And continuing:

    2


  I remembered that I had been wandering for a long time,
and it was during this lapse that I found the place where that
loathsome film had come. The film packed into the corners of my
eyes. Locke differentiated dreams and reality by 'vividness,' which
was supposedly easy to distinguish. I don't think the man ever met
my buddy Wells. The clouds and haze I had long associated with
constant anger and fear had been lifted from my senses in one slow
tear as he was destroyed. The dreams I fell into became more vivid
and life-like than anything behind the fog only my transient power
had been able to pierce.

Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

  At the time there had only been that man in black, and the
only direction my life could take was step forward or fall back; his
death had lifted this veil of confusion. Some things just never seem
to change.

I know that feeling.

  I felt it reach out of me for one last try, until Screw
somehow finally forgot it or pushed it all the way down. It even
tried to take the credit for its own destruction. Ha.

I'll concur. Heh. :)

  What a joy my mother had been. It was probably my lack
of clear memories which made me feel this way about the two of
them.

Confused me for a second about ho 'them' were. Should probably throw in a
line about his father.

  My super powers had not come from the blood, but had
developed because my parents allowed it to. I had always known
that the form of my perceptions would change with something
other than mood. I figured it was common to all people. I only
learned just after my encounter with Wells that the change in
perception was really a lack of such, a failure to continue what I
had already been feeling, and that something else was making
itself felt to pick up the slack. Something my body trusted to do the
job better. Unlike any of my other faculties, these forces passed my
conscious mind altogether. They were in the clamoring of a
beating heart. Completely natural to me, but not a natural part of
the world I walked in.

My, how enlightening. I didnt' suspect that. Interesting twist.

  When he was safe and gone, Zig turned to me where I lay
half sitting on the cold asphalt sidewalk, resting my weary head on
Alie's knee and said, "There's really nothing like someone's
wanting to kill you to make you want to keep on living, huh?"

Yep. Wholly agree with that.

  Guy Jinn's 'King Cobra' was not one of the better cars on
the track.

Except for that whole 'flying' thing.

 >   Albeit, most people go their entire lives without ever

experiencing anything even remotely like this.

Well, I'd sat no one experiences paranormal forces out to get them, all
right. :)

Those who claim to

be the exceptions usually have low self esteem and low tolerance
to alcohol. Some are just crazy--if there is such a thing. I was
unlucky enough to be neither. That's me, Mr. Functionally
Adequate. In the worst of situations my eyes could deceive me,
and my screens a little after that. But the energy in the air never
lied. I blinked a few times to make sure it was not just my eyes.
Fatigue, hangover, *something please.* The wheel shivered
uncomfortably beneath my grasp. If Guy Jinn's car really was
flying, then Wells was not the last of the monsters under my bed.
He had not lied about his master.

Yep. And the master is either a big time racing fan or likes playing games.
:)

  Jinn caught up with me almost immediately after that and
started trying to pass the white car. Brian weaved indecisively. We
were only a small distance behind Veretti who resolutely held on
to the lead spot, never taking his eyes from the far spoke's wider,
grander gate. I bet he was shitting bricks, seeing the three of us
veering around behind him this late in the race. I saw Jinn fake left,
then cut right to pass the Flyer on the inside. Maybe eight inches
off the ground was all he could manage. Brian's white car shook
visibly when this happened, and then suddenly was thrown left and
out of control. He was lost from my screen's focal array and I had
no time to hunt for him.

Hope he turned out okay. Lack of vicousness is one of the things that saved
Screw here.

 I could tell that there had been a vicious

flash of force from Guy Jinn's car. So he commanded the powers
himself.

Or whoever is using him as a medium is.

 >

  Suddenly a small screen popped up in the middle of my
windshield, of all the things a flashing red warning screen, and I
saw Flyin Brian's white car speed back into the inside lane from
the outer track, unharmed. He deftly took a pylon on the left side,
then the right, and then cut even farther in to meet Guy Jinn. Jinn
stopped ramming me for a second, presumably to take a second
shot at the Flyer's car.

Hmm. Interesting turn of events.

  A long, narrow screen showed the viewing multitude out of
their seats where they had been for the greater part of my advance
on the lead position. Now, through the pair of aerial feeds, I could
see through the misty condensation my sweat had caused on the
glass that they were going absolutely crazy. This much physical
action at the very end of a race was so rare for them too.
I got my eyes back on the road, but I was sure that if it was
even possible, they went even crazier when Flyin Brian broke the
longest running record in racing history, and rammed the bleeding
shit out of Guy Jinn's car.

Heh.

  The crash was loud, and I looked back to see large chunks
of either car's shell falling off onto the track. Jinn seemed to have
had hit his head during the impact, because he was now holding it
tightly with both hands.

Or whatever is in him is about to explode.

  I held my breath in anticipation. Maybe the Flyer would
take care of my problem for me. Maybe Jinn wasn't using special
powers at all but had some kind of illegal high-tech magnetronic
hovering device. Maybe this really was another bad dream. But I
didn't think so. I could see Diago in one of the smaller screens
yelling at me as loud as he could, unaware that I was no longer
getting any kind of sound transmission from him or anyone else. I
sort of chuckled at this for a second and gave him the thumbs up.
('Hey, its all good, calm down.') He didn't seem to notice, and
continued yelling and pointing. So I focused my attention back on
the pair a few hundred yards behind me. Any second now this
would be decided.

Hmm. Wonder if his lack of attention ahead is going to cost him.

valves to believe we had broken the four hundred mile barrier, (the
sudden rush mashing my helmet back against the headrest, yet
wholly unable to tear my attention from the rear view screen in
question, my breath caught wedge like in my violently constricting
throat, indignant); gun fire

gunfire

erupted from Jinn's car.

  Four bullets entered the Flyer's vehicle, the last the loudest,
as it sounded at the time. I heard or at least visualized nitrous oxide
streaming out through his hood a second before the whole vehicle
erupted.

Ouch. Well at least he gave a little before the end.

  There was one other option, though. With about thirty
miles to go before the finishing gates, there was still ample room
and time to return to the obstacle-studded middle lanes. Here it
would be much harder for Jinn to shoot and keep from crashing
himself.

Or so one hopes.

directly next to my car. Its door had not opened, but cracked
outward and was torn free by my fender. The tip of the steel
pyramid went right through my front quarter panel, my drivers side
door, and I barely avoided losing my left arm. This was the least of
my problems though, because when the pylon punched through the
cage and hit the rear wheel well, the whole frame caught on it. My
car spun into the air.

Doesn't look like he'll be finishing after all.

  I was whipped forward as my tail end jumped, and my
helmet bounced on the ceiling. The Storm's seatbelts had been
severed by glass shards earlier in the race so there was nothing
holding my body back. My face plate broke off, and the rest of the
helmet flew out my window with it. Careening through the air in a
barrel roll as loose parts were flung in all directions, I bit my
bleeding lip and covered my face with my right arm. A second
later the wheels pounded against the track again, luckily right side
up.

Then again...

  The motor was still going, and so for a second, I was
driving straight again. But now all of the electrical systems in the
car were gone, including the hydraulic steering, and I was missing
the back half of my frame. Looking over my shoulder I saw three
wheels, a set of broken axles, and lots of fire. I was going to fast

too fast

  Guy Jinn stayed about a tenth of a mile behind me and
opened fire again. From the screaming sound the bullets made as
they pierced my car, I could tell he was using zeppelins. The ramp
was only about ten feet wide, and I was unable do much swerving,
so most of the shots connected. The only thing in my favor was
that eighty percent of my car was already beyond repair anyway,
and his bullets did not seem to be doing anything that had not
already been done.

Heh. Good point.

  My car immediately exploded, and my body departed the
ramp, and soared gracefully into the wide open air over the track.
His body remained in his car, which plowed through my wrecked
vehicle like it was a toy model. He broke through the guard rail
and followed me into the air, still aiming those headlights right at
me.

Now that's quite the picture as well.

  But I snapped out of it when I heard the thunderous
explosion fifty feet below me as the King Cobra met its fiery end
on the Turbine spoke. I had halted my descent, and was hanging in
mid air a hundred yards off the track.

Nice

 > to bend my wrist back, but to no avail. Guy Jinn may not have had

any working nerve endings, but I had always been good at this
game. I applied more pressure and his own wrist bent back in the
wrong direction. Then there were those cracking sounds I had been
waiting for.

Not sure how much good that will do, though.

  Then we were suddenly falling. I tried to push away from
the ground with even more force, but he was obviously using his
concentration to pull us down and was more of an adept than I.

  I was still clench my

clenching

fist around his left hand, and I tried to

mangle it even more. He squeezed tighter, but eventually unable to
hold his arms together, I wiggled out of his grasp. I kicked off of
him and slowed to a stop in mid air. He did the same, and looked
up at me from below.

  "Allan Wells was my master."

Screw: Then why aren't you thanking me?

  Jinn smiled. "It is a muscle contracting hormone found
exclusively in spiderbats. In small amounts it simulates super-
strength. Large doses are tremendously lethal. The last man I bit
practically turned himself inside out in an involuntary attempt to
get it out of his system. I wonder what will happen to you when I
bite your face?"

Screw: I wouldn't do that. I'm high in cholsteral, and frankly, I think you
should avoid getting anymore of that.

  The News-Levys were just starting to get here, slicing and
hooking through the sky, attempting to train countless angles of
aerial feeds on us, hoping one would come away with a clear
picture. The police officers were holding onto support rails,
beckoning me toward them, and one even took a shot at Jinn.
Good, they were somewhat aware of the situation.

Yeah. But not enough, I'd reckon.

  "What about all those cameras?"  I croaked, pointing at the
Levy "We're being broadcast live right now."

  "Not anymore. I popped the cameras from the air a minute
ago. And I am afraid psionics don't show up on film anyway."

What, Rufus doesn't know that?

  His dripping teethe

teeth

came off. I leaped into the air, flying straight upwards. A second
later Guy Jinn shrieked as the plummeting gate hit the ground,
hard. It crashed apart, the big steel doors crashing inward.
Then the entire gate base, to which all fifty gates were
connected, began to tear out of its rivets and off the spoke. More
gates fell, dragging cables, winches, miles of gear train out of their
welds, out into space, tumbling down to be dragged along the
tarmac behind the Turbine. Jinn was trapped under much of it,
partially back in sight now, and I watched as his body was frayed
apart.

Screw: I have to remember to piss on his grave when I feel up to it later.

  I did not see any more Levys or cameras, but to be on the
safe side, I grabbed onto a loose cable trailing the Turbine, and
held on waiting for a rescue team to pull me up. I tied the loose end
to my belt and relaxed my aching body. Again I remembered
Alethea's handwritten words, and sighed again knowing they were
destroyed. I had wanted to share the victory with her.

He's alive.  He'll have to settle for that sort of victory.

That took a bit of an unsuspecting turn with the identity of 'Guy'. Nice
fight and we get more hints of what's going on and the knowledge that there
will be no rest for Screw. Looks like he's going to have to go active and
try hunting these guys down if he's to ever get a moment's peace. Nice work.
Prose flowed well and there were few grammar errors. Will get to more in the
future.

D.B. Sommer




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