A/N: A short sequel based on the 1975 film "Death Race 2000" along with a certain Japanese anime. Ignores any sequels or reboots if and where they exist.

Dangerous Dangers

The President slowly emerged from crouching behind his desk, the First Lady beside him. Two Not-So-Secret Service agents stood just inside the open door of the First Office, the barrels of their automatic rifles still smoking. The dead body lay on the floor - not smoking or even breathing, but oozing a bit of blood into the carpet. One of the agents stepped over the dead body and went to a window, opening it up to ventilate some of the smell of gunpowder.

"That's the second attempt on my life today," the President said as he sat back in his chair.

"Um...the third actually," Agent Smyth corrected as he continued to stand by the door. "We caught someone trying to sneak in through the sewer with a bomb vest."

"It's only been two months since I took office, and I think we're averaging almost one a day. Is it that bad out there?"

"Maybe he was just going on a hike," the First Lady suggested.

"With a bomb?" the President asked. "Under the New White House? Annie, I don't suppose it's one of your friends from the Army of the Resistance trying to finish the job, do you?"

"Couldn't be. After you installed my aunt as the Minister of Domestic Security, those people see Thomasina Paine as a proud symbol of your efforts to restore the country to its former glory."

The President had been previously known only as Frankenstein, a highly popular and anonymous driver in the country's annual Transcontinental Road Race. Held every year after the world financial collapse in 1979, it helped satisfy and entertain the American population under the totalitarian leadership of the previous Mr. President. Bread and circuses aside, the 2000 edition had Annie Smith as his navigator - placed there by the Army of the Resistance, her job was to sabotage his race and help have him kidnapped in order to end the barbaric event in which points were scored by killing pedestrians. Annie's grandmother had led the rebels, and as it turned out Frankenstein himself had a personal agenda to end the race as well - by killing the President when meeting him after winning. He succeeded and became the acting President, married Annie and abolished the race.

"They're working as we speak to set up a new democracy; why would anyone want to kill me now? I'm a beloved hero and the only three-time winner of the Race." Suddenly the ceiling in the room broke and a man crashed through and landed on the floor. He started to rise, a large knife clutched in his jaws, but Agent Johns grabbed the man's head and twisted it, resulting in a large 'crack' and another lifeless body to add to the count. "Now what was I saying?"

"Beloved hero no one wants to kill," Annie reminded him.

"Maybe they think you're French," Agent Johns said with a smirk. The official government line had been that the French and their European allies had been responsible for not only the economy but the failing of the telephone system and the sabotage efforts during the race.

"No one believes that lie. The telephone service was disrupted intentionally to keep the president in power and the outlawing of personal motor vehicles was to limit the freedom of movement." The fact that he wasn't even the first Frankenstein - merely the last in a series of masked replacements that perpetuated the myth he was indestructible despite severe injury during previous events - wasn't known to many. It was going to be a new era of openness, but THAT fact would quietly be left out. And only Annie called him by his real name, Homer Dinger, when no one else was around.

"Well, you weren't the only one trying to kill the last President," Annie went on. "You weren't even the only driver trying to."

"What?" Homer asked.

"Sure. Joe Viturbo was going to kill him because he said something bad about his mother. Calamity Jane was going to kill him because he invented barbed wire and ruined free ranging single-handed."

"I suppose Matilda the Hun was going to kill me because she's German," Homer said sarcastically.

"She wasn't going to kill you. She's not even German - did you ever notice she loses her accent occasionally? But her navigator Herman was planning on it to get back at Mr. President from excluding them from last year's race. As you recall, I even tried to kill him at the end and might have if my aunt didn't shoot me by accident."

"Yeah, I guess I beat just about everyone to it. Good thing I killed the Deacon of the Bipartisan Party, he probably was planning something too."

"He was," Agent Smyth interjected. He fumbled in the pocket of his tactical vest and pulled out an electronic pad before handing it to the President. "Here's our current list of known assassins. The ones in red, ah, won't be a threat anymore."

Homer looked at the list and noted that over half the names were in a red font. There were still a staggering number of others, though. "What about the guy on the floor?"

"Which one?"

"Either one."

Smyth rolled over the bodies and exchanged looks with Johns, who just shrugged. "No idea. I guess they weren't on our list."

"That's comforting. Maybe Agent Johns over there is another one you don't know about."

At the President's words, the other agent started backing away in a panic. "Come on George, I went to your daughter's christening for God's sake..." he said as he waved his hands. Taking no chances, Smyth's gun spoke and Johns' body crashed through the window screen as he fell out backwards.

Smyth strode up to the window and looked out to see Johns lying lifeless on the ground three stories below. He looked out over the green painted lawns and saw someone off in the distance with a spade. "Probably his accomplice," Smyth said as he sent off a burst that stitched up the ground around the man before he fell to the ground riddled with bullets. "You can never be too careful," he said as he pulled the curtains shut.

"Maybe it's just a reflection of the general bloodlust of the public these days. Without war or crime to entertain them, they have to find another outlet for their violent tendencies." Just then a blood-curling scream came from downstairs, cutting Annie short.

"Let me see that tablet for a moment," Smyth said as the President handed it back to him. "Hmm. Hmm. Oh, there it is...I guess Grace Pounder just got it. She was going to try to poison you, according to our sources. Guess she won't be able to have that interview with you later this afternoon."

"She seemed so nice too," Annie said with a sigh. "So friendly."

"You were saying?" Homer asked.

"Um...let's see...oh yes, bloodlust and violence."

"Was it this bad with the previous president?" Homer asked Smyth.

"No. A few crackpots, sure, but nothing near like we have now. I guess they really want their race," Smyth opined. "Some of our early figures indicated that violence and crime in general are on the rise again since you abolished the race."

"Let me see if I got this right. We have this violent, innocent-killing race every year and everyone is happy. I abolished the race, run over Junior Bruce, and now everyone wants to kill me and the whole country is starting to go crazy again. Maybe they're just mad about Junior getting it."

"Nah," Smyth said with a shake of his head. "Nobody liked him anyway."

"So it's the race," Homer concluded. "But we can't bring it back the same way again - too many innocent people are getting killed."

"I have an idea," Annie suggested. "What if you give points for destroying things, but deduct points for killing people? That would have violence, but death would be discouraged."

"Yeah," Homer said after thinking about it. "Of course, someone could build up a lot of points and then whack someone just for the hell of it without losing. We'd have to make it a big penalty...figure dollar amounts...bonus for quickest times, this IS a race after all...I'll do it."

"YOU won't do it," Annie countered. "You're Mr. President now. You can't race - conflict of interest and all that."

"But the people need a hero," Smyth argued.

"And I have just the man. Almost a kid, really, but people really like him. I have to make a call."

"You can't - the telephones don't work because of the French, remember?" Annie said with a wink.

"Yeah, right, we haven't told them the truth yet. Give me the red phone - I'm going to dictate a telegram. Smyth, you go away and do something important. Annie, drop that towel you're wearing."

O-O-O-O-O

In a garage outside the capital city, a man and his son were working on a magnificent car. The hood was up and the older man was bent over into the engine compartment. "Okay Speed, when I say 'Go' you turn the key in the ignition on. Okay?"

"Sure thing Pops," the younger Racer said as he reached down into the driver's compartment. "Just say 'When'."

"When what?" his father's muffled voice said and Speed cranked the key. There was a loud backfire and a huge cloud belched out of the engine bay of the car; Pops emerged, covered completely in black from his head down to his belt. There was no sign of his red polo shirt to be seen. His face reddened in anger and THAT certainly did show through the oil.

"Sorry Pops, I heard you say 'When' just now."

Pops started jumping up and down in an animated fashion. "Speed, you are an excellent driver and there are few that can top your skill and knowledge behind the wheel but you have much to learn about being a mechanic. Working on cars, especially race cars, can be very dangerous although not as dangerous as driving them. This you will learn as you get older or your fate will be like your brother Rex who may or may not have been killed while racing or he ran away."

"Gee Pops, I'm really sorry. I was just trying to help."

"Helping is good, it lets people do more than just by themselves but you have to concentrate and pay attention." Pops backed up a few steps and bumped into Sparky, knocking the young mechanic down. "Sparky, what are you doing down there?"

"Getting run over I think," Sparky said as he stood up and rubbed his posterior. "Speed got a telegram and I was just bringing it to him."

Speed ran over to Sparky. "A telegram? That's like an important message! Ever since the Chinese ruined our telephone system, important messages come by telegram!"

"I thought the French did that?" Sparky asked.

"They say that, but why would the French do anything all the way over here?" Speed grabbed the paper out of Sparky's hands. "What, an invoice for parts? That's not important!"

"Oh Speed, you are wrong," Pops chastised him. "Invoices are very important. A race car cannot race without parts, and we cannot make all of the parts we need here so we must buy some from other places that are not here. If you do not pay for the parts they will take the parts back and then you cannot race unless you use the old parts and you will not go as fast or maybe something will break and a dangerous conditions will be."

"Here Speed, I had the telegram in my pocket." Sparky reached into the back pocket of his work pants and pulled out a folded paper before handing it to the young racer.

Speed quickly unfolded the paper and read it. "It is from the President of the United States. Mr. President wants me to race in the next big Transcontinental Race!"

"Who's racing where?" Trixie asked as she walked into the garage.

Pops burst out quickly. "Oh no! Speed I forbid you to race in this race. All races are dangerous but this race is even more dangerous because it has more dangers. Many racers have ended their careers in that race and some have died in the race while many spectators have also died. This race is like no other race you have been in so it will be the first time but I do not want it to be any time at all."

"Aw, why can't I race in it? I'll be careful!" Speed said while clenching his fists. "He says he only wants the best drivers!"

"Speed, listen to your father," Trixie said as she worried about her boyfriend.

"That's right," his father went on. "You have always survived the race but this might be the first one you don't and then it will be the last time you race and then you cannot drive fast anymore when you are dead. These races have many crashes in them and cars that go fast do not like crashing."

"There are always crashes in the races I enter. It just seems to happen all the time. In fact for some reason the races I race in have more crashes than the ones I don't enter. I wonder why that is."

"I do not know Speed, but sometimes the car parts will break and sometimes the other drivers will run into each other. And there might be bad guys entering cars and you can tell they are bad because they look like gangsters."

"That happens all the time, too."

"Yes, but in the last Mr. President race all the other drivers died. Some people tried to stop the race and caused violence to happen."

"Pops, I get into fights all the time it seems like. Guns, martial arts, I think I fight more bad guys than I race."

"But the killing, Speed," Trixie pleaded. "Where there's killing there is danger."

"It says here there will be a big penalty if anyone is killed. Inspector Detector will be there to make sure the rules are followed. That will keep the racers who want to win from killing people as much. I'm not afraid of danger! Ha ha ha."

Trixie turned her back on Speed. "Humph! I'm not going to date anyone that wants to be in a race like that!"

Speed smiled slightly. "Trixie, it is an important race - they will need reporters to fly over all the cars and report on the race while it is happening. Millions of people will watch the broadcast. Maybe even billions."

Trixie quickly changed her mind and suddenly spun around and grabbed Pops. "Please let him race, Pops! Speed needs to prove he is the best!"

Speed interjected. "This says that Racer X will also be invited. He will probably bring a special Shooting Star. Gee Pops, it sure would be a good chance to show off how good your cars are."

"Racer X?" Pops asked. "He is a very good racer and very careful too. He races like I wish your brother Rex had raced, who may or may not have died in an accident or maybe run away. I sometimes wonder why his car is named after something that burns up. Okay, but you have to promise to be careful and I will add some new things to the car to make it more improved and make sure it is safe so you are less going to die."

"Really? What are you going to add?" Speed asked enthusiastically.

"I will put differently-shaped buttons on the steering wheel and write the number of the car in a different way. And I will put extra comfortable seats in the trunk so when Spritle and Chim Chim hide in there they will be more comfortable before maybe getting killed. We will call it the Mach 5.1 and tell people it is even faster so they will be more careful around you because they think the car is better. I learned that marketing trick at Pops Motors. Ha ha ha ha!" he laughed, and they all laughed together.

"Wait," Trixie said "what are we laughing at again?"

The End

A/N: "Death Race 2000" has the distinction of being the first R-rated movie I ever saw and I quickly learned that whenever there was a towel around an actress that it was likely to fall off to good effect. I started thinking about who would race in a reinstituted event and the first world-class racer I could think of was Speed Racer, a cartoon I watched growing up. (Dexter's Lab does an excellent parody of it BTW.) The somewhat transliterated English in it was sometimes stilted, so I tried to recreate that here with Pops dialogue.

The Death Race cars were really just Volkswagens with custom bodies and camera tricks that made them look fast, while Speed Racer was a cartoon that conveniently ignored physics. That goes together, right?

I was going to call this Need for Speed but I already have a story by that name, alas.