A/N: This has actually been a pet project of mine for awhile that's finally seeing fruition. Essentially it'll be the storyline of Vigilante 8 in prose form to be followed up with Vigilante 8: Second Offense and finally a third story that'll intersect with another popular post-apocalyptic road epic. The characterizations are what they are. I've taken some small liberties but ultimately they should stay fairly true to what little information we were given about the characters in the booklets. That being said, I'm not really going to give physical descriptions of the characters because if you know the game or dig through IGN's Vigilante 8: Second Offense guide, they're right there. I'm also trying to keep this as realistic as possible but it is an AU from our world, clearly.
In 1973, in response to the Yom Kippur War the Organization of Arab Petroleum Exporting Countries consisting of the Oil Petroleum Exporting Countries along with Egypt and Syria emplaced an oil embargo on all petroleum to the states that supporting Israel during the conflict. As a result, oil prices skyrocketed. Prices quickly reached 12 dollars a barrel and rose from there. Gasoline reached nearly 7 dollars a gallon and public outcry forces both, reconsideration from the West about Arab-Israeli relations and for OAPEC to reconsider the consequences of the embargo as well. By December 1974, relationships between Arabs and Israelis had become noticeably calmer and so there was discussion amongst OAPEC members to consider eliminating the embargo altogether.
But something went wrong.
The European Community, fed up with OAPEC, began a limited military assault on the oil producing nations to secure oil reserves and lower gasoline prices. The intervention quickly turned sour as lack of available oil for the war effort caused both parties to retreat after brief hostilities and try to restore diplomatic relations.
But the damage had already been done. In the ensuing power vacuum that engulfed the Middle East, foreign agents from across the world seized control of OAPEC and transformed it into a ruthless conglomerate bent on forcing the world to its will. The Oil Monopoly Alliance Regime was formed. OMAR proceeded to further raise prices and cut production. Riots erupted across the world from skyrocketing gas prices and the lack of available gasoline. Third world governments were overthrown and the scared citizens quickly submitted themselves to OMAR's rule. Still others however, were not able to bring themselves to formally surrender as Europe dissolved into violence tearing apart most major cities and fires engulf the various countrysides. The Soviet Union and China withdrew into themselves by abandoning all borders with the outside world and heavily mining them while communication becomes totally cut off. No one is really sure what happened in Australasia, though rumors persisted of an advanced motor police force being formed in the land down under.
The Americas are not much better off either. South America erupts into chaos with the non-oil producing states attacking the oil producing states and vice-versa. Supplies dwindle and looting erupts with the masses turning on each other. By 1976 South America is little more than a huge pile of rubble pockmarked by occasional pieces of humanity.
Above the equator, Central America was taken over by South American drug lords fleeing the devastation tearing apart their countries. Violence soon erupted between the governments and the cartel mercenaries as civilians fled in its wake, many pushed north into Mexico. But Mexico was having its own problems as when Europe collapsed, the United States mined the border and as a result it was too dangerous to even attempt to head north. So Mexico turned into a giant melting pot that was slowly going down the drains quicker than the rapidly fleeting supplies of gasoline. Above the US, Canada split apart into its provinces and began self-governing themselves to varying degrees of success.
But for the United States…
For the United States of America, one of the two superpowers in what was left of the world, things were going badly. Riots and looting struck every major city, from Los Angeles to Chicago to Washington D.C. President Ford declared a state of martial law, following President Nixon's abrupt impeachment for his poor handling of the oil crisis and to a lesser extent the Watergate Incident. As a result, law enforcement was called in to the cities making the smaller towns and businesses very vulnerable, including the oil fields and alternative energy sources that the United States was banking on to help them survive OMAR. And OMAR was only very much aware of this fact…
July1977, Kuwait: Kuwait City was seemingly out of place for being so calm that belied the widespread insanity gripping the rest of the world. It may have had something to do with the armed patrols constantly roaming the street with their weapons at the ready, despite the fact that few citizens actually roamed the streets. Up and down the roads were large billboards proclaiming the greatness of OMAR. To any normal citizen it would be a sickening display of the power of the greedy corporation but to a man such as mercenary for hire Sid Burn, it mattered little. He was the best money could buy and he knew it. Pre-OMAR, when someone wanted a competitor out of the business, they hired him. Sure he wasn't cheap but neither was the places he destroyed and so large conglomerates hired him to do their dirty work. He'd worked in the South African Diamond mines, the South American Jungles, hell he'd even done some work for the United States government but they'd never admit to it. He'd done it all in his 1969 Rattler, equipped with the best weapons money could buy, and in today's world very much essential to avoid the 'crowds'. Sure having machines guns, rocket launchers, mortars, mines, and one gigantic Molotov cannon wasn't exactly conspicuous but he didn't care. All he cared about was the money and this latest job sounded like the money train he'd been waiting for ever since OMAR stepped up to the plate.
"Listen either you let me in with the car as it is or you can explain to your bosses why I wasn't able to make this meeting!" shouted Sid in his British accent to the crossing guard who spoke in Arabic, which Sid didn't understand, but did understand the guard pointing at the various weapons adorning his car. The guard continued yelling in Arabic until his radio beeped and he picked it up and talked into it. After a few moments he visibly paled before sweeping his arm to allow the car entrance to the OMAR compound.
"Thank you," said Sid condescendingly before he gunned the engine and drove into the compound. The car was instantly swarmed by guards who then marched in line with it as Sid just sat there in his seat annoyed. The group escorted him over to a gasoline pump that was even more heavily guarded. Sid brought the vehicle to a halt as the guards began pumping gasoline into his vehicle and topped it off.
"Thanks gents, what do I owe ya?" said Sid laughing evilly as he feigned a motion to take out his wallet. The guards glared at him before marching off and motioning for the Sid to follow them. Sid gunned the engine on his car and threw it into drive and followed the guards into an underground garage. Inside were numerous OMAR security vehicles in pristine condition, but one seemed out of place as Sid's eyes fell on a 1975 Palomino being worked on by various scientists in labcoats as it was fitted with seemingly very advanced weaponry. Sid paused briefly in front of the car, to actually own a car model post-1973 was extremely rare thanks to the oil shortages, and took out his camera and took a quick photo of the thing before a guard knocked the barrel of his gun against his window to keep moving. The mercenary scowled at him before placing the camera down and continued driving slowly down several more levels before reaching a large concrete blast door. The guards slowly pulled back away from the front of the car as emergency lights began spinning as the door slowly pulled upwards revealing a darkened area beyond it. Sid was about to flip on his lights when a guard pulled out a bullwhip and slapped it against a sign near the door reading 'no lights or thermal imagers of any kind'. Sid sighed.
"Fantastic," he said as he slowly rolled the car into the pitch black area as the door slowly came closing down behind him. The Manta continued slowly moving forward before an LED red stoplight image began shining in front of it. The Manta came to a halt before Sid killed the engine and dead silence engulfed the area. The mercenary sat there drumming the fingers on the bottom of the window frame wondering how long he'd have to wait here. He wasn't scared, he knew he had enough firepower to tear apart the door behind him, but this secrecy was going beyond what his normal clients usually showed and Sid was about fed up with it. He was just reaching for the ignition when spotlights began shining down from above. Two spotlights came down revealing two chairs poised high above him with two darkened figures sitting in them. Then two more spotlights came on further down on two more chairs and individuals, still high up, and further on down the line until ending on one massive chair hitting him square on at the very end of the stone canyon the Manta was now parked in.
"So…the thirteen executives of OMAR," though Sid slightly impressed as numbers appeared above all the chairs. All men craved power, but these thirteen had gone ahead and seized it. The mercenary emerged from his vehicle with his shotgun and leaned against the front of the hood of his car against the flame logo engulfing it. To his mild surprise, none of the OMAR executives flinched when he had revealed the weapon and it further demonstrated just how deadly they were.
"Hello boys and girls, what can I do for you?" he asked pointedly when none of the executives introduced themselves. The executives continued looking at him in silence as Sid continued to glare at them.
"Sid Burn," began number 6. "Mercenary for hire wanted in several states pre-OMAR for countless felonies regarding industrial espionage. Post-OMAR has remained very elusive."
"Apparently not elusive enough," Sid joked at having still managed to be contacted by OMAR agents.
"Typical standard fee for services, 10 million dollars," said number 5 oblivious to his remark. "Though this number can vary widely depending on the type of operation required."
"Aggressive, violent, pyromaniac," continued 6. "Was a member of her crown majesty's advanced weapons research before an 'accident' in 1968 resulted in the destruction of his lab and the mysterious disappearance of all weaponry being tested along with Mr. Burn himself. Resurfaced in 1971 and in two years became the leading mercenary amongst global Fortune 100 companies."
"You know if I'd known you were making a biography of me I'd have brought pictures," said Sid looking at the group annoyed. "So what the hell do you want with me?"
"Previously hired by OMAR secondary unit…," began number 5.
THOOM
The Executives stopped talking as Sid had fired his shotgun at the ceiling above but otherwise remained silent.
"Mr. Burn what is the state of the world today?" inquired Number 2 leaning forward but still not visible in the light. Sid thought about it for a little bit.
"Chaotic," he decided upon. "You own a third of the world, a third of the world has turned on itself, and another third nobody knows about. Or that's the last I heard… two years ago."
"It's accurate enough," said number 2. "And what of the United States?"
"I don't know…or care," answered Sid truthfully. "All travel and communication with our 'friends' across the pond has been cut off aside from the occasional stray broadcast. I assume you know more."
"And you would be correct," agreed number 2. "The United States is in a state of martial law due to intense rioting in the major cities and all law enforcement and military personnel have been called into them to bring 'peace'."
"So the outskirts are vulnerable," Sid reasoned knowing where this was going and glad to finally be getting underway.
"Yes," said number 2 pleased with the mercenary's grasp on things, their dealings with other mercenaries in the past had been less than fruitful when it came to intelligence. And for a man of Sid's price, he had better come above average.
"So you want me to…," began Sid determined to make sure he and they were completely on the same page. To his surprise, number 1 leaned forward.
"We want you to eliminate America's oil and alternative energy supplies to bring them to their knees and force them to become subservient to us," said Number 1's voice dripping with evil. Sid nodded.
"Mission specifics?" he asked.
"Will be provided to you upon your leaving," said number 1 nodding.
"…And my fee?" said Sid, the most important part of the transaction.
"Down payment confirmed, full payment upon completion of the assignment," said number 1. And with that the lights died leaving Sid once more in darkness before the massive concrete door behind him slowly opened pouring some outside light in and the soldiers standing outside with their holstered weapons. Sid looked at them before turning and staring at the darkened areas where the Executives had sat, deep in thought. The soldiers began motioning with their guns as Sid got back into the Manta and threw it in reverse. He slowly backed up his car, but right before exiting the room, he jammed on the high beams and light flooded into the chamber. To his astonishment, the canyon was completely empty, no chairs nothing, while the guards instantly closed their eyes and turned away from the room so as not to look inside. The door finally closed and the guards instantly aimed their assault rifles at Sid who held up his hands in surrender.
"Sorry boys, slip of the hand and all that," he said amused. The workers scowled at him before jerking their gun barrels for him to follow them again. Sid performed a turnaround, once more passing the Palamino, and exited the facility to the outside sun. In the shadows, someone snapped a photo before vanishing.
Washington D.C.: The occasional stray looter could be seen running around on the deserted and trash filled streets but otherwise they remained empty. Naturally the capital of the country was 'safer' than the rest of the country, but it was still dangerous to be outside by oneself without a permit. Especially now, after a group had successfully infiltrated the city and launched a failed attack on the White House, severally damaging the outside fence and forward grounds before being cut down by the Secret Service and the military a couple weeks back, and still there was blood on the front lawn. In the FBI Building, it was a tense situation as the Agency did it's best to perform with any sort of efficiency after four years of chaos. Money was down, agents were dwindling, incidents were rising, and it was all getting to be too much for the beleaguered individuals still sticking around.
And it was about to get worse.
"Son of a bitch!" shouted Deputy Director, and recently promoted from agent, Johnson as he held up a sheet of printed paper that had come from the recently acquired, and extremely experimental, Exxon Qwik fax machine that had been confiscated when the government had nationalized all of the local oil agencies to try and control the rampant explosion of gasoline prices.
"Johnson; restrain yourself!" shouted FBI Acting Director John Chase, who had been promoted to the position after former Director Kelley had been reassigned to the newly, and barely, elected President Jimmy Carter's White House cabinet. The Secret Service had deemed it too dangerous for former President Ford to leave the area and so he had stayed on as Carter's vice-president. No one was really sure what had happened to the rest of the former presidents who were still alive, many were too afraid to find out.
"Sorry sir," said Johnson sheepishly. "It's just…"
With that he dumped the paper onto the table revealing a muddied but still identifiable black and white photo of Sid Burn in his Palamino in the garage.
"Yes this could be a problem," was all Chase was willing to admit to.
"'Could' be a problem?" said Johnson disgusted. "Sir, this is a problem, OMAR has finally made its move on us."
"We don't know that," said Chase, very reluctant to leap to conclusions, especially with their current circumstances. "He could be there for any number of reasons and could've been hired to attack any number of targets around the world."
"Sir…," began Johnson warningly. They both knew the truth that with talks breaking down between OMAR and the United States, some sort of confrontation would be coming. Apparently this was it.
"Then what do you propose we do?" said Chase aggravated. "We don't have the manpower to deal with this because if it does end up being a dud then we're in hot water."
"Funny you mention the word 'man' power sir," said Johnson as a smile threatened to break out across his face. Chase looked at him confused before he figured out what he was talking about.
"No," he said immediately shaking his head vigorously. "Absolutely not!"
"She'd be perfect for the job!" protested Johnson.
"She's a rookie!" Chase shot back. "Hell, she only made it through the academy because more than half her teachers had quit and she was rushed through so the others could make a break for it as well since she was the only person in her class!"
"Yes but think about the benefits if she does go!" said Johnson apparently seeing something Chase could not.
"Like what?" the Director snorted.
"One, it might actually restore some public faith in us that we can do our jobs. Two, she's the most photogenic person we've got on our staff and she'd look great in the publicity campaign we could launch when she succeeded," said Johnson and before Chase could protest. "And finally, if she died, then we won't have to listen to her constant whining about equal opportunity for women at the bureau!"
That last comment made Chase think for a moment.
"You'd better be right about this because if nothing happens," he began.
"Sir even if nothing happens I don't see her being able to make it back here alive to tell her tale," said Johnson frankly. Chase nodded at that.
"Alright, let's go get her," he said as he rolled around in his chair to his filing cabinet and reached into one of the drawers and produced a file.
"Chassey Blue, consider yourself 'assigned'," said the Director as he pulled out a rubber stamp and smacked it on top of the photo of the blue eyed blond haired female agent.
Las Vegas: Fires raged up and down the Strip as rioters clashed with the remnants of the police and military, giving the area an eerie glow in the nighttime sky. On the streets was only the occasional vehicle, usually armed to the teeth to prevent theft, one of which was a 1974 Strider with bullet holes puncturing the trunk in the back.
"It just gets worse and worse," said Jefferson Torque with sadness in his eyes at the rioting. He was sitting in the passenger seat of the car with his three brothers, two in the back seat and the final one driving the car past the various mobs and fires.
"But what can we do?" asked Jeremiah Torque helpless. "I mean I want to help them as much as anyone but..."
"Look, one man can make a difference," insisted Jebediah Torque. "Isn't that right John?"
The final brother and driver of the vehicle, John Torque said nothing but continued to drive in silence.
"John?" asked Jebediah concerned. John shifted his eyes to briefly glare at his brother.
"One man cannot make a difference," he stated angrily. "I know that more than anyone."
The rest of the Torques sighed at that.
"John what happened with that accident was not your fault," insisted Jeremiah. "You cannot continue to beat yourself up over it!"
"A man is dead because of me and nothing will bring him back," Torque resolved. "How am I supposed to live with myself as a result of that? How can I save these people when I couldn't save one man?"
"John, come back to work!" Jefferson demanded. John didn't say anything but just retreated further into himself. The other brothers sighed and shook their heads.
"You know John, two people died that day," Jeremiah said coolly. "Because you're just as lost. This gambling…and drinking…and plodding away aimlessly on that speaker of yours… That's not living. I just hope you come to realize that before it's too late."
And then the car fell silent as the sound of explosions and gunfire ripped through the air as they continued down the strip.
White Star Lines Trucking: Workers rushed everywhere filling the various semi-trucks on the docks with product as trucks rushed out from the docks anxious to leave Las Vegas as quickly as possible. Above the main loading area, the dock supervisor was having a heated conversation with his lead trucker.
"I still say this is a mistake, you don't know what it's like on the roads out there without protection!" protested Convoy. A 40-year old trucker, Convoy had ridden the roads for nearly 20 years and was a veteran when it came to knowing the system. He also knew that since OMAR, the roads had become home to various road gangs anxious to get their hands on both the vehicles, and mainly, the gasoline. The cities had become deserts and the roads had become battlefields.
"Look," said the boss not wanting to hear it. "Our clients want these products and they're willing to pay through the teeth for it. Money means you get paid, money means you get gas, and money means you survive for another day. If you think you can survive working independently then by all means go ahead. Until then, get back in your truck and get back on the road!"
Convoy growled angrily but got up out of his chair and headed for the exit as the lights briefly flickered.
"Oh and Convoy," began the boss as the trucker was about out the door. "If you loose this shipment, don't bother coming back."
Convoy paused at the doorway before donning his cowboy hat.
"Even if I do manage to deliver this shipment, I won't," he stated darkly before leaving the doorway and the boss behind. The boss watched him go, sighed and briefly rubbed the bridge of his nose, and then picked up his phone only to hear no dial tone on the other end. Outside the window, Convoy's 1972 Moth Truck with trailer shot out onto the nighttime streets and vanished into the distance.
Las Vegas Strip Club: In a back alley, a lone male strip club sat with a blinking neon sign promising that every night was 'ladies night'. Out in the small parking lot, sat a 1970's Clydesdale 4x4 with two occupants inside staring out at the door, more specifically the sign that read: 'now hiring'.
"I don't want to do this," the driver grumbled.
"Slick, we don't have a choice we need to make money and this is the easiest place to do it," said the companion. Inside the car sat former male models Adrian Barney in the passenger seat and in the driver's seat sat 24-year old Slick Clyde.
"There has to be other ways to make money," said Slick, extremely adverse to sinking this low in his life by having to dance for table scraps.
"How?" demanded Adrian. "Face it Slick, you're a male model there aren't too many career options open to us. Especially now."
Slick's expression turned especially sour at that comment. He'd been told that his entire life and he was getting sick of it.
"I promise you Adrian, I will be somebody someday," he swore. Adrian laughed.
"Slick you've said that ever since I've known you," he reminded him. "Good luck with that. Until then, less chatting and more stripping."
With that he exited the vehicle leaving Slick behind with his thoughts. He looked into the rearview mirror at his own reflection. Sure he was looking good, and sure he was vain and narcissistic, but he was entitled to be. He was destined for greatness and one day he would show them all. One day.
"Better get this over with," he decided before hesitating and retrieving his sawed off shotgun out of the back of the vehicle and pumping the trigger. He hid the thing underneath his flannel shirt and exited the vehicle and headed inside. But as soon as he left the parking lot, more bright lights shined in as several motorcycles came to a halt.
"It's time to make some easy money boys," said gang leader Johnny Stabler to his crew as the rolled into the lot.
Atlantic Ocean: An OMAR Boeing 747 Cargo Plane roared across the ocean headed for the Americas.
"I must admit, I am surprised to find anything in the air after OMAR took over," Sid had to admit. He was currently sitting in the plush seats of the second level of the craft with his liaison, Mr. Leonard, who was going over the plans of Sid's mission.
"He who owns the gas owns the world," was all the man was willing to admit to before once more returning to the dossier that was spread all over the table between them.
"So where exactly are we going?" asked Sid curious. "Because I know America is not about to let anything fly into its territory."
"You're correct in that assumption," said Mr. Leonard agreeing with him. "Which is why we are flying to Mexico."
"Wait hold up, you can't into the United States from…," began Sid before Mr. Leonard held up his hand to stop him.
"We have ways of getting into the country," he promised. "Now then, we'll be landing in Mexico City where our local contacts, the Coyote Cartel have captured that portion of the city," continued Mr. Leonard. "From there you will be introduced to your team…"
Sid had been mechanically nodding after every statement Mr. Leonard had made until he heard that one.
"Team?" he asked confused. "I don't work with a team, I work alone."
"OMAR has decided that this operation is both too complex and too important to leave to one man," responded Mr. Leonard curtly.
"It's non-negotiable," responded Sid not backing down. "A team would only slow me down and get in each other's way."
"If you don't want to participate anymore that's fine," said Mr. Leonard leaning back in his chair. "Just keep in mind that in order to conserve fuel we'll simply toss you out right now and head back to Europe."
Sid fumed at that statement as his blood began to boil. But ultimately he said nothing. If OMAR wanted to botch this assignment, so be it, he still had his down payment.
"So who exactly is on this…team?" he said, the word sound terrible in his mouth. Mr. Leonard nodded as he produced photographs.
"They're a rowdy bunch but…we have faith in their abilities," began Mr. Leonard. "First one is Loki. He's a test pilot reject from a military base that was thrown out for borderline insanity regarding his ramblings about testing alien saucers."
"Terrific," said Sid looking at the image of a tall bald man with soulless eyes clutching a missile.
"He'll come in handy because that base of his, Site 4, is home to America's only remaining Weapons R&D lab that's on your hit list," continued Mr. Leonard. "Next up is a man who refers to himself as Beezwax."
Sid looked at a photo of an old portly man with a straw hat, coveralls, and a large white beard. He could almost be Santa Claus if not for the psychotic look in his eyes.
"Apparently he has had a vendetta against the government ever since the Los Alamos test irradiated his prize bees," said Mr. Leonard, just as bewildered about these characters as Sid was. "He took his Stag Pickup and went on a rampage with it against various government sites before being arrested. We sprung him since he possesses knowledge of the entire layout of vital spots of the southwest without the need of any map."
Sid then picked up a photo of a middle-aged bearded man clad entirely in a disco outfit.
"Name's Boogie," explained Mr. Leonard. "A self-proclaimed disco fanatic, he's been moonlighting as a low-level enforcer for the Coyote Cartel and we figure we can put him to use as well. He's familiar with any sort of law enforcement you might run across on your mission."
Sid held his head in his hands.
"Next we have Molo," said Mr. Leonard just wanting to get the descriptions over with. The photo was one of a young obese teenager. "We caught him knocking off one of our gas stations and were about to execute him when he overheard your name and pleaded for the opportunity to work alongside you. In the interests of future public relations we're allowing him that opportunity."
"Terrific," said Sid beginning to feel a headache. "Look, is there anyone sane going on this mission?"
"There's Nina Loco," began Mr. Leonard trying to be helpful. "But her only job is to ferry you into the United States and transport oil and weapons to you as needed and transfer back the oil and weapons that you capture."
"No living off of the land?" asked Sid nonplussed.
"Well you are free to take whatever gasoline you can find and we will allow you to use some of the weapons you find at Site 4 but ultimately this is an OMAR funded operation and we do expect some return on investment beyond just America's collapse," Mr. Leonard reasoned.
"Of course," said Sid sardonically. Mr. Leonard narrowed his eyes at the mercenary but otherwise said nothing about his response.
"The good news is your second in command," said Mr. Leonard pleased as he showed a photo of a young African-American woman staring blankly at the camera. "Her name is Houston and she's a top level OMAR enforcer. She'll take any order without question so long as it does not compromise OMAR in any way."
Sid looked at Mr. Leonard disturbed by that but couldn't thing of any possible questions to ask to alleviate his feelings.
"Well you'd better get some rest, we still have a long flight ahead of us," said Mr. Leonard with a creepy smile. Sid just shook his head and slowly turned in, anxious to get his mission put behind him.
"It's all for the money," he assured himself. "It's all for the money…"
Nevada Desert: A lone van sat in the desert with a single occupant on top next to the mounted antenna on the roof, listening to whatever signals he could find. The person was so engrossed that he failed to notice a red and black dune buggy pulling up the road before coming to a halt nearby.
"Hey Dave!" shouted Sheila, a 19-year old college student. "Dave!"
The 26-year old hippie, Dave, heard the yelling over his headphone and yanked them off.
"Oh hey sister what's up?" he asked with a big grin. Sheila just took an annoyed posture in her black leather ensemble, coupled with her dark hair falling all around her, and her dark makeup, she looked like a Hell's Angel biker chick. But in reality it was all a façade she put up to stand up to the outside world that was now falling apart.
"I'm not your sister doofus," she stated. Though in actuality they practically were, since the man who had raised Sheila, her uncle Convoy, rarely had time to be with her, he had constantly left Dave in charge of her wellbeing.
"You're the doofus, doofus," Dave shot back as he looked up at the stars and smiled. He always watched the stars, they always seemed to calm him. And in light of matters here on Earth, he constantly dreamed of what life would be like soaring amongst them.
"To seek out new life and new civilizations," he thought, recalling his favorite TV show. Sheila cracked a smile at his statement before turning somber.
"What is it?" asked Dave concerned. He knew it had to be important because gasoline was scarce and Sheila knew better than to drive if she didn't have to.
"I've had it Dave, I've really had it," Sheila swore.
"With what?" asked Dave feigning ignorance.
"With life, with college, with everything!" said Sheila upset. "I don't have a future anymore so how am I supposed to go on living a 'normal' life?"
"You have to," said Dave, to entirely happy with playing reason. "You need to stay in college because the one weapon that will help you survive is knowledge. Because believe me when I say you don't want to wind up like me."
"But Dave you graduated from MIT," Sheila pointed out.
"Yeah but what I have done with that knowledge?" Dave responded bluntly. Sheila sighed.
"Things will get better, I promise you," Dave swore, also somewhat depressed at the current situation of the world. Both waited there in silence before a pop filled the air as in the distance, an explosion erupted from Las Vegas.
"So you pick up anything on that?" asked Sheila trying to change the subject. "Or are you just using it for a pirate radio broadcast?"
Dave laughed. "Well sensors show no signs of intelligent life but here's hoping."
Sheila nodded as she briefly held her head before looking up at him.
"Be safe D," she said. Dave nodded.
"I will S," he responded with a grin. "I will. And don't worry, something will materialize soon."
Sheila gave one last smile before getting back in her dune buggy and taking off back down the road into the town that was on fire. Dave took one last look at the sky before hopping off of the roof and getting back into his van and getting some sleep as the sunlight slowly began to creep over the horizon.
Mexico City: The OMAR 747 cruised in low through the smoke rising from the city from the various gang fights before landing in the remains of the international airport. Instantly several armored vehicles roared across the tarmac along with a quartet of attack helicopters as they escorted the plane to a nearby hanger. As the airplane was almost into the hanger its nose cone opened and Sid's Manta came rocketing out of it and onto the pavement below.
"Well Mr. Burn," said Mr. Leonard pleased as he sat in the passenger seat. "Welcome to Mexico City. Today you unleash hell."
