Countless brawls.
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Countless towns.
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Experience out the wazoo.
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Born nowhere, from no one, serving nothing, the plague scourges the land, digging trenches wherever it goes with hundreds of rubber-plated excavators of unlawful misery.
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Shiny.
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Loud.
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These excavators wail out in feral glory, ruling the unruly, gathering gazes and gasps of both awe and fear. Eight hundred pounds of pure, warm steel to each of them, a couple more sitting atop, with some more swimming 'round their stomachs in whiskey. Ready for anything - showdown, shootout, too free to care.
Freedom is all they want. Freedom is all they have.
The wind on their back, the smell of overheating ori-rock powered engines all up in their nostrils. Nothing quite compares to the warm stench of rock-cancer inducing fumes in the early hours of the morning.
Thousands of souls, all of them wicked. Too wicked for their homeland, too free for what's supposedly the most inclusive government on Terra. Inclusive my ass, don't ask them about all the Sarkaz slavery bullshit.
Riding down the trail of weather-cataclysms, hence the name that graces their leather backs and wrists, splattered in ink - The Catastrophe Riders, the (originium) gasoline-drinking fiends from the west! The terror-sowing reapers of Columbia, the burdenbeast-less riders of the apocalypse that was yet to come.
Violent posers on bikes.
Hailing from far, far away, their dusty trails eventually led them down to the monumental crawling carcass that was the mobile city of Lungmen. Riddled with crime, incompetent authorities that care more about personal matters than the good of the everyday man, corruption and cheap imports, it seemed like the perfect place to hang around for a while.
So they did.
A couple hundred men and women it took, making the drive down from the homeland into the elusive mud-paddling giant. Turns out catastrophes aren't as friendly to the Catastrophe Riders as one might've initially thought.
Yet, they made it. Raiding liquor stores, overtaking old warehouses, moving from place to place each day like the nomads they were, causing mayhem and chaos all throughout.
They didn't care about any sort of authority ruling over the city. Not the fluffy, silk robe wearing clown in charge of the high-rise, fancy, stock-calculating ballrooms, nor the old rat bastard responsible for keeping the garbage eating, oripathy having slum dogs at bay.
They answered to no one but the great Mother Nature far beyond the sky.
And so was their life. Moving from place to place, messing with these and those people, hanging around here and there, never gathering any major trouble…
… At least up until a certain point.
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Engines off, a forest of steel, ori-eating machines stood calmly scattered around the street, the reflective metals gleaming with the falling sun's orange radiance. Waiting by their steeds, a posse of dishonorable knights of chaos kept exchanging glances and whispers, bloodshot eyes locked on the library's door, steel pipes and knuckle dusters drawn. Each of them clad in armor of cheap leather, desecrated with messily stitched together patches that covered their backs. Bouquets of "originium roses", hordes of metal burdenbeasts roaring in anticipation.
"... Hell's taking 'im so long?" A broad-shouldered Lupo muttered, leaning against the front of his bike. A few of his comrades turned to glance at the scowling mutt's mug, trying to determine whether they should start worrying or not.
"Maybe they're just having a talk? You know Kaz, he likes talking." A scar-faced Perro tried to soothe the large hound's worries, leaving his ori-swallowing beast to sit by his comrade's side.
"I do know Kaz, that's why I'm worried." He murmured back, pulling a tiny piece of rolling paper from some pocket. "He just lost Laz, he wouldn't be all cheery and talkative with his own brother's killer. Okay, step-brother's, but still. That's just logic at work. 'Sides, you seen him sulking these past weeks, haven't you?"
"Hard not to notice." The Perro spat back, taking some paper for himself. "Been crying at night, bawlin' his eyes out… Whoever assigned him as my bunkie should honestly get a pipe to the teeth, haven't slept properly in a month."
His veiny grasp wrapped around his instrument of violence a tad bit tighter, only to shove it into his mud-splattered pants and pull a can of tobacco from within. The Lupo nodded and took some, sprinkling the dried up goodness down onto the yellow-ish paper.
"Cheers, Earl, owe ya." With a few licks, the cigarette laid ready in his palm, all nicely rolled up and ready to be lit. Years of practice at work. "But anyway, as I was sayin'..." The tobacco stick was set ablaze, a few clicks of his ancient, steel lighter warmed the paper right up. "... They should've been out by now. Both of them, Kaz and that lil' sickie, Ricketts. What kinda dumbass name is Ricketts, anyway…?" He pondered, taking a long, deep drag from the ciggie. Down his lungs flew the cancerous fumes, making themselves right at home amidst the fleshy interior.
"Dunno, Ollie." He mumbled in between puffs of his own cig. "Think we should check on 'em?"
"Mmmm…" The Lupo took a moment to ponder the thought, letting the smoke warm his insides. "... Hey, boys, You wanna check on 'em?" He yelled towards the rest of their ten-man posse, ashing off the rollup.
"Check on who?" A few confused muscle-heads turned heads to glare at the commander.
"Who? Kaz, morons!"
"Aaaaah…" A wave of understanding washed over the rest. "Sure he'll be fine, give 'em a moment."
"Fine", my ass, this isn't how these things go." Ollie mumbled to Earl. A few more cigarette drags had to follow, something to cool the boiling nerves.
"Just give 'em a moment. Maybe he's already busy bashing that fucker's skull in, ever thought of that?" Earl perked up, the ciggie seemingly already working its magic. "'Sides… Laz and Kaz, ever thought how funny that sounds?"
"... What?" The mutt tilted his head in confusion.
"Yeah. Laz and Kaz. See how it rhymes?"
"Yeah. Kinda does." The Lupo chuckled, keeping up with his drags.
"Laz and Kaz… Heh, they only need, like… A sister called Paz, that'd be even better."
"Paz. You put anything in your cigarette, or…?"
"Oh, piss off." Early snortled, throwing his cigarette butt to the concrete and stomping it down. A copper ray of sunlight slid along the spikes protruding from his jacket's shoulders, a sigh escaped his lips. The soft sound mixed with the passing breeze, a harbinger of winter born of two contradicting climates mixing - the ever so frozen Ursine air and the forever moderate Yanese winds. The two bikers took this little moment of peace and serenity to heart. To chuckle at a joke with a buddy in peace was something rather rare, something unfathomable and pricey. The toll always came in the end, eventually dragging whatever payment the reaper demanded right out of their skin-pockets, churning its long, spiky fingers inside their souls and leaving behind a husk. Or a corpse.
A gentle commotion rattled by their heavy, rubber soled boots. Nearly all eyes turned towards the noise.
A soft click followed, as the library's door closed shut.
"... The hell?" A few of them had already started gathering themselves off their bikes and prepping the tools of terror. "What is that? What-... Grenade?"
They pondered, as the tiny can kept rolling down the street, firing off sparks and spewing out plumes after plumes of heavy, milky white smoke. A few cogs started turning in their whiskey-dulled minds, cigarettes dropped to the floor.
The can rolled and rolled, joyously frolicking by the steel beasts, bumping off a wheel or two. Ollie narrowed his sharp sight, eyes grasping the tiny, little marker-drawing scrawled on the can's side.
A little smiley face. Grinning wide, two X's instead of eyes, teeth on full display… A tiny halo floating above, completely dim, completely black.
"... 'Nade! Somethin's wrong, somethin's happened!" He yelled towards the rest, as his comrades slowly started disappearing out of sight, one by one. The mist enveloped them all in its cold, unwelcoming embrace, cutting off completely from the outside world. Here and there, a tiny glimmer of copper would shine through, giving way for a ray of hope, only to be brutally cut off by the smoke's overarching tentacles of white.
Like a giant, massively disfigured octopus, it wrapped its many limbs around the group, seeping its cough-inducing ink into their lungs and nostrils. Their eyes and ears, brains and hearts, grasping at the beating instruments, pulling them down to their stomachs, dragging them right out of their chests, forcing into a pit of nothing but pure, unfiltered fear.
"Hell's happenin'...?" A few mumbled or yelled.
"Where ya at, fellas? Where ya at?" A disoriented Feline kept wailing.
"Ollie…" Earl started, standing by his friend's side.
"Yeah, I know. Lookin' bad." He spewed back, grabbing a rather sizable, spike infused baseball bat off his mighty steed of iron. "Gotta go in there and get Kaz. Watch the back."
"Aye." The Perro nodded in affirmation, pulling a sawed off machete from his leather jacket.
And so, their march through the assaulting smoke-snowstorm began, completely blind and a little scared, though neither would admit. Groping around in the dark, they pushed on through, taking the first steps.
They didn't even make it past the middle of the street before it all went to shit.
"Guys? Skeet? Earl? Clee-..." A voice called out from the milky mist, his confused yells quickly turning to a deep, uneven chortling, as if someone shoved a bag of fishbones down his throat. Earl and Ollie tensed up, brandishing their gear.
"Hell was 'at? Luk-ey, ya alright? Ya alr-..." Someone else began, only to face the same fate, their words cut short by a fit of liquidy gurgling. A few dozen kilograms dropped to the floor with a loud thud, as a cacophony of yells and footsteps took the reins.
"HEY! SHOW YASELF! SHOW-... ACK!" Another one fell as a gentle force severed his vocal chords. Ollie could hear footsteps already running in that direction, assuming them to be his men. "Earl, ya there?" He threw behind without turning, eager to rush into the very heart of battle.
"There, there." He gave him a pat on the back and smirked, machete drawn high. "Ya know, I think it's high time we give 'em Lung-noodle eaters a proper Columbian welc-..."
A loud, ear piercing sound shook the entire neighborhood. The explosion of a cartridge, a gunshot so meek and little, yet also so grand and earth shattering. It resonated through the entire street, bouncing off and carrying on along the little tunnel of cheap, red tenement blocks. Both bikers froze in place, smiles washing right off.
"FUCK! FUCK, HE GOT ME! HE G-..." An unseen force screamed from behind the smokescreen, as yet another shot silenced him for good.
They had to act.
Looks exchanged, the two sprung into action, diving headfirst into the sea of milk that were the grenade's innards. Ollie nearly tripped, passing by a body lying motionless on the floor. He caught just one glimpse of a little hole resting snugly between the Forte's eyes.
Yet they pushed on, paddling away, swimming through the milk, gliding across the street, bumping into a corpse or two, pushing around the bikes, hearing those gunshots erupting every few seconds right in front, almost as if eager to meet them face to face, to finally unmask the infamous stick that dared push itself deep into the cogs of their little operation, of their rein-free life.
Ollie saw a little shadow standing amidst a pile of leather. Promptly, he pushed his shoulder out and rushed forward, just like back in his Columbian football days.
Earl followed suit, seeing his friend tackling the frail figure down. It flew backwards, managing to dampen the fall and land somewhat gracefully, one hand clutching onto what was presumably a gun, the other - a knife.
With a loud battle screech, Ollie took a large, feral swing and brought his spiked bat onto the figure's curly head of hair. It swiftly threw itself to the side, demonstrating some cat-like reflexes, flexing all its six glimmering wings sprouting from its back. Early blinked a little as another gunshot flew right by his face, the bullet embedding itself in his friend's chest.
"O-... OLLIE?" He thought, didn't dare to scream or produce any sound. Not now. Mind occupied, he grasped his machete a bit tighter and let his feet lead him towards the gunman. That fucker. The one who just had to ruin it all.
"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU FOR THAT!" His vocal cords managed to give voice to all his frustrations and rage growing within, as the face of his soon to be victim emerged from behind all the smoke. Barely a man, just a boy, all green and defenseless, but for the gun in his hand.
The angel drew and pressed the trigger, aimed right at the poor Perro's stomach. He staggered in place, expecting the worst.
Click!
Malfunction, as always.
Their eyes locked for just a second. Gray and yellow, empty, yet so full of hatred.
The angel immediately slammed the bottom of the gun's grip against the floor, but before he could rack the slide, Earl trotted forward, rising his machete high above his head.
It cut through the air with a loud whistle, just barely grazing the boy's ring of light. It visibly hurt the angel, making him squint a little and twist in pain. Another swing, another block, this time a swift counter from the boy, using the knife dangling from his other hand. Early stepped back as sparks flew, surprised at the sudden move. He wasn't expecting much resistance, absolutely nothing like this. He'd usually slam his machete against a flesh puppet and they'd bleed.
Not this one, though. He didn't bleed, he sparked.
Head filled with rage and thoughts of Ollie, the Perro pushed on, unleashing a feral flurry of strikes forward, which the boy somewhat gracefully blocked, all the while crawling backwards.
As Earl took a moment to prepare a larger swing, the angel jumped to his feet and tackled him with his shoulder, barely doing anything, but staggering the biker for just enough time to make him miss the slash completely.
"Y-You… You fucker…" He hissed through gritted teeth, immediately raising his blade high in an attempt to cut the boy off guard with an upwards slash. The blade was short, sawed off for convenience and concealability - which also meant that each strike had to be either hard enough to break through every hold or precise. Earl lacked the capabilities to perform the latter.
"YOU…" Another strike, a swift sidestep from the angel. "Y-YOU…" A punch, not even a cut at this point. The boy took it (literally) at face value, plummeting backwards, yet refusing to fall. He shook off the pain and wiped the blood, raising his knife again and preparing for one, final showdown.
Earl took it as an invitation.
Blades met, sparks flew.
Again and again, the milky mass around the two dissipated with each of their moves, each spin from the boy, each rage-filled swing from the biker, they all melted the smoke away, until there was nothing but a little arena amidst the mist left.
Blade locked, the two met face to face, staring into each other's eyes. Earl could see something glimmering in those empty pools of gray, something far beyond his comprehension. A certain pain, a heap of guilt and determination - something he'd never understand.
To squeeze the life from this disgusting child was his only coherent thought. The only logical way would be to let go and just punch it, punch and punch until it shriveled on the concrete and bled. Bled, bled, the halo turned dim, wings disappeared…
His hand loosened around the blade. Before he could even cock the punch, the angel ducked to the side, letting go of his blade. A massive weight suddenly crashed against the biker's side, far more mightier than anything he's ever felt. Earl flew forward, taken utterly off guard, his entire mass gravitating towards the ground.
And he fell.
He crashed against the floor, face first. His jaw shattered on the concrete, his machete flew from his hands, as they tried oh so desperately to dampen the fall, to no avail.
He couldn't go like this. Not here. Not by this creature's hand.
With one last effort, he lifted himself to his back, to look up at the sky, to hopefully see beyond the sea of white and let the dying sun's last caress feel warm against his weary, bruised face.
Instead of the sun's orange glimmer, his eyes met the barrel of the angel's pistol. It was everything he could see, not his face, not his halo, not his anything. Staring deep into the metal tube digging right into his eyes, his heart suddenly remembered to feel worried. To embrace the idea that this might've been the end. To finally realize that he wasn't immortal.
A soft, metallic click followed, as the boy grasped the slide and jerked it back. Springs locked, a tiny, yellow ball entered the tube, its soft, yet sharp end pointed between his eyes.
He saw the bullet enter the chamber. The last sight he'd ever bear witness to. Something moved by his side. Something large. Old, brown, wooden and large.
A door? He couldn't think straight. He couldn't even beg. He couldn't do anything, as the cartridge was slowly set ablaze from within, the originium dust burning brighter than any light at the end of his tunnel.
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Andy let out a relieved sigh and let his body slump forward, grasping his knees in exertion. Croissant took a small glance around the place, still tightly clutching the library's door like some makeshift shield.
"... Ya reckon 'as all, baws?" She warbled, a little more uneasy than usual. The sight of so many dead bodies all around made her stomach churn a bit, almost unwilling to keep working, wanting to protest and spill out her breakfast all across the concrete.
"... Yeah." Andy mumbled back, taking his eyes off the faceless mess lying before him. There was something about this nameless biker, something that made him weak in the knees. The image of a certain blue-haired angel popped into his head, a scale hanging off her marble hand, tipped way unevenly. With a little sigh, he slid the gun into his pants and turned away from the bloody, red mush.
"... Dani, you can come out." He muttered towards the library, only to realize his voice had failed him. After a cough or two, he tried again, managing to produce a shaky yell. "Dani, come out! It's clear!"
Both turned towards the building, as a figure of the short-haired Ursus appeared in the now bare doorway. His eyes went wide at the sight slowly revealing itself from beneath the dissipating smoke. Whole street painted red, crimson rivers spilling down the gutter.
"Y-..." He whispered, covering his mouth. "I… I-..."
Not a word more left his mouth, as his body convulsed violently and released the contents of his stomach all over the pavement. Croissant turned away, pulling a hand over her own mouth and dropping the door by her side. Andy kept staring, watching him gurgle up vomit like a sick cat.
"..." The dock-boy wiped the residue off with his sleeve and took a few wobbly steps in the opposite direction, before turning back to glance at the two one last time. With a few heavy breaths, he pointed behind himself and mumbled. "I'll… I'll j-just go."
The angel nodded a little. "See-ya, Dani."
It was a mere whisper, more for himself than for anyone else.
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As his footsteps slowly died out somewhere near the far end of the street, the two were left completely alone, standing amidst the aftermath of their bloodbath. Mostly Andy's bloodbath.
Neither wanted to speak. He couldn't even bring himself to look up at the girl, let alone order her to do anything at all. He was powerless. Utterly powerless, completely dim, as empty as the used up gas grenade's insides, as alive as one of those corpses by his feet, as…
"... Baws?" A sly voice arose from his side. Andy turned his gaze to meet Croissant sitting by one of the bodies, running her sticky fingers through the biker's pockets. She dug deep, twisting and turning, before pulling out a golden pocket watch.
It glimmered in the setting sun's glare, sending little, playful rays of sunlight into their eyes. The girl smiled a little, proudly showing off her loot to the boy.
"... I mean… It ain't like they was gonna need it anyway, right…?" She asked coyly, the smile growing a little.
Andy blinked. He had to blink. Something to confirm that this was still real life, not a midnight mare.
"..." A few moments passed, his thoughts somehow herded themselves back into one, cohesive mass. "... Right." He nodded back, a tiny smile slowly sliding over his lips.
She was right, after all. It was better to think she was.
Andy dropped to his knees and dug his own hands into the faceless biker's cold, bottomless pockets.
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A soft hum emitted from the engine as they sat side by side, the van's headlights cutting apart the curtain of darkness in front. Neither were in the mood to speak, to discuss the massacre from an hour or so ago. Andy kept his eyes locked on the concrete blanket continuously emerging from the night's embrace in front, sliding underneath the van and disappearing right back into the void. His thoughts lay scattered all over the intimate confinements of his mind, messily unorganized by the claw-machines ruling over those vast fields of mind-salt infested memory-lands. What was it? Guilt? Over what? He was just defending himself, nothing more to it, nothing less. Defending his company, his honor and his colleague. And his friend. Fine, two friends. Was it really such a crime? To kill for someone else's sake…?
Or was it? Was all the smoke necessary? Couldn't have he just stepped out, gun in hand, threw some stern words or threats, waved the damn thing around? That would've probably worked, scattered those leather-freaks like a shotgun's blast.
Yet he didn't. He opted to shoot, not talk. To slice, not negotiate. To force poor Croissant into his murderous rampage, to have her share the burden alongside him.
Why did he do it? Self defence, really? Or was it to fulfill some sick fantasy? To relive his time in Kazdel? To prove that the Half A Million Shekel Merc was still alive and well? Still dwelling somewhere deep inside his tar-black soul, pouring salt soup down his throat and waiting for the right moment to shine? To bring the justice of Kazdel into the civilized world? This wasn't hell anymore. He couldn't drag himself out of there, couldn't get used to sleeping a full night without waking up at the crack of dawn, gun drawn, ears eagerly scanning for the softest of footsteps, the gentlest of whispers of steel brushing against its sheathe, even the violent cocking of a gun. He didn't know what to think anymore. Thinking was difficult. Too difficult. Too cold.
He just wanted to see Lem. To leave all thoughts behind and ask for a hug, to bury himself in her warmth and never leave.
A gentle force tapped against his shoulder, making his blurry sight regain focus at once. The van had crossed the double solid line, inching dangerously close to a one way ticket towards a head on collision with some poor, unsuspecting semi. Andy swung the steering wheel a little, jerking the van back onto its own lane.
"... Ya seem a bit sleepy, baws." Croissant murmured, she, herself, not looking all too energetic either, a stark contrast to the usual. "I'll get ya some tunes, awwright? Just don't crash the dam' thing…"
Andy nodded. Music was exactly what he needed at that very moment. A few twirls and clicks later, the radio came alive, letting a stern voice ring out through the cabin.
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I can't remember anything
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Can't tell if this is true or a dream
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Deep down inside I feel to scream
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This terrible silence stops me
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Now that the war is through with me
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I'm waking up, I cannot see
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That there's not much left of me
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Nothing is real but pain now
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Hold my breath as I wish for death
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Oh please, Gods, wake me
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Andy blinked, feeling something unpleasant twisting and turning his guts all inside out. Croissant seemed to have noticed, quickly turning the frequency knob. It landed on some soft guitar plucking, gradually growing more and more melodic, putting a smile on the girl's face.
"A-ha, tha's more like it. Country blues' ma' jam, baws."
Andy twisted his head a little to take a small glance at her lips. Her eyes were a little brighter, her glow a bit more radiant. She seemed happy.
That's all he needed at the moment. In the cabin's mirror, he caught a glimpse of his own face, forcing those marbled lip-curves of his upwards. No point in dragging her down.
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And they drove on. Silently, yet not awkwardly. Andy felt nice. It was nice.
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Despite everything, it could've been worse. So much worse.
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"Fh-woosh…" Croissant articulated, dumping one more meat bag over the railing. They stood in the middle of nowhere, an elevated highway lifted right above a tiny spot where the grand fortress' mechanisms split, where the caterpillar tracks and countless control rooms, cores and engines parted to make way for a tiny window, open to the land's soil, mountains and anything else Lungmen passed over. The perfect spot.
Andy leaned back against the van, pushing the cargo bay's doors closed. That was the last of them, the final bag of fertilizer to return to Mother Nature's cold embrace.
"..." He said nothing, gazing up at the twin moons sparkling high above. Tap, tap, tap, the soft footsteps of a Forte girl echoed in his direction, as she soon joined him by his side.
"..."
No words were left to be said. Just the stormy influx of worried thought-produce seeping into his brain, questions of morality and convenience, of employee handling and unethical money making methods. Andy was convinced this was the end of his little collaboration with Penguin Logistics and the sprouting work-relationship with Croissant. Who in their right mind would stick around after something like this? And on one of the very first days of work, too…
Pop.
The angel jumped a little, startled by the sudden sound. Seeing the confusion and disorientation lacing his gaze, Croissant giggled a little, blowing another bubble gum balloon.
"Yer like a lil' deer sometimes, baws." The girl murmured, her back pressed against the van. With a flick of her hand, she held up a glistening stick of gum before the boy's face, the wrapper glimmering in the moons' glow.
Without a word, he took the sugary treat and unpacked it, before plopping it into his mouth. Chew, chew, it melted within seconds, sticking to his teeth, spilling and washing ashore his gums like tar. He hasn't really tasted anything quite like this ever before. Not in Laterano, definitely not in Kazdel.
"Thanks." He mumbled, mouth full of gum.
"Aye, no prawblem. Glad to help 'n any way." She beamed right back, chewing away.
"Yeah, but… Really, thanks for all this. For helping dump the bodies, too."
"Aw, baws, don't mention it." Eyes closed, Croissant grinned.
"And sorry for dragging you through all this." He added, looking back up towards the starry night sky.
"All this?" She tilted her head. "Baws, 's alright! Stuff happens, folks die. 'S just the constant of business." And her voice was so warm, almost apologetic.
"But… Still, this is just the kinda work I have to deal with. So… So, you know, if you wanna leave and go back to P.L., that's alright."
The van rattled a little. Andy felt the girl turning towards him, leaning her shoulder against the cold metal.
"Ya serious?"
"Yeah? I get it, I'd leave too." He shrugged.
A gentle silence wrapped them both up in its calming embrace, nothing but the passing breeze to accompany their little moment. The girl's hearty chuckle soon broke through its arms.
"Baws! Tha's what gawt ya all worried 'n sad? Aw, golly…" She gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and jumped up, leaning away from the van. "I promised 'ta get yer company all up 'n runnin' nicely, haven't I? Ya make a promise like 'at, ya don't break it, baws!" She beamed right at him, conquering even the twin moons' radiance. "'Sides… C'mon, baws, 's not like I never had to deal wiff' som' unkindly folk befa'. I can handle it." A wink followed.
Andy was left a little speechless. He had already assumed she'd take the first opportunity to jump ship and leave him alone with all this biker mess to clean up, but… Apparently not. Something about promises, something that made him a bit weak in the knees.
"Uh…" He had to take a moment, staring at her beaming face and slowly crushing up the sticky, sugary mass filling his mouth. "That's… That's nice. That's nice, thank you." This pitiful mumble was all he could muster.
"Uh-huh! C'mon, baws, let's get ya home 'fore the boys in uniform show up 'n start askin' questions." Croissant warbled, stretching a bit in each direction. "... How 'bout I drive, ah? Ya can catch some shut-eye" And she sent him another wink. The boy couldn't help but nod in agreement.
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As she disappeared inside the cabin, Andy was left staring into the deep void stretching far underneath the hanging motorway, the depths of hell itself, constantly moving and turning, crushing the land below and plowing through Terra's crust. Was it getting better, for once?
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Was it a sign? Was it… What could it have been?
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A new beginning? The start of… Something? He'd have to ask Lem, have her confirm. She'd definitely know, right?
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For now, he could only keep staring down the machine's throat, seeing the massive spades churning and digging, crawling forward, onward towards nothing in particular, a destination lost in the stars, too exclusive for them, mere mortals to-...
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A loud honk pierced the night air.
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"... Ya comin'?!"
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Andy jumped. He'd hate to keep her waiting.
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"Yeah, yeah just had a moment, that's all."
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Doors clanked, closed shut. Engine spat out some fumes, gurgled and set.
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And onwards, to glory they went.