bolt on · run down · limp home
drive ugly.
come back uglier.
Weld some blades to a car that should've been scrapped, point it at the bad part of the map, and see what folds first. Everything out there wants your fuel. You want a body count. Somebody's getting paid.
the world
Three things nobody will tell you, and one you'll figure out the hard way.
It's not on any map and nobody says it out loud, which suits you fine, because you're not here for the scenery. Rust-bucket cars, machines that have no business running, and a few things older than either. How you got in is a bad story. How you get out is worse.
You'll know it's near because the streets go quiet and everything with a chip in it stops doing what it's told. It doesn't bleed, it doesn't bargain, and it's a lot more patient than you. Good news: it's never met a battering ram going 90.
Carburetor, sheet metal, a steering wheel that does exactly what you say and nothing clever. No brain to hack, no update to brick it, nothing that switches sides at 3 a.m. That's why the old wrecks fire on the first crank while everything smart just quietly gives up.
so what's the quiet thing out there been up to while you were reading this?
the job
Same six every run. It's the surviving-them part nobody put in the brochure. And each lap drops you a little deeper in.
what happens the day something out there learns the way home before you do?
what you get
Third-person motor mayhem from behind the wheel of a wreck that keeps running out of spite. If you spent the nineties mowing down pedestrians for points, welcome home. If you didn't, mind the bumper.
so, realistically, how much car are you planning to leave out there?
your outfit
You don't command a shiny fleet. You run a shed full of scrap and a handful of drivers, and both wear down fast. Cars come back looking like modern art. Some don't come back at all. No spare, no rematch, no un-losing the fool who was driving it.
Reinforced snout. Opens the road by arguing with it. Whatever won't move gets a new shape.
Blades and saws down both flanks. Sideswipe the crowd and leave it noticeably shorter.
Flamethrower up front. Drinks fuel like it's last call. Occasionally it is.
Nitro and precious little else. Can't take a punch. Doesn't plan on being where the punch lands.
Only flavors of trouble. Pick how you'd like to be remembered out there: by what you shoved aside, what you sliced, the smoke you left, or the dust nobody could catch. The garage picks who rolls out tomorrow and in what. The fuel gauge picks how many roll back.
You drive. Bolted to the back tray rides a little unit that hums to itself and does not explain a single thing about what it does or why. Heavy enough to feel in the corners. Different models, different party tricks. Eyes on the road. Don't check the mirror more than you have to.
who do you strap in when the good scrap's gone and the back tray's making noises?
territory
One dirty inch at a time, paid for in garages and gasoline. Every scrap of ground you pry loose can hold a base. Every base is a workshop, a place to run to when it all goes sideways, and a start line pushed a little deeper into the mess.
You move forward by driving stakes into the quiet and daring it to pull them out. Behind you the lights stay on. Ahead, a whole lot of dark that hasn't been introduced yet. The map comes back the way a beat-up car does: piece by piece, and never quite straight again.
and if the quiet decides it wants back the bits you already spray-painted "mine"?
the nemeses
Some of them slip the leash. That'd be fine, except they hold a grudge. They bulk up. They mutate. They bring friends. They've memorized your car and your bad habits, and they show up next time with a plan for both.
WANTED
WANTED
WANTED
how many times does something get to come back after you've already called it dead?
the wildlife
The horde is the part you can plan for. These are the other thing. None of them care what you welded onto the bumper.
You never see it coming, you see the ground coming. It travels below, it comes up through, and it is very interested in engine noise. Stopping is a choice. It is not a good one.
Sits in the tar looking like more tar. Then something wet hits the side of your car and suddenly you are going backwards. Floor it against the pull or start negotiating.
Big, stone, been kneeling out there longer than the road has. Shoot it and find out. People who found out are not available for comment.
and the thing that only turns up when the sky goes wrong, what do you suppose it eats?
questions
Not yet. Wishlist it and you'll hear the engine catch before anyone else does.
Yep. It goes on your machine, exactly like every other thing we keep telling you not to trust. Do with that what you like.
Not yet. Maybe later, assuming there's anyone left out there to sideswipe by then.
To be announced. Whatever it costs, it's separate from the fuel, and the fuel only ever goes up.
Next question.