Sir Nexus Posted Jan 22, 2020, 4:16 pm

Henry was thirsty. Northern Evan had plenty of everything, if everything you wanted was to live in a post apocalypse mad max wet dream. He shifted the pocket rocket down a gear to a cruising speed as he ran along the salt flats. He hadn’t been down south in a long time, but he was committed to competing (if you could call it that, he thought sardonically) in the rest of CoE. Or at least making sure the clan did. He wasn’t planning on driving to Firelight. He’d had some senior members gets captured as Gladiators down there. They had, easily, already shot their way to freedom, but he’d made a call to Cynthia telling her to keep them there until after CoE. He figured the clan should try to scout down there a little and see what they could scare up. They never had, and some the best members the clan had ever trained were down there now. Maybe they could even loot back the two buzzers they’d lost to get there in the first place, and drive ‘em back to Badlands when all was said and done. He’d been a little lost in thought, humming along at 100mph, which counted for cruising speed out here. A few gangs had tried to chase him but running down a flash was difficult in open terrain. He wasn’t worried. He had already passed into Sarsfield. It again occurred to him that maybe the gang should just……. move down here. They didn’t quite have the skill, but with some patience, a little time spent learning the terrain, and a good scout (him) they’d probably be okay. It was risky, but Somerset was getting boring, and he was tired of the Civs hating the Travelers for being Muties. The giant arch that signified Texan loomed out of the distance, coming over the circumference of the horizon in such a way it appeared to grow out of the ground, as if it was stored in some underground bunker until people showed up. He’d hired a local nobody in Sarsfield to keep a presence for the gang. He’d left the man with instruction so simple a dog could follow them: Win races, make us cash. He planned on doing the same thing in Texan. There were some pots in excess of 20k, and little to no competition. If you could get a few good races in, you could easily net 100k a day in profit. He swung the Pocket into the parking lot behind Tombstone Tavern and wandered in to find a spot at the bar. There were some looks, but in all honestly, it was a little more civil down here, and people quickly lost interest in the newcomer. Doc looked up from a dirty glass he was cleaning with a slightly less dirty rag. “You here for CoE? You’re early.” “Well, I really didn’t have much else to do and I wanted to make sure I had a car all set up and ready. Speaking of, you know what’s for sale around here?”” Well, PA Racers just posted a few cars they looted, think one was a Wardance.” “That’s perfect! I’m going to go take care of some business, but when I get back, I’m going to tip you very well to tell me all about Texan.” Henry met up with a Ganger from PA, negotiated a deal, and was a proud owner of yet another Buccy. Best all around car in Evan for a gang on a budget. Henry did have to spend a little Chrome to fix the damaged v8, but still, a full race car and a nice motor for under 50k. The South was being kind to him. Henry went back to the Tavern, but not in it. He went around the side to a picnic and smoking area and had a look at the jobs board. He found what he was looking for and headed into the living quarters part of Texan. He found the door he was looking for, and he knocked. A tall man in a cowboy hat and mustache opened the door and peered down at him. “Can I help you?” Henry liked the direct nature and the lack of fear demonstrated by opening the door all the way without knowing what was on the other side. “Are you Patrick Schoonover?” The tall cowboy merely nodded, waiting for Henry to get on with it. “Well, Patrick, says here you are looking to join up with a gang as a driver. That true?” Again, a nod. “You got a problem with Muties?” Patrick blinked, tilted his head and gave it a thought. “Long as people aren’t shooting at me, I don’t much care where they are from, or what they do.” Henry nodded. “I’d like to offer you spot in the Travelers roster. You’d be our only guy out here, and your only job is to race and make us money, and not drink away all your winnings. Oh, and keep and eye on the market for any rare hardware that may show up. Think you can handle that?” Patrick nodded, tipped his hat with one hand and extended the other. Henry grasped it firmly and maintained eye contact. “I’ll take the job sir.” It was Henry’s turn to nod. He tossed Patrick a set of keys. “This a Buccy we just acquired from PA Racers. She’ll be your main ride, but first I need it for CoE. So, check it over, get ourbadge on it, and find a nice shade of green to paint it. I like green. Meet me over at the tavern when you are done, I’ll buy you a drink and we can talk about your future with the Travelers.

Sir Nexus Posted Jan 24, 2020, 8:10 pm

Patrick Blows up a Fire Engine Patrick spit into the spittoon in the center console of Murica. This is horse####, he thought, as he drove out into the wastes with two gunners. He’d been hired to man an outpost, participate in the occasional race, and just kinda…. Hang out. He’d liked that prospect. Win a few races a week and spend the rest of the week winning whores hearts and getting a full house on Thursday night poker at the Tavern. The Travelers had decided that just racing in Texan wasn’t enough. They’d basically decided that Patrick and company were expendable, and that anyone could race a car. They’d bought a Landrunner, slapped an HMG and MMG on front, hired two gunners, one a Mutie, and told Patrick to get out into the wilderness and find rare loot. Patrick didn’t hate Muties, but this guy looked more dead than alive. And like Patrick, his skills as a Large Gunner weren’t exactly…. honed. Patrick was tooling along the winding roads of the Oil Slick area when he heard a siren go off. A fire engine, Patrick thought. Oh, #### he thought a second later. There was no way him and these two goons could take out a firetruck. He looked in the mirror and saw a few other vehicles along side the firetruck, joining in the chase. Patrick looked to his right and saw one of the oil slicks with a depot on the far side. “We got contact,” he said in a surprisingly calm voice. “I’m gonna dip through that depot down there and come around the oil lake back to the road. See if we can shake them. Patrick slammed the Landrunner down the hill, the chassis creaking, but the tough offroad vehicle was doing everything Patrick asked of it. The Windsor and the Apache that had followed Patrick were not so lucky, getting a bad angle and slipping down into the oil lake to die a terrible, undignified death. The other two, a Pickup and an enemy Landrunner, had made it around. The Firetruck, however, had gotten held up on a hill and didn’t seem to have the power to climb it from a stand still. Suddenly, Patrick was very excited. “Engine ahead, 148 meters and closing! Man the guns! Get set up, we are coming in on his starboard side and I don’t think he sees us!” The gunners hopped on there respective guns and aimed them at the engine. Right as they closed inside 60 m, the Engine seemed to lurch forward, finding purchase in the oily bank of the lake. “Open fire!” Patrick shouted, slamming on the brakes and pulling the emergency brake, spilling his spittoon onto the driver side floor. He hardly noticed. The gunners opened, yelling expletives and incomprehensible threats, feeding on Patricks excitement. If they got this thing home, the Travelers would have to promote him, and maybe some other schlup could make suicide runs at the side of a superior vehicle. The first shots hit, and it was clear this was going to be quick. The only question was if the crew would yield before the Engine was useless as a prize. The fifth shot from both guns, and the side was breeched. He clearly saw a crew member take a round and spin around in their seat. They had to yield! He thought with a smile. Then he saw the next round hit the fuel cans. Instantly, he was frowning. Then he was panicking. “Stop firing! Hold on to something!” Patrick saw the Engine quickly become an inferno, and he slammed Murica into gear, trying to put distance between himself and the inevitable fireball. He briefly saw a crew member exit the Engine, engulfed in flame, silently running for their lives. Right as Patrick got past the Engine, and out of the danger, it exploded. Murica rocked violently up on two wheels, and Patrick had to fight to keep it from going over. As Murica’s passenger side slammed back down, he heard the unmistakable thud of armor plating falling off. The passenger side had taken a solid hit. “Status?” he asked as they drove away from the burning wreckage. “We still have the Pickup and Landrunner to deal with Sir. How do you want to play it?” The pickup was junk. Wasn’t worth the effort to loot it. Getting a second Landrunner would be good padding in case Murica got damaged in the future. “Screw it, let’s finish this. Reload the guns!” Patrick did another loop around lake, drawing the Pickup and Landrunner after him, as he climbed a hill and spun around, just in time for the Pickup to present its side to them. “Open fire”, he shouted driving Murica down the hill at the side of the Pickup. He briefly saw the other Landrunner cresting a hill to his right, but he had a plan for that. More shots rang out, as the Pickup took heavy fire to it port side, then straight on, and finally to the starboard as it tried to wheel around and flee. As it came all the way around, two more shot put it on its lid, and the crew put a white flag out the window. They’d yielded. Patrick kept his speed up and flinched as an ATG round blew a hole in the ground 10 m away from Murica. He looked right and saw what he expected. The enemy Landrunner 40m out and closing on his passenger side. The enemy had miscalculated though. They were going to slow, and Patrick was past the front of them after one round. He yanked left, hitting that all too important emergency brake, swinging his guns in behind the enemy Landrunner. (This is where I screwed up, but we’re going to write it like I didn’t. Always zero your enemies’ folks!) “Open fire!” he yelled a third time, and the enemy Landrunner realized its mistake and began to weave. Armor began peeling off. Surely, he’d have it in the garage by days end. Then, and impact. Murica buffed hard to the right, and the HMG gunner yelped. “The pickup is firing again. And it’s rockets!” Patrick hated rockets. Rockets were, in his book, underhanded. Unless his team was using them. He swore softly, because he knew he’d been setup. They’d pretended to surrender, and now that he was stuck in front of them, they were firing again. Another blast, and light started to stream in through the passenger side. He put the pedal on the floor, but with the HMG and MMG firing he couldn’t get any more acceleration. And then, it happened. Right as he was going to clear the Pickups guns, the sun suddenly shone in, blinding him. “We’ve been breached!” The gunner closed to the opening was trying scoot into Murica farther, away from the ground hurdling by. They’d cleared it though. “Damage report!” He barked, chasing the enemy up the hill and watching them dip over the lip of the ridge. If he could just get Murica up there, he could end this and not walk away empty handed. “We are out of HMG ammo; it fell out with the breach. Minor shrapnel in the motor, but she seems okay other than the gaping hole.” Luck was on there side then, it seemed. He grinned. Get that MMG reloaded, we’re gonna end this. As Patrick got to the top of the hill, he realized to late the enemy Landrunner had turned around and was now pointing that giant ATG at Murica. The ####ing Pickup must have radioed him, was the last thing he thought before the impact. The last thing Patrick heard before blacking out was the HMG Gunner yelling to get him out of the seat so they could get Murica under control. (The Landie had been trying to escape, and after the shot, which cost Patrick his arm, I let it go instead of sustaining more damage in a vehicle I couldn’t drive. As of this writing I have a return to do later. So, ole Patrick might still not make it home.)