Notes: Just something a little different...
Spoilers: None (for a change!)
Disclaimers: Sadly, none of the Mutant X team belong to me. I've just borrowed them briefly from their owners and promise to put them back exactly (well, almost... particularly in Jesse's case!) as I found them. No profit is being made from these stories and I don't have anything worth suing for...
****
ROAD RAGE
By JillyW
This was the way it should be. Man against man, machine against machine, a battle of power, reflexes, instinct and sheer nerve. No holds barred, no rules to interfere or lessen the experience, the only imperative being to get to the finishing line first. Oh, and try not to kill anyone on the way, if it could be helped!
It had been a long time building up, this duel – the thinly disguised jibes, the goading lurking just under the surface of outwardly innocent comments, the back-biting carefully hidden under the guise of well-meaning advice. And while those observing might have seen it as just a bit of light-hearted fun, boys being boys, both protagonists seemed to know it went deeper than that.
And this was what it had driven them to.
Seated behind the controls of the black Porsche, the slighter of the two men stared with fierce concentration at the road unfolding before him at lightning speed. He'd tried to avoid the challenge, really he had, knowing he should know better, should be able to rise above such pettiness. But the other had just kept pushing and pushing, to the point where the urge to push back, to show him that he was someone to be reckoned with and not the mere follower it seemed he was seen as, became undeniable and in the end he'd just given into the inevitable. He only hoped he'd survive to regret it...
He'd flirted briefly with the idea of demanding some more physical way to settle the matter, but he could see this was a better forum for this particular contest. Having the cars so readily to hand, enticing, begging to be let loose, made them the perfect choice for both men as the means to prove their point. It wasn't that he couldn't hold his own in combat – he could, had the tools, the ability and the determination to look after himself in the toughest of company. But he wanted no misunderstandings, no possibility for anyone to point fingers or make excuses for him after the event. Height and weight held no advantage here, gave no edge to one or other of them, and he revelled in the equality of the moment.
It had been a tough race already, through the deserted nighttime streets of this rundown part of town. Neither driver seemed able to get the upper hand, first one then the other leading, each one forced to drop back by unexpected obstructions - unsuspecting vehicles nosing out of side roads, blind alleys forcing a rubber-screeching turn to left or right, shadowy parked cars, clandestine figures sliding wraith-like from between buildings, and all needing split-second reactions to avoid a premature ending to the sport.
And that was something neither of them was prepared to accept. Because, while to the winner would go the kudos, the penalty for losing could be seen as a fate worse than death.
Fast and furious, they howled at breakneck speed into the open mouth of an underpass, the overhead lights going by so quick they created a strobing effect. Horns blared ahead as headlights loomed out of the blackness marking the far end of the tunnel, momentarily disguising the vast bulk of the vehicle they belonged to. But the Mack truck bearing down on them soon became clearly recognisable, filling the oncoming lane and spilling over into the other side enough to make it debatable whether even one car might squeeze through. Cursing, the Porsche driver pounded on his brakes, dropping back behind the red Ferrari with the width of a coat of paint to spare as the megalith howled past them.
Back to the drawing board.
They flashed out of the light into the night again, nose to tail, tires screaming in protest as they negotiated a series of tight bends round the crumbling edifice of a derelict hotel complex before heading out onto the main drag again. He was chillingly aware that time was running out – only a few miles of comparatively open road remained between them and the final stretch, miles that were being eaten up at an alarming rate by the powerful engines. But his mind was already ranging forward to what he knew lay ahead, plans and counter-plans forming and being discarded in favour of better options, but all with the sole aim of getting him where he needed to be to win.
Which wasn't where he was right now.
The road had widened sufficiently to allow an overtaking manoeuvre so, taking a steadying breath, he whipped the Porsche's nose out of the shelter of the other car's slipstream and made his move. As expected, though, his attempt had been anticipated, the sleek bulk of the leading vehicle shifting smartly in the same direction to close the door on him.
As expected. As planned.
A blip on the brakes, a deft flick of the wrists, and he completed his feint, dropping back behind again and swerving across to accelerate away up the now open blindside, piling on the power and exulting in the way the car leapt forward. He knew the Ferrari had as much juice as him, that he was unlikely to be able to actually get past and ahead right now, but it didn't matter. He'd done what he needed.
He glanced swiftly, fleetingly, across at his adversary as the vehicles roared along side-by-side, wheels almost touching, returning the - was that a slightly forced? - smirk with one of his own as he pressed home his advantage. Because he knew the streets they were racing almost as well as he knew his own home, and the barely imagined glimmer of sweat on the other's upper lip showed that he was also aware of what they were fast approaching - and that he was on the wrong side of the street to evade it.
The road ahead curved smoothly to the right, giving the black car the inside track and just sufficient leverage to force the competition wide - at least, long enough for the Porsche's driver to seek out and find what he was looking for. A faint pale band materialising in the dimness, the first indication that the space they were enjoying might not be everlasting, and he knew he had him – because there was no way on this planet the Ferrari could get past him before the outside lane folded into the inner for the single-file river crossing that marked the finishing line. And he had the racing line.
The end – and victory - in sight, he hunched forward as if that would add his strength to the horsepower he already had harnessed under his hands, intent only on squeezing out as much speed as necessary to keep the red challenger pinned outside him. But something – some alien whisper of sound, some unexplained flicker of movement – crept in from beyond the bounds of his focus like an intruder in the night, and he felt his eyes dart towards it before he could stop himself. A split-second only, but he knew even before he looked back that it had been enough. A streak of red veered towards him at speed with nowhere to go as the road narrowed, the other driver obviously sharing his distraction, and he knew with sick sinking certainty that this was one that neither of them was going to win.
His vision filled briefly with the hot orange flash of the explosion that wiped both cars out of existence, and then there was only blackness.
"Aw, did I do that?" Blackness, broken by familiar teasing tones. "Might have known I'd find you both here. Don't you boys have anything better to do than tie up the central processor playing computer games?"
Opening his eyes again, Jesse turned with resignation to scowl wordlessly at the slyly smiling Shalimar, who was leaning in the doorway. He sent a sideways glance at the man sitting next to him on the couch in front of the giant screen, pleased to see him also glaring the blonde's way.
Brennan caught his look. "Next time, bro." he grinned, regaining his composure with his usual alacrity. "I'll have you next time."
Jesse grinned back, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction at having come so close, certain that without the interruption he would have won. "Thought you'd have had enough of eating my dust. Well, you're welcome to try – but you'll have to catch me first." He reached for his control pad, seeing Brennan do the same with a knowing smile.
"Oh no you don't," Shalimar said, moving to stand between them and the screen with arms folded, staring from one to the other with mock severity. "You guys were supposed to be clearing up at Safehouse Two after that kid ran riot."
"It'll be cleaned," Brennan assured her.
"Soon," agreed Jesse.
And they shared another glance as they cued off another game, each as confident as the other that, whoever was going to be dealing with the messy aftermath of an elemental gone haywire, it wasn't going to be him.
END
Spoilers: None (for a change!)
Disclaimers: Sadly, none of the Mutant X team belong to me. I've just borrowed them briefly from their owners and promise to put them back exactly (well, almost... particularly in Jesse's case!) as I found them. No profit is being made from these stories and I don't have anything worth suing for...
****
ROAD RAGE
By JillyW
This was the way it should be. Man against man, machine against machine, a battle of power, reflexes, instinct and sheer nerve. No holds barred, no rules to interfere or lessen the experience, the only imperative being to get to the finishing line first. Oh, and try not to kill anyone on the way, if it could be helped!
It had been a long time building up, this duel – the thinly disguised jibes, the goading lurking just under the surface of outwardly innocent comments, the back-biting carefully hidden under the guise of well-meaning advice. And while those observing might have seen it as just a bit of light-hearted fun, boys being boys, both protagonists seemed to know it went deeper than that.
And this was what it had driven them to.
Seated behind the controls of the black Porsche, the slighter of the two men stared with fierce concentration at the road unfolding before him at lightning speed. He'd tried to avoid the challenge, really he had, knowing he should know better, should be able to rise above such pettiness. But the other had just kept pushing and pushing, to the point where the urge to push back, to show him that he was someone to be reckoned with and not the mere follower it seemed he was seen as, became undeniable and in the end he'd just given into the inevitable. He only hoped he'd survive to regret it...
He'd flirted briefly with the idea of demanding some more physical way to settle the matter, but he could see this was a better forum for this particular contest. Having the cars so readily to hand, enticing, begging to be let loose, made them the perfect choice for both men as the means to prove their point. It wasn't that he couldn't hold his own in combat – he could, had the tools, the ability and the determination to look after himself in the toughest of company. But he wanted no misunderstandings, no possibility for anyone to point fingers or make excuses for him after the event. Height and weight held no advantage here, gave no edge to one or other of them, and he revelled in the equality of the moment.
It had been a tough race already, through the deserted nighttime streets of this rundown part of town. Neither driver seemed able to get the upper hand, first one then the other leading, each one forced to drop back by unexpected obstructions - unsuspecting vehicles nosing out of side roads, blind alleys forcing a rubber-screeching turn to left or right, shadowy parked cars, clandestine figures sliding wraith-like from between buildings, and all needing split-second reactions to avoid a premature ending to the sport.
And that was something neither of them was prepared to accept. Because, while to the winner would go the kudos, the penalty for losing could be seen as a fate worse than death.
Fast and furious, they howled at breakneck speed into the open mouth of an underpass, the overhead lights going by so quick they created a strobing effect. Horns blared ahead as headlights loomed out of the blackness marking the far end of the tunnel, momentarily disguising the vast bulk of the vehicle they belonged to. But the Mack truck bearing down on them soon became clearly recognisable, filling the oncoming lane and spilling over into the other side enough to make it debatable whether even one car might squeeze through. Cursing, the Porsche driver pounded on his brakes, dropping back behind the red Ferrari with the width of a coat of paint to spare as the megalith howled past them.
Back to the drawing board.
They flashed out of the light into the night again, nose to tail, tires screaming in protest as they negotiated a series of tight bends round the crumbling edifice of a derelict hotel complex before heading out onto the main drag again. He was chillingly aware that time was running out – only a few miles of comparatively open road remained between them and the final stretch, miles that were being eaten up at an alarming rate by the powerful engines. But his mind was already ranging forward to what he knew lay ahead, plans and counter-plans forming and being discarded in favour of better options, but all with the sole aim of getting him where he needed to be to win.
Which wasn't where he was right now.
The road had widened sufficiently to allow an overtaking manoeuvre so, taking a steadying breath, he whipped the Porsche's nose out of the shelter of the other car's slipstream and made his move. As expected, though, his attempt had been anticipated, the sleek bulk of the leading vehicle shifting smartly in the same direction to close the door on him.
As expected. As planned.
A blip on the brakes, a deft flick of the wrists, and he completed his feint, dropping back behind again and swerving across to accelerate away up the now open blindside, piling on the power and exulting in the way the car leapt forward. He knew the Ferrari had as much juice as him, that he was unlikely to be able to actually get past and ahead right now, but it didn't matter. He'd done what he needed.
He glanced swiftly, fleetingly, across at his adversary as the vehicles roared along side-by-side, wheels almost touching, returning the - was that a slightly forced? - smirk with one of his own as he pressed home his advantage. Because he knew the streets they were racing almost as well as he knew his own home, and the barely imagined glimmer of sweat on the other's upper lip showed that he was also aware of what they were fast approaching - and that he was on the wrong side of the street to evade it.
The road ahead curved smoothly to the right, giving the black car the inside track and just sufficient leverage to force the competition wide - at least, long enough for the Porsche's driver to seek out and find what he was looking for. A faint pale band materialising in the dimness, the first indication that the space they were enjoying might not be everlasting, and he knew he had him – because there was no way on this planet the Ferrari could get past him before the outside lane folded into the inner for the single-file river crossing that marked the finishing line. And he had the racing line.
The end – and victory - in sight, he hunched forward as if that would add his strength to the horsepower he already had harnessed under his hands, intent only on squeezing out as much speed as necessary to keep the red challenger pinned outside him. But something – some alien whisper of sound, some unexplained flicker of movement – crept in from beyond the bounds of his focus like an intruder in the night, and he felt his eyes dart towards it before he could stop himself. A split-second only, but he knew even before he looked back that it had been enough. A streak of red veered towards him at speed with nowhere to go as the road narrowed, the other driver obviously sharing his distraction, and he knew with sick sinking certainty that this was one that neither of them was going to win.
His vision filled briefly with the hot orange flash of the explosion that wiped both cars out of existence, and then there was only blackness.
"Aw, did I do that?" Blackness, broken by familiar teasing tones. "Might have known I'd find you both here. Don't you boys have anything better to do than tie up the central processor playing computer games?"
Opening his eyes again, Jesse turned with resignation to scowl wordlessly at the slyly smiling Shalimar, who was leaning in the doorway. He sent a sideways glance at the man sitting next to him on the couch in front of the giant screen, pleased to see him also glaring the blonde's way.
Brennan caught his look. "Next time, bro." he grinned, regaining his composure with his usual alacrity. "I'll have you next time."
Jesse grinned back, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction at having come so close, certain that without the interruption he would have won. "Thought you'd have had enough of eating my dust. Well, you're welcome to try – but you'll have to catch me first." He reached for his control pad, seeing Brennan do the same with a knowing smile.
"Oh no you don't," Shalimar said, moving to stand between them and the screen with arms folded, staring from one to the other with mock severity. "You guys were supposed to be clearing up at Safehouse Two after that kid ran riot."
"It'll be cleaned," Brennan assured her.
"Soon," agreed Jesse.
And they shared another glance as they cued off another game, each as confident as the other that, whoever was going to be dealing with the messy aftermath of an elemental gone haywire, it wasn't going to be him.
END