was doing close to one hundred and seventy miles per hour. Take that Fortier!She laughed inside. Keeping a close ear out on the police bands she let the Hexx run, enjoying the sheer sensation of speed and the microsecond reflexes needed.

An hour later she swung the Hexx into the warehouse and killed the ignition. Dirk and Alton had arrived some time ago and took the keys from her. They'd give the Hexx a complete look over while she caught some more sleep.

The sun hadn't even risen yet as Lance woke to the beeping of his cell phone. He picked it up to gaze with sleepy eyes at the time. 3:45am. Yawning, he threw the covers off and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes. He rose to head to the bathroom and walked out of the cold shower several minutes later, fully awake.

Getting dressed in a pair of khaki cargos and an IZOD white shirt with two shades of blue stripes, he was soon out the door heading to the drive where his Camaro sat behind Hoot's own ride. He walked alongside Hoot's car, running his hand smoothly over the car's curves, smiling slightly. It was a beautiful car, and the bay held some great muscle. He approached his own car where he popped the hood and grabbed a flashlight from below his seat. He did his customary preliminary checks on all his systems, checking the oil and transmission fluids, as well as checking the wiring and making sure nothing was set up differently than he had built the car. The oil was slightly low, something that would be fixed with a quick addition of another bit of oil from the gas station. Locking the hood back into place, he slid behind the wheel and listened as the engine rumbled to life. Oh yeah...you and I are going to be runnin' the road like pros.

The Camaro rolled out of the drive and drove to the gas station on the corner, where he fueled up on high quality fuel and bought a quart of oil. He noticed a strange looking eye encircled by an interesting design. He bought that too and returned to the car. The silver colored eye was hung off the rear view, and the oil added.

Twenty minutes later, he returned to Hoot's home, where he finished up his inspections of the vehicle including the tires' quality. All was perfectly as they should be. He reached into the car through the window and popped in a CD, minutes later listening as Ain't My Bitch beat out its lyrics and music at a manageable level. It was, after all, still quite early in the morning and people did like their sleep. Most of them.

The clear blue sky, spangled with incredibly white clouds, the sun so brigh that even the darkest of shades were all but overhwelmed. The basso profundo roar of engines straining to propell their drivers ever faster, and the nose itching stink of next thing to jet fuel. The cries of the pit crew as they flew through their tightly choroegraphed dance, and the cacaphony of the distant race day crowd. All so unfamiliar, a tidal wave befuddling ones senses. Eyes searching for and finding one slender sliver of motion, a eye catching flash of scarlet and platinum as it darted through an opening any one sensible could see was far to narrow for any vehicle to slip through. The very air vibrateing in the bowl of the stadium as the engine found more power and the flash pulled away from the kalidascope fractal of the pack.

Then the soul searing flash that expanded ever outwards in a fireball that engulfed the leader of the pack. No, that was the leader of the pack. The expansion wave of the light and the sound of destruction that reached out to those nearest, racer fan and pit crew alike. The cry lost forever in that fury "Merri!"

Reality shatters into existance as Mercy untangled herself from the bed linnens. Tears trickle unnoticed down her cheeks as she stumbled to the mororcoaches lavish bathroom and turns the shower on full force. The dream doesn't end, and won't till I find my twin's assassin

Two hours to sundown.

Jalil sang under a hot shower, opera flowing out of his mouth in a torrent.

Downstairs, Biff turned up the country and convinced the engine it was in it's best interests to go along with everything he had planned.

Breakfast for the driver - three eggs, milk, chocolate, protein powder, peanut butter, handfull of spirolina capsules, blend.

The mechanic had already had his "breakfast"; Biff preferred his eggs cooked in any case. With some bacon.

"Tell me you aren't going to play opera the whole way," hands wrang out the shop towel. "That shit gets on my nerves."
"That is because you do not understand it, my friend. If you would only let yourself be drawn along, into the story..."
"Story? Hell, that ain't english."
"Italian. Italian. The language of passion, of love..."
"Yeah." *burp* "Whatever. Look, I've got to pack the cooler and finish fueling up. Why don't you do... whatever it is you do?"
"But of course." Jalil gave a princely bow and began belting out Carmen as he headed up to get dressed.
Biff shook his head, poured out the remnants of Jalil's breakfast - "How does he drink this crap? Green chocolate... eww..." - and washed up. By the time he was done, the Veyron was blinking a full tank. Biff left the pressurizing tank full - "just in case" - and sealed the whole off.

They'd arrive a bit ahead of "on time" this time. "And hopefully that jackass won't be fucking us out of time this time" - he spat into the sink, ran the water just as Jalil was coming down the stairs - "We came here to race, not hear his buck-ass attitude."

Mike and Lauren arrived in Northampton's main airport. Their car was already waiting for them...with two hours left to go until showtime. Lauren decided to drive Mike to the main hangout she remembered from when she used to live in Imitora, and before she married Mike. Sure enough, there was the usual bunch. She then called her sister Holly on the phone to find out where she was.

"Holly....Lauren, I'm just wondering where you are. Me and Mike are in the old hangout and wondering where exactly you are and where does the race start. We have a new car me and Mike built and he's itching to test it in competition....."

Hoot had slept for a good portion of the day, waking a little after two. Amanda, his fiancé, had fixed him and Lance a decent sized dinner, and Hoot took Cookie, his beagle, for a walk before performing a few last minute tune ups on the Trans Am. He and Lance talked shop for a bit, and right around five there was a knock at the door. Amanda answered, and another female voice could be heard. Moments later, Holly walked into the living room.

It was one of those moments that men lived for, and women were made for. She was clad in a pair of rather tight fitting leather pants, and a red fitted super short sleaved tshirt that hugged her upper body in a rather enticing way. Hoot looked on in amazement, snapping back to reality when Amanda walked in.

"Doesn't she look cute like this?" Amanda asked, admiring Holly's outfit. "I think she looks really cute."

"Uh, yeah," Hoot stamered out. "We leavin?" he asked, tryng not to stare. He had always hated it when they went out and Fortier was still dating her. She would always dress like this, and Hoot would feel bad staring and his best friend's girlfreind. He shook his head again, and grabbed the keys.

"Oh, Holly, this is Lance, Lance, this is Holly Lutz," Hoot said, introducing the two.

"Pleasure," Holly said, shaking his hand. He was cute, but she wasn't looking for ass. She walked out front, and parked infront of Hoot's Trans Am and Lance's Camaro was a black Gemballa. The car sat low and wide, and despite being black, seemed to glow. It was devoid of any noticable markings, save for two Gemballa stickers, small and mounted on the lower portion of each door, and the liscense plate. Instead of a regular plate or even a vanity plate, it was a glossy black with the the Rockstar Games logo emblazed on it in silver.

"Right where it belongs, infront of ya'lls old ass outdated pushrods," Holly joked, playfuly running up to her car. He fiestness from the night before had seem to run out, cuasing Hoot to give Lance a worried glance.

"Wonder what got into her," he said in a low tone, walking up to his Pontiac. He slid into the driver seat, and started the car, the 5.7L V8 roaring to life, and settling a loud idle that sounded like tin crunching. Hoot loved it. He listened as Holly gunned the German flat six bi turbo, listening to the burbling noise that would make even a Ferrari owner look twice. Then he listened to the roaring V8 in Lance's Camaro, the 6.0L LS6 drowining out his own LS1. He smiled, loving every second of the audio orgy. He waved to Amanda, who stood and watched as the three cars all pulled out, and roared down the street to the highway.

In Northampton hiegths, Andrew and his group of friends were busy in the backyard of his parents house, grilling burgers, when they realized they needed to get rolling. Andrew's "second in command", Jason, grabbed extra batteries and tapes for the digital camcorder, which already had a good amount of footage on it. Andrew's female freind with benifits Amy, who had been driving the pink motorcycle the night before, slid into the "back seat" of the VR4, grabbing a duffle bag with a number of paint ball guns and requisit equipment. The fourth member of the group was going to meet them there on his own motorcycle. In all, they had decided that their only goal in the little adventure would be to cause as much chaos as possible.

Robert had spent most of the day asleep. He had performed a quick tune on the Supra, and went back to working on the ///M3. His goal was to have it and the Hyabussa done before the next race, and possibly be on his way to starting the McLarren project. He had eaten a regular meal at noon, and dinner consisted of hanging out at the NAIS shop, and drinking a case of red bull while helping install an exhaust on an Enzo Ferrari.

After that, he ran a diagnostics check on the Supra, and took it out towards the same Starbucks that he had visited the night before. He needed this time to let the powerfull inline six cylinder turbo charged 2JZ-GTE warm up, and to let the brakes, a custom job consisting of calipers, pistons, and lines from a open wheel Formula 1 car, get up to operating temperatures. However, there was no one else there, as the race was set to start from another location.

The parking lot wasn't empty, but it was no where near what it had been the night before. He ordered a fancy coffee drink that was really just some sort coffee slushy, and sat down with another man dressed in jeans, a white tshirt, and an obnoxious green jacket.

"So you're all set for tonight, right?" Fortier asked, taking a long sip on the drink.

"Yup, I got most of the guys together, and they'll be there. Some are gonna be runin' this little shindig tonight, though, so I don't have all the guys, just most of them."

"Most is better than none," Fortier replied. He walked over to his car, parked near by, and pulled a black duffle bag out of the trunk, and handed it to the other man. "Fifteen mil, as agreed. That should be enough to get you and your boys out of any trouble that comes your way, plus you might get that damned Ninja of yours faster than Mike's Mille and maybe fast enough to hold with what I'll be comming out with."

The other man laughed, taking the bag. "Alright man, good luck, and have fun. I'll catch ya later bud," he said, walking out to a green Kawaski that was just as obnoxiously green as is jacket. He hopped on the bike, pulling the duffle bag close, and pulled out of the parking lot.

Fortier finished his drink, made a few calls to his shop, then removed the targa top on the blue Supra. He slid into the drivers seat, and soon was on the way to the location of the start.

It was an hour later, thirty minutes before go time, when Fortier pulled into the parking lot of the randomly picked office space in the industrial park. A few people not racing in the rally were already starting to fade off to the more popular locations, and three squad cars stood gaurd. One officer lectured a group of younger kids standing around there modified Celicas, Civics, and Integras, telling them he didn't mind if they hung out and showed off their cars, but if they raced, they would go to jail. In another part of the parking lot, a few bikers popped wheelies and endos, showing off for a group of girls that visually could care less.

Fortier pulled up next to Hoot, Lance, and Holly, and stepped out of the Toyota. "I didn't know you were gonna be here," he said to Holly.

"Well, thats probably becuase I didn't tell you," she quiped back. The cheerfull, playfull, and up beat Holly was gone, and the good old spicy Spanish Holly was back.

Fortier held his tounge, and simply nodded. He looked around the parking lot, noting the number of racers that had show up. "We'll be starting here shortly," he said, reaching back into the Supra, and pulling out a handfull of walkie talkies, and handing one to Hoot and Holly. "Same as usuall," he said.

He then looked at Lance. "Sorry, I didn't get a real good chance to say hi last night, had to take care of a few pre race things," he said, extending his hand. "Name's Robert. Hoot tells me your running a bored out LS6 in that 'Maro? It sounded sweet when I heard it the other night."

He pulled out another of the small walky talkies, and handed it to him. "We use channel five, sometimes 12." He glanced around quickly, noting the presence of the Usman character, and assumed Hex, or her team, was already somewhere in the crowd.

Holly, at the mean time, was on the phone with Lauren. "Hey, I didn't know you were comming? Yeah, no, Fortier's shop has become undercover cop heaven, so we moved to the Starbucks off third and Highway nine, but we're starting from the park. Yeah, the one near 26. Yeah, Andrew's here too. Probably causing trouble. Alright, see ya in a few."

She closed the cell phone, then tossed in the back of her car. "You didn't tell me that my sister was comming back for this," she said, looking at Fortier.

"You never asked," he replyed, smirking.

"Whatever," she snapped back, and walked over to the Gemballa. She bent over, giving Fortier, Hoot, and Lance a nice, near three second long view of her near perfect butt as she reached in and turned on the radio. Iio's Rapture (Riva Mix) began pulsing out, the trance almost perfectly setting the mood for anyone checking Holly out. She leaned against the Gemballa's door, and waited for her sister, the interior white neon lights pulsing to the beat of the song, highlighting her frame for miliseconds before flashing off.

Alton watched the lot through the scope and spoke into his lip mike once Fortier, and what he considered most of the other racers had arrived. "Mercy, thats a no go, hasn't shown"

That brought a low growl in response and then a resigned sigh. She knew that if he hadn't shown last night then he was most likely not appearing at all. However she wanted to stay, for she'd found over the last two years, that she apparently shared her sisters addiction to speed. "Its still a go, lets just run this one for the fun of it and to keep trolling the bait out there."

"Time to make an entrance gang" Mercy let the Hexx's horses run free, falling in behind Dirk in the lead Buick, Dani in the Spell Breaker, with Alton joining in tail position.

Like the expert and coordinated team they'd become, they sped into the parking lot, engines rumbling a challenge to every one there. It was show off pure and simple. And with perfect timing each executed a tightly controlled boot legger turn that put them all abreast of one another. A perfectly spaced and parallel line. The GNX's in their black hues swallowed the twilight's last gleams while the Cien was a ghostly slate blue. Like a sunrise in the lengthening gloom the Hexx shone a rich gold bronze, its windows a reflective silver blue, hiding Mercy within.

Alton and Dirk had once again chosen outfits of dark jeans with bright shirts untucked. Dani, who looked much like a relative of Mercy's - perhaps a plainer cousin, was comfortable in shorts and triangle halter top as she climbed out of the Cien and headed to unlock the motor coach they'd brought up earlier. She be setting up the computer and up linking to the NIRTS satellites overhead. With luck the small spy satellites would go unnoticed among the large number of more noticeable objects whirling in earth orbit. Their encryption was the best, it should be as it was the Tanaaran goverment's own and hadn't been hacked yet, even by those damnable Vastivans. Dani would monitor the race in real time and keep in constant contact with the chase cars and Mercy.

Mercy sauntered up to where most of the racers were gathered, greeting those she had met the night before with smiles and nods. She was a study in gold, from the brilliant glints of her bright gold mane that fell to the bottom of her rib cage, the matte gold silk sleeveless shirt tied up under her full breasts - that obviously needed no support - to the darker antique gold hip hugers that clasped her like a lover and clung like a second skin. Pale, nearly white gold ankle boots disappeared under the slight flare of the pants .

When she reached Fortier and his crowd she stopped and caught his eye.

"Are we ready to blow this pop stand yet?"

OOC: Uh, I assume the timeline is two weeks after my Civil War and two weeks before the Imitoran civil war...

Lauren and Mike pulled into the parking lot and both hopped out, Lauren from the driver's side. She was wearing her simple yet elegant ensemble...a flight suit, from a CMF-125 crew who she had visited the month before, and some combat boots Mike had specially made for her out of carbon fiber. Mike was just along for the ride, apparently, and in his Marpat digital uniform, with his golden Commander In Chief badge gleaming along with his ribbon rack fuller than most women. He had a hip holster on the side, carrying a M1911A1 with sticky grips. Lauren approached Holly and hugged her hard enough to squeeze the life out of an elephant before she could react.

Whatever was under the hood of what rolled into the lot and released a unlikely looking duo wasn't a car engine...or was that engines... Mercy turned and pulled down the bastard amber shades and gave it, and the couple, a long hard look. The resemblance to a third world dictator on parade was noted. All that fruit salad must weigh a ton Mercy noted with an internal chuff of sardonic amusement. And not afraid of openly wearing a weapon, oh that takes ego, and more than merely local pull. Which banana republic has changed leaders recently? Mercy wondered as she continued to watch them. Noting the resemblence between Lauren and Holly, she rolled her eyes behind her shades. 'Family and if that goldware didn't give it away. Okay...'She knew of Crazed Marines, but not much. The name was wierd enough. She turned back to Fortier.

"Fortier, I thought this was a car race not racing something that sounds like it ought to be entering low earth orbit."

Biff put his head back and considered sleeping. They might even be here another day waiting for loser to get off his ass and start this race.

Jalil, on the other hand, stood by the car and waited. This was reaching intolerable quickly. He looked over at the rocket car, faintly wondering how much those would weigh down the performance if the jets weren't going - or if the car took a turn too hard...

Lance naturally kept a sly eye on Holly, her figure quite pleasing to his eyes. He noticed that even Fortier was checking her out as she bent into the car to turn on the music. When Fortier introduced himself, he accepted and thanked him for the compliments.

Not too long afterward, Lance turned his head to watch as the now familiar Hexx rolled to a rumbling stop next to their cars. He turned to look to the cops, who had suddenly taken an all too keen interest in the recent arrivals. He nudged Hoot and shifted his eyes to the cops. Hoot followed his gaze and understood what he was indicating. Under his breath, he spoke with his lips hardly moving.

"They ain't lookin' at us cuz we look pretty. I've got a feeling they know something's up."

Glancing back to his Camaro, which currently sat silently, he thought about the muscle under the hood. He looked back to the cops, studying their cars. If the Imitoran government was like most others, it was unlikely to furnish the cops with top of the line high-speed vehicles specifically to catch those that raced.

Then again...there's a higher presence of racers in this city than one would expect... he thought critically to himself. He couldn't guess for sure, but so far, the local blues were only running with moderate power under their hood, nowhere near the power that sat a distance away from them.

He shifted his eyes from the ground where he had been staring for the past few moments to watch as one of the cops climbed into his car, and rolled over next to us. His siren let out a whoop in concert with the lights flashing as any car rigged for police duty would. Lance kept a cool gaze as the cop came ambling over, his thumbs locked into his belt loops underneath his potbellied torso. Unfortunately for Lance, the cop had pulled closest to him.

"Excuse me son...what are y'all doing around here?"

Oh sure, I'm gonna tell you everything. Lance thought with a scowl.

"Nothing much, we're just here to check out the cars of each other. New projects recently completed. Small contest between us to see who could build the sexiest beast on four wheels."

The officer gave Lance a long hard look. Lance thought back on what he had just said, realizing that it could possibly be interpreted as a racing line. He cursed silently, but kept his cool look on his face.

"Where are you from, boy?" the officer pushed, "I ain't seen ya runnin' in my backyard recently."

Lance thought quickly. He had to come up with an answer that would ease the cop off his back and retreat back to the company of his fellow officers.

"Small town west of here. Just got back from a four year military duty overseas."

Don't you have a bank robbery somewhere to take care of, Inqisitive Joe?

The officer nodded slowly, his eyes showing a slight hint of newfound respect for the self-proclaimed soldier. Lance even looked like the part of the soldier, with strong features and a shaved head. "Well, all right then. Just don't be rippin' my streets, you hear boy?" He gave the others a long look before finally nodding to them all.

"Yeah, I hear." Lance replied.

The officer turned and was about to get into the car when Lance called out to him. "Just one thing...I ain't no boy, asshole."

The officer grunted and got into his car, reversing and returning to the other cops. Lance watched him go. That's it...back to the donuts and coffee you go. In fact...you should go get some more. I don't think your frellin' pot is big enough.

"Ass." he muttered as gave the officers the bird before he opened the door of his car and slid into the seat, leaving one foot planted on the ground outside as he leaned back and relaxed in the seat.

Robert shook his head as the cop rolled away. He sighed, the Imitoran police were starting to slack. They used to only hire former military, but as of recently they had started picking up armchair generals. He sighed as the 545i rolled away.

Hoot, on the other hand, shared Lance's concern. In less than ten minutes, more squad cars had shown up, including two of the high speed chase cars. He looked over to Fortier, and shruged. "Call it off?" he asked. Robert shook his head, and turned to hear Lauren and Holly talk.

They spoke quickly in Spanish, the words flowing freely. They caught up on recent events, and Lauren told Holly about Crazed Marines. Holly told Lauren about the situation with Fortier, catching her up on local events, and the like. Suddenly, their conversation started speeding up, and suddenly, the stopped speaking. "Chimichangas!" they both exclaimed at the same time, and started laughing.

Fortier chuckled, and walked over to Lance and Hoot. "Don't worry boys, we'll be starting here soon enough. Get your cars running, and get ready. Just watch for the show, then goose it outa here. We gotta move fast."

He walked over to Mercedez next, and looked into the car. He nodded, as if accepting an upsetting fact, and then stood and faced the buxom blonde. "Listen, Mercedez. I hope you don't mind me calling you Mercedez. Anyways, I know our chances in this. I've done more than my fair share of homework on the cars involved, and even if I could keep the Supra or Hoot could keep the Trans Am running at top speed the entire race, our chances of pulling off a win, are, well, slim at the best with that pretty boy and his daddies car. Im about to go over their and give him some cash so he can drive his own ride. Some people just odnt have any pride, ya know? You, on the other hand, have more than a real chance out there. Specially with that quad turbo V12 of yours in the Spellbreaker. So I just wanna say, me and Hoot are gonna be pulling for you. Oh, and around Arington, you're gonna wanna slow down a bit, and drop in behind me and Hoot, trust me on that. Ya might wanna get in your car and get ready to roll."

Fortier walked by Holly, and turned to face her. "Good luck, and dont do anythign I'd do," he said, and then turned to look at Mike standing by the heavily modified Lotus. "You're letting Lauren drive? Shit man, you got bigger balls than I do." He chuckled, and walked over to the Supra, ignoring a glare from Lauren.

Lauren hugged Holly again, and began walking over to Mike. "Stay safe sis," she said. "And if you see Andrew, make sure he doesn't do anything, well, stupid."

"He's Andrew," Holly countered. "He's always doing stupid shit."

By now, Robert had slid into the drivers seat of the Supra, and started the engine. The turbo whistled, and he drove over next to the Gemballa, and winked. Holly returned with the bird, and started her own car. Around the parking lot, other cars started up. However, the seven squad cars and three high speed chase cars, capable of running down most vehicles that the younger street racers had come up with, still waited.

The sounds of the motors running in the lot slowly were drowned out, however, by what started as a low whine, and climbed up in pitch. Soon, it was at the level of a loud buzz, and still it rose, to the sound of what one would think was a large nest of angry hornets. Seconds later, they began flying by. It was more than a group, it was almost an entire fleet of motorcycles. The "crotch rockets" as a few Harley owners called them, screamed by the cops, some poping wheelies, others endos, and others just generaly stunt riding.

The high speed chase cars were the first to take off as the last bike flew by, the owner, wearing a bright green riding jacket, standing on the seat, turning to give the cops the finger. He turned, bowed to the racers, and dropped down, landing on the seat, and popping a wheelie as the bright green ZX-12 Ninja speed off. The squad cars soon jumped in behind the two 330s, and took off in persuit as well. Moments, later, a single flare fired off into the sky, and Fortier's Supra, followed closely by Lance in the Camaro, Hoot in the WS.6, and Holly in the Gemballa, sped out of the lot, tires screaming as they fought for traction.

The race was on.

Mercy held out her hand for a shake before Fortier moved away and when he took it for a 'gentlemanly shake' found a folded piece of paper left in his hand

"Call me Mercy, it's shorter. An' the Spell Breakers not running. She and Dani are my back up in case of trouble. Listen to the air my friend, it will have some interesting information...and you are going to save a dance for me. Right?..You see Robert, I really am here just for the fun of it...Not necessarily to win, but to have fun."

She caught his eyes and hoped he'd catch that something had changed. She'd leave it to him to try and figure out what. A woman had to have some mystery about her

Alton and Dirk slipped the Buicks out of the lot by the back way at her nod and she keyed the Hexx and let the engine burble quietly. She'd wondered what Fortier had had planned to do about the cops and laughed long at the sight of the flock of two wheeled tail breakers flew past.

She sat back as the lot cleared then pulled out and let the Hexx loose. By the time she reached the on ramp she and Fortier had taken last night she was at only at seventy.
Then she was cutting through traffic like a shark through a school of feeder fish. A lean and hungry predator that staked the slower, less well handled cars like the shadow of a wolf, then passed them by as unfit. She reveled in the life of microsecond reactions and reflexes done before they could even be thought about

With a grin she slowed and pulled in behind Robert, letting him set the pace for the moment.

Damyen was exalting in the speed of the race, in the thrill of it. His long, customized, three-wheeled motorbike was doing almost two hundred, and he wasn’t even touching the nitrous yet. “Yee-haw!” He screamed, the words whipping away into the night, his long coat streaming out behind him. This was going to be good.

He'd come in a day ago, and his ride had drawn some strange looks when he first pulled into the lot, especially from some of the younger drivers. To be expected, certainly, but he doubted any of them had guessed what sort of speeds he could take this thing to.

He thought back to before the race, to that ‘Holly’ girl. She’d looked hot, and he wondered if she was ‘available’, if you get the meaning. Hell, he couldn’t’ sit and think. Tearing through the traffic, he whipped left and right, and stepped on the accelerator, now scraping past two hundred. He felt his Automag on his him, the BXP in his coat, and he knew that the Micro Galil attached to the back was fine. He glanced left and right, and saw Fortier on his left, screaming past what normal traffic there was, and cutting clear of it. To his right, another of the racers, also tearing down the road.

He grinned to himself. He was only twenty-nine, which was old for a UNIverseVERSian street racer, and he lived for speed. This was it; everything he lived for and what he would one day die for. He just hoped it wouldn’t be yet.

From behind, Damyen looked like some sort of devil, the stylized flames adorning his coat and the bike appearing to move, and the real flames flickering out of the exhaust. His bare arms – heavily muscled – were tattooed with fire devices, and so was his shaven skull. He loved fire, and the screech of the tires as the rubber smoked from the speed delighted him.

The race was on.

OOC: Sorry I'm a bit late. The facts will be up in the OOC thread soon.

The Veyron swung out behind Mercedez, holding a nice tight ass-view for the first mile or three - then, as traffic slacked, Jalil swung up next to her; but no further.

"You did hear that puta sonfabitch, planning on bribery to win his race?"
"Can't help you there, Jalil." *slurp* "Some people have attitude problems."
"Your teeth are going to be blue again. And don't get any on the apholstry."
"Check."

Mike noticed a cop in a sports car get on his tail when Lauren peeled out. He let Lauren drive because this was her baby and it was just fitting, especially since this was the first time she could enjoy herself after she was kidnapped by insurgents. Lauren hit eighty easily, not even pulling two thousand revs on either engine. The cop was getting edgy and Mike saw him het out a Radar gun. Lauren saw this as well, and hit a button on the stick shift, activating a Radar jammer. The cop looked up immediately ans was confused when his Radar went on the fritz. Mike laughed at this until Popo got out what appeared to be LIDAR. This worried Mike, until he realised that the wing wipers also wiped down his car with some special wax. Not only would this wax also help their speed, but it would also deflect most LIDAR pulses like a F117 would RADAR waves. Now the cop knew something was wrong and took to the pair like white on rice.

"Honey..." Mike started.

"Yes, I see him too. If all goes bad, we can show him our diplomat identities...or out run the fool." Lauren said, with a smile on her face. Mike just winced, knowing she was so sexy like this, and the race would be thirteen hours long.

*"Oh'kay Mercy it's still tight tits up ahead, but after that next through the building it opens up and you have room, just watch that loop, it comes up fast and could siphon someone off without realizing it."* Dani's voice sounded in Mercy's earbug. *"No breakdowns, no crumples in this view, I'll have the next update in five"*

*"M'Kay, flying this low is fun"* Mercy replied as she looked over at the Veyron running along side her. Giving Jalil and his partner a broad smile and a blown kiss, without warning she pulled from the center lane in to the next lane, rolling up and past Fortier's Supra, and heading towards two hundred. The quad turbo V12 snarled, pleased to be let loose.

Mercy had been among those who had raised their eyes when the stretched trike had rolled into the lot with its heavily tatooed, and heavily armed rider. He had that thing mocing she had to admit but she didn't know if a bike could handle some of the problems that she could guess lay ahead.

****************************

OOC: That in the opposite lane from which every you're in Vastiva- not into the lane you're in

"oooh, she play hard to get?"
Biff didn't even look up from 'Ten things you wish your man knew about...'. "Jalil, if you 'get' that one, I'll be impressed."
"Prepare for impression then."

He dropped back, then nearly sideswiped Hoot, flaring by - and kicking up no small amount of general debris at the passed car.

"La donna è mobile
Qual piuma al vento
Muta d'accento

E di pensiero.

Sempre un a mabile
Leggiadro viso,
In pianto o in riso,
è mensognero."

Biff scooted down, trying to drown out Jalil's singing as the Veyron passed two shocked drivers - one of them braking, sending it hurtling back towards Fortier and Holly, the other pulling into a jam position, preventing the Imitorians from catching up swiftly - then began moving up the path Mercedez was taking.

"Not going to catch up to her, boss?"
"No, not yet, my friend. The best part of this one is behind, did you not notice?"
"Urgh..."

Lance watched as the road ahead suddenly became blocked off by Mr. Moneybags's erratic actions. "Son of a bitch..." he cursed as he watched the car jam suddenly appear. He saw Fortier's and Holly's brake lights suddenly illuminate. Thinking quickly, he swerved the car to the left to the next lane and slammed the pedal to the metal, the LS6 engine suddenly truly roaring for the first time that night. Lining up with ease, he saw the upper ramp of the semi car tower for some car dealership sitting off to the side of the road somewhat. The Camaro lurched upward onto the ramp as metal groaned and creaked under the sudden vehicular assault. Glancing down momentarily at the speedometer, Lance grinned as he saw it was just topping 180 mph. The Camaro roared through the air, its behemoth sleek shape flying with a grace. Lance whooped as the Camaro hit the ground, tires squealing as they regained traction and continued on after Jalil.

Once again, the Camaro raced with a thunderous roar as it pulled up alongside Jalil. Glancing over at the other car, he gunned it once more as his car pulled ahead to gain a slight lead. His right hand reached over to pick up the can of paint he had stowed next to him, the lid popping off quickly. He suddenly tossed it out the window, the black paint suddenly spilling freely of the can, directly in the path of the rich boy's car, a good majority of it heading directly for the windshield.

He had originally gotten four cans of paint to be used against any cops that got lucky enough to close the distance behind him. There were still three left, and he would use them carefully, selecting the targets carefully.

"Deal shit, get twice as much!" he declared aloud with another whoop, continuing on after Mercedez.

OOC: On making me giggle myself into the ER is soooo not fair
Edited after talking with Tarlachia, as it looks like they were not as close behind me as I first thought.
********************************************

Mercy flicked a look in her rear view mirror and grinned as Jalil began a run up her ...back bumper. Then she stepped on the gas as an opening appeared.

*"Dani, any indication that Fortier is listening in on the freq?"* Mecy querried as she glanced once again in the rear view at the Bugatti closeing but not catching her.

All thoughts of contact fled as she looked again and the Camero that was a part of Fortier's party was suddenly next to the Bugatti and a wave of black appeared over the Vastivan's windshield.

"SHIT"

Mercedez veered into Lances lane. Then she was braking savagely, forcing Lance to react quickly or collide. She could only hope that his reflexes were equal to hers and that Jalil didn't start veering wildly.

Paint slicked on - and off - the Buggatti's exterior.

Jalil hesitated... the Veyron did not, engine flushing out the invading paint from it's intakes in plumes of dark smoke and flame.

Twin jets of washer fluid finished off the remainder long before it could settle on the only vulnerable parts - the wipers themselves.

"Oh, so we play like that, do we?" The Veyron threw itself towards the Camaro, engine lighting up. "Very well, monkeyboy..."

Biff had fallen asleep, completely uninterested.

Mercedez very nicely cut off the Camaro's ability to run... and an evil smile lit up Jalil's features; he slowed, pulling the Veyron behind the Camaro... then to the slot behind... then pressed her nose hard against the rear panel, turning hard into the Camaro and accellerating hard.

At 50mph, the PIT maneuver is dangerous to the car being PIT'ed.

At 180mph...

The Veyron screamed out of the way of the spinning car with a hard turn, cutting off a family before vanishing down an offramp... to reappear two miles later up another.

"TAKE THAT MONKEYBOY!"
"...wha?..." Biff barely woke up to Jalil's call into the radio. "Oh, hell, not more opera..."
"You wanna play that way, very well, we playa that way..." Jalil's ire was up now... and a dangerous shadow crossed his face.

Mercy growled and hit the gas hard as she realized what the Vastivan was going to do, and she was unable to stop him...All she could do was get out of the way of the Camero's spin, and hope the kid was talented enough to ride it out. She didn't hold with what the kid in the camero had done, and she didn't hold with what Useless had done either. Worse she didn't like her attempt at altruism turmed into aiding and abetting. The Vastivan had just lost what ever sympathy she had for him.

"Okay Useless, this is now between you and me." Her voice was low and dangerous.

*"Dani, I want that damned Veryon targeted, track him..Son of a camel used me. He's going to regret that"

Swinging past slow moving family carriers and late headed home comuters, she spooled the v12 up and through the two hundred mile per hour mark.

*"Dani, see if Fortier is there damn it and find out if the kid alright'*

Lance was glad he had been given good training in dealing with spinouts. He controlled the spin until he was facing the right direction again, flooring the pedal again. The Camaro lurched forward like a rampaging beast, its throaty roar echoing throughout the city. He picked up his cell phone and punched in a few numbers.

"Northampton Emergency Police. State your situation please."

"Hey, you all are always trying to cut down on the racers around here, aren't you? Well, you better get something going on, and fast cuz there's a damn race going on right now. Open your window and follow the noise."

He clicked off the phone before twenty seconds had even passed, tossing it into the seat next to him. He knew what he had done was risky, and it would ensnare all of them if they weren't careful, but if Jalil was going to be playing dirty from the start, well by God, he could too...

The Camaro roared over an overpass, zigzagging past commuter cars, a bus and some old man riding his chopper. The biker gave him the middle finger as the wave of rushing wind passed by, with the Camaro at the fore.

He had lost a lot of speed due to the spinout, but his skilled maneuvering had kept him from losing any more than was necessary. Now, Jalil and Mercedez were in sight, but still a bit of distance away, but within a mile ahead. He glanced in his rearview to see if Fortier and Holly had been catching up. There they were, not too far behind. He suspected they had seen the spinout. He looked past the two other racers to see a pair of patrol cops giving pursuit, but falling behind rapidly.

He stuck his arm out the window, waving the two others forward. The Vastivan had done dirty moves against them all, and he knew they would have to work together to repay him thricefold...

Fortier was fighting to not straight up put a .45JHP into Jalil at this point. There was one rule that ws important in Imitoran culture: Don't fuck with anyones friends if you couldn't be fucked with.

Fortier really didn't mind that Jalil had deliberately caused a car to spin out and come screaming up at him. Nor did he mind that the pretty boy was generally being an ass to the non racers in Imitora. No, but it was the fact that his little manuver had almost put Holly's Gemballa into a wall, taken out Hoot, and now almost tore up the Camaro driven by Lance, that had pissed him off.

He heard Lance's call to the cops, and at first thought it stupid. The point was to avoid cops, not bring them in. Then again, it would slow down Jalil. He looked in his rearview, and saw Holly recover the black Gemballa, then got on the radio. "Listen, Hoot, I need you to drop in behind me here, I'm gonna show our little boy here how shit's handled. Holly, catch up to Mercy, play tail. Lance, if you hear this, nice recovery, but your gonna wanna get outa here fast."

He paused, then looked in the rear view again, seeing the VR4 back no more than a 1/4 mile. "Andrew, if you hear this, better start taping. This'll look real good for the video."

"Oh, I see, were on a first name basis with the compition now," Holly replied. "Don't make me tail Hexx, I dont want this to be some sorta sick fantasy."

"Its not sick, its perfectly normal to watch two attractive females enjoy each other's company," Hoot said into the radio.

Fortier laughed. "Hey Hoot, hope you took a picture of my Supra here with the WS.6, it would be a good one."

"Yeah, I did, we can do another one though, right?"

"Not for long." Fortier, dropped down into third, the tachometer and boost gauge both spiking. He was making just over full boost now, 32 psi. The Supra roared, the rear tires breaking loose for a moment, then catching, as Fortier dove into a breakdown lane. He hit the nitrous button, and was slamed back into his seat. The speedometer jumped from 110 to 120 in a flash, and continued climbing.

He slammed the stick into fourth, then through fifth as he continued to climb in speed. He was at 215, and Hoot was struggling to even keep Fortier in sight. They had just cleared the Northampton city limits when Fortier shot out of the break down lane, and right infront of Jalil, seperated by meer centimeters. He prayed that he was close enough, and that the F1 brakes were as good as promised, the slammed down on both the clutch pedal and break pedal.

He felt the lurch, flying forward in his seat, held in place by the five point racing belt, then the thump. Most crashes in Imitora were low speed fender benders, a wet, hollow *thump* then nothing. However, this crash was infinately louder. The Bugatti, traveling much faster than the Supra, ripped into the rear bumper, driving all the way into the "back seat" , ripping up the custom subwoofer set up, but more importantly, planting the hood firmly into the rear suspension of the Supra. They were now joined together, and where ever one car went, the other went. Foriter jacked the steering wheel as far over to the right as it could go, and soon the two cars were thrown into a violent spin. The spin continued, the cars decelerating as the inertia wore down, the force disapating between the two cars into the road. The finally came to an equally violent stop as the two cars, still joined, slammed into a retaining wall sideways.

Holly looked on in shock at the accident, the raod now smeared with black marks from the tires ripping into pavement, trying to grab traction. She shook it off, and rembered her orders. She stepped on it, and shot off after Mercedez.

Hoot, on the other hand, slowed down, and came to a complete stop next to the accident. Fortier hopped out of his car, his custom 1911A1 in hand, and stuffed the handgun into his waist line. "Fuck with me again bitch I dare you! I double dare you mother fucker!" he shouted, and slid into the WS.6 next to Hoot. Sirens could be heard well into the distance, and the lights were flashing far off, comming up hard on the accident. Hoot slammed down the gas, and took off. The Bugatti may have been fine, but the Supra had been well past destroyed.

Meanwhile, infront of the Hexx 1 several squad cars had gotten the advanced warning from Lance's phone call, and had formed a road blockade, keeping all four lanes blocked off. Above them, one MH-22I Osprey from the Imitora Highway patrolled circles lazily.

Holly swore to herself as the police scanner confirmed her fears: They were waiting for the racers. She swore again, this time in Spanish, then began speaking into her own walky talkie. "Shit guys, they know were comming, we gotta jump the off ramp or something, we're comming up on the quarter point here shortly."

In front of her, the Hexx 1 continued its push, looking almost lazy, as if it was hardly trying. Her own flat six bi turbo motor was screaming, fighting aerodynamics to push the heavily modified Porsche fast enough to catch up. She was ever so slowly closing the gap, which was now at just a little over a hundred yards.

I hope you know what your doing Fortier she thought to herself. She couldn't see Hoot or Lance behind her, and swore, again. She was a vulgar girl at times. And that Lance guy was kinda cute, despite the fact that he drove a Camaro. No one was perfect. She looked forward again, her hyperbright lights hilighting the outline of the Hexx 1 no more than a football field away.

Fortier was fighting to not straight up put a .45JHP into Jalil at this point. There was one rule that ws important in Imitoran culture: Don't fuck with anyones friends if you couldn't be fucked with.

Fortier really didn't mind that Jalil had deliberately caused a car to spin out and come screaming up at him. Nor did he mind that the pretty boy was generally being an ass to the non racers in Imitora. No, but it was the fact that his little manuver had almost put Holly's Gemballa into a wall, taken out Hoot, and now almost tore up the Camaro driven by Lance, that had pissed him off.

He heard Lance's call to the cops, and at first thought it stupid. The point was to avoid cops, not bring them in. Then again, it would slow down Jalil. He looked in his rearview, and saw Holly recover the black Gemballa, then got on the radio. "Listen, Hoot, I need you to drop in behind me here, I'm gonna show our little boy here how shit's handled. Holly, catch up to Mercy, play tail. Lance, if you hear this, nice recovery, but your gonna wanna get outa here fast."

He paused, then looked in the rear view again, seeing the VR4 back no more than a 1/4 mile. "Andrew, if you hear this, better start taping. This'll look real good for the video."

"Oh, I see, were on a first name basis with the compition now," Holly replied. "Don't make me tail Hexx, I dont want this to be some sorta sick fantasy."

"Its not sick, its perfectly normal to watch two attractive females enjoy each other's company," Hoot said into the radio.

Fortier laughed. "Hey Hoot, hope you took a picture of my Supra here with the WS.6, it would be a good one."

"Yeah, I did, we can do another one though, right?"

"Not for long." Fortier, dropped down into third, the tachometer and boost gauge both spiking. He was making just over full boost now, 32 psi. The Supra roared, the rear tires breaking loose for a moment, then catching, as Fortier dove into a breakdown lane. He hit the nitrous button, and was slamed back into his seat. The speedometer jumped from 110 to 120 in a flash, and continued climbing.

He slammed the stick into fourth, then through fifth as he continued to climb in speed. He was at 215, and Hoot was struggling to even keep Fortier in sight. They had just cleared the Northampton city limits when Fortier shot out of the break down lane, and right infront of Jalil, seperated by meer centimeters. He prayed that he was close enough, and that the F1 brakes were as good as promised, the slammed down on both the clutch pedal and break pedal.


OOC: Everything past this point is completely ignored.

IC: Jalil whipped the wheel around, watched Fortier vanish in his rearview.

OOC: Why? With you carbonfiberwhisperairwieght cage, self sealing pressurized fuel tanks from an F-15E, ability to use pump gas in a race car engine, unburstable tires, nuke proof glass, and other wise invincible car, why would you ignore it? At the worst, your uber Bugatti of d00m may have gotten a scratch, most likely, it was just slowed down. At this point, you have caused many a problem, yet have not accepted any thrown at you at all. I'd love to see an engine, any engine at all, suck in paint and survive. Id love to see a car that in real life could take a 90 degree turn, unbanked and tight, at 120 plus. Im gonna have to ask, simmer down a bit, and come back to the real world, or just bow out.

*"Mercy, they've got the entire highway blockaded off and they put up a chopper"*

Mercy reacted on the fly and put the Hexx into a drift, taking the on rushing exit with a squeel of tires and a drift far too close to the guard rail for her liking, but she made it, her breaks screaming as she came down on to the surface street that acted as the access road for the highway.

*"Dani squelch that fly boy"* She ordered as she once again braked hard to avoid a minivan, and darted around it.

*"Right on"*

Dani's fingers danced over the keyboard and while it was more work than she thought it's be, soon she was deep within the police system, and had issued orders for the mosquito buzzing over head off to assist a life flight copter that was heading for a major wreck elsewhere. "There that gives you somethig useful to do" She said softly to the unhearing MH-22I Osprey, listening to it acknowledge the change in orders and spin away. She smiled and let Mercy know that for the time at least the air was clear.

Mercy, currently fourth in line at a stop light, and no way around the 'civilians' took a long sip of her ice water, and acknowledged. She could see the Gemballa right behind her.

OOC: So...what's the verdict? The crash happened, or not? Either way, my post can be applied to it.

IC:
Lance kept driving, concentration and determination to make up for his loss of time on the road, and the trouble he had been given. The Camaro roared after the Hexx, closing the distance steadily...

**Vanishes***

Mike and Lauren were considerably far behind, and the cop on their tail wasn't going anywhere. Lauren sped up to one thirty, and the cop was dumbfounded. His jaw dropped and the couple was off. They also heard of the police blockade, and was about three minutes from its reported location.

"Well, what should we do about Mr. Popo?" Mike asked, referring to the cops this way as he had for years.

"I say we use our Indy-style jacks and jump over them. It'd require we hit max speed and our rickets, but it'd work." Lauren replied, with a smile.

"All right then, hit it!" Mike shouted as Lauren hit the pedal to the metal. Both engines revved up to around eight thousand revs, and Lauren was shifting like crazy into eight gear. All other traffic was just a mear blur and dots in the background as Lauren zigged and zagged in between cars.

*"Holly, Lauren...We just passed a crash. Someone's f'ed up pretty bad. Looks like the front car took the worst of it, though. Looks like they may be out of the race or injured. Is there a medflight out on it? We'll also need the police frequencies and their trunk speed. Our scanner needs realignment and our plates need changing. Over."*

Mike looked at Lauren and smiled as he turned a knob inside the dash and the plates turned James Bond-style. She hadn't seen this feature, and he apparently had it installed as a precaution. She laughed, because Mike was totally obsessed with Bond and was acting like the imaginary figure now.

Damyen slowed the bike, and looked around. That accident he had just passed had looked nasty, and he wondered if anyone had died. Still, no time to stop. Slowing to 180, he saw anotehr vehicle pull up alongside him, then, looking down the long straight they had just reached, he saw a police blocade at the other end. "Shit", he shouted, and pulled back on the throttle even more to consider his options. He could try to jump them, but he couldn't see any good ramps, or he could pull off the main road, which would cost time.

"What the fuck?" The licence plates on the car beside him were rotating, and they were pulling away, presumably to jump the barricade, though, if he couldn't, he couldn't see how they could. Never mind, he would try and cut through any gaps after this, so he downed his speed to 160 and rammed a mag into his BXP. He didn't want too many cops on his tail, so this should deter them a bit.

Mike saw the bike and said to Lauren, "FLOOR IT!" as he hit the rocket mototr. They sprang to life, getting the car up to 260 mph! Mike saw the spedometer hit the end and they were still accelerating. The police were just a blur as Lauren activated the jacks. The Silver Sub lifted off the ground and just made it over the police, leaving a skid mark on the christmas tree of one cruiser. All the cops were dumbfounded, and the scanner picked up one of them saying, "There goes the Mach 5!" and another one actually cheering for them. Mike then popped in a CD, which immediately went to an approperiate song.


Here he comes
Here comes Speed Racer
He's a demon on wheels
He's a demon and he's gonna be chasin' after someone
He's gainin' on you
So you better look alive
He's busy revvin' up the powerful Mach 5
And when the odds are against him
And there's dangerous work to do
You bet your life Speed Racer will see it through
Go Speed Racer
Go Speed Racer
Go Speed Racer, GO!
He's off and flyin'
As he guns the car around the track
He's jammin' down the pedal
Like he's never comin' back
Adventure's waitin' just ahead
Go Speed Racer
Go Speed Racer
Go Speed Racer, GO!

The song ended, and a little monkey appeared on the radio's LCD screen and applauded. By now the rockets had burned out, but they were still travelling at 250. Good news for Mike, not good for the rest of the poor SOBs on the road.

*"Mercy, Fortier put his car into the Bugatti. Deliberately! His car is trashed, and I'm surprized he got out alive. He's been picked up one of his people. The Bugatti is off and rolling so I guess they're all right"*

Mercy swore again, and turned off the Hess, piling out of the door as the light turned greeen. She ignored the angry honks as she sprinted back to Holly. "Robert crashed the Supra!" She called as Holly rolled down the Gemballa's driver window. "He's apparently able to stand and walk a little, but I don't know anything more"

"Listen" She had to raise her voice to be heard over the growing chorus of angry drivers behind them. "The quarter mark is not that far up. Do you have a way to contact them? I have a motor coach waiting at the rest stop at exit 1831, we could all meet there and sort things out. This is getting to damn serious"

*"Holly...This is Mike. We see the turn in point. We currently have too much heat on us to stop. We'll meet you once we lose the cops...uh, we kinda jumped their roadblock, and I'm quite sure they're peeved at us. Anyways, we're not going to race dirty or dangerous. You can trust your sister and brother-in-law...right? Over"*

Damyen gaped as the Silver Sub leapt clean over the roadblock, obviously on some sort of spring loaded wheels. Fortunately for him, they had knocked loose the christmas tree on one of the police cars, which would probably do for a ramp.' Well, here goes', he thought to himself, flooring the pedal and running in the nitrous. Down the long straight, his beast of a bike was easing past 205, then he reached the roadblock. Zooming straight up the improptu ramp, he soared over the car, and misted just a bit of gas into the exhaust pipe in celebration, letting loose a 20 foot fireball.

"Rock on Baby!" He shouted, as the bike crashed down again and surged off, though he was shedding speed for improved control, only doing 180 now.

The race was on, and sounding good.

Holly nodded. "I know, just get going, I'll catch up," she replied. As Mercedez walked away, she gunned the engine, rolling up the window, the Gemballa talking off down a side street, and turning away from the on ramp. She decided it would be best not to take the highway, but would use the Gemballa's near legendary handling to take what she lovingly dubbed "The Twisties". The modified Porsche blasted down the back roads, up and down rolling hills and through tight turns on her way to the quarter point.

Behind them, Hoot piloted the Trans Am skillfully through traffic, not letting off. Holly had called back on the radio, warning them not only of the road block, but informing them of Mercedez's plan. Fortier nodded, and Hoot quickly relayed the message back to Lance, while taking the nearest off ramp. They were on the service road when they blasted by the road block, moving well over the century mark. The LS1 V8 roared as Hoot hit the nitrous, not wanting to give the police any chances.

The cops didn't proceed to chase the biker and the elongated Lotus, they had decided to stay on the highway, and had already nabbed three racers who hadn’t gotten the message. However, they did radio ahead, and warned other squad cars and high speed chase cars of the incoming bogeys. More road blocks were set up, but more importantly, three MH-222I Jet Rangers took flight, and began searching the back roads and highways with their spot lights, looking to pick out any other racers.

At the crash sight, five of the BMW squad cars had surrounded the two wrecked cars, and ten officers had blockaded the crash, all had their weapons drawn, some with rifles and shotguns. They ripped open the door on the Bugatti, and yanked out an unconscious Jalil and Biff, and tossed them into the back of two separate cars, taking them to the nearest substation.

It was here they were both questioned. Their bluffs of lawyers and "do you know who I am" were met with rather swift kicks or slaps, knocking the two around violently. Usman showed a diplomatic passport, which was quickly ripped up. To the Imitoran police, it meant nothing. The beatings continued, till Jalil finally cracked. He spilled everything, information about the race, where it was going, where it would end, but never mentioned Fortier's name. He held onto that as bargaining material.

When he wouldn't give up the name of the race organizer, he was offered a deal. Give the police the name, he gets to go home. He gave the police the name, and when standing, smiling a free man's smile, suddenly found himself on his knees after a swift kick to the back of the leg. He felt the hard click of handcuffs around his wrist, and was dragged, kicking and screaming, to a holding cell. Several other inmates looked at him, their eyes greedy. He was the new boyfriend.

Across Northampton, at a rather busy main station, a younger looking officer sat at a desk. Unlike the uniform that most Imitoran police wore, the standard light weight blue short sleeved shirt and trousers, he wore a matching blue jump suit. His badge wasn't a shiny piece of metal, but a patch sewn onto his sleeve just below the word 'TACT'. He was Officer John Tact of the Northampton Police's organized crime unit, which dealt with everything from the mafia to local gangs.

A folder dropped onto his desk, and he looked up at the attractive secretary who dropped it as she kept moving, handing out briefs and orders to other officers. He didn't say a word as he flipped through it, looking the info over. At the moment, a large organized illegal race had already managed to cause the life of several motorists, create two major accidents on I-121, the highway that snaked through the buildings and skyline of Northampton, cost seven squad cars and two high speed chase units to wreck, and generally create a mess of things.

However, a name stood out among the known participants. Fortier. It was every Northampton cop's dream to nab this guy. Yes, he had done some good things for the nation, but he had taken the rule book, and used it for kindling. He stood above the law, and did what he wanted whenever he wanted, and even if he was caught, he somehow got out. However, with an organized crime, the NPD could pin him down, and hard.

He smirked, and stood up from his desk, heading down to the armory. On the way down, he made a phone call. When the voice on the other end of his cell phone responded finally, he made a quick, simple request. "Yes, this is Tact. I need two teams from the SWAT unit. Yeah, its gonna be a big raid."

Meanwhile, in Vernton, Holly's Gemballa rolled to a stop next to the motor coach she guessed was Mercy's. She stepped out of the black car, and walked up to the door, and knocked. Behind her, Hoot's Trans Am also rolled to a stop. Hoot stepped out, and Fortier opened the door, limping out of the car, and up to the trailer. His leg was burning in pain, but he could move it, which was definitely good. A little bit of blood also trickled down his shoulder, soaking through his shirt. He had another cut on his forehead, but it wasn't bleeding. The limp was obvious as he favored his right leg, moving towards the motor coach.

Holly looked at him, an angry yet scared glare. "What?" he asked, trying not grimace in pain. "He asked for it, not me."

Holly sighed. "Ya know, you gotta put off this damned cowboy act. It’s not impressing anyone."

"Shit, you mean I totaled the Supra for nothing?" he asked sarcastically.

"Hey, children, calm down," Hoot said. He offered to help Fortier, but Robert, being Robert, turned it away, and limped up to the coach, leaning against it.

"Anyone see Mercy?" he asked. He was interrupted by the crackle from the radio on Holly's hip.

Holly...This is Mike. We see the turn in point. We currently have too much heat on us to stop. We'll meet you once we lose the cops...uh, we kinda jumped their roadblock, and I'm quite sure they're peeved at us. Anyways, we're not going to race dirty or dangerous. You can trust your sister and brother-in-law...right? Over

Holly grabbed the radio, and spoke into it. "Yeah, tell Lauren were just across from the taco market," she commented as some other racers who had stopped noticed no such market, only a strip club and a seedy looking bar. "She'll understand. Also, tell her the twisties are hot, don't risk them, and stick to the service roads and alleys."

As Holly's advice came in, the silver car was lit up by a bright white light, and a helicopter could be seen following overhead. Damyen's bike, on the other hand, had managed to go unnoticed.

Lance listened as the radio crackled with Hoot's voice relaying the message. He confirmed his reciept and looked in the rear view. He had stolen away from several squad cars that had been on his tail, but with an extra push of the Camaro, he lost them easily enough. Had there been a chopper, he would've been in more trouble.

He slowed down and entered the lot where the others were waiting, rolling the car behind the large presence of the motor coach. Thankfully, there were some large bushes that also helped to hide the cars. Shutting off the engine, Lance emerged from the Camaro and walking toward the others. Once there, he spoke immediately of Jalil.

"That car was ugly. I couldn't stand to stare at its color anymore..."

He gave a chuckle in cooperation with a mischievous grin. He looked over at Holly, momentarily checking her out.

"Nice recovery from that roadblock in the city." he commented her with a nod.

Siam opened the Motorcoaches side door, having been called about the racers arrival.

"Hi I'm Siam, Dani told me ya'll'd be coming. Damn, are you all right? Let me get Mercy's med kit out."

She held the door wide so Fortier could ease up the four steps to the luxurious interior. Siam waved a hand at the two couches and various plumply cushioned lounge chairs, as she headed for the bathroom to get the medkit.

"There's drinks in the fridge and plenty of sandwiches and other finger food too"

Dani's voice cracked over the radio, giving a steady stream of updates on police responses, news reports, and other information, including data from the military nets. The 60 inch nanotech monitor hung from it's brackets and was running a color realtime view of I-121, it's inch think screen taking up no room at all so to speak of, but providing unparalled clairity of picture

*******************************************

Mercy had been guided along a series of side roads by Dani, who had her ear on the police bands, and the NIRTS satellites real time of Imitora. She drove steadily, just a bit over the posted limits when in the vicinity of various police units and opening the Hexx up when uncovered. She could see the Gemballa and the Trans Am that Hoot drove were parked as she pulled into the rest stop. She killed the Hexx and piled out, all but running to the motor coach

"Fortier, every one, are you all okay?" She raced up the stairs right as Siam came back front with the med kit in her hands.

"I am so going to kill that useless piece of Antartic trash!"

Lance chuckled as Mercy raged. "Fret not...cops are all over him now, I imagine...Fortier here totaled his Supra to take him out of the race."

He looked over to Fortier with a laugh, "Either that was brave, or very stupid...I'm not sure just yet..."

He took a seat in a plushed chair. "So, what's the plan now? The entire countryside's swarming with the cops and feds. Do we take this race offroad now?"

"I know, I think Dani got it via satellite...Hi, I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Mercy." She took the medkit from Siam, and headed over to Fortier

"Do you really have that bad a death wish? Here sit down and let me take a look at you"

She very firmly ushered him to one of the sofas and began doing a check over. He might be walking and talking but shock and concussions could be more dangerous than people realized.

"Siam, split the screen and lets see what we got of it"

"I'm fine," Fortier repeated two or three times before finally sitting down and letting Mercy look him over. He knew better than to argue with a female it was rule number one. "And Lance, it was stupid. There was about a hundred and twenty five thousand worth of work and research in that car, give or take a few grand."

Holly let out an exaspierated sigh, then found a chair, and sat down. "Well, the cops are all over it. Scanner was saying they had picked up a two males, unconscious, from the wreck. Probably already been locked up or something," she said. "As of now, its hopeless. I dunno."

"Well, no way were gonna be getting back any time soon, look at it," Hoot said, pointing out the screen. 121 was a mess, with accidents having traffic backed up for miles in the low double digit ranges, on both sides. Swaud cars could be seen everywhere. "They're gunin for us now."

"I say we keep going," Fortier commented, looking at the screen. He was fine physically, just some of the standard war wounds, and a less than mild concussion. Nothing to serious, but nothing to really let go unwatched. His pride was what was hurt most, the Supra being all but scrap. At least he had the ///M3 and Hyabussa project waiting for him when he got back. Maybe he'd get a Ferrari, and the McLaren wouldnt be too long in comming. Still, he had put countless of hours of work into the Supra, doing most of it himself. The car had literally been all but ripped clean in half.

Holly on the other hand, just looked out the window at the Gemballa, imagining what would have happened if it had been her car that got nailed, as Jalil had intended. The Toyota Supra was by no means a heavy car, but in the world of sports cars, it was up there in wieght. If the car spinning back towards Holly had nailed the Gemballa, which would have been damn near the same accident that Fortier had caused, they would be scrapping her off the road into a five gallon bucket. Shit she thought to herself. She looked at Lance, who had comented about her recovery, and nodded. "Thanks, you didn't do so bad yourself," she stated.

Mercy ran through the standard concussion check very carefully. She was not so competent a medic that she felt comfortable with just a cursory inspection. She checked the bleeding from various small wounds and patched them from the wide range of supplies, hitting them with 'blue goop' and spray on bandage.

"There, I think you'll live." She gave him a sympathetic look. She wouldn't have been taking to loss of the Hexx so calmly.

"Why don't you stay here in the coach. Siam's just going to move it to the rest stop on the north bound side, about what, five miles. You can get some sleep and get picked up on the way back." Mercy offered Robert, still worried for him

Lance let out a raccous laughter and stood up to walk over to Fortier. Looking over at Mercy, he spoke,

"Do you want him to put on a little dress and play little girl crying to mommy nurse over a few scratches? Come on...the guy's tough. Unless what I've been hearing is all bull-crap... He'll be just fine."

He gave Fortier a punch in the shoulder with a grin across his face.

*Sorry for a shit post, ut I gotta get back to work here shortly, and with the rain, might be a bit of a nasty drive
_

Fortier stood under his own strength, and smiled thankfully at Mercy. "I'll be fine, really. And I wanna be there for the whole thing. I mean, its just a cuncussion, nothing I can't shake off, right?"

He turned, and looked at the large screen. The news channel covering the accident had mentioned that investigations into the alleged races that had caused the crashes had started, and several suspects were already being brought in for questioning. He sighed, and hoped that everyone would be ok.

"So, whats the plan now?" Hoot asked, looking outside the window at the cars. They had yet to attract any real attention from local law, and he hoped it would stay that way.

Mercy frowned a little as she heard Fortier slur some of his words but said nothing. She turned to Siam and quietly inquired how many sets of radios they had. Siam checked and counted ten with frequency chips tuned to the bands they were using.

"So, whats the plan now?" Hoot asked

"Okay, I think just staying here is a bad idea." Mercy started off slowly, still thinking furiously

"Holly, your Gemballa is a known racer right? Why don't you leave it here, and ride with Lance. Hoot why don't you and Lance travel together. Fortier, why don't you ride with me."

She paired, or trioed off the other racers, each into small groups with a Imitoran native among them who would know the back roads and little known places, explaining her reasoning.

"I think this just be came a stealth race. Not who can get there and back the fastest - but who can get there and back without getting caught."


Mercy held up the matched radios that Siam had brought out "There are ten available. They're better than walkie talkies, uses your governments relay and signal booster system - longer range, clearer signal, and they're encrypted."

She made the offer and then sat back to see what the others thought of her idea.

It was quiet on Trace Ridge in Northampton Hieghts, the upscale neighboorhood where Fortier's house was located. The two black BMW X5s rolled to a stop, and six men, dressed in the ever fashionable tactical black stepped out, balcalvas covering thier faces, wearing tactical vests and kevlar helmets. Behind them, a black Mercedes Benz E55 AMG rolled to a stop, and shut down, Tact stepping out. He two wore tactical gear, but no helmet or mask, his UMAC made MP5 hanging by his side. He looked up at the massive house, and nodded to the two teams as he walked over.

"Okay," he said, quietly. "Davis, take your boys upstairs, theres a rear porch with an over hang balcony, you can take the stairs. Rains, your with me, we'll go it through the side door on the east side of the house. Quick sweep, move towards the center, and shoot to incapacitate, not kill. We want to try and take him alive."

The two team commanders nodded, and all thirteen of them made a move towards the house. They split halfway, and Davis took the west side of the house, moving around back. His team moved silently up the staircase, and instead of blowing the door open, they picked a lock on a window, and slowly climbed in.

Downstairs, the first assualt team moved quickly, but with less stealth. They wanted to force Fortier to run upstairs, thinking it would be clear, not hearing the upstairs team move in. As soon as Davis and noted his team was in position, they moved. Tossing in flashbangs, the seven man downstairs team moved through the kitchen, across the house. They bypassed the living room, weapons sweeping the darkness, their NVGs illuminating the dark house. Nothing. The upstairs team got the same result.

"Fuck," Tact swore, pulling off his NVGs. He began to walk through the house as the two SWAT elements looked for evidence, clues, anything that would help nab Fortier. Tact's mood improved when a technician was able to hack into Fortier's computer.

He began going through the files, notes, everything on the PC. A file titled "run" caught his eye, and he opened it. Inside, there were image files, word documents, and website address. He looked through the images, some had matching word documents, representing technical data and price listing for modifications on project cars, the images being the blueprints. Some of the websites were sales sites, and others were online message boards where Fortier discussed street racing. However, one document stood out. Inside was the route map for the rally, as well as names of participants, and general plans. Tact smirked.

"Looks like we hit the jackpot. Call ahead to the IHP. Let them know whats comming. Also, get three more elements together, we need to be ready and waiting for these guys when they come back." Rains nodded, and got his radio out, outing out the call ahead.

In Vernton, Fortier looked at the other racers. Mercy's idea was a good one, it would make it easier to run with less cars. However, it would also make the chase easier for the poilice, less cars to split over. But with Fortier guiding Mercy, and Hoot running interference for Lance and Holly as a guide, they might be able to pull it off.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Fortier commented, looking around. Hoot nodded in agrement.

"Your the boss man...boss...man," he said, cursing his poor sentance structure. Holly just nodded as well.

Alright, looks like thats the deal. Lets just hope that the police dont get any more crazy ideas.

It was almost as if Fortier's words had cursed the group. Less then a breath later, the anchorman covering the crashes in Northampton interupted the video feed from the helicopter. "This is just in. The Northampton Police Department has aquired evidence that these accidents are in relation to a cross country street and highway rally. Reports have confirmed that a number of suspects are wanted for questioning in regards to the race, and that many are considered armed with intent to resist arrest."

"Further, in light of this information, the Imitoran Department of Safety, with assitance from the Imitoran Justice Department, has declared a State of Emergency, and requests that any help leading to the capture of these racers be given, with promise of rewards," the anchor finished.

"Fuck," was all Fortier said.

Lance nodded in agreement with Mercy's plan. It was smart, and something he would have suggested and done. He was no stranger to police evasion. As soon as the television reported the latest updates, he too swore silently.

"Looks like our work's cut out for us, boys and girls. Considering that they're going to be looking for us on the streets and highways, perhaps we ought to take this off-road? Surely, there's some dirt roads that head in the directions we want to go."

He looked over to Fortier with a raised eyebrow. The television gave a running view of each of the racers that had been stored on Fortier's computer. He didn't see his own image shown. For once, he was glad he refused to allow pictures taken of him. It was, after all, a strategy to remain underground.

"We...might need some hair dye too..." he added as the new anchor returned to report some more crap about racing, stuff that he was willing to bet she didn't know at all about.

Mercy winced at the thought of taking the Hexx off road, then Lances remark brought an idea up

"No not hair dye...car dye, so to speak. Airbrush a new paint job on the known cars? Lance's Camaro and the Hexx aren't known, so that would be two less we have to deal with."

Mercy had heared the part about armed, dangerous and willing to resist arrest. That made her very worried. It sounded like the police had the option of shoot first and ask questions later, if at all. Quietly she pulled Saim aside and gave her some instructions to pass along to the team "And call in an O code. If we stop transmitting, the tptb will know where to look"

Holly shook her head. "I can hide my car, but aint no way your painting it over. Thats a custom black right there, five coats of the Saphire black with a coat of pearl silver and three layers of clear coat. I know where I can hide it around here, but aint no way some other color is touching that car."

Hoot looked at his Trans Am. "Yeah, I can go with a new paint job anyways. How long will it take?" he asked.

Fortier just looked out at the cars. The full shock of destroying his car hadn't yet set in, and he just continued to look, as if waiting for it to pull up magiclly.

Mercy looked over at Siam, who grinned and went out to check in the large undercarriage storage compartments. In a few minutes she was back with a airbrush kit, stencils, and a couple of cans of paint.

"Hoot, what if we just did racing stripes and a side treatment? I don't have enough paint to do an over all job, or I don't think I do. This stuff dries fast, maybe an hour to set well."

While Siam laid out what they had in the way of stencils, Mercy stepped over to Robert. "You okay?" She was certain that he hadn't planed for it to come down to this much trouble and reaction from the police.

Lance watched as the others prepared to give Hoot's car a new look. He turned to Holly and asked,

"I think it would be a good idea to scout out where the cops are right now, and where to go after they finish the job on Hoot's Trans Am. Want to go, I could use a guide in these parts..."

Fortier just nodded. "Well, I guess I'm as ok as I can relatively be right now. Still breathing, so I gotta count that as a win. Still dunno what I was thinking. Must have not been." He had somewhat of a glazed over look, which could have been from the concussion, or from the loss of his car. He almost had the puppy dog look as he watched patrons from the bar across the street walk in and out, and some started looking towards the motorcoach.

"Might wanna get moving on Hoot's car, were starting to attract attention."

Hoot looked out, and nodded. "Holly, I'll go hide your car. Lance has a good idea, go with him. Don't worry, I'll take care of your baby, if I can figure out how to work it," he chuckled.

"Its alot easier than those out dated pushrods your using," she quiped back, and grabbed a bottle of water. Her eyes moved to Lance. "Well, lead the way. I kinda know where the cops like to chill around here, so I'll give ya the directions." She grabbed a radio, and stuffed it in her pocket.

"I'll be in touch," she said, walking out the door after Lance. Fortier just responded with a nod.

"I just destroyed a two hundred thousand dollar car," he said. "Damn. What the hell was I thinking."

Siam headed out the door after Hoot

"Give me your keys and I'll pull the Trans Am behind that building there, and start the paint job" She nodded to a small office building who's parking lot had some fairly high bushes around it

Mercy looked at Robert out of the corner of her eyes, as she studied the small scale maps.

"You weren't thinking" There was no sting in her voice, just compassion and more than a little understanding "You were listening to what your heart was telling you." She said softly "And that was to remove a threat to those you care about. While it might not have been the right thing to do, it was a very loyal thing to do. and that says very good things about you"

Lance watched as Holly quipped back at Hoot with a smile. Upon her last comment about his cars, he spoke up, "Well, it just goes to show of the stamina of the cars...which you can't say the same for your...plastic cars these days."

Letting out a laugh, Lance led Holly outside and opened the passenger door for her, allowing her to get in. Hardly a minute later, the Camaro rumbled to life and the music blared suddenly. He turned it down a bit and pulled out onto the streets. If Holly was watching in those moments, it seemed that Lance underwent a transformation in his demeanor on the road. Minutes ago, he was lighthearted and carefree. Now, he studied the area around him with unrelenting watch, his left hand firmly on the 11 o'clock position on the wheel. His other hand rested on the gearshift.

As they rolled down the streets, keeping within the posted speed limit, they scanned the area around them. The cops were out in force today, indavertently in thanks to his call placed earlier. He let out a chuckle. Police evasion was something he did well back home, but he wasn't too sure about the Imitorans. They had different tactics, different weapons, different cars, and different minds to battle with on the asphalt battleground of the nation.

"Yup," Fortier said, still staring. He turned, and walked over to a chair, and collapsed down, exhuasted. He sighed, and grabed a bottle of water, taking a long swig. "Loyal to the core," he mumbled. "What can I say," he soud outloud. I do my best," he finished, offering his signature smirk. "So, how long is Hoot's ride gonna take? Can't be waiting here to long," he said, watching Siam pulling the Trans Am around to a warehouse.

Hoot simply hopped into the Gemballa, and took off out of the parking lot. Holly heard him short shifting it, horribly. "God, it revs high you idiot," she cursed Hoot under her breath. She slid into the shotgun position of the Camaro, and began reporting back police numbers to the motorcoach.

"Maybe an hour, hour and a half over all, that type of paint dries fast I think. I'm not really sure. I'm mainly just the driver."

She set the maps down and went to get herself a bottle of water

"Look, theres big comfortable bed in back. Why don't you go take a nap. If you're going to be my co pilot you need to be alert."

Fortier nodded. "Nothing better than just being the wheel man, well, woman," he said, walking into the back room, stripping off his shirt. Those in the trailer that would care to notice would see two things.

The first being a rather large number of scars, cuts, and other was wounds, so to say. Fortier had made a rule back when he was in the military, only cheat death once a day. After that your odds start to go down. And he had cheated death nearly every day. He had been shot, stabed, blown up, kicked, punched, tortured, and even made fun off. He had been through it all, and survived. And his tone, muscular frame showed all of it.

The other was a number of tattoos, some being expected, others out right odd. On his left bicep was his unit insignia, which could be compare to the wings of the British SAS. However, abover the dagger, and between the wings, was a skull, and a musket crossed with a CAR-48 rifle, looking like they were ballanced on the pommel of the dagger. Beneath it, written on a scroll like wrap, was Si Fortuna Corra Siechan Bravalos, ancient Imitoran for Fortune Favors the Bold. On his right arm was a celtic style wrap, but both sides disapeared into a waving green flag with a gold harp, and underneath was Deus Said Me Jurisace, ancient Imitoran for the ever class God Alone Shall Be My Judge.

The final tattoo took up the upper portion, of his back, a rose. Not just any rose, but a Imitoran Black Rose displayed vertically. The Imitoran black rose was known to grow only in Imitora, a rose whose petals were trimmed in black, fading down to a rich red as they reached the stem. The rose also was known for having only a singe thorn on each stem. He looked back, and nodded at Mercy in thanks for the offer of the bed, and nearly collapsed down, falling asleep quickly.

Mercy had taken one long look and then turned away to give Robert some privacy. She definitely liked what she saw but refused to act like a couple of the younger girls were doing. Drooling just wasn't her style. Over the next hour the rest of drivers left in pairs and trios, some intent on staying in the race, others just wanting to get far from any possible problems.

She made notes of the information Holly sent her. Dani had broken off briefly to move home base back to the warehouse they'd least then resumed her listening in on police and governmental fequencies, and monitoring the situation via the NIRTS satellites

Just over an hour later she made a pot of coffee, and when that was done poured a cup. She'd taken off her shoes earlier, and closed the door to the bedroom so as not to bother the exhausted Imitoran. Now she moved silently through the coach and slid the door open, setting the coffee on the builtin night table.

"Robert, it's been an hour. Time to wake up" Mercy kept her voice low and gently rocked his shoulder slightly to wake him

Robert didn't move with the initial touch, although it did awaken him. He was trained not to react, but to lay perfectly still. He collected his thoughts as he slowly awoke. One by one, he put the pieces together. Yes, that was it, he was in the trailer, taking a nap, and Mercy was waking him. His eyes finally poped open, quickly adjusting to the darkness. He sat up, and grabbed his shirt, pulling it on.

"Alright then, lets get rolling," he said, walking to the door, and pulling it open. Hoot was already back, and looking at Fortier.

"So, I was just thinking and," he was interupted.

"Don't say it."

"Can I think it?"

"If I'm part of your sick fantasies."

"Excellent."

"Freak."

Holly and Lance had just come back from the patrol, and Holly was giving the two a look that begged the question.

"Alright then," Fortier asked, poping his neck. "We ready to roll?"

Mercy listened to the interchange as she poured a thermos of coffee and slid her shoes back on. 'Men are decidedly odd creatures and decidedly delightful at the same time' she mused to herself as she followed Fortier out of the motorcoach, grabbing a handfull of sandwiches for a later meal.

Siam had tossed the empty paint cans in the trash and stowed away the airbrush equipment. Giving one last look over of the transformed Trans Am she grinned at Hoot and gave him a thumbs up.

"I believe it's time to kick the pig. Top off from the bowser if you need to" Mercedez offered Lance and Hoot as she checked the Hexx's tanks "And there is more coffee in the coach if any one else wants some to take with"

The additional carry tank held nearly eighty gallons of top of the line premium. Siam pulled out the hose and started the pump

Fortier just walked over to the Hexx, and stood next to it as Siam filled up the tanks. He looked over to Hoot, his ears perking up. Fortier nodded. "Better hurry," he said, the cops are comming. Seconds later, the wail of a siren could be heard. Holly slid into the Camaro's passenger seat, and Hoot checked his gas gauge. He had enough for now.

Mercy nodded, and waved Siam off, she'd go with what she had.

"Hop in Fortier, or are you waiting for an engraved invitation?" She shot him a wicked grin as the V12 rumbled to life, and the passenger door winged upwards, allowing the lanky Imitorian entry

In the proverbial two shakes of a lambs tail the Hexx was out of there, Mercy heading away from the highway and towards the first of the back roads she intended to use to evade notice.

Siam waved the others off, and quickly set about turning the motorcoach back into a lavish overly priced rolling bordello. The big nanotech screem was showing the latest episode of Sex and the City, as she closed up the laptop for the time being and removed other signs of there being more than just her in the big vehicle.

Lance glanced over to Holly, giving her a smile as he quickly rolled out of the lot, leaving the motorcoach behind. He followed Mercy, the rumble of the Camaro echoing in the surrounding terrain.

The Camaro ran along, its tank full, its engine rumbling with a proudful growl. Lance kept his eyes on the lands around them, searching carefully for the police. They would be out in force, but he would do his best to be ready for them.

Mercy looked at Fortier out of the corner of her eye, wanting to let the Hexx run free, let them both enjoy the power of the massive v12, but it was now a game of stealth, of cat and mouse and they were the dreadfully small mice.

"Okay Robert, this is your country. If the cops try to stop us do we stand and tough it out, or do we run?"

The countryside was dark as relatively slowly they moved away from the lights of the town, and the sounds of police sirens faded behind them

Fortier leaned back in the seat, supprisingly comfortable for the car, and watched the road as it traveled by. He smiled, and watched the speedometer climb. "Well," he spoke finally breaking the silence, "chances are the cops will be waiting an Kenton, Stepfield, and possibly Holston. Our best bet is to sidestep the major cities, and take Highway 7 to Colston. From there we can hop on 252 west, and that will take us south." He looked over and smirked. "Unless you want to really have fun."

Meanwhile, Hoot checked a GPS, and made a phone call. "Yes, yes honey. I'll be carefull," he said, and hung up. He picked up his radio. "Ok guys, like Fortier said, I'm running interference. So, I'm gonne break up here, try to get the cop's attention. Mercedez, I assume Fortier's given you the directions already, so I guess everyone follow her. I'll see ya'll at the finish line." The black WS.6 broke away and went to follow a sign that pointed him towards IH9, one of the most heavily patrolled highways in Imitora.

Holly just sighed. "Ya know, I dont think I'll feel bad for him if he gets stopped."

Back in Northampton, three MH-22Is took towards the sky, one carrying Officer Tract. He looked at the situation update. He had two teams waiting at Fortier's house to pick him up, should he get home, and three waiting in Kenton. However, the black WS.6 that Fortier had last been seen getting into had headed away from the rest of the group. That was the car he would be following.

At the trailer at the quarter point, three squad cars pulled up, and one man stepped out. He was fit, well built, and even if he didn't look like he could rip out someone's kidney and stomp them to death, the .45 on his hip offered a level of authority. He walked up to the trailer door, and knocked, waiting for an answer. To other officers, one holding a pump action shotgun, the other an Imitoran made MP5 walked up behind him, also waiting.

Siam unlocked then opened the door, concern on her face. The top half of the door was glass, and she could clearly see that they were police - if the strobing red and blue lights hadn't been enough. She had nothing in her hands and her trim figure in jeans and tee shirt hid no weapons

"Yes?"

***************************************

"I don't feel like that much excitement tonight" Her grin was cheeky "Or at least not that sort of excitement"

She pulled up his suggestions on the touch screen

"Okay, thats close to what I had guessed at."

Before she could say more Hoot came over the radio, and announced that he was going to run hot, then turned away

"Be carefull Hoot" She replied "And if you get stopped press the green button inset in the back, it will fry the chip and make the unit unuseable. I'm handing it over to Fortier, and good luck" She handed it over to Robert

Fortier chuckled at Mercy's comment. "Well, theres always the party," he laughed, and picked up the radio. "Alright Hoot, good luck man."

Hoot hammered the throttle, and the Black Trans Am took off. He was pushing one hundred and sixty five miles per hour when the world around him suddenly became bright. He looked up, and saw it. The white angel of death, the Imitora Highway Patrol Helicopter. He smiled, and punched the gas, thumbing the nitrous button at the same time. He was slammed back in his seat. However, he wouldn't be able to outrun the radio that the choppe pilot had. Now, it was a true game of open cat and mouse.
_

The officer in lead of the group looked up from a clip board. "Scuse me miss, but would you mind stepping out of this motorcoach, I'd like to ask you a few questions, maybe have a look around. We've heard word that a few fugitives were seen in this area, in this same parking lot, and we ust want to make sure none of them have entered the motorcoach. For your safty," he added, stepping up to the door, hand resting on a nightstick.

"Well this is the only door to the interior, but sure" Siam let the worry on her face transmute to alarm as she stepped down from the coaches steps and let the officers enter. She was a practised and facile actress. The police would find nothing to indicate that any one other than she had been there. And her paperwork matched her cover story of being a bonded, professional transport driver, hired to move the expensive luxury vehicle from one destination to the next.

*****************************************

Mercy checked the touchscreen again, Dani's latest updates still held, and the police were not infecting this particular stretch of road. She left the Hexx run a little faster, somewhat over the 'twenty miles over the posted limit' that seemed to be the Imitoran norm.

She glanced up to the rearview mirror to check on Lance and Holly, and was pleased to see that the Camaro was keeping a safe and steady distance. The young Tsrlachina seemed to be very level headed, despite his easrlier stunt with the paint.

She slid a glance over at Robert, plesed that he was not the type that needed to fill comfortable silence with chatter

"Feel free to look though the cd's and the ipod list, if you'd like" She offered as the Irridium Satallite phone warbled. She swore underher breath. It was the 'official' phone that she lifted from it's 'holster'. She darted a look at Robert as she keyed the encryption and waited for the tone to settle

"MMX" She confirmed for the voice recognition. She listed to the information an Intellegence agent half the world away passed a long and part of her could have cried.

"No, seeing this through here. Let him run. Out."

She clicked the phone off and carefully slid it back in it's case on the passenger side of the dash. Her fist pouned twice on the dash, hard, and her face was white with rage. She could have screamed but instead bit her lower lip till it bled.

"Ma'am, the call we recieved said that a few suspects were seen exiting your motorcoach here. Robert Fortier, Holly Lutz, Thomas Gibbson, and two as of yet unidentified suspects, a blonde female and a brown haired male. Are you sure you've been alone this entire time?" the lead officer asked. The other two officers continued thier search, not exactly doing any sort of job to keep it clean.

Hoot was having his own problems with the police. He had tried several exit ramps, and back roads, but the damned bird just kept him right in sight. He knew he would hae to ditch soon, so he headed back towards the highway. He would at least be able to put some space between him and the ground units.

Holly, despite being the guide for Lance, and dozed off, he head back against the head rest of the Camaro. Fortier, in the Hexx, flipped through a CD wallet, deciding against Linkin Park or Hoobastank, when he glanced over at Mercedez on the phone. He turned his attention back to the CDs, Dexter Holland had tossed his hand into the mix, and now it was between Hooba, Linkin Park, or the Offspring. He didn't take his gaze of the CD wallet or iPod, but spoke quietly. "So, whats wrong?"

Siam's eyes went wide and startled, then she blushed furiously "Oh shit!" Her voice went breathy and little girl embarrassed

"Look, please don't tell any one but I went for a walk, my legs were cramping, and I found that park down the road..." She let her voice trail off, and looked down at her sneakers, one tracing circles on the roadway "I guess I fell asleep. And I don't remember locking the door"

She winced as the sound of drawers being slamed and things crunched reached her.

**********************************************

Mercy blinked a few times, then slowed the Hexx's headlong flight some what, and reached over and triggered a selection of the ipod, but set the volume on low.

"Thrity four years ago a midwife walked into a backcountry medical center with a pair of twin grils, age about one week. One was beautiful, bright and healthy. The other, the mirror twin was much smaller, and blueish pale. One was Merri, the other Mercy, no last names. Merri was adoped with in a week- by one of the wealthiest familes in Tanaara, Mercy, struggling to breathe, to live with a deformed heart wasn't - she was raised by the state."

Mercy took a breath and continued "It wasn't a bad childhood, but I was always tired, couldn't join in any of the games or sports, just sat on the sideline and read. Books were about my only friends. In Tanaara every one has to o a term of Fedral Service, so I became a supply clerk."

She grinned at his look "In Intellengce- if you needed it I got it for you from any where or any one. I could have had my records unsealed when I turned 21 but it didn't seem important- I didn't even know I had a twin. But by the time I was twenty eight I managed a 'stable' of eighteen highlevel agents, and one of them was Dani."

"She looks related, but shes not, but it will be relavant in a few minutes. You see my sister, raised in inconcievable wealth was the international jewel thief Dani worked with as part of her cover. And no she never told me about Merri. She's good with secrets, and honestly we didn't look much alike anyways at that time. But we both have a very rare blood type, and when Merri got shot, Dani brought me in and..the rest is history."

"Three years ago she paid to have a heart cloned for me, a massive expense. But it made me healthy, and we adopted each other, so we were officially sisters again."

Her voice stilled and then continued slowly as the violins wept in the background

"Two years ago, Dani was the official driver in a Formula One race. Merri had brought me in to see what the two of them loved to do. But Dani got food poisoning and was in the head throwing her guts out. Merri took her place. Some one had sabotaged the car, blew it up deliberately as Merri was winning."

"'We didn't know for a while if they were after Dani or Merri. Now I'm both of us. Mercedez MerriDEATH Hexx. And someday I'm going to catch the son of a bitch that killed my sister." Her voice was an icy, mater of fact statement

"We had two choices here, or at Blood Mountain, a terrorist arms sales gathering. He's there, I'm here."

The lead officer peered at Siam, and ran his tongue over his teeth, creating a moving bulge across his upper and lower lip. He spit off to the side, and nodded. "Right then miss. If you say so, we'll take your word for it." At that moment, the two other officers moved out from the back.

"Its clear boss man," one said, and the other nodded a confirmation.

"Alright then miss. Sorry to disturb you like this." He had taken her operator’s license, and handed it back to her at that moment. "Take care miss, and if you come into any information, give us a call." He handed her a card with his number on it, and the three officers moved back to there vehicles, leaving Siam alone.

Hoot, however, was not so lucky. He had been at wide open throttle for near thirty minutes, and was low on fuel. He grabbed the radio, and spoke quickly, "Alright guys, I'm going down, I'll see ya'll, don’t worry bout me, I'll call my lawyer". That would be the last time any of them heard Hoot's voice. The five squad cars were far behind him, but the helicopter was still right over head. He sped towards an exit ramp, and drove the car into a field, jumping out, and started to run. Then he stopped, and looked around.

He could see the first two squad cars pulling into the field, and he swore to himself. "Why the fuck did I try to run in an open field?" he shouted to himself. He decided not to run, it would be pointless. He stood in the wide open field, and cringed as the first two officers violently tackled him. He didn't fight back, and let them drag him back to the squad car. He was lucky enough, or maybe just smart enough, to hit the little green button on the back of the radio.

Fortier zipped up the CD wallet, and listened to the story. He nodded silently, and looked up at Mercy. "Well, God has a plan for everything, and I can understand your feelings. Should we survive this, well, you have my word I'll help you catch the bastard."

He paused for a moment, deciding whether or not to tell the story of First Speaker Ormsby, or note the fact that even today, five years later, he was still killing, or having people killed, over the incident. He had let go of Mandi, the Irish in him instead celebrating her life rather than mourning her death. But no, now was not the time for him to bring up his own revenge tales. Instead, he looked over at Mercy, and offered a comforting smile. "Lets just say, I'm glad your here."

Siam blew ough a sigh of relief as the prowl cars pulled out of the lot, and hurried back into the motor coach, practically ripping the radio out of its concealed slot. She turned it back on just in time to head Hoot's last communication. She practically screamed in frustration when she got no answer then the sharp whine that told of the destruction of the unit. Over the encrypted frequency she advised every one, just in case it hadn't reached them of Hoot's predicament

**********************************************

Mercy was aghast inside. Other than a few very high ups in the Tanaaran government, and the team no one knew the story. She hadn't ever had many friends to begin with and the last two years had been spent either learning to become her sister, or tracking down her assassin.

he looked over at Mercy, and offered a comforting smile. "Lets just say, I'm glad you're here."

Her heart gave a queer lurch at that, just as Hoot's message came over the radio followed seconds later by Siam's replay of it.

"Oh no" Mercy breathed, looking at Robert wide eyed "Is he going to be safe"

Fortier nodded. "Knowing Hoot, I'm sure he'll be fine." He didn't comment on the sudden change of subject, but quietly noted a look of concern on Mercy's face as she told her story to Fortier. He now, even after such a short time, considered her a freind, and, well, as many a dead soul had learned the hard way, no one messed with his freinds. Ever.

However, the quiet silence was suddenly broken by a chirp on the radio. Fortier picked it up as it chirped again, and Holly's voice came over. "Hey, guys, did we just fly by a cop back there?"

Fortier looked back. They were moving far to fast for him to see the car, but the sudden appearence of blue and red lights in the night sky caused him to swear. "Shit, it was!"

Far behind them, a Mercedes Benz C Class squad car, tuned by AMG, had taken off, its powerful V8 roaring as it shot to catch up to the two cars, screaming down the empty road. "Fuck," Holly swore, looking over at Lance. "Think you can out run a supercharged V8 with this thing?" she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

In the Hexx, Fortier looked at Mercy, and smiled. "So, its time to see what you really have," he said, offering his old, signature smirk.

Meanwhile, somewhere outside Felton, Imitora, almost to the halfway point of the rally, a silver VR4 and two motorcycles sped along the empty highway. The driver of the VR4, Andrew Lutz, looked around, noticing that there was no yet around. "Hey," he asked his girlfriend ridding shotgun, "shouldn't there be some other racers around, ya know?"

She nodded. "You would think so. Where the hell is everyone?" She looked out the back of the Mitsubishi, and grimaced. The road was empty. "Maybe we're winning?"

Andrew paused for a moment. "Holy shit, you think so?"

"Maybe?" she shrugged.

"Sweet," he said, punching it, the motorcycles both easily pacing him, but not taking off.

Mercy gave Robert a wicked grin

"I think it's time to scatter like a covey of brain bombed quails."

Mercy grabbed the radio, and keyed it down

*"Lance, Holly, I think it's time we part company. Stay safe, and stay in touch if possible."*

Then she put the gas petal all the way down and the Hexx leapt forward joyously. The road wound down before them, soon just a blurr in the darkness as the car tried to outrun the beams searing forth from the headlamps

Fortier smirked as he sat back into his seat, watching the road scream by. The Camaro piloted by Lance disapeared behind them, and he grinned, his old self again.

Behind them, the supercharged V8 screaming to keep up with Camaro. With that, it had a chance, but the Hexx was far to fast. The officer hadn't even been trying to find a chase, he was just gettting onto the highway when the two cars flew by. He looked down breifly, the speedometer closely approaching the 135mph mark. He blinked as the Hexx disapeared, and quickly got onto the radio. "10 David this is Car 17, I'm in persuit of two racers, heading south on Highway Nine, possible catch on one in a older Camaro. The other car, no chance. Requesting backup, over."

Seconds later, a voice responded over the radio. "Charlie 17 continue persuit, three cars are being redirected to assist with chase. Note four more being sent ahead as a road block. Will divert air to moniter, over."


Fortier watched the scanner intently as it relayed the info to Mercy and himself. "Well, I guess the scanner was a good purchase after all. Lets just hope we can get past the road block before they set it up."

The map on the touch screen showed a multimile long straight away ahead, and Mercy took a split second to grin at Robert

"We may not be able to out run radio waves, but they still have to get in place!"

And she shifted into seventh gear and watched the speedometer surge upwards as the massive V12 answered to her request, a land bound ebon jet

Lance looked over at Holly with a grin on his face.

"Top speed for them is what? 150?"

He turned his eyes back to the road, glancing in the rearview. He made sure he had enough distance to prevent the cop from seeing his plate clearly.

"150 is nothing, sweetheart."

The Camaro suddenly roared as the LS1 engine engaged to its fullest capacity. Lance watched satisfactorily as the squad car behind them suddenly shrank quickly. He could imagine the man's face.

The muscle car of the 70s had just literally flown ahead of the modern car...

Holly nodded. "Yeah, the C AMG cars are limited. Lets just hope they dont bring in a CL AMG chase car, then we're, well, screwd."

She felt the surge of the LS1 as it roared up, and was pushed back into her seat, the Mercedes Benz falling behind them. However, she had heard the same message over the scanner. The key now was not to out run the cop, but the radio. And without a serious good luck streak, that would be difficult. However, the worry disapeard, replaced by excitement as she watched the speedometer needle climb past the 170 mark, a grin slowly spreading. Sure it wasn't as, refined, as the Gemballa, but still, fast was fast.

In the Hexx, Fortier was also grinning. He looked over at Mercy, then down at the tachometer watching the needle scream towards redline as she shifted into seventh. "BMW style, eh?" he asked, looking at the seven speed stick, refereing to the new seven speed BMW ///M5. He grinned, watching the 'Maro disapear as well as the Squad Car.

"Listen, if they set up a road block, it would be best to shoot for the outside, wide break down lanes, of course," he paused looking up and back, "the air unit isn't up yet, so we could try to ditch for the side roads, they'll be watching the highway."

Meanwhile, in Kenton, Hoot landed with a hard thud on a concrette floor in a jail cell. He forced himself to stand, and looked around at a number of rather unsavory looking characters. One smiled at him, the smile a predator would give at the sight of fresh meat. Hoot just smirked back. "Alright, whose first," he asked, cracking his knukles.

The Hexx's speed was topping 225 and Mercy risked another brief glance at Robert, from the corners of her eyes, enjoying his smile.

Moving shapes in the road at the leading edge of the hi-beams. Then everything happened at one as trained reflexes took over, acting before conscious recognition is made.

Mercy whipped every fraction of her attention back to the road, her hands and feet moving as one to control the racing vehicle and avoid the collision with whatever was blocking the road.

Time seemed to slow and stretch for a heart stopping second, or maybe it was far longer. Inevitable...NO! Her mind cried.

No longer than an eyeblink, but no time to blink.

Time going frantic as brakes scream - wheels seek and find, then lose. Vortex air roar as the Hexx spins into a endless whirl of three sixties, the dim night scenery blurring before their eyes. Inner ears violently protesting the vertigo induced by the surges in their balance centers.

Then before more reaction the car was stopped, sliding backwards into a shallow ditch. Mercy looked at Robert full on, her eyes huge in the dim light of the intstrument panel. Panting she swallowed heavily, and tried to speak but no sounds. Licked her lips and swallowed again, still unable to find her voice.

Time resumes

Numbly she put the car in gear and eased it foreward, gently, as if afraid that it would take off on it's own. With a lurch the Hexx wallowed out of the ditch

The headlights showed an almost overgrown asphalt lane, brushes concealing it save for head on view. Wheels barely rolling Mercy guided the Hexx's nose into the gap, the brush crunching slightly as twig fingers dragged along the sides of the car. Four car lengths then a dozen them nearly double that and the brush falls away into a tiny clearing shelterd by an immense ancient oak.

Her hands shaking violently Mercy somehow turned the ignition off and killed the lights. She fumbled at the door latch, unable to open the gull wing, then it slides up. The five point harness is beyond her though, all she can do is shake, tears running down her face.

*Holly...Lauren....We have a problem. No chance for a rendevous at all. We've been spotlighted by three helicopters and they aren't just using lights. They must also have FLIR. Mike's throwing off some flares and some military hardware that should disguise us to the IR...but they still have us on visual and we won't be capable of keeping this up for long. I'm redlining the number one engine and the number two is starting to overheat. I'm going to have to back off to about 150, which means the regular cops can get me and the aerials will hound us. Town's too dangerous because some of these guys might ram us from a street corner or just box us in. Are there any tunnels we can lose the choppers in while I get the engines back to peak?*

While Lauren was shouting this, Mike simply threw half a dozen road flares out the window and fired off something from an M79 he had stored in the rear. He only had three shots, but this one was going to be needed.

That little something happens to be a version of the flashbang made by CMDC. It contains chaff and then shoots a microwave inbetween the outer ridges of the entire string, thusly creating lots of sparks and a small scale EMP. This would be just enough to knock out any night-vision device and would throw off any military-grade IR lock.

Lance gave Holly another smile. "I haven't even touched the nitrous yet."

He glanced down to see the speedometer reaching around 180 mph and settling in there. This was about the car's top speed, with the help of the LS1 engine.

"I figure the nitrous can yank this baby right over 210, 220 mph."

He gave a slight laugh, "Never did expect that out of this old piece of shit eh?"

Holly nodded. "Yeah, its decently quick. Here, take the next exit, we can side step the cops, it'll be faster," she said, pointing off towards an exit sign.

However, out, past the small forest that Mercy had pulled into, there was not advice being given, but silence. After a few moments, Fortier unclicked the quick release snap on his own five point harness, and reached over to Mercy, undoing hers. He stepped out of the car, his body protesting movement at this point. This was his second 150 plus spin out of the night, and second near miss. Thankfully, it was just a near miss, and not a second crash. He stood, and looked around the clearing.

The night had gone horibly wrong. He checked his watch, it was just clicking past three am. They were a full two hours behind schedule, and Fortier had nearly killed himself. He had destroyed two cars, and now Hoot, his best friend, was in jail. He trusted Lance, but would be suprised if the 'Maro had been able to pull away from the squad car. Lauren and Mike were in a bad way themselves. "Fuck," he swore to himself quietly. He grabbed a rock off the ground, a fist sized chunk of earth, and pulled back, and swung, releasing it has hard as he could, screaming. "FUCK!"

He paused, slowly calming down, and looked back at the Hexx. He sighed, and walked over to Mercy's door. "Sorry. Just a little stressed right now. Hey, you ok?" he asked, droping down to her level.

Mercy turned in the seat, slowly, but her tears had eased.

"Yes. I'm sorry, I could have gotten you killed with me not paying proper attention." Her voice trembled with self recrimination "And I can't even tell ...did we hit something out there?"

She gave him a pleading look as she held out her hands. She knew she wasn't sure if she could stand on her own but didn't want to openly ask...then she bit her lip - half yelping as she clamped down on a lip already starting to swell

"Robert, please, could you help me up?"

Fortier stepped back, his eyes looking over the car. "No, it looks ok to me. No dents or anything, so I doubt we hit anything. Deer or something probably ran out. At least we're ok, right?"

He walked back over, hearing her question, and extended his hand to her, offering to help her out of the car and up. "Best thing tro do is stand up, it makes the spinning stop, for the most part, and lets you know the ground is still here," he said, offering a smile.

Mercy took the hand he offered her, and used Robert for balance, careful not to put much weight on him. She found the world spining about her for a moment and she reached out with her other hand, bracing against his shoulder

"Oooh, not the sort of rush I like." She was careful not to shake her head as she swayed slightly. She found that leaning against the tall Imitoran helped, as did closing her eyes. "Thank you Robert.

Fortier embraced Mercy, holding her up. He knew the feeling she was having, of the world quickly spinning away, and you being stuck there with no where to go. He held her up. "Don't worry, its gonna get better soon."

He was suddenly hit with the thought to just turn around. Go back, and maybe try again, start over, legit. No, they weren't to far from the halfway point, maybe 30 minutes at most with the rate of travel. They had to finish up. They wouldn't finish before sunrise, but it had to be done. And they had to spring Hoot from Kenton. That would be easy enough, but still. He sighed quietly. He trusted Mercy, without a doubt. She had more than just tallent, she had instinct, and the means to be an excellent driver. However, that still couldn't cvover the simple fact that they were in Fortier's back yard, and he knew the MOS of the locals.

He looked down at Mercy, smiling, his eys soft. "I have an idea. Why dont you let me drive for a bit, I think I'm ok to go now."

As his arms went about her she relaxed, trusting in his strength and solidity. He wouldn't let her fall, he knew what she was experiencing. Mercy was glad they hadn't hit what ever had been in the road, she couldn't have stood the thought of accidentally killing. She found herself smiling as she listened to his sigh deep in his chest.

"I have an idea. Why dont you let me drive for a bit, I think I'm ok to go now."

She looked up to meet his gaze, smile warm, as she remained relaxed against him, so comfortable in his arms. Then she was going up on tiptoe, her lips a feather brush against his.

"I like your ideas"

The camaro turned as instructed to the off ramp, but not before Lance did a final check through the rearview for the police.

"Too easy." he muttered as he downshifted in speed.

"Where exactly are we at now?" he asked, "and what routes are we taking?"

He thought for several moments, "And what's going on with Hoot? Fortier struck me as a loyal friend to his friends, and I'm getting the feeling he might try something soon."

Mercy felt her face heat as she blushed. She was very glad that moonlight tended to wash colors out, she didn't want him seeing her flush. She quickly slipped out of his arms.

"Oh..that..that was rude of me, I'm sorry" She half stammered as she turned and headed for the passenger side of the Hexx. She made sure to keep her eyes firmly on the ground, so she wouldn't trip. She was still way to wobbly for her liking... 'and no it has nothing to do with you making the world's biggest fool of yourself just now' she thought miserably as she slid into the right side seat, and latched the harness carefully and closed the door.

Mike and Lauren had slowed down to 150, but still held a thirty second advantage over most of the ground units. This tunnel was pretty long and the air units were completely lost by now. Both engines were cooled down by now, and Lauren started used both since the number one engine wasn't red-lining the entire time. They went back up to two-thirty and everything was peachy.

Mike said, "Lauren, at this nextt rest stop...let's pull over and we'll color-tape the car and change the liscense plates again. They'll have nothing on us then."

"Good idea, Mike." Lauren said, slowing down to sixty and pulling in. They immediately started applying the duct tape to the car, making sure not to mess up the paint job and now had a red sports car. Not but ten seconds after they finished, the cruisers went blowing by the rest area and the helicopters were not within sight and hearing and were not visible on RADAR. All that James Bond Q branch stuff really had saved the day.

*Holly, Lauren. We've stopped now....no cops...rest area 165 around the Memorial Tunnel. We've changed a few things around and waiting for y'all. Where are you, over.*

Fortier wanted to kiss Mercy, to make her feel better, to hold her, but he realized as she pushed away that now was not the time. He smiled sheepishly as she walked away from him, his eyes trailing over her body. However, as she disappeared into the Hexx, he changed. No longer was he the sweet, caring, sensitive guy that had been holding Mercy, nor the loyal to the core friend that sacrificed his car to protect his companions. No, now, he was a machine, a robot, a single being, and as he slid into the driver’s seat of the Hexx 1, and started the car, closing the door. He clasped together the five pointer, and pulled the car out back onto the country road. He kept the car at the speed limit, coming to a light aiming straight at an onramp. His first goal was to get back to Kenton, and to rescue Hoot.

He sat through a green light, ignoring any looks from Mercy; there were no cars behind him. He wanted to make sure he was perfect now, as this is where he excelled. He fingered the iPod momentarily, finding a good song, and then closed his eyes. He opened them again, the light was preparing to turn green, and he reved once, letting the Mercedes Benz AMG V12 Quad Turbo wind out, and he let off. “Hold on,” was all he said, and when the light went green, he punched it, setting the beast free.

He slammed through first, the motor screaming as it reached up towards its redline, the traction control fighting a loosing battle to keep the wheels from spinning, the four turbos already howling. He threw the shifter into second, the car already flying well over the speed limit, reaching towards the first century mark, leaving another rallier in a red Ferrari 360, one that had managed to get out of Northampton fine, far behind them. The red prancing horse fought to keep up, but the Modena was no match for the Hexx. Fortier slammed into third, the car jumping again as he piloted it between two 18 wheelers, splitting the gap formed by the front bumper of one, and the rear bumper of the other.

Any protests, squeals, whimpers, or sounds of excitement from Mercy, or any voices coming over the CB or Scanner, fell upon deaf ears. Fortier was in a trance, his eyes focused only on the road ahead of him, his ears only listening to the engine scream, his body feeling nothing but the response of the car to his movements. It was here where he would put someone like Kimi Rikenen or the infamous Micheal Shumaker to shame. The Hexx screamed down the highway, past a waiting squad car. However, before even setting chase, the officer admitted defeat openly over the radio, saying there was no way in high hell he would be able to catch up. So a road block was set up.

Fortier never heard the warning over the scanner, but a sixth sense had picked it up, and as the Hexx one roared towards the waiting squad cars, Fortier, with less than milliseconds to spare, dove the Hexx into the break down lane, shifting into fifth as the AGM V12 pushed the car towards the second century mark. The Hexx 1 was all but flying now, and all of the sudden, after leaving three squad cars, two chase cars, and a helicopter in the dust, he slowed. He let the brakes come into play now, and he allowed the car to slow to a legal speed. He pulled off the highway, gravity slowing the car, and past a sign that read “Kenton City Limits”. He pulled into the parking lot of a rather nondescript building, they always were nondescript. The only sign read “Kenton Police District Holding Center”. He looked over at Mercy, smirking his old smirk. “So, uh, do you have any ideas on how to get Hoot our, or should I have done some thinking back there?”

Mercy saw the change in Robert but made no comment. She found herself understanding his singleminded focus, and sat quietly. Though she couldn't repress a whoop of excitement as Robert scooted he Hexx past the semis with millimeters - barely- to spare.

She didn't think he heard her relay of the information from the scanner. He was in the zone and seemed to know their decissions before they made them. He didn't frighten her, but she could see how his actions and demeanor could scare people badly.

When he stopped the car outside the Kenton Police District Holding Center, she burst out laughing, she couldn't help it. Just as she couldn't help realizing that her fears were correct. She was falling for Robert Francis Fortier in a most serious way, and that wiped the laughter from her. That would not do at all, for as she understood it, he and the dark haired Holly Lutz were a couple.

So, uh, do you have any ideas on how to get Hoot our, or should I have done some thinking back there?”

Mercy rolled her eyes at him, and tapped in a quick series of passwords ontothe touch screen.A list of built in armaments scrolled up.

"No taking out the front of the station would be too extreme, I don't know jack about electrical systems...wait what about putting every one to sleep for a bit. It'll get Hoot too, but we can set him in my lap"

She keyed in the combo and a concealed panel slid open, revealing a rack of small canisters.

Fortier nodded, looking over the list. "My mother once told me not to get into cars with strange girls. Of course, I'll get into anything with any girl,"* he said, winking. "Alright, lets gas the place, then get back to Northampton. I have this feeling that the party has already started without us, and that, well, I also have some major explaining to do to some people."

He opened the door, undid the five point belt, and exited the vehicle, walking over to Mercy's side to help her out.

*Guess what movie I butchered that quote from, get an e-cookie

"With *any* girl?" She grinned at him and leaned back in to pull out the cannisters. "Ought to be more careful than that. just *any* girl could get you into trouble"
Looking at the station she spied the gated steel ladder to the roof, and fliped a thumb at it.

"Boost me over that gate, and give me five minutes. I'll use the ac's air intake system to spread the gas"

She looked back at Robert "It takes a special girl to get you out of trouble"

OOC: Still waiting on a reply there Imitora...

IC:
Lance watched as the Camaro rumbled on the back road they were traveling on now. Trees lined both sides of the road, and often creating an overhang over the road. It seemed to be a tunnel, courtesy of Mother Nature. He looked over at Holly, who had been quiet for a little while. He returned his gaze to the road as some more thoughts returned.

Suddenly, without warning, the Camaro screeched to a halt, the car turning slightly in the road as it came to a stop. He looked over to Holly and spoke,

"Look, we both know all of us are in some serious crap right now. We need to figure out our priorities here. We've got the cops taking us out one by one, and we're running out of places to run. Soon, at this rate, they'll find us and catch us too. We can run the car as far and as fast as we want, but in the end, we're still in trouble."

He checked his watch, not really paying attention to the time. He returned to looking into Holly's eyes.

"We can run, or we can do the unexpected. We can run back to them. Back to the cops that are chasing us."

And give them the chase of true skill... was the unspoken ending to his little speech.

Fortier chuckled. "I could use one of those kinda of girls. Hell, if nothing else, its better than my ugly ass lawyer," he said, following Mercy over to the wall. He boosted her up, then stepped back, waiting for the clear sign.

Holly and Lance were running just past Kenton, on a service road that, despite not being seen, ran parallel to one of Imitora's major cross nation highway's. She pointed to a small out clearing, and told Lance to pull in. When he stopped the Camaro, and finished his speach, Holly looked back into his eyes. She punced, leaning over the gap, and pressing her mouth hard against his in a passionate kiss. It lasted for a few moments, and then she stopped, and pulled back. She brushed of her jeans, and straightend out her hair, sitting in the silence of the car. "Alright, lets go back," she said, rebuckling her seatbelt.

'Mercy you can't be teasing with Fortier- he's taken and it will just mean more pain later on.' She mentally scolded herself as she scampered up the ladder two stories to the roof. Barely three years ago climbing that ladder would have seriously risked her life, her malformed heart unable to take the strain. Silently she once again thanked Merri's shade, tears prickling in her eyes as she thought of the laughing, vibrant sister she'd found so late.

Taped to one of the cannisters was a tiny universal screwdriver and with that she made short work of the latching of the air conditioners housing. She estimate the size of the building and decided that three of the cannisters would be more than sufficiecnt. Setting the simple timing mechanism for three minutes she tumbled them down intothe air intake, and quickly relached the houstin. The screwdriver went into the sole pocket of the pale golden slacks she wore. A scramble back down the ladder, and over the wall and she was looking for Fortier.

He made a miniscule movement to attract her attention - otherwise she was certain she'd never have seen him. His dossier was impressive in the list of speccial ops training he'd recieved, and he had obviously kept in practise.

"Here, these nose plugs will last for about an hour" She pulled out a pair of tiny packets and handed him one

Lance was stunned by the sudden kiss. It was something he hadn't expected in his moment of serious thoughts on what to do in their current situation. He blinked, staring forward at the patch of woods in front of them.

He blinked again.

What the hell was that?

He looked over at her, watching her face which now stared forward and ignoring his gaze.

"Right..." he managed to say at last. He shifted into reverse and floored the pedal, spinning the car about in a reverse donut until he faced the road and the direction they were to go. Shifting into gear, he felt the Camaro willingly pick up speed rapidly. Yet, now his mind was on Holly.

Women...I'll never understand 'em. he thought cynically to himself as he shifted into the highest gear. Hell of a kiss though...

Fortier pushed in the nose plugs, and entered the building with Mercy. After only a few moments of searching, they found the holding cell where the over nighters were held. Forter hefted up the unconscious man, tossing him onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry. They steped out of the building, and Fortier handed Hoot to Mercy. "Careful there bud," he said to the unconscious man. "Might get jealous."

Fortier walked over to the side of the Hexx 1, sliding into the driver's seat, and pulling out of the parking lot, heading towards the highway. He looked over at Mercy, and smiled. "Guess that wasn't to bad," he said, shifting into third as the car approached 90. He was travling a meer 30 miles over the posted limit, the car moving quickly down the highway.

"So, we finish this up, or just cut our losses now, head back from here, and get ready for the party?"

"Given how strongly the police are reacting, I think we had better head back. We weren't expecing this much of a reaction. Our latest intel said they were cracking down, but this is past merely 'cracking down'."

She wiggled trying to get comfortable with Hoot's limply unconscious weight

"And he's heavy. I thought that the girl was supposed to sit in the guy's lap."

Fortier nodded, and headed towards a highway overpass that would turn them around. "Good idea. We'll just get back, we can lay low for a bit, let them settle down and..."

He stopped talking as the car was quickly illuminated. He punched it, trying to pull away, but it wasn't a helicopter, well, not a true helicopter. The light came from a IHP MH-22I. The large hybrid aircraft dove slowly, and the props rotated up, comming to a hover right infront of the car. "Shit," Fortier swore, slamming on the breaks, bringing the Hexx to a stop.

The Osprey set down, and several heavily armed SWAT officers stepped out, surounding the car, weapons aimed. "Stay here, I'll take care of this. If I dont come out, go back to Northampton, and find Tony," Fortier said, stepping out, hands up. He had left his gun in the Hexx, so he could exit unarmed. He approached the SWAT officers, talking to one for a moment, the sound of the rotors drowning out anything else, before the officer grabbed one arm, turned it behind Fortier, and then pulled the other one down, leading him to the Osprey.

Inside, Tract sat in a drop seat, facing Fortier. "Ya know, I've been trying to nail you for so long, and now I finally got you picked. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"You've been trying to nail me? I always thought you were a straigh shooter John, guess I was mistaken." The comment earned him a rifle butt being driven into his back, dropping him. "After that, I think I might need to reconsider the amount I donate to the Northampton police."

"Why is it that whenever we arrest someone, they have an attitude. Its not gonna get you out. We have a pretty long list of charges for you, I hope you have a good lawyer. Of course, you know the deal," Tract finished, not vocally reading Fortier's Merranda Rights. "Aiding and abeting, organzing an illegal gathering, organizing the mass illegal use of motor vehicles, reckless endangerment, exxcesive acceleration within Northampton city limits, loitering, fleeing from marked and unmarked police officers. You really know how to start racking them up."

"I didn't know I was running. I just thought you guys couldn't keep up?"

Tract just laughed. "So how many pairs of cuffs am I gonna need? A set for the girl and a set for your buddy Hoot?"

Fortier shook his head. "Don't take them. They had nothing to do with this, just ridding shotgun. I even think the girl," he was carefull not to use Mercy's name, "told me to slow down a few times."

"Hoot was arrested for running as well, and you just left Kenton, you want me to think you didn't just try to spring him."

"You don't have any proof."

"I can look in the car."

"Just leave them alone, and take me on my own. I'm the only one you want."

"Fine," Tract said, nodding to the SWAT officer. He spoke into the throatmounted microphone telling the rest of the SWAT officers to get back on the Osprey. They did so, and the vertiplane took off, leaving Mercy alone with Hoot in the Hexx 1.

Mercy sat stunned as they left, but inside she was raging. She didn't know who the hell Tony was but he'd damn well better have the pull, or the weeapondry to get Fortier out. It took ten damned minutes to get the dead weight of Hoot off of her, and left him with a sizable goose egg to add to his pains. Then she was out and screaming at the empty sky for a long minute. Then she loaded Hoot back into the Hexx and swung into the drivers seat. Keying on the radio she updated every one.

"Lance, Holly they just took Robert. I've got Hoot with me but he's unconscious for at least five hours. Alton, every one, head back to Northampton. This means war. Holly, I need to talk with you face to face." Mercy's voice was cold and calm

"Dani, get me all the info we'll need, rape the government net, go as deep as you need to..and make it look like the Vastivans did it." There was a certain evil glee in her voice.

Lance growled and slammed a fist into the steering wheel as he heard Mercy's latest update on Fortier.

"They're getting us, one by one..." he stated obviously.

He looked over to Holly, then narrowed his eyes slightly, "Fuck this, time for you to see what makes me the most wanted racer in Tarlachia."

He floored the gas, watching as the speedometer rose sharply. He caught sight of a nearby street sign that stated the distance to Northampton. They raced on, back to Northampton, back to the hell, the haven of the squads.

He kept his eyes forward, watching and listening to the radio report of the AM news station they were on. The woman on the station was reporting on the illegal race, the difficulty that the police were having in catching some of the racers, before suddenly breaking her report with the latest update.

"...We've just gotten a report of a silver Camaro that just blew by one of our news trucks out on the highway between Northampton and Kenton. They're moving northbound, at an incredible speed we can only guess......the passing of the Camaro caused the driver of the truck to swerve away in surprise and hit the guardrail. Who is that racing?"

"I don't know Amanda, the kids these days are really starting to worry me."

"Same here, they're endangering --"

The radio turned off as Lance looked into the rearview to see the rapidly disappearing news van. He sighed deeply and tightened his grip on the wheel. Oh yeah, this was getting to be much like the RUM run back home that ran through rural, urban and moutainous regions of the nation. The racers there had to deal with the cops as well, and the cops in Tarlachia held up the nation's security and law enforcement reputation like few others. Imitora was only another Tarlachia, with a new crew to battle the streets.

"No fucking way, man." he said aloud as he resolved to keep the Camaro free from the manacles of the law. The Camaro roared in response.

Holly nodded at Lance, and simply held on as he piloted the 'Maro back towards Northampton. She picked up the radio, and keyed it up. "Mercedes, meet us back at the industrial sector, we can talk there." She put the radio down, and watched as Lance moved the heavy muscle car down the road.

"This is really not good," she said quietly.

Mercy turned the Hexx's massive engine over and laid an impressive streak of rubber as she accelerated back toward Northampton. The scanner and Dani let her know that what little of the 'imperial entanglements' were focused on Lance and the Camero.

Mercedes, meet us back at the industrial sector, we can talk there."

*"Roger that Holly. I'll be there as soon as the Hexx can get me there."*

Once she turned on to the highway she laid the gas pedal to the floor board, letting the AGM V12 howl. In less than two minutes she was topping two hundred and still had thirty available. The run back to Northampton was a blurr.

Less than two hours later she was gliding through the industrial section looking for the Tarlachian's muscle car and acknowledging that Dani, Siam and the others would be therewith in another few hours.

"Holly, they got Fortier! I've got an idea to get him out. We'll use my connections to the head of the Imitorian Government and just tell him it would be a personal favor for Fortier to be released into my custody. I'll also promise to help y'all in a timne of need, kinda like a national IOU."

"Mike," Lauren replied, "That would never work unless you called now, before he got the news."

"Ok. I'll do that." Mike said as he picked up the phone and called. He got the secretary and set up an immediate appointment that would be in two hours. Mike told her of the time and asked, "Can you make it there by then?"

"You bet your sweet ass I can!"

The secretary hung up the phone after speaking with a one Mike Kowalski, and shrugged. She checked her watch, it was near four thirty in the morning, and First Speaker Anna Sophia Fratelli wasn't even in Imitora, but on some diplomatic relations mission to some random third world country, making Imitora look good. She doubted that this guy would even show up, probably some wako nut job stalked type. Fratelli had way to many of them. She sighed, and went back to organizing her desk. She hated having to work the night shift.

Meanwhile, Fortier sat in silence on the Osprey, waiting for the flight to end. He had had a good run, and managed to stay on the other side of handcuffs for 32 years, now it was just karma. He felt the MH-22I descend, and looked out a window at the holding facility beneath him. He sighed to himself, and stood when told to. He went through the standard prison processing, checked for weapons and such, and deposited into a high security holding cell. He shuffled over to a corner, and dropped, leting his head fall back against the wall, and waited.

Orome spotted the silver Camaro tucked inobtrusively in the far corner of an other wise deserted lot, guided in by Hollys directions. She killed the lights and gave the still unconscious Hoot another check. Wryly she grinned, he'd be out for at least another two hours. She hopped out the the Hexx and strode over to the muscle car, leaning in to talk to Holly and Lance.

"We have to get Fortier. There has got to be more to this than just becuse of the race, or they would have taken me and Hoot as well. Robert said to find Tony."

She was sure that Holly would know who Tony was

Lauren and Mike hustled to the First Speaker's office. They got there at about oh-five-hundred. Mike took his pistol out of the holster and walked into the building. He showed his golden-bound passport to the guards as well as submitting to a fingerprint and retina scan which matched his passport. He was let in with only a slight amount of trouble until the guards noticed he was the President of an allied nation. After that, they were more or less nice to him, all things considered. He entered the main part of the First Speakers office to see a tired and suprised secretary when he said, "I am President Mike Kowalski from Crazed Marines. I believe I have an appointment with the First Speaker." The secretary, pretty as she was, just turned completely pale when he said that.

The secretary looked up at Mike and Lauren, and nodded. She looked back down at her work, and pointed over to a set of chairs off to the side. "First Speaker Fratelli is out of the nation at the moment. As soon as someone arrives that can be of assistance, I'll be sure to inform them of your arrival, and direct you to there respective office."

She took a sip of her coffee. "It shouldnt be to long, one of the internal state ministers should be around shortly."

Meanwhile, in the industrial section, Holly walked over to Mercy. "Tony? I dunno, the only Tony that Rob knows is Fat Tony, down on the south end of Ampleton, just outside of Northampton Hieghts, but I dunno if that would help anyone."

She looked at the Hexx, seeing Hoot's sleeping form. "How long is he out for?"

Mercy explained the gas, and she sighed. "Damn, we coulda asked him." She paused for a moment, brushing her hair out of her face. "OK, I got it. Lance, help us get Hoot out of the Hexx, take him back to his apartment, and if he doesn't wake up, meet us back in here in a hour. I'll take Mercy to Fat Tony's resteraunt, we'll see whats up, then meet back here. Ok?"

Mercy keyed the passenger gull wing and unharnesed Hoot, then moved out of the way while Lance pulled the sleeping Hoot's limp and awkward body out.

"Lance, Holly, why don't we meet at the motor coach that stayed here. Dani will have more information for us in the next hour or so, and it's hidden in a warehouse, plenty of room to park cars away from the cops prying eyes." Mercy offered and gave the warehouse's address.

Holly gave Lance Hoots address and slid into the Hexx.

"Okay Holly where is Fat Tony's and is the cooking any good?" Mercy quipped to hide her nervousness as she pulled out of the parking lot.

Holly chuckled. "Well, all things considered, its pretty good." She guided Mercy through the super city that was Northampton, and pointed to a turn that led into a rathory unsavory looking area. As they drove through the neighboorhood, the silence in the car was invaded by loud, blaring rap music. Several young black males eyed up the Hexx, as if eyeing a fresh piece of meat.

They were passed by older Cadilacs and Monte Carlos with intricate paintjobs and chromed wheels, thumping loud rap music through large subwoofers. As they moved through the area, several police cars were seen outside of apartments, and more than one prostitue approached the Hexx. However, Holly just guided Mercy towards a pizza place right in the center of the district. "Fat Tony's Pizza and Pasta," it read, neon light's flashing brightly. In the parking lot, several brand new Mercedes Benz sedans, a number of Escalades and Navigators, and a few Cadilac cars could be seen, massive wheels, some still spinning even though the cars were not moving reflecting the lights.

"Ok, here we are," Holly said, stepping out of the Hexx as Mercedez parked. She walked inside, and all eyes fell on her and Mercy. The dinners, the cooks, and the cashier, were, as to be expected, all black.

"Whatchu want?" one of them asked, wearing a black New York Yankees jersey, his head shaved balled. He was younger, as were most of the workers. One man looked up from his rigatoni, and quickly looked back down. Another cook looked out from behind, his hair tied into corn rows, and smirked at the new commers, revealing a set of gold teath, matching his gold chain hanging from his neck.

Mercy had, as various stops at various lights, pulled out a Uncle Mikes back of the pants pancake holster, sliding it on and filling it with Robert's pistol. A light jacket came out of the small 'pocket' behing the drivers seat. It was a microfiber travellers special and draped nicely with no wrinkles, and hid the gun from view even better than it draped.

Mercy followed Holly in, moving as casually as possible. This was not the sort of place she was used to at all. She was also going to leave the initial contact in Holly's hands. Holly was the native, she wasn't and that could make immense difference

Lance looked over at the snoring Hoot with an amused look. The guy was completely knocked out, and lay half-slumped in the front seat next to him.

"You're one loud son-of-a-bitch when you sleep Hoot."

He turned over the engine and chuckled. Moments later, the Camaro was rumbling at posted speed toward Hoot's address. They got there in no more time than was necessary. Lance was soon picking up Hoot out of his seat and looked up the flight of steps to the fourth floor of the apartment complex in which Hoot lived. He groaned slightly, then hefted the man onto his shoulders and began to walk up the steps. By the third flight of steps, he was feeling the burn in his legs raging. By the time he was inside Hoot's apartment, he was sweating slightly, and breathing quickly.

He tossed Hoot onto the bed and went to the kitchen to get a drink of water. Returning with the glass in hand, he set it down on the nearby table and walked over to Hoot.

The poor sap was still out like a light.

"Lucky." he muttered as he took a seat in the chair and flipped on the television to the news channel. The coverage on the race was dying down, but it was by no means gone. He knew the cops would still be out looking for the racers as well. It was how the hour was passed as Hoot lay unconscious, drool pooling out of his mouth onto the bed next to him. An occasional snort echoed in the room. Lance looked over to him, muttering in disgust.

After an hour had passed, Lance finally had enough of waiting and walked over to Hoot. "Hey man, time to wake up, one way or another."

He slapped Hoot's face hard.

Hoot merely snorted.

"You've got to be kidding me..." Lance said to no one in particular.

The glass in hand, filled with fresh cold water was suddenly dumped completely onto Hoot's snoring face. It did the trick and yanked the drowsy man out of his sleep. He looked up with glazed eyes at Lance.

"About time. You could've told the cops where we are by the decibels of your snoring. Let's go, get yourself together, we've gotta meet the others."

Mike went up to the secretary and said, "Is there any way I can get on the phone with the First Speaker. What I have to say is a matter of national importance to both our countries and time is a factor. If we don't do anything, a leader in your country might suffer more.....and cooperating with my country has multiple perks such as advanced military hardware." The secretary just sat there, reading a book. She looked up then.

OOC: Its all yours Imitora.

Hoot grumbled away to put on a set of dry clothes, returning moments later. "Alright, where are we going?"

In the First Speakers office, the secratery looked up, and shrugged. "I'm not in a position of authority to make those decisions. Her personal secratery is on the trip with her, and I have no idea if I can reach her or not. I simply sugest you wait till someone of a position of authority arrives, and then you can attempt to persuade him or her of whatever you think nessacery. And for further refrence, I sugest that you utilize propper chanels of communication, and perhaps a mishap like this will be avoided." Imitorans were notorious for placing the blame on others, and this secretary was no different.

As she went back to her book, a British sounding voice could be heard down the hallway, and an older looking man, mabe in his early 50s poked his head into the office. "Victoria, darling, any messages for me?"

"Ah, no Minister Sinclair. If you'd like, you can deal with these two here, claiming that some other Imitoran leader is in trouble."

"Fratelli in trouble? Have we notified any of the teams yet?"

"No Minister Sinclair, someone else."

"Ah, very well then, please follow me." Without introducing himself, he lead Lauren and Mike down a hallway to an office door inscribed "Minister Donal P. Sinclair, Minister of Foreign Relations". He lead them into the office, which was plush for a government office, and offered them seats. Noticable on the desk was a plaqe that read "There has yet to be found anythign wrong with Excentricity." He sat down behind his desk, and eyed the two.

"So, what can I do for you two?"

Mike started out "Ah, yes....Mister sinclair...I believe you attended our wedding. I believe you will recognize me by my position. I am Mike Kowalski, President of Crazed Marines. Now, a buisness leader in your country, and a personal friend of mine, is in a spot of trouble and we were wondering what we could do to help him. You see, having Mr. Fortier arrested by the SWAT team does not do well to any economic transactions my country does with yours, as most transactions are either weapons or car parts. Roughly thirty percent of our trade with Imitora has some connection to Mr. Fortier and if he were to be discredited it would create an...unstable pause...between trade. Now my country cannot afford an economic slowdown now because of our recent civil war. He is worth approximately thirty billion USD per year in trade. If he were to be aquitted or released, it would not only stop an economic slowdown but would increase trade between the two of us. And improving both our economies would be considered a personal favor to me and a debt of honor to my country. This would mean over two point four billion people would view your country better and would spend more liberally. Doing so would also allow me to trust your country more, and quite possibly show your R&D departments some of our more advanced military hardware....This isn't a bribe because I was planning something along these lines anyways, but this would get you everything quicker. So, can you do this for me?"

Sinclair just nodded, giving off the impression that he was hardly listening. When Mike finished the explination, he looked at Lauren. "I'll tell you what," he said, speaking with a tone that conveyed no seriousness. "I'm thinking of a number between 1 and 10, if you can tell me what it is, I'll let this Fortier chap out."

Lauren blinked a few times. "Excuse me?"

"Start guessing, but dont really start guessing, just guess...once."

"Um, seven?"

"Wrong, twelve."

"But twelve isn't between one and ten. Its beyond ten, and wait, why am I even doing this, what the hell kinda game is this?"

"Quiet dear, quiet." He sighed. "I'm afraid there isn't much I can do. I could talk to some people, see if I can pull some strings or what not and so such, but I'm just not sure. What you are saying should be propossed to the economic minister, and only god knows where that Indian Jones wannabe is at the moment. Or the Ministry of Justice, but good luck getting in there, even Fratelli has a hard time getting past security. All the diplomatic prestige in the world wont get you in unless your on the invite list. Basically, you'll need to sit back and wait a bit, and I'll see what I can do," he finished, looking at them with sympathetic eyes.

Meanwhile, at Fat Tony's Itallain eatery, the air was tense. Holly, noticing that Mercy hadn't said anything, stepped forward. "We need to see Fat Tony," she said, confidently, hiding her fear. A rather fat and overly large black man stood up, his Fubu jersey hanging off him, and he pushed aside an Itallian Sausage subway sandwich.

"Who the fuck are you, and what do you want with Fat Tony," he said, crossing his arms, which lifted his jersey, and made visable a Glock in a holster on his hip.

"Hey," a soft voice was heard from the back of the kitchen, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the Itallian resteraunt. "Nigga, sit down. Eat your sandwhich."

The man that stepped out from the kitches wasn't fat at all. In fact, he was rather lanky. He was tall, maybe six foot two, and dressed in the manner that a 1970's steryotypical pimp would have been dressed. Long brown fur coat, purple polyester pants with white shoes, and a orange polyester shirt opened at the top. He even had the hat with the feather, and countless gold chains and rings. His hair was jet black, and hung past his neck. However, despite the older look, he was middle aged, and a gold and sliver Glock worn visable on his right hip showed that he was well known to the modern age. He peared at Holly and Mercy through gold rimmed mirrored aviators.

"Now, laddies, I do have to ask," he stared calmly, "what the fuck do you want?"

Holly boldy looked right back at him. "We need to talk to you, its about Fortier."

"Fortier? Man, what did that white boy do this time? Shit, if I have to go down talk the Asians again, he seriously owes me. I appologize for Eddie here, hes a bit, protective. But any friend of Fortier is definately a freind of Phat Tony. Please, follow me into my office," he said, extending one hand from the gold and jewel encrusted cane he leaned on into the back of the resteraunt.

He lead them through the kitchen into a back room, where several men played poker, and a football game was being watched on a large plasma screen TV. Tony sat at a desk made of Imitoran Mohagany, reclining into a plush red velvet chair. He extended his hand towards to seats. "Please, take a seat. Now, what can I help you two with?" he asked, removing his hat and glasses, another body gaurd taking his coat.

Mercy followed quietly, but noticing every detail. Exits, cover, weapons, locations. And she moved as lightly and alertly as a cat at a canine convention. She nodded when he offered them chairs and took the one hardest to get out of. The air was blue with smoke, and most of it was not tobacco.

"The cops have Fortier. He told me to come to you. We need your help in breaking him out."

She sat back, relaxing in the chair "And if Fortier believes you can help me in this, then I have evey confidence that you can."

Tony nodded. "I'm not suprised, homeboy's been doing stupid shit since he was born. No one deserved to be arrested more than he did. Guess its karma and all. But hey," he paused to take a sip of an unknown liquid, "who am I to judge. So, we need to break him out. Any ideas, or do I have to think of one?"

"Tony, I'm from Tanaara, I don't know what we can get away with here. A blow'em up smash and grab, or something subtle - a sneak in and back out never knowing we were there? I have ...some equipment, and information, but I don't have the manpower." She felt she needed to be honest with him, Tony deserved no less. She'd never dealt with people like him, and could only hope they would play fair with her.

She looked at Holly, beginning to try and come up with a plan. "Can we get the racers, have them roll again, make it a diversion?" She looked back at Tony, wondering if that would aid their efforts, or just put more people in the cops hands

OOC: La da de da de da de da de da de doo doo doo...

IC:

Tony nodded. "I think I see where your going with this. Here's what we do. I need to take some time to get together all my men, so take this," he said, handing a list across the table, "and call those numbers. That list has the heads of all the major car clubs and racing groups in Imitora. Call them up, tell them to meet you wherever you want them to meet you, and tell them your idea."

HE stood from the table, and extended his hand towards the door. "My man Chris will show you the door, make sure you get out ok. Meet us at Fortier's shop in say, two hours. Gives us three hours till sunrise."

"Three hours." Mercy nodded as she took the list and rose from the chair. With Holly ahead of her she followed Chris out. Once they were in the safety of the Hexx, she pulled out the Iridium Satallite phone and handed it to Holly

"Here this is a straight satallite phone, not in the Imitoran cel net at all, and encrypted. If you'll start calling the car clubs and get them to the warehouse. I'll get on the commo to my people and update them."

She also knew she would need to make plans to get Fortier and Holly out of the country. A hot break out like this was looking to be would mean him being PING'ed for quite some time.

Mike swore under his breath. He then said something to Lauren and he left. She thanked whoever it was, she had forgotten by now and was of no use to them. She then walked out and saw Mike getting out his M79.

"Put that down!" Lauren yelled at him.

"But honey..."

"No buts mister! We are not killing off a minister because he failed to help us."

"I wasn't gonna. I was gonna blow the shit outta the side of a jailhouse!"

"We're not doing that either. We are gonna talk to the economic minister and try and get him to pull more strings. Put the '79 down and pick up the phone!"

Mike did such, and a guy on the street was watching laughed at the whippiing Mike was taking. Lauren glared at him and he ran off, tail tucked.
Ring.....ring.....ring....

Lance looked over to Hoot with a serious look on his face.

"We're bustin' Fortier. Heading straight back into the den of the lions."

He donned his jacket and opened the door, speaking outward, but to Hoot.

"I never thought I'd be doing this..."

He took a deep breath and stepped out into the early morning hours of the night.

Holly made the calls, and before they had made it back to the trailer, the motocoach was surounded by several high end cars. Ferraris, Lamborghinis, a few Mclarens, and a number of Porsches all sat, drivers standing out in the night. A number of sport bikes were there as well, and a handfull of Asian and European lower end sports cars. Just about every club in Imitora had shown up.

Holly stepped out of the Hexx as she gazed out into the lot. "Shit," she muttred, "this is a lot of people." It was no where near the amount that had gathered for the start of the race ten hours ago, but still a decent amount. However, this time, the lot was quiet. No motors purring, no loud music, jsut silence. Holly looked back at Mercy. "You better be a good speaker, because I think these people want a good explination of why they are here."

Lance turned the silver Camaro into the lot alongside the Hexx. He nodded silently to the women, lingering his eyes with Holly's own for a brief moment. Getting out at the same time as Hoot, he walked over to them and nodded again, looking around to the others waiting as well.

"What's the game plan?" he asked quietly, fitting to the mood surrounding them.

Mercy gave Holly a wide eyed look and gulped. Then she took a deep breath and climed out of the Hexx. Slowly head down she moved to roughly the center of the gathering, thinking fiercely. Stopping she pitched her voice to carry to all of them

"My name is Mercy Hexx, and none of you all really know me from Adam. But you weren't asked here for me. You were asked here for one of ya'll. Some one you've raced with, and against, cursed and cheered, some one who like all of you lives for the run, the speed beneath your butts and in your hands. The law's been cracking down and like most of you he got fed up with their 'tude."

She hoped that all eyes were on her but she couldn't tell. She was trying very hard to make eye contact with as many as she could. She was amazed that her mouth wasn't as dry as dust. The closest thing she had ever done to public speaking was a poem she'd read aloud in fifth year.

"Robert Fortier was arrested a bit ago for the crime of acknowledging his need to run. Yah, things got a little out of hand, strangers came in in fancy, purpose built cars. I can only answer for my reasons for being here, but it wasn't to cause trouble for ya'll. It was to join in the race, the run...We all ran, but it's Robert paying the price. I don't like someone else paying my bill. I owe it to Robert to help get him out. We're going to get him out."

"We need you, we need your help. We need a diversion, as many of you out there tying up the cops as possible."

She wondered how pathetic that sounded. "Yes, we need you to let yourselves get caught. I can promise legal help, fines paid, but I know its going to be no fun getting nabbed. But I'm asking you in the name of one of your own."

She looked at Holly, unsure of what else to say.

Hoot looked around, still a bit groggy. He noted Holly and Mercy, and followed Lance over, stopping to look at a new C6 Corvette. He was gonna need something to replace the Trans Am, and that kinda of car looked as good as any. However, he had freinds that needed help, and now was not a time to think about cars. He walked over to Holly and Mercy, behind Lance.

"So, uh, other than breaking out Fortier, have we thought of whats gonna happen afterwards?"

"Fortier and Holly are going to have to hide out for a bit, and I doubt there's any place safe in Imitora. My team can get them out of the country, and I can think of a few places that would be safe."

Mercy looked at Holly

"I can have Alton or Dirk help you pack up some stuff, and later through cut outs we can get the rest of your stuff to you, where every you and Robert decide to lay low."

She nodded to the other motorcoach just now pulling in.

"There's Siam, and the semi will be here in an hour. We can get Fortiers cars from his shop when we meet Tony there. If he has too many cars we can leve one or both of the motor coaches here for disposal. The ...customization can be taken out in no time at all."

The crowd was silent after Mercy's speach. Some nodded in agreement with her, and other just shook there head. As Tony had said back in the bar, no one really deserved this more than Fortier. He had run ever since he was a teenager, and been able to get away. Karma was a bitch like that.

After a few minutes of general murmur among the crowd, one person broke through. He was wearing a pair of black jeans, a white tshirt, and an obnoxiously green leather and black jacket. He was obviously a biker. His short cropped blonde hair reflected the light from a set of headlights, and even though it was dark outside, he wore a pair of Oakleys with emerald green lenses. He approached Mercy, and looked her straight in the eyes. He dropped an empty leather duffle bag infront of her.

"Fortier asked me to help get this race started by causing a diversion for the cops. Eighteen of my boys were nabbed. Fortier gave us enough cash to get them out, and even then it was barely enough. Some of them were wanted on other charges, and now are pretty much fucked. And here you are, wanting us, me, and my boys to do this shit again? You want us to put our necks on the line, risk gettng arrested, going to jail, or worse, just cuz he got nabbed? What the hell kinda question is that?" He paused, letting his words fall on every ear in the audience.

Hoot was about to step forward to confront the biker, when the biker broke the silence. "Shit, you should know we'd do anything for him, hell, hes one of my boys."

As Mercy looked over to the bikers, they all nodded. Another person stepped forward. "Man, if it weren't for Fortier, I know my ass would still be in jail."

A third approached. "My entire crew's rides are all in the low teens cuz of him. Shit, we owe him."

Another man, dressed rather well, all things considered also looked up towards Mercy. "He got me out of a damned POW camp, you think Im gonna let him rot in a prison?"

The entire crowd was well behind Mercy. However, one man felt the need to speak up. "Scuse me, miss, I mean, legal help is all well and good, but I mean, what else? Not to be the materialistic asshole of the group, but whats in it for us?

Lance shook his head, not sure whether to pity the man asking the last question, or to be enraged. For the moment, he kept his tongue.

He looked up at the others, then at his watch.

"We better get a move on."

He turned and slipped back into the driver's seat of the Camaro. He called out to the others, "I ain't here for the legalities of it. We'll figure that out after we get the son of a bitch out."

The Camaro roared to life.

"Ever been a part of a legend? 'Cause that's what its going to become. All of you say you owe him, and may be you do. But you also owe yourselves...who the hell wants to do just "what the law will allow"? You want name, you want respect? Well it's got to be earned, right.?"

Mercy rounded on Hoot. "You get the camera gurus, get as many as you can get ahold of. Have them run with these legends in the making, and we'll get it aired, not just to Imitora, but across the globe." That would mke legends of them all. "I have pull in certain places, I'll state that freely, and I'm willing to use it....and you want credits? Each of those motor coaches is over three million apiece. Those are yours, save for the custom computers, can't let you have those. And you feel you need more?"

She waved to Dani who brought out a large titanium brief case, as she kicked the empty duffle bag. "Well there is more, and no it doesn't make you an asshole...I don't like the idea of asking any of you to put yourself in the cops hands, but it's the best way to distract them, and overwhelm their numbers with out loss of life. Fortier wouldn't want that. It wasn't you all that did the damage, it was the Vastivan, and I'm already making sure that they are going to get most of the blame for certain other distractions."

She looked at the biker "What are your men up on charges of besides the speeding stuff?" if it were minor bs she'd take them out of the country, like she intended to do with Fortier, untill the storm blew over. If it was serious, they could rot though.

The biker shrugged. "Some minor shit, agrivated assault, 'gang activity'," he said sarcastically, "public disordly conduct, shit like that. Some are up on cocaine trafficing. I mean, yeah, coke is legal here, but they weren't selling or transporting with a liscense." He shrugged again.

Many of the drivers did have cameras already in the car, some of the bikers had them mounted on their helmets. If one searched for Imitoran street racing vids, near hundreds, maybe even more, of hours of it could be found. There was no doubt that many of the soon to come exploits would be seen on film. One biker even attached a camera facing rearword on his bike, to show how fast the two wheel terror could run from cops.

Soon, the parking lot was again alive, and cars were pouring out, bikes pulled away, weaving in and out of the traffic, hitting the highway, and screaming off into the Saturday morning "day off cruise" traffic. The lead biker pulled up next to Mercy on his Kawasaki ZX-12. He flipped up the black face mask, and nodded. "Good luck girl. Ya gonna need it." He slammed back the throttle on the bike, its front wheel reaching up high as he roared away between two Ferraris.

Holly chuckled as the cars left. "Hey, Merse, don't make any plans for me, the chances of getting my ass outa here are slim to shit. Anyways, I've spent enough time trying to get Fortier's ass outa trouble. I got my own stuff to worry about." She winked, and smiled, then walked over to the Camaro. She slid into the passenger's seat, next to Lance. Ya know baby, your cute, but we need to get you into a Lamborghini or something," she said, winking at him.

Mercy was left alone with her team, and Hoot, who was walking over to a black 2005 Corvette. Sitting in the drivers seat was a rather attractive brunette, who Lance, if he saw her, would reckognize her as Hoot's fiancé. Hoot turned to Mercy, and shrugged. "What can I say, I love this girl.

Mercy waved as the biker took off. She appreciated his sentiments. She would need a lot of luck. She'd let Fortier know about the gangers and if they could get them out the same time as they rescued him they would.

Hey, Merse, don't make any plans for me, the chances of getting my ass outa here are slim to shit. Anyways, I've spent enough time trying to get Fortier's ass outa trouble. I got my own stuff to worry about."

Mercy's jaw dropped and all she could do was stammer as the Tarlachian's muscle roare into the dawn light

"But, bit, the dossier...you all have, are , had, were...couple?"

She abstractedly greeted Hoot's fiancee, then swung on Hoot demanding an answer 'So Fortier is free to play the field? Not tied to any one?"

Hoot shook his head as the 'Vette rolled by. "Nope, they've been over for about a year or so, maybe shorter." He shrugged, and the black Corvette roared off into the night air, leaving Mercy with just her team, and just enough time to meet with Tony.

Mercy and her people rolled, Siam and Dina having already 'cleaned' the motor coaches and arranged for the big Antonov AN124 to meet them at the airport. Dinah in the semi already knew to meet them at Fortiers shop. Dani would ride with Alton, while Siam would drive the Spell Breaker. All trunks and cargo compartments were loaded for bear, and Dani had her lap top back up and active as they rolled from the warehouse.

It did not take them long to reach Northampton Import Automotive Specialties, and not much time at all to circumvent the security.

"We've got a list of Fortiers cars, right?" Mercy asked and Dani nodded in confirmation. "When Dinah gets here, load them all up, and I think he has a Hyabussa as well, so if you see it take it."

The semi was truning in as Mercy spoke and her team set about grabbing the cars on Dina's list and fitting them into the custom semi

Now it was waiting for Tony's people to show.

It was a short time before the line of expensive black Euro sedans began rolling into the shop. A line of black Mercedes, Bentlys, BMWs, and other high ends rolled slowly into the shop parking lot. The front door of a S65 AMG opened, and Phat Tony stepped out. However, this time, he wasn't dressed in the 1970s pimp out fit, but a pair of black jeans and a long, loose fitting white tshirt that hung down to mid thigh. His long black hair was done back in cornrows, and he was holding a black Glock. The other cars quickly emptied, and the men began pouring out. However, they weren't dressed in typical gang banger fashion, but in black tactical outfits, holding assault rifles and submachine guns.

Tony walked up to Mercy, and peared past here into the shop. "If your gonna wanna take any cars, these are his, so I wouldn't try to steal them," he said, handing him a list of cars including an 2000 ///M5, and 1998 ///M3, a Yamaha R1, and a Suzuki Hayabusa.

He looked back at his crew, which numberd near a hundred. "I hope this is enough, soem of the guys couldn't come, had other things to take care of."

Mercy looked at the list and mentally compared it to th one Dani had, and nodded. "Thats the ones we're grabbing for him."

She moved over to Dani's lap top and brought up an image of the Northampton jail where Fortier was being held. Pointing out the communications arrays, she started expalining what she had in mind so far.

"Okay we're going to fry their radio communications with a microwave burst- that will take down the base unit and the nearest repeaters. The cel phone towers- the same way but with a specialized emp charge. The computer lines will be cut and emp fried."

She didn't bother mentioning that Alton and Dirk had set those up the day they arrived. Placing the specialized ordinance hadn't taken long once they knew where the routing and junction boxes were. The entire city had been targeted, but only those needed were going to be brought into play. The rest ould se selfdestructed remotely. She wanted no inncoent lives on their heads. Testing new Tanaaran equipment 'in the field' so to speak would provide some of their benefactors with priceless information, as would the remains implications that Vastivia was behind it all.

"Electrical will go down on command, but not before sending a back surge that will blow out the independant back up generator's fuse pannels. This is where it gets critical. If they have the proper replacements on hand at the boxes, even a civie can replace those in less than ten minutes. However, once thats done it will take another ten to bring the generator on line"

"With the electrical out, the cell doors, and block doors go off electrical control and on to manual lock down. That means keys we'll need to take from the guards."

"Tony, is it standard for the guards to be in heavy armor, or just the undershirt kind? And can you look at this and tell me any thing we've missed. I'm going to go get dressed real quick."

Mercy left Phat Tony looking at the data and the floorplans, and raced to the sleep over cab of the semi where her tactical armor and weapons waited.

Lauren turned off the highway suddenly on the way to the economic minister's office. She turned into Fortier's shop suddenly, as mike was putting away the weapons. He looked at her. She replied with a simple look saying, "intuition." He smiled aas they got out of the car and said, "Well, I've pulled what few strings I can. So I guess the plan is a prison break? Look, we have some of our planes down at the ariport, and they're protected by Marines. If we put him in my *glare from Lauren*....our...car, then he can get in CM and anywhere he needs to go within ten hours. Heck, he can even stay in CM if he wants."

Mercedez arrived back, clad in Tanaarans latest tac armor, snugly form fitting and half the bulk of the Imitorans- in time to keep Mike and Lauren from being shot by Phat Tony's men

'Damn! That monster still runs?" Mercy shook her head at the near impossibility. "Yes a jail break, but you in full monkey suit...the shiney on that will give us away a mile out. And it will be Roberts call as to where he goes. I've lined up a few options for him."

Lance reached over in front of Holly and popped open the glove compartment. Pushing a button that didn't appear to be any sort of button at all, he watched as the rear panel slid aside and a tray slid forward. Atop this, sat two Berettas. He took one and handed it to Holly. The other he took and placed in his lap. As soon as the guns were lifted, the horizontial tray slid back into place, and the compartment sealed itself again.

He then took hold of the emergency brake, compressed it and lifted it up. He spun the handle sideways and released the emergency brake. Another panel, also covertly hidden, opened up and revealed a number of magazines for the Berettas.

"This," He said to Holly, who watched with a slightly amused look, "is how I've kept the cops off me."

He selected a white colored cartridge and held it up to her. "Put this in your gun. Inside here are not normal bullets, but something I made not too long ago. I made a half dozen of these clips." He pointed to the other five in the compartment.

She looked at him, puzzled. He smiled, "Overchargers. OC's for short. It'll short out electrical systems in any vehicle. Unfortunately it cannot penetrate armored vehicles, but most cops or otherwise don't regularly have those in use."

He slid a regular clip into his own Beretta and nestled the gun into the space between the seat and the armrest. He looked up to see Mercy emerging, fully clad in combat gear. He whistled slightly, but still shook his head.

"Rich pricks always have to show off."

He revved the engine, and called out. "Let's go already!"

Mike kissed Lauren, suited up and said "Lauren, I want you to stay here. They're right when they say that the car will give us away. I want you to check out everything on the car and get it ready for a speed run to the airport. There should be a 220 plug and some water you can use to refuel the rockets. We'll need everything possible, and I'll call you when we're leaving." With that, he suited up in his full level 5 protection, riot gear, Glock, M79 with 2 chaff rounds and one HE, and AR32.
"I need a ride, who can give me one?" Mike asked, loading his tatical gear with flashbangs, magazines, and a few small C4 charges.

"What's the HE for Mike?" Lauren asked cautiously.

"Well, I figure a guard's not just gonna hand over his keys, so I want to be ready to blow a lock apart." Mike said, all seriousness in his voice.

Mercy was a little surprized that the young Tarlachian who had caught Holly's eye was still with them. She figured that he'd split off and go give the cops a hard time, but if he wanted in on the jail break... She walked over to his car as he revved the engine again

"Care to come help us plan the jail break, or would you have more fun giving the Imitoran cops a lesson they'll never forget?"

He thought for a moment, looked over to Holly, and then looked back at Mercy.

"I think I'll take the second option...more fun."

He gave her a wink, revved the engine and slammed the stick into gear. The tires peeled loudly on the asphalt of the parking lot, before finally catching traction and lurching the vehicle onto the road. Lance gave a wave as he left. Within minutes, several sets of sirens could be heard giving chase, leading away from the parking lot.

Mercy mentally wished him luck and turned back to where Phat Tony and Mike waited. She looked at the President of Crazed Marines and frowned.

"Don't get killed or captured. You do so and it'll be war between your two countries. I shouldn't even be letting you go. I have plausable deniability, you don't and that makes it an act of war should they chose to be asses about it."

She turned to Tony. "Any ideas on getting in. I have some door knockers." She clicked the Hexx's remote in a pattern and the hood twin front louvers went flat and revealed the launch ports for a quad of miniaturized but very powerful rockets. Currently they were loaded with dumb rockets, straight fire foreward, but the rotary clip held others as well.

*******************************************
OOC: Yes it's a Q car ( in both senses of the term)

Mike shrugged and said, "A prison break can be covered by a large shipment of gold and weapons falling off the bus. I'm not gonna be hurt or captured. This suit you see here protects both my identity *pulls down silvery face-mask* and can withstand a direct hit from RPG and keep me fully concious. I'll be good."

On the highway's surrounding Imitora, the racers began there task of distracting cops. The Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Porsches, and other high end exotic supercars used their raw power to outrun the sqadcars, the Imitoran cops cockiness and desire to not be outrun the only thing keeping them going. One car had chased a red 575 Maranello for over two hours before giving up, the Ferrari drivers skills, and car, far to much for the officer.

In other parts of the highway, the bikers were simply torturing the officers, weaving in and out of traffic, making passes that not even the ballsiest of drivers could pull off due to the size of the bikes, and using on ramps and other cars for jumps. One Ducatti driver pulled a wheely for three miles, weaving between cars on a single wheel, ohter bikes passing between the small space held by two cars, and one even going under an 18 wheeler.

The lower end sports cars and import racers used the city streets, using break down lanes to pass slower cars, running red lights, and creating intricate vehicular ballets in multi level parking garrages and car storage areas. They spun gracefully aorund squadcars, drifting lightly through turns, using every advantage they had.

As the sun kissed the horizon off in the distance, the first arrest was made. A biker had taken the wrong offramp, and ended up comming right into a road block. Others were soon to fall. However, the key purpose had held, and near ninty nine percent of police attention was focused out on the highways and streets of Imitora. And more importantly, it ws all being caught on film.

At NIAS, Fat Tony and his group looked over Mike. They were far from fond of authority of any kind, and many had made a remark or two about waiting till he wasn't looking, then, in crude terms, icing him over. However, they had more important objectives, the first being Fortier. Many saddled up, entering their vehicles after Tony explained the plan.

It would be simple. While the electrical shut offs would be very nice, and extremely helpfull, it was the idea of pure force. Sure, the Imitoran prison gaurds werent a bunch of weekend warrior push overs, but at the same time, they weren't special forces types who could take out an entire army with a single magazine. They would simply push hard, right into the prison, and into the block where Fortier was being held. It would be one hell of a firefight...but Tony also knew that once they sprung Fortier and put a gun in his hand, it would be all over. He looked at Mercy after explaining the plan, making sure she understood.

"So we ready to roll?"

"So we ready to roll?"

Mercy looked at Tony and grinned wickedly. She wasnt all that happy about the hard push into the prison, but he knew the lay of the land and how things fell in Imitora. She'd trust him in this.

"Lets kick this pig"

With long strides she raced for the Hexx.

"Mike, ride with Siam in the Spell Breaker. She can drop you at your planes on the way out. We have an Antonov waiting for us."

Robert was laying down on the cot in the cell, counting off the number of seconds he had been in the jail. He sat up abruptly as a gaurd ran past the door, then another, and then another. He approached the door, peaking through the glas, watching as gaurds all ran towards an exit, or entrance, of something.

Outside, several of the officers had already been hit by snipers or longrange shooters off in the distance. Their armor was enough to keep the rounds from fataly wounding them, but several went down, unconcsious. Others took rounds to the legs, and arms, the shooters on strict orders from Tony to wound, incapacitate, or render harmless, but "don't kill the mother fuckers."

The line of expensive sedans rolled up, and Tony jumped out, leading the charge, firing his Glock off into the oncomming gaurds, the sheer number of gang bangers out numbering the officers three to one, with the gap increasing by the second. In short time, they made it to the main gates, and a dubbed out Escalade, rap music blaring, rammed the door open, several gaurds fleeing. Tony picked up a shotgun, and fired a single shot into one gaurd's legs. "Go get your boyfriend," he shouted to Mercy, while firing off at more oncomming officers.

Mercy nodded sharply at Tony, and lept a fallen guard, her team of Anton, and Dirk hard on her heels. They broke off from the main group, turning down the side corridor that would lead to Robert's cell. She'd lost sight of Mike in the confusion of combat, but she felt he could take care of himself. Siam would make sure that he got out, since he had ridden in with her.

"He's not my boyfriend" She muttered as she put a three round burst into a guards center of mass, the chest plate taking the hits but sending the man toppling backwards. Then a cannister of gas flew from Altons hand to land at the feet of the first guards reinforcements. They collasped limp to the floor as Dirk put a round in the lock blowing it out.

A couple of more turns at they were at the cell where Fortier was. Mercy looking through the glass, smiled wide when she saw Robert and blew him a kiss. Then she backed away so Dirk could put another of the specialized rounds into the cell dorr's lock

"Hey Handsome, want a ride with a strange girl?" Mercy quipped as she pulled his gun out from the holster where she ahd been carrying it, and offered it to him.

Fortier nodded, offering his signature smirk, and taking the customized .45 from Mercy. He followed her and her team out of the prison, puting acurate, match grade rounds into knee caps and chests, dropping his own fair share of gaurds.

As the exited the prison, a overly acurate, as in intended to miss, 10mm round zipped right past Fortier's head. He spun, noting that he was facing Tract right in the eyes. The officer was aiming right at Fortier, the red dot from the MP5/10 focused right on his forhead. "Ya know, Fortier, I've wanted to pop you off for a long time, however, I think this would be more suiting," he said, swinging the sub gun ever so slightly and squeezing off a round.

Fortier moved with a speed that would humble even the fastest reflexed cat, giving Mercy a slight nudge as the bullet passed dangerously close to her head, missing her by milimeters at best, pulling his own .45 up, aiming, exhaling, and squeezing. In all, the movement took less than a few tenths of a second, the .45 JHP round slamming square into his forhead, dropping him. Fortier, almost as by second nature, twirlled the gun around his finger twice, tossing it in the air, and catching it in a hand stall, only to toss it up again, and grab the grip. "Sorry, force of habbit. You ok?" he asked, looking into Mercy's eyes.

Mercy pivoted when Robert did, and froze as the Imitoran Officer that had arrested him. The she was half stumbling to the side as a round went past where her forehead had been. Her own Beretta was up and tracking as Tract fell, a round from Fortiers 45 taking him down.

Robert had pushed her aside she realized, and saved her life. Part of her wanted to shake and fall into his arms. Part of her wanted to shoot Tract her self for trying to shoot her. Part of her wanted to...Now was not the time to tell him exactly what she wanted to do to him, with him. It just wasn't, so Mercy contented herself with falling into his eyes for a few seconds

"We've got to finish getting you out of here and out of the counrty.." She said brisky, then her voice went soft, a near whisper "Yes I am...and thank you Robert."

Fortier smiled at Mercy, helping her back up. "Alright, lets get outa here."

As they ran, exiting the building, Robert spotted Fat Tony. "Hey man, take this, I owe ya," he said, tossing him the customized .45. He needed a new one anyways, but Tony had comented on the gun many a time, and Fortier knew Tony would appriciate it. He waved a thanks, following Mercy out to the Hexx.

He slid into the shotgun position, and pulled the five pointer shut, locking it in. He looked over at Mercy, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the gunfire. "We need to run by my shop, I need to get some stuff before we get outa here!" He knew he would have to leave the country, even if only for a short while. He had the perfect place in mind, and was contemplating calling up some freinds as he shut the door. But not yet. He looked over at Mercy, and smiled. "Thanks, I owe you one, big time."

"We've already gotten your cars and the bike. Is there anything else you *really* need?" Mercy looked up from locking her own five pointer, unable to help the come hither smile on her lips.

"And I've got several suggestions as to where to head. The first being the Antonov waiting for us at the airport."

The Hexx screamed out of the prison lot followed by the rest of the team that had accompanied her

Lance turned his head to the side, watching the squad car attempting to keep up at a slight distance behind him. He was deliberately staying just ahead, toying with the cop. As an onramp for a highway heading east came up, Lance floored the pedal, steered toward the ramp and suddenly spun the car about to face backwards. The gears were slammed into reverse, keeping the acceleration going. He yelled out to Holly.

"Shoot the grill!"

He himself kept his eyes on the road behind them, as the long on-ramp began to come to an end, and merging with the highway traffic lanes.

Holly did as he told her, holding her aim true as she fired an OC to the grill of the squad car. A massive electrical jolt was seen ever so briefly, but the headlights and other running lights of the car suddenly exploded as they were juiced beyond their capacity. The squad car shook violently, then slid sideways and suddenly flipped in succession, twelve times in all, before finally flipping and completing several turns before coming to a rest on its roof.

The Camaro spun back around, the gears shifting again into drive. Lance gave a whoop and smiled broadly to Holly.

"Damn girl! Hell of a shot! I need to bring you along with me on the runs back home!"

The Camaro roared along the highway, joining some of the traffic from other diversionary racers also running from the police. Lance brought his pistol out, firing at the wheels of the squad cars, watching as they spun out of control. Other racers saluted him by shifting to neutral and revving the engines as a collective roaring, before shifting back into drive to continue on their way.

Despite the dangers they were facing, Lance was having a blast, and for the first time that night...

He felt alive...

During the prison break, Mike was taking care of himself. Siam had parked on the hill to give Mike a good view of the guard towers. In all, he had shot seven officers with tazer rounds powerful enough to knock them out. One had seen the vehicle, but only briefly enough to see the electrical bullet zoom towards his arm and ribs. Oh well, Mike's face was covered and Siam was behind cover. Three more in the Yard and one convict who must have been in transfer during the break all took a tazer round. Fortier was out. Good. Siam got back into the car, started it up, and started taking Mike to Fortier's shop. One cruiser challenged them. Looks like that idiot in the tower did get the word out. Mike switched guns, going to the 9mm pistol he despised yet needed. He took the Beretta with Hoot's special round and toook a steady position. He squeezed the trigger and the cop swerved, as if realising what was happening. Mike quickly fired off the rest of the clip and had one solid hit. The cop went into the side of the retaining wall and was seen no more. Mike was grateful he was still wearing the helmet and Siam was grateful he could shoot. They reached Fortier's shop and Mike quickly stripped off his tatical gear and Lauren was angry he didn't call. She started up the car and had applied more duct tape while he was gone. The car was now black and sexy...save for the tape lines barely visible. They sped off, but stayed under the legal speed limit, and arrived at the airport minutes later. While the car was being loaded into the C-17, Mike raced to watch an Antonov taking off. Good luck Fortier!


"Lauren, next time you call Holly, tell her Fotrier is always welcome in our country." Mike called off as the plane left his sight.

"Theres one more bike we need to get," he said, pointing Mercy towards the shop. The ride took minutes, and Fortier dove out of the Hexx, running into the shop. The lights of squad cars were illuminating the shop, and a single helicopter had doused the Hexx 1 with its spotlight. Fortier ran out of hte shop, moments later, wearing a blue and black leather jacket, and ran over to the Hexx 1. He pulled the driver side door open, tucked in, and kissed Mercy. "I'll see ya at the airport!" he shouted, running back towards the shop.

Seconds later, the front window of the shop shattred, and the first officer on the sceen ducked back into his car as a blue 2005 Honda CBR1000RR roared past, its front wheel reaching for the sky. The powerfull liter bike roared away from the shop, with Mercy in the Hexx holding close. He used many of the same tactics that the other bikers had used, passing inbetween cars, weaving under 18wheelers, and most notable, using one car for a jump ramp, roaring over the car, landing in front of it, holding his well over 100mph speed.

It took less than 20 minutes to reach the airport, and Fortier spotted the Anatov, leaning in towards it, the straightening, and flying towards it, one wheel up. He dropped the front wheel, and as the rear crossed the loading deck, he grabbed enough break to bring the rear wheel up, performing a perfect endo, the CBR stopping right next to the spot that would be occupied by the Hexx moments later.

He ripped a cellphone out of his pocket, and dialed the number for the current chief of operations for the Imitoran Naval Air Force, and when the line picked up, he spoke quickly.

"Hey, Christin, yeah, I need you to do me a huge favor. Tell your fighter to take their time getting off the ground. Don't worry, you'll understand in a few. Thanks, I owe ya," he said, slamming the phone closed, and putting it back into his pocket. He waved over to the C-17 where Mike was standing, and ran back inside the Anatov just as Mercy pulled in.

The rest of the team had entered the plane as well, and Fortier was checking the hold down straps on the five vehicles, telling three of the gorund crew memebers to back off, he could do all their work, but right now, they needed to get into the air, and fast.

The Camaro neared the Northeastern border of Imitora, and even from the distance, Lance could see that there was a high concentration of police milling about the gateways. However, traffic was very light on the straight road heading outward from the city now almost seventy miles from the border.

He looked over to Holly, gave a smile to her and said, "Hold on, babe."

Nestling himself deeper into his seat, he floored the pedal, watching as the L6 engine leapt the Camaro forward with stunning speed. Up ahead, they could see the police scrambling into position as they realized what the Camaro was about to do.

132 mph and rising...

The Camaro's speedometer rose rapidly as the distance shrank in equal speed.

180 mph...

Lance thumbed the first nitrous as they came within a mile of the border security. The Camaro whined shrilly in response.

208 mph...

Police agents dove out of the way for their lives as the Camaro neared with its ferocious roar. Lance thumbed the second nitrous, instantly feeling the car seemingly to want to take flight. Yet, the tires kept traction as they screamed along the black asphalt.

259 mph was on the speedometer as the Camaro shattered the lightweight barricade in an explosion of wood and pieces. Police agents stepped into the road, staring after the Camaro.

"What the hell was that?" asked one agent, obviously new to the job.

"Old school king of the road..." replied an older agent who sported greying hair and had a slight smirk on his face. "Son of a bitch still owns..." he said at last as he turned away after watching the Camaro roar off into the rising eastern sunrise.

The Camaro neared the Northeastern border of Imitora, and even from the distance, Lance could see that there was a high concentration of police milling about the gateways. However, traffic was very light on the straight road heading outward from the city now almost seventy miles from the border.

He looked over to Holly, gave a smile to her and said, "Hold on, babe."

Nestling himself deeper into his seat, he floored the pedal, watching as the L6 engine leapt the Camaro forward with stunning speed. Up ahead, they could see the police scrambling into position as they realized what the Camaro was about to do.

132 mph and rising...

The Camaro's speedometer rose rapidly as the distance shrank in equal speed.

180 mph...

Lance thumbed the first nitrous as they came within a mile of the border security. The Camaro whined shrilly in response.

208 mph...

Police agents dove out of the way for their lives as the Camaro neared with its ferocious roar. Lance thumbed the second nitrous, instantly feeling the car seemingly to want to take flight. Yet, the tires kept traction as they screamed along the black asphalt.

259 mph was on the speedometer as the Camaro shattered the lightweight barricade in an explosion of wood and pieces. Police agents stepped into the road, staring after the Camaro.

"What the hell was that?" asked one agent, obviously new to the job.

"Old school king of the road..." replied an older agent who sported greying hair and had a slight smirk on his face. "Son of a bitch still owns..." he said at last as he turned away after watching the Camaro roar off into the rising eastern sunrise.

OOC: Yet the younger officer had the last laugh as the 'Maro flew through the gate....and into the ocean because Imitora is an island.

OOC: Oh hell ROFLMAO...

*flips switch and turns the Camaro into a submarine*


IC:

Lance suddenly realized a serious problem as the car seemed to sink into the surrounding terrain, or lack thereof. He looked over to Holly with a sheepish look on his face.

"Navigation was never a strong suit of mine..."

The feminine hand slapped his face.

OOC:
I think I'll leave it at that, just for kicks lol.

OOC: or turn it into a barrier around the airport and you hop into my jet for a little vacation in CM.

Mercy braked the Hexx savagely, coming almost to a dead stop before proceeding sedately up the ramp and into the well lit belly of the Antonov. Around her the mammoth cargo planes crew hustled as powerful hydraulics pulled the tail of the plane closed and countless lock pins clicked noisily into place. Others waited impatiently to tie the Hexx down once she'd exited, and the Yamaha YZF R1 as well.

"Come on Robert, they aren't going to let us stay back here. The passenger seating isn't much though."

She lead the way to the tiny passenger section, and waved him towards the seats.

"I'll be right back, this outfit is none too comfortable for sitting around in...and we have clean clothes for you too"

Mercy stepped into the tiny crew room and stripped off the Tac armor, wincing at a pair of massive bruises. The armor had stopped the rounds from penetrating but not the impact trauma. One on the right side of her chest just below the breast and the other dead center of her left ass cheek. 'What was that pervert thinking' she grumbled softly as she twisted around trying to get a better view of the insult. No one had seen it happen and it had been all she could do not to limp heavily

"At least my jeans are nicely aged soft." She winced as she buttoned up the skin tight jeans, faded nearly white with age and soft as a babys blanket. However she knew the long hours of the flight would be no fun. Mercy was sure she'd stiffen up enough to wree standing would be a problem, and she certainly didn't want Fortier to know. The jokes he'd make would just be beyond bearing.

She looked at herself in the mirror, one hand going to her lips. She had found they were still tingling for the breif kiss Robert had given her earlier, and that brought a smile back to her lips. Moving carefully, the big plane was rumbling down the taxiway heading for the far end of the runway, she went back to where Fortier had taken a seat.

"If you want to get changed before we take off you'd better go now"

As Mercy disapeared into a changing room, Robert looked back at the two bikes and two cars, satisfied with their hold downs, and walked up to the crew cabbins. He knocked on the door of the cockpit, and poked his head in, nodding at the pilot. "We'll be heading for Iansisle, but we better get moving, I don't have that much pull," he said, pointing out to the runway where three F(A)-67C Archangelsks were being prepared for take off. The ground crews were taking thier time, but they could only stall so much before the fighters got off the ground.

He walked back to the main crew cabin, and pulled out a cell phone, and dialed a few numbers. He was routed through the infamous Iansisleanian communication switchboards, and moments later, a groggy voice responded.

"Uh, hello?" it asked, sounding overly tired.

"Hey Johny boy, its Robert," Fortier spoke.

"Oh shit, who did you piss off this time," John asked, suddenly sounding awake. "You do know there is a revolution going on, and pretty soon, no one over here is gonna like you."

Robert laughed. "Naw man, this time its local. I'm gonna be crashing in your backyard for a bit, so lets try to keep this on the down low. I don't want James, or anyone else thats tugging ropes in Iansisle, knowing I'm there. Already got the place picked out. Just thought I'd give you a heads up."

"Ah, gotcha. Well, I guess I'll be meeting you out here then?"

"Yeah probably, I'll call you when we land."

"Right, talk to ya later."

"Later."

Fortier hung up, and crahsed into a seat, thoroughly exhausted. He heard Mercy mention something about changing, but he was far to tired at this point to move. His eyes were heavy, and he simply laid back into the tight cramped seat, and drifted off as the Anatov prepared for takeoff.

The huge Antonov lumbered down the runway and was soon in the air. Dani cam up with bottled soda and prepacked sandwiches, but it only took one look to realise that neither Fortier or Mercy would be interested in food and drink. Both were fast asleep, Mercy turned awkwardly to keep all weight off her left side and leaning partially across Fortiers chest

"Here guys chow down, they aren't going to wake up any time soon I think" Dani went over to the others and soon the team was inolved in a cut throat game of trivial pursuit, careful to keep the noise down and not disturb the sleeping duo.

It had been three days since the end of the thirteen hours event, all charges against those involved in the street racing had been dropped by pardon of First Speaker Anna Fratelli. However, Fortier's seld imposed exile still held, with Fratelli deciding to wait a few months for things to calm down before officially inviting her long time riding buddy back home.

Holly had invited Lance to stay for a short time, and he had agreed. It was a lovely Tuesday afternoon in Imitora, the standard Imitoran summer, hot, but a dry heat. They were sitting at a light, when from behind them, the sound of the rumbling exhaust from the Camaro was slowly drowned out by loud rap.

Tear it up let me see you tear it up, all across the board we gon' tear it up DMX howled as a black Lamborghini Murciallago pulled up next to the Camaro. Despite the windows being up, Lance and Holly could hear the music clearly. Holly looked over, and shook her head.

"What a waste, some gangbanger getting a car like that. Smoke him," she said, looking over at Lance, winking. Lance nodded, reving, the loud LS6 roaring at the fancy pasta rocket.

The Lambo repsonded with a deep, gutteral roar, something that sounded like a cross between the howls of the hounds of hell and a demon warlord screaming a battle cry. When the light went green, the Lamborghini shot off, leaving the Camaro behind, as if it was hardly trying, the whine from the V12 ripping the air apart, drowning out the rap. It was obvious this raging bull was far from stock.

At the next light, Holly looked over through the rolled down window of the Lambo, and gasped. "Holy shit," she swore, pointing over to the car. Lance looked over, and saw Hoot looking back through reflective lensed red sunglasses, grinning from ear to ear. His fiancé sat next to him, smiling as well.

"What can I say, I just love this girl, he said," still smirking. When the light went green, he roared off again, the twin exhaust spitting twin foot long flames, and giving Lance and Holly a clear look of the liscense plate, a custom plate that read "FASTOWL".

That night, Andrew and his group partied, with the sudden success. It had taken less than two days to market the idea to Dustin Whorles, and within 24 hours, Mischeif VI: Getaway in Imitora had become the hottest selling street racing DVD in the world. All over the globe, those who loved the underground racing sceen flocked to pickup the DVD to see some of the most exciting chases, high speed runs, and races since Dado's run from the police. Internet chat rooms were ablaze with people bragging about how they were planning build ups for next year's event. If another ever took place.

In all, Fortier wouldn't consider the even a success. However, the jail break didn't exactly hurt the legends surounding him, and hopefully his sudden feelings for Mercy would change from more than just feelings to something concrette. As he had informed John when the Anatov landed in Iansisle, he thought she was something special, and John reminded him that the last girl that he thought was something special was his late wife, and former First Speaker, Amanda Muirne Ormsby. But for Fortier and Mercy, that would be a different story for a different time.

Mike's getaway was quick and simple. The Marines packed the plane and they left, however much a little lighter. During the race, the first transport plane had left and a second one had come to take its place, and it had one big difference. The second plane came with about three hundred bars of gold and silver. Most of this had come from conquests in foreign lands, but at least a quarter of it came from Mike's personal stash. The Marines hired an Imitoran armed guard to personally deliver it to the First Speaker as a thank you for a "good time" in Imitora and to make sure that their nation would still be welcome. Lauren called Holly and told her to take care and that she could arrange some street racing in CM for the next run, however long it would be from now. The couple arrived in CM and promptly ordered the video. They were suprised when they saw themselves making that insane jump over the blockade. Looks like the biker behind them had a good camera and angle. Well, him going over the jump was impressive too.