Flavour Story - Rutherford
“Now listen here boys. Mr Rutherford wasn’t kiddin’ around.” The voice had a distinct southern American drawl, but it was also clearly used to being listened to. It belonged to Antioch Gayle, a lean man in a cream suit that was already picking up dirt from the filthy downtown Atlanta garage.
“Hey Ant man. We told you. There’s no room on our cars for cannons or rockets. That’s not how we roll.” The drivers and mechanics for the Brotherhood team had formed a protective semicircle around their matt green vehicles, keeping themselves between the stripped out racers and the Rutherford agent with his burly minders. It was their leader Ryan who spoke up, all tattoos, spiky hair and attitude.
“An’ we told you all nice. You take our money, you run what we tell you to run. An’ we want you to show off the new rocket systems we takin’ orders on.” Antioch would not be forgetting ‘Ant man’ in a hurry.
“We’ve repainted our cars to your specs. We only use your machine guns. What more do you want from us? We fought our way up to the Gaslands big leagues with these cars. We can’t rebuild them now. We’ll lose our edge.”
Gayle shook his head slowly.
“Is there nothin’ we can do here?” he asked.
“No. Sorry.”
“Never mind. We tried.” The agent turned away, beckoning his men to follow him as he ducked out and closed the heavy metal doors behind him.
There was always another way.
* * *
The race was in full swing around the Georgia Bowl, the bombed-out remains of the domed sports stadium that had found a new lease of life as a death race speedway. They hadn’t bothered to remove most of the rubble, just built the course around the biggest bits and let evolution take its course. It was never the same route twice.
The Brotherhood’s camo green cars had edged their way into the lead, just ahead of the rusty red New World Wreckers SUVs that had come from nowhere to compete last minute with a mystery sponsor. Up on the sturdier of the gantries, safe from stray gunfire, Antioch Gayle watched the race with a radio in his hand. Eventually his minders approached, wiping oil and dust from their hands with rags. They nodded grimly.
“We got ‘em in right before the off. Just like you said.”
“Perfect! You boys go help yourselves to beers” Gayle said with a grin. He switched on the radio, and gave a couple of orders.
Out on the track, the rear sections of the New World Wreckers’ trucks blew off and revealed shiny new Rutherford Multiple Launch Rocket Systems. As the crowd roared its approval and the Brotherhood took evasive action, rockets screamed through the air in seemingly random directions and blew holes in the course, the stands and one of the nearby gates. It was certainly spectacular and the audience votes flooded in from viewers across the country.
“Knew we shoulda fitted guidance systems to the demos…” Gayle said to himself, before switching the channel on the radio. “Blow ‘em” he said.
As a second barrage was loosed off, explosions blossomed from the untouched Brotherhood cars. Flaming wrecks lifted off the ground, flipped end over end and smashed into the barriers. The reduced crowd cheered raucously as the Wreckers swept home to a completely unforeseen victory.
Well. Almost completely unforeseen Gayle thought to himself with a knowing smile. An’ y’know what, I betcha these boys remember who put them there.
“Hey Ant man. We told you. There’s no room on our cars for cannons or rockets. That’s not how we roll.” The drivers and mechanics for the Brotherhood team had formed a protective semicircle around their matt green vehicles, keeping themselves between the stripped out racers and the Rutherford agent with his burly minders. It was their leader Ryan who spoke up, all tattoos, spiky hair and attitude.
“An’ we told you all nice. You take our money, you run what we tell you to run. An’ we want you to show off the new rocket systems we takin’ orders on.” Antioch would not be forgetting ‘Ant man’ in a hurry.
“We’ve repainted our cars to your specs. We only use your machine guns. What more do you want from us? We fought our way up to the Gaslands big leagues with these cars. We can’t rebuild them now. We’ll lose our edge.”
Gayle shook his head slowly.
“Is there nothin’ we can do here?” he asked.
“No. Sorry.”
“Never mind. We tried.” The agent turned away, beckoning his men to follow him as he ducked out and closed the heavy metal doors behind him.
There was always another way.
* * *
The race was in full swing around the Georgia Bowl, the bombed-out remains of the domed sports stadium that had found a new lease of life as a death race speedway. They hadn’t bothered to remove most of the rubble, just built the course around the biggest bits and let evolution take its course. It was never the same route twice.
The Brotherhood’s camo green cars had edged their way into the lead, just ahead of the rusty red New World Wreckers SUVs that had come from nowhere to compete last minute with a mystery sponsor. Up on the sturdier of the gantries, safe from stray gunfire, Antioch Gayle watched the race with a radio in his hand. Eventually his minders approached, wiping oil and dust from their hands with rags. They nodded grimly.
“We got ‘em in right before the off. Just like you said.”
“Perfect! You boys go help yourselves to beers” Gayle said with a grin. He switched on the radio, and gave a couple of orders.
Out on the track, the rear sections of the New World Wreckers’ trucks blew off and revealed shiny new Rutherford Multiple Launch Rocket Systems. As the crowd roared its approval and the Brotherhood took evasive action, rockets screamed through the air in seemingly random directions and blew holes in the course, the stands and one of the nearby gates. It was certainly spectacular and the audience votes flooded in from viewers across the country.
“Knew we shoulda fitted guidance systems to the demos…” Gayle said to himself, before switching the channel on the radio. “Blow ‘em” he said.
As a second barrage was loosed off, explosions blossomed from the untouched Brotherhood cars. Flaming wrecks lifted off the ground, flipped end over end and smashed into the barriers. The reduced crowd cheered raucously as the Wreckers swept home to a completely unforeseen victory.
Well. Almost completely unforeseen Gayle thought to himself with a knowing smile. An’ y’know what, I betcha these boys remember who put them there.
Comments
Post a Comment