Carnage! Love & Lust in the Wasteland
Chapter IV: Making History (Part One)
Mei sat in the stands of the Dust Bowl, the colossal stadium quiet and calm as the morning sun broke over the sponsor logos and advertisements. She had been too excited to sleep, and would hear an earful about it later on, but today was the day she had been waiting for since Bàba had taken her to watch her first Carnage Circuit when she was just six years old. It had been a classic derby scenario with a Buccaneer team versus the Dynasty, the latter claiming victory, of course. And it had happened in this very stadium.
The Victory Lap lay quiet; the smooth roadway ran the perimeter of the play field and was separated by no more than a chain link fence from the soon-to-be-screaming stands. It seemed like such a meager barrier, a thin fence and a few yards of tarmac between frenzied fans and twisted metal. Beyond it were rows of steel slats in the center of the arena. The slats would pull back come game time, the huge underground network of gears and hydraulics working to raise one of the three interchangeable courses out of the ground and into view. She wondered which field she would dominate first.
Fat tires throwing rooster tails of filth fifty feet in the air in the Mudhole, she thought, or will it be the squealing grind and crunching metal in the Scraps? Maybe fate would throw her a bone and put her on the Asphalt, her bike ready to devour a track readymade for it. Mei breathed deep, smelling the echoes of oil, flames, blood, and gunpowder. She felt ready, regardless of what the PTQ would throw at her. She rose, walking back down the stairs to the garages.
The arena had seating for five-hundred thousand in the stands, with more besides that in the private boxes. As such, the megacomplex surrounding it was like a city unto itself. There were a myriad of shops and vendors, hotels that ranged from fleabitten to luxury, restaurants, bars, spas, and any other amenity that anyone could want. The grounds outside held ample space for the campervans, tents, and sleepers who preferred to go under the stars. She knew every in and out, every secret nook, every backway. The garages were like a second home to her. This was her turf, both on and off the courses, and she was going to make sure everyone knew it.
The Mudhole, the Asphalt, and the Scraps, Mei mused again. Each a different terrain, each with its own challenge and obstacles, and each suited for multiple game formats to be chosen at random. Mei knew all of those too, had practiced each dozens of times, had seen all of her brothers conquer them in their own right, and now it was her moment to forge her own Carnage legacy. She paused at the entrance to the garages, taking a final sweep of the serenity blanketing the arena before it broke in short order, and then ducked into the corridor marked ‘Authorized Personnel Only’.
Mei arrived back at the Dynasty garage, opening the door and expecting a relaxing place of contemplation and final preparations, to sharpen the minds of the Dynasty racers before the flurry of the opening ceremonies. She was barely through the door when a plate smashed against the wall, causing her to flinch back.
“God damn motherfucking Scavengers!” Dan was reeling. He grabbed another plate and hurled it against the concrete floor. Izzy watched from the table with heavy-lidded eyes, propped up on one elbow and pushing oatmeal around in her bowl, while Teague spared Dan no attention, his nose buried in a newspaper with huge black letters on the frontpage: ‘CARNAGE PRO TOUR QUALIFIER’. Beyond, their vehicles sat idle while the squadron of mechanics, weapons specialists, and analysts looked on with pale faces and trembling hands. Mei sighed as she shut the door with a click, drawing her brother’s rage down on her.
“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, charging over before Mei could answer and shoving a piece of gilded paper under her nose. “Look at this! Just fucking look!” She took it, cocking a brow and taking a firm step back from him as she read it.
“It’s the sponsors for today’s teams, so whaaa…” Mei trailed off, mouth agape as she read the final roster. Previously, there had only been four teams competing in this PTQ but that had evidently changed as two new teams had snuck in under the wire. She blinked, frowning down at the last team on the list. For the first time in Carnage history, the Scavengers were sponsoring a team. The smashing of a mug, still half full of coffee, brought Mei from her reverie as Dan grabbed the paper again and tore it into the tiniest, most furious pieces he could manage.
“Dan, would you get a grip?” Mei shouted.
“Get back to work!” he roared, as though just noticing the onlookers. Their support team scrambled into action.
Mei sat down before her own bowl of cold, mushy oatmeal and curled her lip at the dish, pushing it away and grabbing another roster from the few scattered on the table, thinking. Odd coincidence that they made a big display at the Crossroads, nearly coming to blood with the Scavengers, only for them to register a team. She wondered idly if Hawk would be on it but doubted it. Still, whatever reason the Scavs had for joining the PTQ, she assumed it wasn’t an innocent one. The other team, sponsored by the Peacekeepers, was nothing noteworthy.
“This is unacceptable,” Dan said, pacing in angry circles. “Someone needs to do something. Scavs in the Pro fucking Tour fucking Qualifier! Scavs!” He grabbed the back on an empty chair and hurled it suddenly. It clanged off the wall and came to rest by the door.
“Feel better?” Teague grunted, earning a snort of laughter from Mei. Dan gnashed his teeth, whirling abruptly, and snatched his coat off the back of a chair.
“Where are you going?” Mei asked.
“To see what I can do about this,” he said, charging out without another word and slamming the door behind him.
“He needs to get laid,” Izzy said, stifling a yawn behind her hand.
“Gross,” Mei commented, scanning the roster again and pouring herself a cup of black coffee. She sipped the bitter drink, frowning over at their vehicles. After practice yesterday, some of Teague’s ideas for the team had been swiftly implemented. Mei wasn’t sure how she felt now with this many unknowns entering at the last minute.
They had put together a balanced team, leaning neither too heavily into speed nor too far into firepower. As their fastest vehicle, Mei’s bike had been modified to add a set of reflective panes mounted around her legs and lower torso. Techs were polishing them to a sheen that the bullets would scuff up in no time, but that Teague insisted would catch the light and blind opponents. She would draw fire, as per their plan, letting Teague’s truck-dozer monstrosity pincer their opponents against Izzy’s hatchback, the latter currently behind a welding screen while their mechanics attached a titanium alloy cowcatcher to the front and reinforced her rear bumper to balance the weight. It would slow her down a bit, but not so much that she would be scored as a heavyweight vehicle. The Dynasty R&D department had provided a new prototype driving suit for each of them that they ensured would stop everything short of a tank gun. With the last minute modifications, Mei was confident they could handle the other teams, whom they had been studying for months, and was barely concerned about the Peacekeeper team. But the Scavenger team would be trouble. Who knew what those wild bastards were capable of? She had to check it out.
“Let’s go,” she said to Izzy.
“Hnnng,” her friend replied, reluctantly pushing herself up. Izzy was not a morning person.
“Where are you going?” Teague said, looking up from his newspaper. “The opening parade is in a few hours. We need to do our final preparations.”
“You go ahead,” Mei replied, giving him a sweet smile as they left the garage. The man was too close to Dan for Mei to bond with him at all.
“Where are we going?” Izzy grumbled. She’d taken her coffee with her. She really wasn’t a morning person.
“To see if there’s any familiar faces amongst the last minute joiners.”
Mass’ monster truck was an intimidating piece of machinery. An old GMC body sat atop 96” tires, the windows blocked out with steel plates that left only slits to see out. The engine compartment was housed in a freshly added steel cage to protect it from attack, the box full to the brim with oil drums sloshing with this and that. The tires looked fresh off the line, aggressive, and would chew through any terrain offered to them, and the roof had a strange rig made up of hoses that dipped into the drums, all leading to a pump-gun that would spew hazards everywhere and anywhere on the courses.
By comparison, Hawk’s vehicle left him feeling more than a little underwhelmed.
“What’s wrong?” Mass said, looking at the Crown Victoria Interceptor that he’d found for Hawk to drive. The retired Peacekeeper cruiser was a patchwork of parts that told Hawk it had been garbled together from more than one car. While the framework was mostly the current Peacekeeper gray, though showing more rust than paint, the doors were the faded blade of an older model. The hood and trunk were white like they used on the city units and the former was held shut with two pieces of wire at the corners. The windows had been replaced by steel mesh that might ricochet rogue bullets but would not stop them entirely, and a pair of stationary Soviet machine guns were mounted to the roof with cheap tack welds, meaning Hawk could only fire forward. The welds on the pipe frame ram on the front were little better. The shitbox sat low, the suspension sagging, the balding tires nearly dragging against the wheel wells.
“I’m going to die,” Hawk stated, unable to tear his gaze from the wretched vehicle. “And I’m not even going to look good doing it.”
“Come on, it’s not so bad.”
“Bad would be an improvement, Mass.”
“The body looks like shit but the engine is primo,” Mass insisted. “She’s a sleeper build, Hawk. Zero to a hundred in nothing flat. Plus, I found a cool trick for you. Come see.”
Mass moved around the vehicle, reaching in through the passenger door to pop the trunk as the driver door had been welded shut. Hawk followed him to the back as he opened it, then blanched. A small turbine was nestled into the trunk, a garbled mess of bubblegum welds and cheap brackets holding the jet engine in.
“We won’t be outmatched for speed,” Mass chuckled. “Just pop the trunk, hit the red button on the dash, and hold the fuck on. And if all that fails, I threw a crate of grenades into the passenger seat. The window grates swing down so you can throw.”
“Oh good,” Hawk agreed. “A crate of grenades right next to the unstable jet engine roaring behind me as I hold on for dear life and hope this heap doesn’t rattle apart.” He kicked the bumper, which detached and crashed to the ground with a clang. Hawk sighed. “Is there anything else I need to know?”
“Burns oil,” Mass shrugged.
Sober, head aching, and with a mouth drier than the dunes beyond the Dust Bowl, Hawk moved off to find a cigarette and a shot. The decision to register for Carnage had seemed much better before he’d actually arrived. They’d watched teams roll into their garages, had seen the growling warmachines they were sporting, and those beasts looked far more fierce up close than they did from the stands. Their vehicles were embarrassing compared to the seasoned professionals and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep down the growing anxiety that he was going to die in this PTQ, burning to death or bullet-riddled in the shitbox cruiser. He couldn’t recall how that had seemed preferable to being pegged off by a bounty hungry Scav. Their little garage had borne the brunt of passing snickers, a Peacekeeper flag flying above their door offering no deterrent to cruel jests. Hawk reached the kitchenette, took the bottle of Jack from the table and didn’t bother with a glass, taking a hearty swig.
“Easy there, son.” Hawk choked at the interruption. He hadn’t noticed Otis enter the garage. He wiped whiskey spittle off his chin, eyeing the pair of Peacekeepers trailing the Menace. “Best to see straight when you’re driving Carnage.”
“This helps,” Hawk said, taking another sip before setting the bottle down. “One of these our third?”
“He’ll be along directly,” Otis said evasively, gesturing to the ones he’d brought with him as Mass plodded over, wiping his greasy mitts on a rag and drawing upward glances from the Peacekeepers. “Hawk, Mass, this is Julia Capps and Roman Montgomery.”
Handshakes ensued. Julia was middle-aged, hair cropped to wisps and a stone-cut jaw giving her a hard look. Roman was muscled and dark-skinned, dreadlocks tied behind his head, his bright smile kindly. Both wore gray jumpsuits with the Peacekeeper shield surged on the breast.
“Julia is the best mechanic this side of Treaty One,” Otis went on, “and Roman is one of our junior munitions techs but knows more about blowing shit up than any man from here to the Pacific. They’ll be running the pit for us and serving as gunners. Roman will be with you, Mass, running your… sludge gun thing. Julia is going to be riding with your third, since Hawk’s car isn’t running a turreted weapon.”
“At least I’ll die alone, eh?” Hawk grumbled, side-eyeing the old cruiser.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Julia said, her husky voice deeper than Hawk would’ve guessed. She gestured to Roman, who trailed her toward the Vic and gave a low whistle that Hawk couldn’t help but feel was a bad sign.
“But what about our third?” Mass asked. Otis looked up at him, frowning.
“He’ll be along,” Otis reiterated. When they both stared at him, he sighed. “You just have to trust me, boys. I got you. You’re going to be fine.”
“Doubt it,” said a voice from the door. Hawk’s stomach dropped out his ass.
Rosa swayed into the garage, packed into short shorts and a tight tank top that had the Scav’s three-pronged wrench emblem splashed across her tits. Her curly hair was tied into a messy knot, eyes hard on Hawk before trailing with amusement over the vehicles in the garage. She halted a few paces from them, hip cocked and arms crossed.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Hawk growled.
“You’re wasting your time, Mrs. Hawkins,” Otis said, stepping between Hawk and Rosa. “Hawk is protected by the Carnage bylaws and you cannot collect a bounty on him.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Officer Grange,” Rosa scoffed. “Just came to see the competition.” Hawk’s breath caught as she smiled wide, a vicious thing full of venom. He was ashamed at the sudden stirring in his loins.
“You don’t mean…” Hawk managed, and Rosa smiled.
“For a man who was so adamant in his opinions about Carnage, it was terribly easy to talk your father into sponsoring a team, my Hawk,” she cooed. “And if I can’t have you, no one else will. Fucking or killing, you’re mine.”
“It’s time for you to leave,” Mass said, shifting his bulk forward as Hawk mouthed silently. Rosa leered up at him, then turned and cast Hawk a final look over her shoulder.
“The Scavengers first Carnage run,” she said. “This’ll be one for the history books.”
“You okay?” Otis said to Hawk as Mass escorted Rosa out. He nodded. “A fucking Scavenger team,” Otis went on, shaking his head. “This really is going to be a special one.”
Hawk could only stare blankly, dry tongue caught in a drier throat. Otis patted him on the shoulder sympathetically and excused himself, ensuring their third would be ready for the opening ceremonies. Hawk turned back to the others, combing over the shitbox. Julia had the hood up, furiously working a wrench on something. Hawk sighed.
This had been a stupid fucking idea.
Mei and Izzy made their way back to the Dynasty garage, where everything would be put together and ready by now, the opening ceremonies starting within the hour. The stands were already packed and more people were coming in, the noise of hundreds of thousands of fans ready for bloody twisted metal. They had spent that morning peeking into not only the Scav garage, but every garage along the Victory Lap. Everyone was playing to their strengths, naturally. The crowd from Hayao Motors were running a team of souped up compacts, more than a match for the Freaks’ muscle cars in the neighboring garage. The Buccaneers were ridiculous, trying to turn their cars into the Carnage equivalent of pirate ships, a gimmick that would draw in the more campy benefactors. Though perhaps not as many as the Soviets: their garage was a miniature laboratory, crackling electricity and strange contraptions being tuned and rewired on their muted vehicles. They hadn’t dared go near the Firebugs, heavy black smoke cascading out of their open roll-up, and their attempts to check out the Scavs had been foiled by the sheer volume of scumbags and riff raff lingering around their garage. Time had run short and they hadn’t managed to check out the lone Peacekeeper team either. Dan might be worried about the Scavs, who no doubt had firepower, but upon looking at the bulk of them Mei was confident they could take any of the teams here.
She was grinning broadly as she opened the door to the garage, then came to an abrupt halt. Dan’s TransAm was parked center stage, freshly painted a glossy black with the tacky mural of the flaming phoenix covering the hood and front fender, the mechanics swarming over it while its owner stood by in a kevlar driving suit of his own, arms crossed and frowning.
“What the hell is this?” Izzy said behind her. Mei’s head was already full of steam as she charged over to Dan.
“What the fuck, Dan?” Mei demanded. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
“I’ve enlisted as a reserve for our team,” he stated, Mei’s temper skyrocketing.
“You did not,” she said, breathless. When he didn’t say anything, she exploded. “This is my fucking moment, Dan! Mine! You’re already on the tour, you piece of shit! How dare you presume to—”
“The game has changed, Mei.” He turned to stare directly down at her. “Whether I have qualified already or not is moot. Things are far more dangerous than you realize.”
“The Scavs are nothing,” Mei sneered. “You’re overreacting and overstepping here, you prick! You’re going to throw off our entire strategy!”
“I’m in reserve,” he said. “I’ll hold points on the Phoenix to keep us afloat in case of emergency.”
“Dan—”
“Mei!” he roared, clapping his hands onto her shoulders and holding her at arm’s length. “You don’t understand. It’s not just the Scavs. The Menace rides again today.”