"Done!" A voice cried out and echoed off the stone garage walls. Shane
placed down the oil-doused wrench and picket up a white cloth, beginning to
wipe off the grease that covered his raw, bleeding hands.
He stepped back to admire his artwork. It was a Hum-V, black with realistic flames painted on the side, the odor of drying coat still lingering in the night air. Underneath the front bumper, there were numerous missiles, concealed and ready for firing. On either side of the vehicle, there was mounted a large gatling gun that were as strong and tough as they looked. The traction wheels covered the silver hubcaps that glinted in the dim light. It was a machine of destruction.
Shane smiled at what his skill had created as it stood, parked innocently. He walked over to the driver's seat and placed his hands on the latch. With a soft click, the door swung open and he soon slid into the leather interior. Shane cracked his knuckles and wrapped his sore, worked fingers over the steering wheel. He glanced down at a small, silver switch he had embedded in the dashboard. With a malicious grin, he flipped the switch and instantly the roar of guns ripped through the silent night air!
The tree across the street from Shane was ripped to bits, the bullets tearing into the bark. Shane flipped off the switch and the gatling guns rotated to a small stop; smoke emitting slowly from the calibers. Shane whipped open the door and bolted out of the car. He jogged across the street to where the tree once stood. Shards of wood and bark littered the ground various bullets found partway through debris of the tree.
Shane smirked and he bent down, picking up a strip of wood. He stood up and crushed it easily, his large biceps straining on the cotton of his white t-shirt. He walked slowly across the street and stood proudly, arms folded before his car.
"Armageddon." He suddenly said aloud. "That's what I'll call you. Armageddon." Shane then walked to the door that led into his apartment and switched off the light. "Look out Calypso," He whispered dramatically, turning his muscular back to the car. "Twisted Metal has a new victor."
He strided into the apartment, giving no thought to the faint glow from behind his car. It was fire, a head of fire…literally. Two red eyes pierced through the pitch-black darkness. The light glinted faintly off of razor fangs as dry lips were stretched back into an insane grin. It was Sweet Tooth. Sweet Tooth stood up, and slipped out of the open garage door as silent as a shadow. He look to his left, a rusted, ruined ice cream truck barely in view. He grinned again, his face flowing with malice. The faint jingle of an ice cream truck faded into the night followed by an insane howl of laughter as he drove it further into the distance….
Aaron Speech rushed down the street, clutching dearly to his hat and coat, a jug of milk tucked securely under his arm. Rain hammered down as he began to pick up the pace, frantically- his head darted every which way, losing his sense of direction due to the immense deal of fear in his fifty- two year old heart. A broadcast rang in his ears as his feet carried him down the pavement.
IHe is armed and dangerous. Just from an insane asylum nearby the man who calls himself U Gingerbread /U is on the loose. If you see him, get away as fast as possible and call this number. He stands over six feet with lengthy, black, braided hair protruding from the top of his white hockey mask. Remember his is armed and extremely dangerous…/I
It played over and over in his head as if on a broken record player. He snapped out of his trance from listening intently to the broadcast in his subconscious, just to find where his feet had taken him while he was dazing. He found himself facing a brick wall at the end of a dark alley. Crap. A dead-end.
Suddenly, a whoosh came from over above, and Aaron's old head snapped up in time to see a black trench coat disappear over the ledge of the building to his right. The sweat trickled down his forehead and was indistinguishable with the rain streaming down his aged face. His eyes darted around furiously, trying to spot what had made the noise.
He decided to make a dash for it! He ran, his feet pounding and splashing through the puddles on the cold cement! Suddenly, an immense crash boomed in front of him and he slid to a stop, water spraying into the air!
Lightning streaked through the black sky, creating an extremely eerie silhouette standing directly before him. A black body-length trench coat, long braided hair hanging in front of the silhouette's face, which had no distinguishable, features at all. Slung over his shoulder was a chainsaw, rain flowing down the steel blade. Hitched in the character's belt was a bloody butcher knife, slowly dripping fluids of water from the downpour. With another crack of lightning, Aaron dropped the milk jug to the floor with a gasp. The face was completely veiled in a hockey mask, holes for eyes with and odd, piercing red gaze glaring at him. An axe was clutched in his gloved hand, the double blade glinting dangerously in the rapid streak of light. It was the escaped man from the insane asylum!
"No! NO!" Aaron screamed fearfully, backing slowly away. His back touched the drenched brick wall behind him, he was trapped like a rat.
The figure tilted his shrouded head and looked curious at the figure struggling to escape.
"Do you know," he asked softly, his unnatural voice barely audible. "What the best part of a storm is?"
Aaron gave no answer, and desperately attempted to move farther back, the brick wall holding him forward. "Get away from me you, psycho!" He screamed in terror.
The figure began to slowly advance, giving his axe a twirl. He stopped, feet from the old man.
"No one can hear you scream." With this, the axe was raised high above his head and lightning cracked through the sky, the blade shining in the light. The axe swished violently down, a scream echoed through the downpour of the pitch-black night, and Gingerbread has his next meal…
…A bloodcurdling scream reached Sweet Tooth's ears and he jammed his ice cream truck in reverse. Within a few minutes, rain pouring down the hood of his rusted truck, he had reached a dark, secluded alley. Sweet Tooth stepped out of the car, the rain not dousing his head of flame a bit.
Suddenly, a figure erupted from the darkness!
"Stop!" Sweet Tooth yelled, stepping forward.
A white face turned to face him, the mouth portion of the mask now dripping with blood…human blood.
Sweet Tooth pulled back his dry lips over his rotted fangs into an insane smile. He stepped forward, a crazy glint in his eyes.
"I like your style, ehh…um?" Sweet Tooth broke off, querying the figure for his name.
Quick as a flash, the character had rushed toward Sweet Tooth and had the butcher knife placed deadly on the tip of his throat. As soon as the blade had touched Sweet Tooth, Jason felt the cold tip of an Uzi pushed into his abdomen. He could tell the finger was pulled tightly over the trigger.
A hollow laugh was emitted from the depths within the hockey mask. "You're fast." He sheathed the knife within his belt. "I'm Gingerbread, and don't forget it."
Sweet Tooth un-cocked the gun, gave it several twirls around his finger and pocketed it. He stuck out his hand; the four-inch-long fingernails caked with dirt.
"Sweet Tooth. Say, have you ever heard of Twisted Metal?" He asked, in a friendly yet still untrusting tone.
"Yes. It looks like," the figure gave a twitch of his neck as if he was having trouble speaking. "…fun." He ended.
Sweet Tooth chuckled eerily. "Yes, tremendous fun. You should compete. We, er, need some excitement."
Jason's hand came up and wiped blood off of his hockey mask. "Compete. Yes. Car. Like…yours?"
Sweet Tooth grinned maliciously revealing rows of yellow teeth behind dry, chapped lips. "Good…very good…."
Rachael sat straight up in bed, cold sweat sticking to her arms and face, the sheets clinging to her skin. He pulled the sheet off and climbed out of her bed, her strawberry blonde hair sticking to her forehead. He nightgown touched the bottom of her feet as she walked into the bathroom. She flipped a switch and blinked in the newly found light. Dark rings were covered the bottom of her eyes, she hadn't gotten any sleep for days. The same dream awakening her, and spooking her enough to make her stay awake. But this time, she had a plan.
Walking back to her room, she got changed, a pair of jeans and a shirt with a black hooded jacket, her red hair pulled back into a ponytail. She walked yanked open a dresser drawer, after pushing aside various books and batteries, she found a semi-automatic pistol, fully loaded. She gave it a spin and pocketed it. Next, she grabbed some makeup, not that she needed any, and put it on her face.
Moonlight shone in through her window, and if that was not there, you would think it was noon by the way she was dressed. Rachael opened her door and it creaked on its rusty hinges.
She started down the stairs and contemplated on her dream. She had lost Twisted Metal and stood before Calypso, begging her wish be granted. Calypso grinned maliciously and pointed a gun at her forehead. Three shots rang out, but before they made contact- she was awake. She couldn't lose, there's no room for failure.
She reached the garage door and opened it slowly, flipping a switch as soon as she could slide her hand along the wall through the minute crack in the door. The concrete room was flooded with light as she opened the door all the way and gazed proudly at the work of art standing before her.
A flame-red convertible stood, parked in her garage, four machine guns mounted dangerously on the hood of the car. Rachael walked up to the car and ran her hand over the smooth, lustrous surface of her car. Rachael hoisted herself up so she sat on the car, before somersaulting backwards to the other side of the vehicle. She smiled mischievously as she ran her hand on a missile situated on the side of the smooth door.
She patted the door cherishingly, smiling her perfect smile.
"Why don't we go for a ride?" She asked to no one unparticular. She stood up and unlatched the door handle with a soft click. She slid into the leather upholstery, the keys planted in the car ignition. She smiled again as she eyed the keys. "Oh, yeah." She whispered to herself.
She clutched the keys gently between two fingers and turned them slowly in the ignition as the engine roared to life, the car vibrating with it. Rachael laughed softly as she jammed the car into gear using the stick shift next to her. Rachael slammed down the overdrive and rammed her foot into the gas petal! The back wheels screeched, smoke billowing from the concrete as the wheels spun viciously.
Rachael laughed joyfully as the car roared out of the garage, meaning driving straight through the wooden garage door. The peaceful night was interrupted abruptly as a garage door was shattered to bits and a smooth, red convertible came bursting from it, engine screaming.
Rachael soared through the air and landed on the pavement, chips of wood clattering to the cement ground behind her. She skid across the tar, smoke swirling from the rubber tires as they desperately attempted to bring the car to a stop. She did stop, horizontally and taking up the whole road. Quickly, she jammed the car into second gear and zoomed off, engine slowly fading into the night…
Jonathon lay on his bed in his run-down apartment, absentmindedly tossing darts into a dartboard slung up on his yellow-stained wall, thoughts running around inside of his mind.
I Should I enter the contest? Sure, why not? What's the harm? Only getting your ass blown off, dipshit! Not if I'm fast enough. This is Twisted Metal, freak! Of course your gonna die! Nah, I'll give it a try. You idiot! /I
"Shut up!" Jonathon suddenly yelled to no one, the thoughts in his head quarreling against each other. He gasped for breath, the sweat trickling down his matted blonde hair and into his face. "I already got the ride, why don't I try it?"
I You friggin' moron! /I
"What've I got to lose?" He yelled furiously, no one else present with him.
I Only- /I
"I said shut the hell up!" Jonathon screamed angrily. He wrapped his fingers around the bronze handle on his apartment door and wrenched it open, the door slamming deafeningly behind him.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up." He muttered to himself as he walked out of the apartment building, clutching the sides of his head furiously. His feet carried him along the gray pavement of the sidewalk, when suddenly, a sleek red car bolted past. Spraying him with muddy water.
"You bastard!" Jonathon yelled as the car roared off into the distance. At hearing this, the red-haired driver stuck out her finger, showing it to Jonathon. "Dammit!" He yelled, loudly.
"That's it!" He growled to himself as he turned into a dark alley on the side of him, still dripping with the filthy water. "I'm competing. Let's go, baby." He said as he patted a motorcycle before him. It was his creation, his weapon for the perverse contest. "C'mon Outcast." He growled to the bike as he slung himself over the seat and jammed the helmet on his head. "Let's go teach these freaks how to really play Twisted Metal."
He revved the engine and screeched off, the wheels spinning furiously on the black asphalt, the gat on the side prepared for a round of fire.
"Sweet Tooth!" Calypso yelled, snapping his fingers.
"What?" Came the muffled answer.
"Come here!"
"Fine, god- don't blow up."
Sweet Tooth swung open the door, letting it bang against the wall. He looked at Calypso through his piercing eyes, his head flaming.
"What?" He growled.
"What is the status report my friend?" Calypso asked, taking a sip of his wine.
Sweet Tooth grinned maliciously, a small beetle crawling through his rotted, yellow teeth. Sweet Tooth slammed his jaws down and a small squeal and crunch erupted into the air as he chewed.
"There on their way." He chuckled cruelly. He spit out the remnants of the beetle into the air, several legs and a broken shell dropping into Calypso's drink.
Calypso smiled and raised his glass when he realized the 'gift' Sweet Tooth had given him. "To Twisted Metal." He chuckled nastily as he drunk deeply. He set the wine glass down, absolutely nothing left in it.
He stepped back to admire his artwork. It was a Hum-V, black with realistic flames painted on the side, the odor of drying coat still lingering in the night air. Underneath the front bumper, there were numerous missiles, concealed and ready for firing. On either side of the vehicle, there was mounted a large gatling gun that were as strong and tough as they looked. The traction wheels covered the silver hubcaps that glinted in the dim light. It was a machine of destruction.
Shane smiled at what his skill had created as it stood, parked innocently. He walked over to the driver's seat and placed his hands on the latch. With a soft click, the door swung open and he soon slid into the leather interior. Shane cracked his knuckles and wrapped his sore, worked fingers over the steering wheel. He glanced down at a small, silver switch he had embedded in the dashboard. With a malicious grin, he flipped the switch and instantly the roar of guns ripped through the silent night air!
The tree across the street from Shane was ripped to bits, the bullets tearing into the bark. Shane flipped off the switch and the gatling guns rotated to a small stop; smoke emitting slowly from the calibers. Shane whipped open the door and bolted out of the car. He jogged across the street to where the tree once stood. Shards of wood and bark littered the ground various bullets found partway through debris of the tree.
Shane smirked and he bent down, picking up a strip of wood. He stood up and crushed it easily, his large biceps straining on the cotton of his white t-shirt. He walked slowly across the street and stood proudly, arms folded before his car.
"Armageddon." He suddenly said aloud. "That's what I'll call you. Armageddon." Shane then walked to the door that led into his apartment and switched off the light. "Look out Calypso," He whispered dramatically, turning his muscular back to the car. "Twisted Metal has a new victor."
He strided into the apartment, giving no thought to the faint glow from behind his car. It was fire, a head of fire…literally. Two red eyes pierced through the pitch-black darkness. The light glinted faintly off of razor fangs as dry lips were stretched back into an insane grin. It was Sweet Tooth. Sweet Tooth stood up, and slipped out of the open garage door as silent as a shadow. He look to his left, a rusted, ruined ice cream truck barely in view. He grinned again, his face flowing with malice. The faint jingle of an ice cream truck faded into the night followed by an insane howl of laughter as he drove it further into the distance….
Aaron Speech rushed down the street, clutching dearly to his hat and coat, a jug of milk tucked securely under his arm. Rain hammered down as he began to pick up the pace, frantically- his head darted every which way, losing his sense of direction due to the immense deal of fear in his fifty- two year old heart. A broadcast rang in his ears as his feet carried him down the pavement.
IHe is armed and dangerous. Just from an insane asylum nearby the man who calls himself U Gingerbread /U is on the loose. If you see him, get away as fast as possible and call this number. He stands over six feet with lengthy, black, braided hair protruding from the top of his white hockey mask. Remember his is armed and extremely dangerous…/I
It played over and over in his head as if on a broken record player. He snapped out of his trance from listening intently to the broadcast in his subconscious, just to find where his feet had taken him while he was dazing. He found himself facing a brick wall at the end of a dark alley. Crap. A dead-end.
Suddenly, a whoosh came from over above, and Aaron's old head snapped up in time to see a black trench coat disappear over the ledge of the building to his right. The sweat trickled down his forehead and was indistinguishable with the rain streaming down his aged face. His eyes darted around furiously, trying to spot what had made the noise.
He decided to make a dash for it! He ran, his feet pounding and splashing through the puddles on the cold cement! Suddenly, an immense crash boomed in front of him and he slid to a stop, water spraying into the air!
Lightning streaked through the black sky, creating an extremely eerie silhouette standing directly before him. A black body-length trench coat, long braided hair hanging in front of the silhouette's face, which had no distinguishable, features at all. Slung over his shoulder was a chainsaw, rain flowing down the steel blade. Hitched in the character's belt was a bloody butcher knife, slowly dripping fluids of water from the downpour. With another crack of lightning, Aaron dropped the milk jug to the floor with a gasp. The face was completely veiled in a hockey mask, holes for eyes with and odd, piercing red gaze glaring at him. An axe was clutched in his gloved hand, the double blade glinting dangerously in the rapid streak of light. It was the escaped man from the insane asylum!
"No! NO!" Aaron screamed fearfully, backing slowly away. His back touched the drenched brick wall behind him, he was trapped like a rat.
The figure tilted his shrouded head and looked curious at the figure struggling to escape.
"Do you know," he asked softly, his unnatural voice barely audible. "What the best part of a storm is?"
Aaron gave no answer, and desperately attempted to move farther back, the brick wall holding him forward. "Get away from me you, psycho!" He screamed in terror.
The figure began to slowly advance, giving his axe a twirl. He stopped, feet from the old man.
"No one can hear you scream." With this, the axe was raised high above his head and lightning cracked through the sky, the blade shining in the light. The axe swished violently down, a scream echoed through the downpour of the pitch-black night, and Gingerbread has his next meal…
…A bloodcurdling scream reached Sweet Tooth's ears and he jammed his ice cream truck in reverse. Within a few minutes, rain pouring down the hood of his rusted truck, he had reached a dark, secluded alley. Sweet Tooth stepped out of the car, the rain not dousing his head of flame a bit.
Suddenly, a figure erupted from the darkness!
"Stop!" Sweet Tooth yelled, stepping forward.
A white face turned to face him, the mouth portion of the mask now dripping with blood…human blood.
Sweet Tooth pulled back his dry lips over his rotted fangs into an insane smile. He stepped forward, a crazy glint in his eyes.
"I like your style, ehh…um?" Sweet Tooth broke off, querying the figure for his name.
Quick as a flash, the character had rushed toward Sweet Tooth and had the butcher knife placed deadly on the tip of his throat. As soon as the blade had touched Sweet Tooth, Jason felt the cold tip of an Uzi pushed into his abdomen. He could tell the finger was pulled tightly over the trigger.
A hollow laugh was emitted from the depths within the hockey mask. "You're fast." He sheathed the knife within his belt. "I'm Gingerbread, and don't forget it."
Sweet Tooth un-cocked the gun, gave it several twirls around his finger and pocketed it. He stuck out his hand; the four-inch-long fingernails caked with dirt.
"Sweet Tooth. Say, have you ever heard of Twisted Metal?" He asked, in a friendly yet still untrusting tone.
"Yes. It looks like," the figure gave a twitch of his neck as if he was having trouble speaking. "…fun." He ended.
Sweet Tooth chuckled eerily. "Yes, tremendous fun. You should compete. We, er, need some excitement."
Jason's hand came up and wiped blood off of his hockey mask. "Compete. Yes. Car. Like…yours?"
Sweet Tooth grinned maliciously revealing rows of yellow teeth behind dry, chapped lips. "Good…very good…."
Rachael sat straight up in bed, cold sweat sticking to her arms and face, the sheets clinging to her skin. He pulled the sheet off and climbed out of her bed, her strawberry blonde hair sticking to her forehead. He nightgown touched the bottom of her feet as she walked into the bathroom. She flipped a switch and blinked in the newly found light. Dark rings were covered the bottom of her eyes, she hadn't gotten any sleep for days. The same dream awakening her, and spooking her enough to make her stay awake. But this time, she had a plan.
Walking back to her room, she got changed, a pair of jeans and a shirt with a black hooded jacket, her red hair pulled back into a ponytail. She walked yanked open a dresser drawer, after pushing aside various books and batteries, she found a semi-automatic pistol, fully loaded. She gave it a spin and pocketed it. Next, she grabbed some makeup, not that she needed any, and put it on her face.
Moonlight shone in through her window, and if that was not there, you would think it was noon by the way she was dressed. Rachael opened her door and it creaked on its rusty hinges.
She started down the stairs and contemplated on her dream. She had lost Twisted Metal and stood before Calypso, begging her wish be granted. Calypso grinned maliciously and pointed a gun at her forehead. Three shots rang out, but before they made contact- she was awake. She couldn't lose, there's no room for failure.
She reached the garage door and opened it slowly, flipping a switch as soon as she could slide her hand along the wall through the minute crack in the door. The concrete room was flooded with light as she opened the door all the way and gazed proudly at the work of art standing before her.
A flame-red convertible stood, parked in her garage, four machine guns mounted dangerously on the hood of the car. Rachael walked up to the car and ran her hand over the smooth, lustrous surface of her car. Rachael hoisted herself up so she sat on the car, before somersaulting backwards to the other side of the vehicle. She smiled mischievously as she ran her hand on a missile situated on the side of the smooth door.
She patted the door cherishingly, smiling her perfect smile.
"Why don't we go for a ride?" She asked to no one unparticular. She stood up and unlatched the door handle with a soft click. She slid into the leather upholstery, the keys planted in the car ignition. She smiled again as she eyed the keys. "Oh, yeah." She whispered to herself.
She clutched the keys gently between two fingers and turned them slowly in the ignition as the engine roared to life, the car vibrating with it. Rachael laughed softly as she jammed the car into gear using the stick shift next to her. Rachael slammed down the overdrive and rammed her foot into the gas petal! The back wheels screeched, smoke billowing from the concrete as the wheels spun viciously.
Rachael laughed joyfully as the car roared out of the garage, meaning driving straight through the wooden garage door. The peaceful night was interrupted abruptly as a garage door was shattered to bits and a smooth, red convertible came bursting from it, engine screaming.
Rachael soared through the air and landed on the pavement, chips of wood clattering to the cement ground behind her. She skid across the tar, smoke swirling from the rubber tires as they desperately attempted to bring the car to a stop. She did stop, horizontally and taking up the whole road. Quickly, she jammed the car into second gear and zoomed off, engine slowly fading into the night…
Jonathon lay on his bed in his run-down apartment, absentmindedly tossing darts into a dartboard slung up on his yellow-stained wall, thoughts running around inside of his mind.
I Should I enter the contest? Sure, why not? What's the harm? Only getting your ass blown off, dipshit! Not if I'm fast enough. This is Twisted Metal, freak! Of course your gonna die! Nah, I'll give it a try. You idiot! /I
"Shut up!" Jonathon suddenly yelled to no one, the thoughts in his head quarreling against each other. He gasped for breath, the sweat trickling down his matted blonde hair and into his face. "I already got the ride, why don't I try it?"
I You friggin' moron! /I
"What've I got to lose?" He yelled furiously, no one else present with him.
I Only- /I
"I said shut the hell up!" Jonathon screamed angrily. He wrapped his fingers around the bronze handle on his apartment door and wrenched it open, the door slamming deafeningly behind him.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up." He muttered to himself as he walked out of the apartment building, clutching the sides of his head furiously. His feet carried him along the gray pavement of the sidewalk, when suddenly, a sleek red car bolted past. Spraying him with muddy water.
"You bastard!" Jonathon yelled as the car roared off into the distance. At hearing this, the red-haired driver stuck out her finger, showing it to Jonathon. "Dammit!" He yelled, loudly.
"That's it!" He growled to himself as he turned into a dark alley on the side of him, still dripping with the filthy water. "I'm competing. Let's go, baby." He said as he patted a motorcycle before him. It was his creation, his weapon for the perverse contest. "C'mon Outcast." He growled to the bike as he slung himself over the seat and jammed the helmet on his head. "Let's go teach these freaks how to really play Twisted Metal."
He revved the engine and screeched off, the wheels spinning furiously on the black asphalt, the gat on the side prepared for a round of fire.
"Sweet Tooth!" Calypso yelled, snapping his fingers.
"What?" Came the muffled answer.
"Come here!"
"Fine, god- don't blow up."
Sweet Tooth swung open the door, letting it bang against the wall. He looked at Calypso through his piercing eyes, his head flaming.
"What?" He growled.
"What is the status report my friend?" Calypso asked, taking a sip of his wine.
Sweet Tooth grinned maliciously, a small beetle crawling through his rotted, yellow teeth. Sweet Tooth slammed his jaws down and a small squeal and crunch erupted into the air as he chewed.
"There on their way." He chuckled cruelly. He spit out the remnants of the beetle into the air, several legs and a broken shell dropping into Calypso's drink.
Calypso smiled and raised his glass when he realized the 'gift' Sweet Tooth had given him. "To Twisted Metal." He chuckled nastily as he drunk deeply. He set the wine glass down, absolutely nothing left in it.
