Racing toward Gomorrah

[Doshii Jun]

SET: Somewhere in the Slav sector

An unclean man looked up at the red-orange sun. Seeing the time, he pulled out his small radio unit, tuned it, and smiled as he sat on the sidewalk.

"Good day to you all out there in the Nepleslia Star Empire, and a happy new year! This is Dave Yamamoto at the Gemini Straits in the Slav sector of Funky City, where the Star Division is holding a race sure to excite the live crowd of nearly 13,000. The racers have reached the paddocks and are eyeing each other warily as the course crew makes final adjustments. It's a windy day here in the Funk ... sure to chop the water a bit along the split of the course. That should help the riders earn their purses.

"If you haven't been keeping up, this race is the 12th of the season, and it could be the clincher. Last week's upset at the Remote Path, where Yamatai racer Rio took the first place points and the purse by a narrow margin, put her ever so close to toppling the great 'Killer Roc.' She was seeded below Jack Valentine, who missed the race due to injuries suffered from the Miko.

"Valentine's been pushing hard for the title this year, as he hopes to replace 'Killer Roc' as the top racer and grab a badly needed victory for the Blacks. Rio's crashed those plans again and again, directly battling the champion of two years. This race is a chance for both racers to prove themselves in a big way, especially with Killer Roc's bye just happening to fall on this day.

"The standings tell the story best: Valentine 975, Rio 1010 and the Roc 1100.

"Whoops, here we go folks! Let's switch over to the stadium for the introductions."

There was a brief pause before a new announcer came on.

"Ladies and gentlemen, WELCOME! To the Gemini Straits, the course of water and wild times in the Star Division. Let's wreak some havoc!"

... "You know their family. You know him. Back from a small vacation, he's here to break hearts all over again. Bursting in black and blood, the man is here to burn his opponents in the fire of his bosom buddies. Give a big hand to the man of the Heart Attack, JACK! VALENTIIIIIIIIIIIINEEEE!"

"And now, without further ado! Rising up from the minor leagues, this magnificent matriarch has come from miles and miles away to mash the locals! Behind her mild-mannered demeanor is a mad mind set on the misery of others. She's mischevious. She's mysterious! She's even a bit murderous! Give it up, for your favorite and mine, THE MALICIOUS MIKO, RIIIIIIIIIOOOOOOOOO!"

SET: Gemini Straits racetrack

"Fuck," Yoko muttered, waving to the crowd daintily. "Reds aced that new Black already?"

"It was condoned, I'm sure," Gene said through her helmet mic. "He was careless with his whores; I heard he started chipping."

"Hope he strangled the bitch before he bit it," Yoko replied. "This is a bad time to be thin. Not enough flak ... " She bowed to one of the Black majordomos sitting in the front row.

"Can't be helped, Yo."

"Well what the fuck happened to the other guy? He was supposed to be starry-tailed."

"New gang got him. Adjust your prop angle already."

Yoko grumbled as she set the main prop's blades to push her up six degrees for two seconds before returning to normal. It'd get her above the rabble Valentine would cause. "What are they called again? The Wire? The Rope?"

"The Chain. They're crazy." Gene tapped the mic. "Eyes front, Yo."

Yoko looked out at the pumped crowd, then down at the water. Falling here could drown a rider; she shook her head and looked across at her competition.

The guy on the GZY-R40 was a great flyer, possibly the best Independent on the Star. Yoko knew he wouldn't win, as it only took a dirty move or two to get rid of him. The factory rider on the CRC-40RR was no threat; he was there for show, though the bike was only a hair slower than her YZF-R40. No sense wasting time on him.

Valentine's R3-40E glistened with evil in the sun. Fucker.

The Red biker was on a YZF-G40 modded to the extreme and painted a fancy blue with some red streaked on it. His helmet had a large Kanji, meaning "red," painted on the front and back. He seemed jittery.

The other Independent wasn't worth considering; the cherry had just come up from 27" and had a lot to learn.
"Riders, please mount your bikes," the referee announced. Yoko slung her leg over her bike, fine-tuning her lift and mapping the first 200 meters of the race in her head. It was amazing what was decided in 200 meters.

"Feel good today, bitch?" Valentine's voice murmured over the open frequency. He always sounded sexy, no matter what he was saying. His title as "Killer Roc" didn't mean anything to her, though. Yoko sighed.

"Jackie-chan, you should be nice to a lady," the Miko replied in Japanese.

"Cut the Jap crap. Today you're losing, Yo." Valentine had heard Gene call her that once; it was all he knew about her.

"Is that true, Jackie-chan?" She giggled mirthlessly. "I see."

The props were revved in near unison as the starter lights flashed blue. Yoko worked her plan in her head.

Solid blue. The cherry on her right shifted positions.

Flashing red. She revved higher.

Solid red. Valentine's alloy prop sliced the air neatly.

One green. She twisted the throttle --

All green.

The cherry bolted in front of everyone, nearly barreling into the Red. He looped around him as the stands roared. Valentine put his R-bike's engine in the red to get him below and in front of everyone, leaving a small wake in the water. The Indy just went forward, hard, using the Gizzy's
straight-line power. The factory followed him.

Yoko followed the first 100 meters of her plan before she decided the Red made her as nervous as he was. She rolled and came to his left. He spun away in similar fashion, a rock outcropping zipping between them. He flashed his titanium-plated gloves and bored low. Yoko lifted high and
rolled lazily until she was above him.

"249 kph already?" she thought. She was in 5th, which was no big deal; the Indy and Valentine were dancing for the lead. A half-roll put her head just nine meters above the Red; he was dodging trees and rocks poking from the water.
Smoothly rolling the throttle into the red, she slowly put him behind her a ways, then dove hard to get just a few meters in front of him.

He noticed too late he was approaching a narrow corridor of water. He tugged up to get away. Yoko followed. She let her hand fall to a thigh pocket and slipped out a thin sheet of tungsten. She pinched between th knuckles of her middle and pointer fingers. The air cameras were on her and the Red as he struggled to escape He couldn't outpace her or outfly her.

Yoko waited as he danced behind her. Her rear camera was blurred by the mist from the water walls and ceiling. The moment would present itself --

"There," she said as she let the sheet go. It missed the Red's head at first, cracking into the bike's small windscreen at 307 kph. But it bounced off and clocked him in the chinbar. His prop blades ejected milliseconds before he flew off the bike and into the water.

One down.

Yoko waited until she was out of the corridor. She was already in third; the factory rider had dropped out of sight. The cherry was almost on her.

The word "shit" went through her head over and over. No more tungsten. He was good enough to wash the factory? Fuck Hundah. Christ. His K-bike wasn't slow, either.

As they hit the bends, she could tell why he wasn't good. He was still turning like a 27" racer. He nearly clipped a checkpoint flag. She rolled in a spiral in front of him, grinning in her helmet. He dove and pulled left, waking the water. She pushed down on him; he yanked right and ducked
a water spout.

He lost sight of her with the water. Rear cameras saw nothing. He looked left and right before catching a glimpse of the water below. He started spinning left, but it was too late.

"KANAME SMAHSHU!" his comm blarred as Yoko's right wing clipped his head. He toppled sideways off his bike and into the water below. Yoko pulled out of the spinning attack and smiled.

Two down.

Yoko's point score was still below Valentine's. She rolled on the throttle to catch up with the Indy and the Black.

 

[Zakalwe]

Trevor AKA Echilon Blaze AKA the Indy, was oblivious to everything outside the race. Litteraly. He didn't accept it existed. All that was was this race, and he was one with it. Every movement, he was in control of, the bike was simply an extension of himself. The other riders where simply objects to react with. He raced with exquisite grace, his manoeuvres perfect.

It of course came at a price: Trevors emotional maturity, his mental health was ... limited. His ability to understand others highly limited. He was obsessive, and had a host of different habits that he had to do every day. However he was in his element here, where others would not judge him, or scorn him (although he didn't understand either judgment of others, or scorn from them), there was simply the race.

He antagonised Valentines bike with multiple feints and spins, his face completely expressionless. His mind calculating every move, emotion having no place here, or anywhere.

 

[Doshii Jun]

Yoko quickly switched to her encoded channel back to Gene as she looped behind the dueling pair. "The damn Indy's already pissing me off! Who is he?"

A slight pause. "No one we know."

"Fuck, he's not bad. I can't make a Gizzer do that kind of shit ..." She rolled on the throttle in a straight line, careful to stay below both of them.

Jack Valentine, meanwhile, hurled his R-bike to the right and looked up at the Indy pilot, not sure what to make of him. He tapped his titanium-plated gloves against his handlebars, then closed back in, left fist bared.

 

[Zakalwe]

Trevor saw what he was intending to do without even turning his head, and waiting for the last second, for Valentine to get as close as possible before flipping around so he was flying upside down over Valentine.

In response Valentine snapped his bike up, to hit Echilon's exposed body and end the race.

Again waiting as long as he could, Trevor executed a perfectly timed and carried out spin, clipping Valentine's head.

 

[Doshii Jun]

"Jack Valentine" was strong. He'd fought men with only his gloves. Men with knives and chain and guns. He'd punched through the wall of an airship -- from the outside. There wasn't a holobear he couldn't take. He made skulls crumble with just a glance from his ice blue eyes, and he ate
eggs and oats for breakfast, with only sake to drown them in.

Small-caliber bullets were known to stop in his defined chest muscles. He cascaded down on men smaller than he. No one could ride the heavy R3-40E like he could. He was practically a bird on it.

So it came as a great surprise when the crafty little shit he'd been dueling with nearly toppled him from his bike. Valentine naturally spun to the left, but he gripped the bars tightly, ducking down and away as the Indy held his course. Valentine growled, rolling the throttle to its limit. The Indy began to fall down from him easily.

"Not this time," Valentine said dangerously. He fell the same way, but with the heavier bike and harder lean, he closed the distance fast. As the Indy pushed down to get under him, Valentine dropped like a rock with a half-second nose dive. He was right back next to the Indy, the top of his helmet level with the Indy's waist.

Valentine focused his mind for just a brief moment, then let loose.

A titanium-plated glove smashed into the fairing of the Indy's bike, forming a spiderweb on the fiberglass with some bits out of the middle. Valentine drew away, then closed again for a second hit.

 

[Zakalwe]

Valentine's action didn't effect Echilon. It affected the bike sure, it just didn't impact Trevor, or his expressionless features. In reaction he waited for Valentine to come close again, and by doing so opened himself up to the spin that Trevor executed, smashing his bike into him.

 

[Doshii Jun]

The handlebar cracked into Valentine's helmet a bit harder than said Valentine had anticipated.

The rotation to the right was an interesting one, as the brief flash of colors masked the waterfall quickly zooming in on Valentine's head. The colors were pretty, actually. Pretty reds and purples, with a dash of green. He'd never appreciated colors when he was younger, but these colors reminded him of blood, and he knew plenty about that. He was only 10 when he slashed his first neck, and --

*PLASSHSHHHH!* "Ooof ..." *BOOOOSH* ... *boooosh*

----------------

"HOLY SPRITES, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" The announcer cried. "He's off! Valentine is OFF! With the dismount, Echlion Blaze picks up 40 bonus points and the uncontested LEAD! What a beautiful spin!"

The heads-up display on the viewing window suddenly changed, showing a bright white/red dot closing in on the fiery one in the lead. "But don't count the Malicious Miko out yet, folks! Rio's closing fast and she looks THIRSTY!"

----------------

Yoko was below and far left of the Indy. Getting close to him was a bad plan, she could tell. His bike was full of straight-line speed, but couldn't bend too well, even though he seemed to have a spin move like hers. She spoke on the open channel. "Valentine's not much when you start using your head, eh, Indy?"

 

[Zakalwe]

"Perhaps." Was all the reply that Yoko got from Echilon, and that delivered in a flat emotionless voice. Echilon was not cocky over Valentines dismount, in fact he felt nothing other than simply deducting him from the mental race and making some of thousands of tiny adjustments he made every second. Simply to feel it again, he executed a complicated spiralling manoeuvre in midair, whirling around while accelerating forwards.

 

[Doshii Jun]

"Perhaps?" Yoko said, incredulous. "You smoked that asshole. He's done! The Blacks'll take care of him now." She edged closer to the Indy until she was about 12 meters off his left handlebar. "Nasty shit he does with those gloves." She nudged her altitude up a few feet and nodded toward the bend.

"You're gonna get it too, Indy, if you don't play nice with me. I'm the Miko, remember? My fans love it when I'm bloody."

 

[Zakalwe]

"I'm sure. Good for them. Nice to talk to you 'The Miko'." Trevor replied, most of his voice in that same flat tone, untill he got to 'The Miko', where he compied her intonation perfectly, actually sounding just like her. He wasn't scared in any way, he didn't really have the capacity. He just measure the threat into an analysis of behaviour, and worked out how to manipulate and take advantage, as well as measuring her approach, "So they love you during your period."

 

[Doshii Jun]

Yoko was taken aback. He was almost funny.

"Only special guys get red wings from me, Indy." She let her bike drift for just a second or two before falling into a wide, lazy spiral. She didn't want to close on him too much -- he'd already shown he could knock people off with just his bike -- but he was kind of interesting. In a fucked up, I-need-to-know-you-to-kill-you way, but still.

"Where you learn to fly then, Indy? Had some spare time, did ya?" She finished her spiral right behind him, keeping about twenty meters between his prop and her nose. They were approaching the split in the course; she ducked behind a waterfall for a moment only to reappear a meter or so closer. "Those bikes aren't cheap either ... you Black? Red? We're all alone out here, you can tell me ..." she said in a pseudo-lusty voice.

 

[Zakalwe]

"Interpen-Dant." Trevor said in his monotonous voice. It might not have been obvious but that was a fairly good joke for him. Her psuedo-lustiness had no effect on him whatsoever, as he simply monitored every variable, making sure he was always ahead, safe, and vitally looking good.

However there was something he didn't know about the bike: Dant had been forced to give The Chain some time alone with it, and they had, in their eyes, improved it. That is that at the back of the bike was a compartment filled with a bola, two fist sized lumps of metal bound like a chain, that when a remote was activated, the bola would fly out behind, attacking the bike behind.

And there where several members of The Chain in the crowd, and several more further away, and one, who was measuring the probabilities of movements, velocity, projected patterns etc. looked for the perfect time, and then released the compartment. The bola flew out, perfectly timed.

 

[Doshii Jun]

Yoko just blinked. This guy didn't get into much.

His riding was very ... precise. Calculated. Not the kind of racer that survived every course, but Gemini Straits wasn't filled with many extremes or surprises. It was one of the first tracks built for the Star Divsion, a time when it was the biggest raceable class and technology hadn't quite caught up with velocity.

A plan was already in Yoko's head. The only unpredictable point on the Straits involved the Evil Passage, which was the left fork. The walls randomly shuttered from the right, left and bottom of the passage in whatever order the track master deemed fit.

This guy breathes little adjustments ... a big fat X in his mental math should throw him off. "Gene!" she yelled over the encrypted line.

"Yeah!" He seemed alert.

"Which way's the shutter going today?"

"I'll need to look."

"Cop -- what the fuck?"

She never heard Gene's reply. Two big metal balls attached to a chain came hurtling at her so fast from the back of the Indy's bike, she didn't even have time to swerve.

The first ball crashed into her left front fairing, putting a hole in it easily. The other, attached to the chain, slammed into her right shin. Yoko had enough time to wince at the cracking her bones made before diving down instinctively to avoid any further attack. The ball in her fairing loosened enough to follow it's partner, but it "fell" up, catching her ring finger. Even with the armor in her gloves, she could feel it smart like nothing else -- almost as much as her leg. Her grip on the throttle was immediately lessened, and her bike plummeted.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" She screamed. "FUCKING FUCKING FUCKER YOU'RE DEAD!" Yoko, fury blunting more than just her pain, rolled the throttle to the end. Her bike struggled against the loss of aerodynamics, but she'd only lost about 100 meters on him. She pulled with everything she had to get back on the same plane as him. No one who used a trick like that on her got away with it, and her YZF-R40 wasn't going to lose. "YOU HEAR ME, INDY? FUCKING DEAD!"

 

[Zakalwe]

The bike vibrated when the bola where released, and that's the first that Trevor had known about the bola. True he'd discovered a slight weight difference, but not a significant one, and had simply compensated, but he really did not know that his bike was armed. It didn't surprise him, or upset him, but it did worry him that others might think he had done it. He saw nothing wrong with it, although he did think that racing should be dictated by skill rather than something your bike had, but taking credit for it would be wrong, "That wasn't me. In that I did not know." Trevor told Yoko, over their headsets.

He had no intention of going down the left passage way. It was not that he was fearful of it, but logically he knew that he would be endangering himself, and that would be a irrational thing to do with a talented and near psychotic racer behind him. Although playing it safe with the right would take away some of the race, and the experience it held for him, it was rational, and Trevor was nothing but rational.

He pushed his back to beyond its safe speed parameters, secure in the belief that the bike could handle it for a while at least. He went down the right fork, taking advantage of his bikes superior speed while it was still useful, and using his mind to keep track over every parameter, the walls, the floor, the sky, and especially his bike and that of his pursuer.

 

[Tom]

The Chain took the hit as a signal, and put their plan into action. Underneath the Major-domo's podium, which he had insisted on, The Chain had managed to plant a considerable amount of plastic explosives, and at a flick of a switch it blew up, a directed explosion blasting the little bits of the Major-domo a very very long way into the air.

Simultaneously, four Chain snipers, who where positioned miles away and using Emrys Industry Sniper Rifles, opened fire on Black Operatives in the crowd. They'd been cataloguing these men for months, and now it was simply the case of shooting them. The high powered bullets of the lovingly called ‘over penetrator' tore straight through them, and often members of the surrounding crowd, as the snipers moved onto the next target. Meanwhile Baldwin was in the crowd, and coming up behind one Black operative when he least expected it stabbed him in the kidney with a long ornamental dagger, falling back into the crowd and looking for other faces he'd memorized. Every member of the Blacks in the crowd, and it was a fair number scouting for talent and protecting their interests was soon dead.

The podium that the Major-domo had been sitting upon was blown apart in the explosion, littering the area in high velocity wood splinters and shards of metal. The bullets, traveling as they where almost horizontal, carved through multiple civilians for every Black killed.

Screaming civilians fled the raceway, over 10,000 people stampeding wildly in all directions.

The Snipers quickly evacuated there positions, returning to the underworld through prepared escape routes. There distance from the site would make that relatively easy.

Baldwin, and the other members of the Chain that where in the crowd simply went with the flow, and where carried out of the stadium.

Those who laid injured where trampled to death under the teeming masses. The old, young and weak were mercilessly crushed as well. The cries of agony were drowned by the sound of the approaching sirens. Media vans also arrived. A live feed of the incident was patched in through channels across the planet, journalists and tabloid agents rushing to get the scoop.

Medical vehicles and helicopters from Lasep Hospital arrived, and trained personnel began to load the injured to safety, in several cases having to fight through the crowd, a task help by the fact they where wearing Dusk 1a suits.

Location: The Cat Club

"Shit..." The only words that escaped Diesel's lips as he looked down at his pager that went off. "Of all the times..." With a violent push that sent the neko on his lap into the wall with a thud and a whimper, the ID-SOL stood up and stared at the message that flashed across the device while fumbling to pull up his pants with his free hand. "Time to go."

"What has happened?â€

 

[Doshii Jun]

SET> Gemini Straits, paddocks

"Yoko! Yoko!" Gene cried through the radio. There was still no response; he growled as he pushed more tools into the small aerotruck's cargo space. The bomb had shaken the docks, thrown people everywhere. One man, bloodied and bruised, had tried to climb into the truck and run off with it. Gene politely stunned him with the Yamataian service pistol he kept in his underarm holster. He then relieved the man of his wallet and dumped him in a corner near the Red's dock. Better to leave a mugged and conscious body than one loaded and dead.

Yoko was obviously too pissed to listen to anything but her own blood boiling. Gene finished packing up the tools and went to the track's computer system. Most of the diagnostic files were deleted already; probably damaged by the bomb. He wiped everything that was local, then blasted it twice for good measure. It was a crappy machine anyway. There wasn't time to wipe the place clean -- Gene had kept his mechanic's gloves on this time, luckily. There was so much dust shaken loose from the structure's old wooden frame they'd have to douche it all anyway.

Another person -- this one a bit bigger than the last -- was dashing for the truck. He looked fine; in fact, he seemed a bit high. Gene smoothly drew the service pistol and put a stun bolt in the man's shoulder. The man slowed considerably, but did not stop. Gene put another shot into him for good measure and watched him stagger to the ground.

"Yoko," he said over his headset, "if you can hear me, get out of here now!" With that, he jumped in the aerotruck and followed his own advice.

SET> Mid-race

"Fucking lying rag of shit!" Yoko nearly broke the cable to her throttle from twisting it so hard. "Like hell you didn't know! Can't win on talent alone, so you use CHEAP SHIT LIKE THAT!" Yoko spiraled hard, her bike vibrating from the hole in its front. She wished she had something, anything to hurt him with. Hurt him bad. Take off a hand. A chunk of his shoulder. Anything that drew blood.

Yoko watched as he pulled down the Good Passage, robbing her of any quick victory. She was able to gain several meters on him in the bend to enter the passage, but once there she watched him pull away slowly, surely. He seemed to feel where the little waterspouts were, just as she did. He was good -- way too good to be in the Star Division. Close to the end of the passage, he was at least 100 meters ahead of her at probably 350 kph; there were only two minutes to the end of the first lap.

The gain she made on the sharp bend at the end of the passage closed the gap to maybe 85 meters, which was a lifetime to Yoko. She spat and screamed and shouted into the open channel, all to no avail. The pain in her leg was excrutiating; her vision started to blur once she exited the bend. She couldn't feel her right fingers. The finish line was still about one kilometer away ...

That was when Yoko saw the smoke. The fire. The damage. Gene? The anger drained out of her so fast she let go of the throttle. She realized her mistake almost instantly; she locked it at one-third and fell forward on the bike, breathing heavily as she watched the smoke come closer to her. There wouldn't be another race without Gene. If he was dead ...

"Gene?!" she yelled. It was painful to even talk. "Gene?! GENE?!" No answer. The area that was destroyed came into view. The Blacks. Whatever the fuck had happened, it had something to do with them. For the first time since she'd been hit, she checked her bike's status.

Engines are fine, no speedometers, airflow reduced 44 percent, no fucking range finders or communication ... fuckfuckfuck! Lazily, she crossed the finish line and got a grasp of what had happened. She could already see the Blacks on the scene. Sure enough that the course engine-cutoff was destroyed, she struggled with her bike enough to get it pointed toward home and let it fly. No way was she going to wait for the Blacks to find her.

 

[Zakalwe]

Trevor noticed Yoko leaving and took her from the equations, other than the chance she was going to charge back in with a dance of glory and attack him. He didn't think those where particularly high odds so he put them to one side. Using her disappearance as a blessing, although he took no joy from it, and used the opportunity to fill the last two minutes with as many pieces of advanced piloting, acrobatics almost. This was what it was all about, the race even though there was no-one he was competing against.

He finished the race but kept on moving, still racing. What did it matter to him that no-one was watching? That everyone was fleeing the area?

Dant watched cringing from the sidelines. He was doomed, the bets where off now, there was no way he'd get his money back. He was fairly, massively assigned to an eternity of torture and oblivion. When one Nepleslian man shoved into him with a "Move fatty." He snapped.

Dant leapt on the man and laid into him with everything he had, which was a surprising amount. Dant may have looked soft, but he was very very upset, and that quite easily translated into anger, and that quite easily translated into a fist to the face and a knee to the groin. Repeatedly. Eventually he picked the mans limp body up over his head and threw him into the arena with a scream.

Then he sat down calmly and watched Echilon. Well maybe the Chain would let him live, and there would probably be another race. He just might not have all his limbs for it.

 

[Zakalwe]

Trevor finished his race, one completely separate to whoever else thought of as the race with a majestic vertical ascent followed by a high speed spin, three incredibly sharp turns, and then settled the bike down.

Dant was in a little more trouble. His antics of throwing a man into the arena had attracted a group of that mans friends, whether they where his former friends or not depended on his medical state which was rather hard to determine at the moment. But in any case they'd decided that even in this chaos, or perhaps because of it, Dant should pay.

To Dants credit he was not doing too badly against the group, managing to mainly use them as human shields against each other, and keeping them off, throwing his weight around, hitting and basically looking for a weapon. After their apparent leader collapsed with a broken nose from a particularly vicious head-butt, the others seemed to be more cautious, but Dant could not keep them off for much longer.

Trevor dismounted his bike and noticed Dant was in trouble. Since Dant was rather important in securing future races, Trevor thought that it might be a good idea to keep him alive, all things considered, and so in measured tones he walked over to the group, picking up a metal crowbar that someone had left. Anyone not used to Nepleslia would have likely wondered why someone had left a Crowbar, or had one at a racing event. To a Nepleslian it was obvious. To Trevor it didn't matter, it was just another factor to count in, to analyse as he evaluated those men threatening Dant.

With his unimposing build, and unhurried pace none of the group took any real notice of Trevor, their attention concentrated on the taunting of Dant, and the testing of his defences, something helped by their encircling of him. Trevor's build was pretty much average, although not stocky or heavily built like most Nepleslians at least looked, and his face was rather plain and pale, topped with rather drab black hair, fairly uninteresting green eyes finishing the look. The way he moved was rather strange however, if you looked at it, as if every movement was calculated for the greatest efficiency, giving him an impression of ungraceful movements, which was perhaps a little unfair.

When he approached the group it was not straight on, but at an angle, giving the impression that he was not even heading towards them in the first place, just passing nearby, but at the time his course would take him closest to the group he span around, and with the crowbar in hand knocked one man down with a blow to the head, supplied with enough energy to render unconscious but not to kill. As the rest of the group began to turn, Trevor began laying about them with the crowbar, his mind calculating the positions, actions, and predicted actions of each member of the group, allowing him to hit with defiant ease and calculated power, blocking the attacks that inevitably came his way easily with his arms and legs. Throughout this all his face, now clear to see since he'd left his helmet with his bike, was completely emotionless, no smile, no frown nothing apart from his eyes darting about.

The result of this onslaught was that within a minute all six men where on the ground, in various degrees of injury stretching from unconsciousness to broken bones and moderate internal bleeding. To say that Trevor had taken them all out would be incorrect, Dant had taken advantage of the situation and a heavy piece of metal to give a thorough working over to the man who had early stated that if they sold him in the market they could pass him off as pig meat but at twice the quantity. It was that man who was actually in the worst situation.

"I won.â€