"One day you're going to get yourself killed."
...
Being an adrenaline junkie wasn't exactly the best way to cope with stress; and stress was certainly something Mike Chilton had an abundance of. The constant, over-hanging threat and fear of attack could really take it's toll on a person. Of course, Mike wasn't alone in this struggle, not at all. He had his burners, his friends, even all of Motorcity behind him. But when it came down to it, Mike was the one to shoulder it all.
The pressure was enough to make anyone on edge and high strung, but this leader was the poster child of calm and collected...usually.
So, in times when that "usually" started to become a "definitely," Mike needed an out. This where adrenaline seeped in and offered it's sweet relief.
That rush of energy would course through his body, like a jolt of electricity shocking his muscles to full power. It wasn't as if he normally felt weak, but living his day to day life was just not cutting it. He needed to feel alive, to feel free, and living dangerously was the only (logical) way he saw fit. The numerous attacks from Kane's bots, destroyers, H.O.U.N.D.s, and whatever his lust for power allowed his mind to conjure brought just enough action to Mike's life that it hardly seemed reasonable to add even more flare. But that's where logic flew out the window. With every action there is a reaction, every half has its other, and every day of action had its day of inaction.
And sometimes days of inaction. Perhaps a month, maybe two.
It didn't take a genius to figure out the vicious cycle that was soon to follow.
Mike needed the action, craved it actually. It was bad enough that the nagging idea of when Kane's next strike would be hovered over him, but to add placidity to it was pure torture.
He was adventurous by nature, and reckless to boot. So, finding ways to get his heart pumping and hands shaking was simply child's play. Motorcity-being the lovable junk yard of a place it was-was full of death traps and obstacles that just begged to be taken on.
...
Mike shifted gears and pushed the accelerator to the floor as he zipped along the suspended highways of the dark, dismal city he passionately called home.
"Just make sure you're back before I go back up to Deluxe," Julie's icon hovered over his dashboard, her voice halfway between annoyed and worried. Mike had abruptly made his exit with really no explanation. He simply needed to leave. Any longer and he would've cracked. He couldn't have his burners see this weakness.
Hell, he could barely stand seeing it for himself.
He had stood as Julie was mid-sentence, all the burners eyeing him warily.
"Goin' for a drive," he had mumbled. Leaving his friends stuttering and questioning as he walked out to the garage.
The icon's unwavering stare made the driver shift and squirm, tightening and loosening his fists on the steering wheel.
"I still have some intel on the upgraded software Kane's been using for the nano technology, and I need to discuss it with you..."
Mike fought back a sigh, "Gotcha," he affirmed to Julie's icon, giving it a quick glance.
Her floating pixel pursed it's lips, unsatisfied with Mike's tone. However, Julie said nothing and simply signed off, leaving Mike to his own thoughts.
And to his addiction.
Mutt's roar rose and fell as Mike shifted gears again and again in sync with his increasing speed. Driving Mutt was a proper distraction from stress too, he supposed, but its meticulous, repetitive motions were quick to bore the burner. Especially since he drove every day-it was his schtick.
Mike cruised on for at least a half hour before finally spotting his next target. He leaned forward, hugging his steering wheel, as he strained his eyes upward. Through his windshield the mountainous pile of car parts, rubble, and metallic items of all shapes and sizes came into view. As he neared it, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Piece of cake," he said as he spun his steering wheel and screeched to a halt. Black streaks on the pavement traced the path behind Mutt, and a slight burning rubber smell wafted into the air. Mike closed the door with a small slam, letting the radiated heat from Mutt's engine sooth him a bit. After a moment, he put his hands on his hips and gazed up at the sight before him with determination frozen to his features.
The scrap yard wonderland looked more than ready to be explored. Risky looking ledges, dangerous heights, and physics were all pretty much out of Mike's favor. Despite it all, he triumphantly concluded that his athletic abilities and gymnast-like acrobatics were going to make it a breeze.
Mike let out a soft chuckle, twitched his head sideways to briefly move his bangs out of his eyes (only to have them bounce right back in place), and took off running towards the scrap pile.
...
His leaps and flips echoed through the yard with a metallic twang. The colossal pile had proved to be more than adventurous, it was downright fun! Like a private playground made exclusively for Mike's personal enjoyment.
He stopped for a moment on a hood of a car that acted as a make-shift ledge. He held onto a led pipe that stuck out and leaned forward over the edge, gazing down at the piles of scrap which looked like they continued on for much longer than he originally anticipated. It was like a dark hole, an abyss, and it loomed with an eerie threat that even Mike was not crazy enough to explore...usually.
His eyes scanned the perimeter, analyzing the best pathway. He could already feel his special drug taking its effect. His body felt light, his muscles twitched in anticipation, and his pupils were wide in dilated excitement. No amount of Kane bots or gangs could ever bring him this satisfaction. The risk, the danger, the (yeah, he admits it) insanity of it all made Mike shiver. All of this was his doing. He caused this rush. And that's what excited him the most.
To be the causation, to be the one in control; it was like a buffet feeding his feral desires until they were bloated and grinning. Not quite satisfied with what the scrap metal had to offer, Mike leaned back away from the edge and tugged on the pipe. His feet shifting on the car hood caused the weak surface to dent inward with a rusty pop.
Mike tugged again on the pipe; it seemed stable enough. He used both hands to pull himself up, climbing on the next scrap piece that was smaller than the car hood in diameter, but thicker and seemed sturdier. He turned around to see the view once again. Mike was at a height where he could almost see over the other piles. The ever-dark sky of Motorcity loomed above him, vast and mysterious. Below, the foreboding abyss seemed to call out to him, seducing him into a hypnotizing lull. Mike took a step out closer to the edge, only to have the metal shelf groan and lurch forward. He stopped, knees bending a bit and his hands splaying to his sides attempting to balance on thin air.
His heart thumped wildly for a short moment. And it felt so damn good.
Mike knew he had a problem. Driving out to the middle of nowhere to climb a highly unstable scrap pile, simply on the motive of wanting a quick burst of exhilaration, it wasn't what sane people did. It wasn't even what insane people did.
It's just what Mike does.
The burner smiled widely as he shuffled his feet forward, moving that much closer to the edge. The metal piece groaned again, and his body shivered with an odd excitement that even he was too ashamed to really call it what it truly was. His eyes peered up through his fringe, scanning the elements around him once again. He spotted another make-shift ledge just across the way. It almost mirrored the surface he stood on now, a large slab of metal wedged between two cars; poking out in a teasing way that just cooed "jump."
And so, he would.
...
Mike bit his lip and zipped up his coat to his chin. The cold air bit at his skin as he pressed all of his energy into his legs, shifting quickly to the ledge and pressing his feet off the metal shelf. It shifted backwards at his pressure. This shift caused for an awkward take-off, but it didn't hinder Mike as badly as fate wanted. And he was in the air, soaring outward, legs stretched ready to reach his designated landing. The dark abyss below him seemed to moan and echo wantonly, pleading to consume him in one swift moment.
Mike felt as if he could fly. But of course, he knew he couldn't really...but it was nice to pretend. Time seemed to move in slow motion as he glided over the gap, adrenaline pumping though his veins like sweet nectar. It was all he could ever want, all he really needed. It was this moment, this precise moment that made Mike think it was truly all worth it.
To be alive, to be moving. Living fast, living Free. This is what it all meant.
Time resumed and the resulting event flashed forward before Mike could mentally process it.
His aim had been a little off, he could thank his shotty take-off for that, and he miscalculated the distance. His legs kicked out and his arms waved a bit as he tried his best to steady his course. Upon impact, Mike's hands grasped wildly onto the edge, just barely getting their hold. His body jolted into a stop, and his forearms burned as if they'd tear from the sudden weight. And that was just the thing that tipped the whole event, his weight.
The metal shelf gave way as soon as his body swung merely once. Mike barely had time to look up as the scrap piece came loose and sent him falling backwards into the darkness that willingly swallowed him. A raspy yelp was all that escaped his lips as he quickly disappeared into the gap, a few scraps and metal parts falling along with him.
...
Mike came back into groggy consciousness with a pounding headache. His eyes fluttered open weakly, and he lifted his head to give himself a half-hassled once over. It was dark, cold, and everything was man-made and hard. He shifted a bit only to be greeted by the clanging and shifting of metal objects. A low groan bellowed in his throat as he let his head lay back down on his scrap piece pillow.
As his pupils adjusted to the dark, the scene was beginning to clear up. He could see where he had fallen from, just barely. Thank God it wasn't actually a never ending abyss that had been taunting him this whole time. If it had been, well, a headache would be the least of his problems.
That's what confused Mike though. How was he relatively unscathed?
The brunette sat up and rubbed the back of his throbbing skull; quickly checking his fingers for any blood. Just as his eyes narrowed in on his hand, beyond his focus was a rather unfortunate looking display.
"Holy shit," Mike breathed as he slapped his hands on either side of him. He leaned back ever so slightly, as if he wanted to detach from his own body. He was trembling, heart still pumping and adrenaline still very much zipping through his blood. His arms shivered weakly under his weight.
He gazed down, horrified, at his shoe. The silver shard glistened with crimson as it pierced up through the fabric. He lifted his leg carefully and peered to see the other side. The second half the metal shard greeted him on that side as well as it stabbed through his sole, and more obviously, his foot. Mike whimpered and let his leg drop back down. His blood oozed out of the puncture due to this movement, and Mike felt the bile in his stomach rise to his throat.
There was no pain though. The adrenaline was living up to its expectations, thankfully. But, Mike was no idiot. Well, not an total and complete idiot. He knew the wound was bad, puncture wounds typically were. And on his foot no less. There was no way he was going anywhere any time soon.
With a trembling hand, he brought his comm to his mouth and turned it on with his chin. The signal was weak, and as it searched Mike laid back down, carefully. The metal scraps clanging and clanking in protest. As he stared up towards the point at which he fell, he thought he should probably pay more attention to the wound. It simply didn't hurt. And without pain, the sense of urgency was kind of hard to follow suit.
He was unaware of the growing puddle of crimson at the base of the metal shelf that lay just under him.
The other end picked up, and the voice barely came in through the static.
"Mike?"
Mike opened his mouth to speak, finding that his throat was incredibly dry. He paused a moment, simply letting out a long, shaky breath.
"Mike?" the other end repeated more earnestly through the strengthening signal.
"Chuck, I think I...might have screwed up. Royaly," he said in a tone barely above a whisper.
"Jesus, Mike. Where are you? Do you have any idea what time it is? What happened? Did you go on a idiotic dare devil escapade again?!" Chuck fired his questions rapidly without giving any real pause for Mike to answer. His annoyance was clearly a sign of ignorance to Mike's current state. "One day you're gonna get yourself killed."
Mike let out a small chuckle. His vision went blurry, and a darkness began to tunnel around him. His mind became a foggy mess; dizzy and disoriented. He promptly forgot where he was, and his eyes rolled backwards.
"Ch-chuck..." once again he lost consciousness.
"Mike? Mike?! Are you there? Oh my God, Mike! Shit. Guys, something's wrong!"
The comm quickly turned off and the homing beacon activated, its green light blinking into the darkness.