II – Thrill him or Kill him?
1999
I-5 South Bound
The Big Apple to The City of Angels was one hell of a long drive, especially with a fucking tear through the middle of the Land of the Brave. The good old US of A was pretty much split in two. It had been a lonely trek, but there was a splinter of light at the end, soon she would be around responsive people.
There was only so much information that Electra had managed to gather. Her limited access to the Heart Enterprises system had given her plenty of things to think about, and a wealth of knowledge, but none of it was current. Winning this race would make her Primo, and the Primo had access to pretty much everything, she'd have the run of the place.
The world was broken, Electra was only going to break it a little more. Perhaps there'd also be time for a little nooky on the side.
It turned out that a handsome car and a classy chassis worked wonders for keeping the tank full. Men turned out to be just as lecherous as she remembered, if not more so. She'd learned a lot about the changes in men's behaviour, and how to cut up a corpse while on the road. Settlements had been few and far between as she rounded the scar.
The brave looked like damn cowards, they fucking ran away.
Electra was determined to make it to the starting line. The quickest route had been to head North, travel along the Canadian side of the border, before turning South and journeying through Montana, Idaho and Nevada. There's been plenty of fuel until she'd brushed though the edge of North Dakota. It seemed that even being on the American side of the border was too close to the scar for some people. Although there were reports that the mar on the landscape was growing, soon there would be no where for the population to run.
All of her plotting and planning was culminating in the death race she was speeding towards. Electra had schemed her sadistic little heart out, she would have her revenge and it would be spectacular.
The inaugural mayhem party was waiting for her in LA, and there was a delightful piece of ass would be it's presiding master.
...
Unnamed Warehouse, LA
The scene was set, roadies had worked their hearts out to get everything in place, and on time. Groupies and Racers had been steadily arriving over the past forty-eight hours. Rasher was on the main gate, doing his shift on check in. Everyone inside was either invited or vouched for, as much as they loved using the extras for fuel, this was a rather private affair.
He looked up to the roof tops, nodding at the look outs. It did no one any good to have to chase down escaping racers before they had even begun.
The chosen warehouse was a perfect starting location. Nicely tucked away into a disused industrial estate, close enough to the city highway for a quick start to the action, and far enough away that the only stragglers that crossed their path were vagabonds and junkies.
Rasher was looking forward to this years drive, the new Heart technology would make everything rather electrifying. It was clear to see that the Boss was looking forward to the power trip the control box would give him. No more feeding losers into the engines. This should be the bloodiest race yet.
The staffers had already collected a rather impressive collection of the dregs of society, there would be plenty of fuel for the engines. Both the racers and crew would be able to set off with full tanks.
He'd seen the Boss running through the racer list before people started to arrive, and was expecting to see the iconic top hat hovering around the entrance gate soon. There were all but two to arrive. And if the loud exhale of frustration had indicated anything, Julian Slink wanted to know just who had been substituted into his race.
Rasher had watched all year as Slink had handpicked his racers, carefully manipulated them into position., and watched as they tore a place for themselves in the world. It had been a horror when the Company had indicated their express interest in the Battle Bitch.
The change in the register had been noted by both him and his boss. Homicidal Maniacs were replaced with Electra Frohne. On one hand, it meant there would be more beer to go around, one less body that might need disposing of. On the other, no one knew what this Bitch was capable of.
When she finally arrived, it would be wonderful to put a face to the name. He could only hope that she managed to live up to the spectacle that Slink had slaved at to create.
...
Los Angeles looked nothing like she remembered it. No longer did it look inviting; the Company had really done one Hell of a number on the once vibrant city.
Electra remembered once walking through busy streets, full of colour and life. The weather had been beautiful during her visit, her husband almost as warm as the suns rays. He'd also been more than generous with his wallet. When she'd last roamed the city, she'd enjoyed every moment.
New clothes, new shoes and fancy meals at posh restaurants had definitely helped.
Heart Senior had actually managed to make her feel guilty for her singular love affair, compared to his many. That weekend he'd been the kind of man she had wished she had married. A man who was kind and caring, who doted on her and their son. It helped that he had spoiled her rotten.
And now she was back in the City of Flowers and Sunshine, driving one of his precious motor cars. That man had loved his imported cars and loose women more than the woman he married. He'd been a cold man, an unloving monster.
It seemed only fitting that the imported wife was waging war on his legacy in one of his sports cars.
It was near enough midday when she arrived at the warehouse. It was located in the delightfully dingy area of town. Electra noted the look outs on the roof tops, as a tattooed rake came towards her car. He'd have looked tough and scary if he hadn't been so skinny.
A scanner came towards her face. "I need your eyeball."
With a smile, she leaned towards him; there were no nerves, she'd entered herself into the race. Everything would check out.
Once she had been waved in, Electra pulled her car alongside the others near the starting line. It was a good chance to check out the competition.
Electra hadn't even stepped out of her car when her ears were assaulted with the tones of Received Pronunciation.
"My, my, an actual lady."
Looking the owner of the voice up and down, she saw a man in a well tailored three piece, who clearly thought too much of himself.
"A rarity in these parts." His voice was grinding on her already.
"Miss Frohne. And you are?" She quite happily handed him a platter of disrespect, as she stepped from the car and headed to the trunk. Her ride needed topping up, and the buckets of blood would do the trick without messing up her dress.
"The Gentleman, and there beside the Mercedes Benz is my racing companion, The Scholar." It appeared that the man was anything but a gent, the tone he used towards his partner downright derogatory.
"please to meet you." Electra could hold a polite conversation, even if the conversing party was a letch.
"Quite the car you have. A classic, I believe?"
"Um hum," Electra busied herself pouring the stored blood into the hungry engine.
"Aston Martin, DB5. Very pretty. 1964?" The Gentleman at least got the hint not to come any closer, didn't stop him trying to flirt his way though.
"Uh huh," she'd become bored with the man almost as soon as he opened his mouth. "Original run as well."
"Not quite up to this race though. She's pretty, but rather outdated."
Electra rolled her eyes; now that man had just revealed how much of a cunt he really was.
"Darling," she drawled before chewing him out, "just because he looks like a classic, doesn't mean he drives like one."
God, that man was a walking penis. It was then that Electra made her mind up that at some point she'd watch him burn. The rules stopped her from smashing his head in with a crowbar, but she was pretty sure there were some extra points for running him off the road.
Slink had been approaching in the shadows when he heard the Gentleman being thoroughly chastised, it was rather amusing to see The Gentleman slope away. It seemed that The God of the Stage wasn't the only one The Gentleman rubbed up the wrong way, it was going to be fun watching that man's head explode.
Julian figured it might be a good opportunity to inject himself into conversation. Running his fingers along the wings of the Aston martin, he mirrored her path from engine to trunk, keeping the car between them.
"Well hello there," he looked her up and down; the blue dress she was wearing hugged her curves in all the right places, and those stunningly high stilettoes she was wearing did make him wonder whether her butt was always so perky.
"Flattery may get you many places, Mr Slink; but don't touch my car."
Her voice was silky smooth and harshly pointed.
A shiver ran down his spine. Ooh, this woman was something. "Only the car?" he couldn't help but flirt.
"Smooth, like apple butter," Electra smiled, "it's gonna take a little more than sweet talk Honey, I don't just let anyone manhandle this." With a wink she closed the trunk and slipped away into the party.
Julian tipped his hat to the woman. She would either thrill him or kill him. It was going to be fun figuring out which.
