Rated: M for adult themes: language, violence, mental rape, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore, and suicidal ideation. This varies from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk.
Important Note: I started this series of fics before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an AU 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF/DOTM/AE/LK/BB fic.
Disclaimer: The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira and Hardcore. They are mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.
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Author's Note: I have longed to rewrite, and smooth out Finding Salvation. Originally published 12/17/2007 I had no idea what I was doing or where I was going with this, and literally pulled much of it out of thin air without a plot line.
Spelling, grammar and a whole list of problems plague this story. I have learned a lot from my Betas and from going back to college and from - well everywhere. So now is the time to correct and bring this inline with HOTF and any future installments of The Full Velocity series. Please enjoy the first chapter. (November 2020)
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Full Velocity: Finding Salvation
Chapter 1. Impact
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A town slept in the early morning hours. Streetlamps dotted the darkness in tidy rows, waiting for the sun to rise to blink and darken. A breeze stirred low to the ground, hinting at a cool day. Crickets chirped their romantic interests and a night bird called while hunting. Above it all, the stars shimmered silently against the inky blackness of eternity. Old friends that told the passing of seasons and kept the night creature company.
On a distant hill, a lone figure contemplated the idyllic setting. This far away, she could not pick out individual houses. Even with her unnaturally acute eyesight, details of the town escaped her. She could not tell if the buildings hinted at middle class suburbia with well-manicured lawns, or an economic-post-apocalypse of boarded up stores and dilapidated neighborhoods.
The traveler turned her eyes away from the garish halogen of the town and bent to pick up the backpack at her feet. She loathed going into the town: the sprawling urban footprint, the press of noise and people – it all made her skin crawl. But trying to live in a hollowed-out log, chasing down the scant prey found in this area didn't really appeal to her either. If she wanted to be honest with herself, civilization had spoiled her to hot showers, cafes, eclectic boutiques, and air conditioning. So much for being a wild beast of nature.
October winds carried the promising chill of winter, even in this dry land, winter could be cruel, bringing freezing temperatures and snow. She needed warm place to call home before the cold arrived.
Settling the backpack on her shoulders, the traveler ventured onward to determine the kind of town lay below. The two-lane road offered a winding access through the rock scattered hills. Estimating her arrival in the town a couple of hours after sunrise, she stepped onto the black asphalt and started downhill.
"I want a cheeseburger," she said to the empty night. "With red onions, tomatoes and crispy lettuce. And iced tea and side of fries, with the skin on." Mentally she counted the cash in her pocket, knowing she would need most of it for rent.
Onward she walked. Her thoughts wondered to the desert town. Tourist brochures showed a Norman Rockwell charm, and touted the quaint shopping district. Could not avoid that injection of "quaint" when describing a small town. The map placed the little 'burb in a wide valley, surrounded by desert and feed by Lake Mead. Access to L.A. by interstate did not impress her, actually a black mark against Tranquility. Hopefully, soccer moms and corporate dads inhabited his place; people too wrapped up in their own lives to notice a new, quiet neighbor. Since the terrorist attacks on Mission City and the Hoover Dam, unfamiliar people attracted attention, and she spent a lifetime avoiding attention.
The traveler did not want Tranquility to be like other towns she explored. Paradise became a long row of bars, flanked with enough mobile homes to spawn its own F-5 tornado. Happy Acres had a pig farm in the center of town, the stench of swine waste assaulted the traveler's sensitive sense of smell. To add insult, some elderly woman came out of her house wearing a short housecoat and bent to retrieve the morning paper. Doing so, she showed the world exactly what she was not wearing underneath. The only green in Green Valley belonged to the algae in the park's pond. She steered away from Crystal Lake, fearing machete welding killers. Why could not they give towns accurate names, like Alcoholic's Hell or Muddy Swine Valley or Desperation Meadows or Southern Shit Hole.
The traveler turned her eyes to the heavens offering a silent prayer to whatever gods lived in this parched land. Please let Tranquility at least be tranquil and have a good coffee shop or bookstore. Something that resembles civilization.
The distant noise of an engine interrupted her thoughts. Cocking her head one way, then the other, the traveler pinpointed the vehicle. Behind and approaching. Stepping off the road and onto the gravel shoulder, the traveler continued her journey.
She did not appreciate company. To discourage any troublemakers mistaking her for an easy target, or overzealous do-gooders thinking she needed help, the traveler decided to display a deterrent. She adjusted her shirt, pulling the tail up to expose the grip of a handgun, but it only served as a deterrent. The clip and bullets lay at the bottom of a river in another state. Her real weapon, an antique blade, lay sheathed and hidden between her and her backpack, her hair hiding the hilt. She did not fear human predators. A predator herself, she knew how to intimidate or kill if needed, so fear of the approaching car and its occupants never crossed her mind.
The vehicle came closer. The engine a tinny whine as it struggled across the uneven terrain. High-pitched and rattling, the poor vehicle sounded ill and in need of a good mechanic. She noticed the lack of expected lights bouncing and illuminating the ground. The car traveled without running lights. A concern, but not much of one.
As a precaution, the traveler stepped further to the outer edge of the gravel shoulder and continued walking, never looking back.
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Travis blinked rapidly, trying to force his eyes to focus on the road in front of him. He already cranked up the air conditioning in this shitty hatchback and the cool air did nothing to help sober him up. In his head, he could hear his girlfriend. That screeching voice telling him what a fuck up he was and how she could do better. The threats to leave that angered and frustrated him, yet she always stayed.
A sharp jerk of the steering wheel when the little car crossed the center line. His tires kicked up dirt and gavel when he swerved too far past his lane. A few more zigzagged attempts and Travis pulled the car back under control.
He should have insisted the guys hangout in Tranquility. Then he would only have to drive a few blocks instead of miles through the dark countryside. Damn, it seemed like a good idea at the time, get out of town, see the boys, watch the game, mostly get away from that screaming bitch. He had promised himself he would only have a couple, but damn, a long game went into overtime. Only pussies drank water or iced tea. Football demanded beer.
Travis pushed the peddle, making the little car shudder as it accelerated. Rounding a curve, bald tires lost traction, and skidded on the asphalt. The right-side tires crunched on the gravel. His overcorrection sent the car into the oncoming lane and almost onto the opposite shoulder.
The cell phone chirped merrily as Travis crossed back over the center line. The Nokia's display lit up the trash in his floorboard. He leaned over to retrieve the phone and felt the tires slip off the road once more.
An impact rocked the little car. A spider's web of cracks exploded as something bounced across the windshield and over the top of the car.
Travis slammed on the breaks. The Honda slid to a long, haphazard stop. Already bald tires left dark lines, wearing down even more.
He sat gripping the steering wheel. The haze of alcohol muddled his brain. Breathing rapidly, Travis reached for his cell phone. Eventually, he turned off the ignition and opened his door. A few scattered thoughts made their way across soggy, boozed up neural connections. Leaning across the passenger seat, he opened the glove box. After rummaging through old receipts and unused napkins, he found what he wanted and flicked on the flashlight.
Stepping onto the asphalt, Travis's world swam alarmingly. Grabbing the dented roof of his car, he stabilized himself enough to shine the flashlight on the front of his vehicle. Beyond the cracked windshield, a massive dent collapsed the hood and part of the grill. He moaned at the damage.
Slowly turning around, Travis wondered what he hit. He passed the beam of light along the side of the road. A few crushed aluminum cans glittered, but he could not find the presumed deer or large dog.
Letting go of his lifeline on the car's hood, he swung the flashlight beam across the ground in front of him. The tire marks created a clear map of his sins. Off to the side a pile of fabric captured the edge of is light.
Shifting to illuminate the rags, Travis noticed the long, tangle of hair spilled about the ground like blood. The clothes twitched and whimpered. A pale hand flexed involuntarily against the dark road.
Travis's brain immediately rejected what his eyes saw. Unable to accept the result of bad decisions. It had to be a deer tangled in someone's discarded clothes.
The mass stirred. Horrified, Travis watched the red hair lifted upwards and the small hand twisted, bracing against the asphalt. The mass raised up, only inches, but enough for his inebriated mind to accept reality.
"Fuck!" stammered Travis. "Goddammit! Fuck me! Shit!" he yelled as he ran his hands through his hair, the beam of light strobing wildly in random directions.
Spinning, he ran back to the car, his staggering footsteps punctuated by explicatives. Throwing himself in the driver's seat, Travis grabbed his cellphone. He immediately dialed 9-1-1 but paused before hitting send. Images of jail cells and depraved, tattooed men flashed in his mind. His handful of times in county taught him enough to know he did not want to experience prison.
Panic and fear dictated Travis's actions, and he threw the phone in the passenger seat. Turning the key multiple times, he coaxed the Honda to life. Slamming the complaining engine into drive, he sped away from his transgressions. Distance and denial his only concerns.
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The traveler struggled to her elbows. Hanging her head, the sharp metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Pain swirled around her as she tried to make sense of what happened. Each breath stabbed her in the sides, and every movement threatened unconsciousness. The roar of blood pulsing in her ears did not hide the squeal of tires.
She needed to move, to find help. Making it to her knees, she struggled out of the backpack. It landed heavily behind her. The movements brought misery and black fog formed around the edges of her vision. She did not attempt to remove her sword. Swaying on her knees, under the indifferent stars, drawing short, ragged breaths, the traveler gathered her will about her. She staggered to her feet.
Looking down the long road, she wiped blood from her eyes. A hesitant step, then another. She needed to find help. The fog spread and thickened across her vision.
Less than a dozen halting steps brought the traveler to the center of the blacktop. Her will gave out and the fog engulfed her. The lone figure collapsed. Overhead, countless stars kept their silent vigil.