Re: Meet the Talking Car
The yellowed lighting of hundreds of archaic looking motor vehicles shone brightly through the dark atmosphere of the inner city, the smell of their exhaust permeating the whole place, overlaying the smell of fire and the thick stench of burning rubber, each scent burned acidic in his olfactory. He peered sideways at the thickly tinted windows that seemed an extension of the rest of the car’s body, electric oculars trying in vain to peer in. He wished for a moment that he had inherited his parents’ telepathy, but then, the mystery driver pulled ahead, ramming their way through a red light, skidding elegantly out of the way of other vehicles. Damien accelerated, leaning heavily to the right, nuzzling against the side of a red SUV that spun sporadically, trying to avoid him, the metal that shone like crimson danced closer and closer spiraling inward.
A singe reverberating boom sounded, a fast as the crack of a whip. Speeding lead barreled into the tank of the green Mitsubishi, saffron blooming with the meeting of metallic spark and gasoline. The rear of the red SUV met with the front of a Lincoln. The crash of metal, glass, and fiberglass rang briefly before being swallowed by the drowning noise of the city. The gentle tinkling of glass across concrete followed, the light peal of thousands of bells, thousands of jewels breaking and cascading every which way. A single shard bounced upward, the waves of the break making the clear mineral appear as if it were frosted, the red of taillights reflected off its side. Whirling black collided with it, smashing it down, grinding it with a minuscule crunch that was lost in the heavy whirr of the complex hydrogen engine and the buzz of nanites meeting the ground, and their death, and being recreated. Its dust melting as the growing fire consumed the air around it, pooling in the cracks of the asphalt, singed by the blossoming of the flames as they erupted from the Mitsubishi and fed from the other two cars.
The dancing orange was reflected upon the back of the Angel’s helm, its heat grasping futilely at the leather which enclosed his night colored wings. The coolness of the dark streets embraced him, left hand pulling back the throttle further and further, while the right dropped the pistol back into its holster, the sleek bike slicing through the air. His avoidance of an accident had not only cost three or more people their lives, but him a few precious moments. The mystery car had a very considerable lead, and it appeared as if it was changing color. The front of the vehicle passing under a street light, a shining silver fading into black, that seemed as if it were receding. In a matter of seconds, 3.13 seconds to be exact, the whole body was the color of new steel. It turned off of the highway, weaving its ways through the side streets, its lead still considerable. It sped down a hill, and stopped at what appeared to be a street race.
A fervent grin spread its way, lupine in nature, across the Greco-Roman’s well shaped lips, pulling up next to his mystery car as a man walked away from it. Damien turned his head toward him, nodding twice before the Organizer had a chance to ask him if he was going to participate, revving the powerful engine of the motorcycle twice before peering down the line. He was the only one on a bike.