Le Melange ist Grand Prix [The Grand Prix of Melange Prt 2]
Men who for truth and honor's sake
Stand fast and suffer long.
Brave men who work while others sleep,
Who dare while others fly...
They build a nation's pillars deep
And lift them to the sky.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson, from "A Nation's Strenth"
In the beginning there was the dollar,and lo the dollar did fall like a ton of dominos bricks and land precariously at the edge of an abyss that threatened to engulf an economy that had captured the human imagination since it's conception.
Racer X knows that there was something called "NASCAR" which was the most watched American Sport in relation to "Football" (Not the game with the round ball but with a strange Ovoid shape and something called a "gridiron" You couldn't catch Manchester United on a fucking Grindiron fuck you very much-plus all that grabbing and grabassing-) and that they sold everything to the French which resulted in American consumerism meeting French dignity and creating an unholy mess.
That was how the old timers put it at least.
The NASCAR offices had been headquartered at Daytona beach for the better part of it's conception-walking past trophies and faded photographs. When CIB went global and all the other agencies joined into one massive octopus of law enforcement, the Americans elected to locate their gambling and state commission headquarters here.
It's a far cry from Las Vegas, where they were previously headquartered.
He didn't like going beyond Cosmopolis. It allowed him an easy access point by K-Harrier or Jetstream to any number of exotic locations, going inland was like going into a foreign landscape-there were still wide stretches of plains and government farmed prarie complete with what made America Famous-the purple mountains majesty...
Looking considerably different covered with ski resorts and casinos. Racer X reflects that he doesn't like doing this because there's something like nine cars for every American now. The legal driving age is lowered to fifteen and people are churned out like factory parts. It's dangerous.
The country that people thought would slow down is faster then ever.
Paul races for the Mustang Star as "sidewinder". They're all technically on the same team, different branches of the CIB and all that (especially since the CIB went global.) Racer X remembers meeting the man only once, out of costume at some function or another-it was years ago.
-----
"So you're Racer X."
His face still hurts but he has to get out and make a good impression on his fellow drivers. The Gaming Division of the CIB will have no petty pissing contests, no squabbles over territory. We are all on the same team because the bad-guys are.
This is the first time, Racer X reflects-that any agency decided to play on the same team so openly, so brazenly.
Paul's a big buff man in a tacky suit and tie who apparently was one of the few actual drivers to be recruited, "My daddy raced in NASCAR. This's in our blood-hear you might have the same sorta disease."
Racer X thinks of someone who died and shrugs helplessly, not knowing how to respond. Paul laughs-he throws back his head and laughs.
"First rule of this game kiddo. Don't let um' see you're scared. You look ready to run with your tail 'tween your legs. Didn't think you'd stoop to that." He eyeballs the walking ghost with a shake of his head, "This ain't like drivin' on a racetrack. You're playin' with a different rulebook."
Rex finds his voice-finally-finally "What rulebook is that?"
"The ole' "Anything goes as long as it's in the best interest of the country rulebook." Paul winked, "Gotta learn to be a little bit of a hardass-otherwise the other drivers are gonna run you over like a jackrabbit on a highway. Rex."
Racer X still remembers the flustered look on his face as the big man laughed before leaning close, "Did I scare you? Too damn bad. We're on the same team but the other guys ain't gonna play as nice as I do. Learn quick kid. I don't wanna have to scrape another rookie's ass off the fuckin' pavement. Don't you know what happened to the last CIB goldenboy before you?"
----
These are the words ringing in Racer X's head as he displays a thumbprint verification. Paul's office is two doors down-next to a photo of Ben Burns and Earnheart-mentor and student-standing beside the winning racecar.
Velocity has lost alot of weight and his blond hair is slowly going gray-something that throws Racer X for a loop. Never the less, the old American driver looks up and offers him a tired smile, "...If it isn't the Harbringer of Boom himself."
X flinches, "I wish you wouldn't call me that." The media thought of that name, he hated it with a passion.
"Hey, you took my advice. No one's gonna fault you for it. Wish I'd been there to see that smug Cartel SOB get his though." He unfolded the paper.
The headline blurs for half a second as Racer X mouths the words. No. Impossible
DEFECTIVE KWIK-SAVE FOAM?
The photo showed a prone Veritas. Veritas was a Cartel scumbag, a looser, unworthy of the title of "driver" but he didn't deserve-
"Two broken legs, one broken arm-you nearly crippled the guy. Shi-it. When I said y'know, drive aggressively I wasn't thinking you'd try and kill people. Guess you took one too many pages outta my book."
----
He is a mentor, one of many that the young Racecar driver turned secret agent will have in his life. He has been a mentor and it is irksome-if not annoying to find himself in this position again.
"...You can't have any compassion for these people."
The man tied to the chair struggles valiently as Sidewinder delivers another stinging backhand across the face.
Racer X (who is not yet Racer X, not quite) fights back the bile in his throat, "...He told us everything he knew."
"He's got more to tell." Sidewinder drew out a long sharp knife, "You know what the biggest difference between us and the criminals is? A sense of honor and duty. We all started in the same game-If you don't see this shithead for what he is-"
Sidewinder stepped on the man's insole. The noise was loud.
"...Then remember this. There-there but for the grace of god and everything we are fighting to protect go you."
---
"Royalton supplies the stuff."
"Royalton supplies it, builds it, puts it out in every race car-and with Veritas loosing the Block Cartel's in a prime position to pick up some very interesting bits of real estate." Sidewinder, formerly known as Paul Velocity shakes his head, "This is like the time we went into the United Arab Nations back durin' the wars with fuckin second rate Kevlar."
Two and two were coming together. Kwik save was revolutionary-developed on the battlefield it had saved countless lives and replaced airbags in cars. fall asleep at the wheel and wake up in a snug rubber coccoon-embarassed but hatched from an egg and...well...alive
Racer X grabs the paper out of his mentor's hands, "...If it's in the T180s.."
"...That's what we need to know. How many corners is Royalton cutting? Just how many soccer vans and personal vehicles are also infested with the stuff?"
"Can't we let it ride out?" Racer X shoved the paper away, pushing it back onto the desk, "...Wait for the Media Response?"
----
"You all right kid?"
His words are ringing in his head. There but for the grace of good upbringing and personal choices go you. There's no difference between us and the people we're after. You know how racing cars got it's start?
He spews vomit into the alley, shaking his head. Death up close is something he's never experienced before.
---
"...Let little Timmy and Tammy everykid get into an accident? No. Orders are down from the top. You qualified at Melange for Fuji right?"
He did, he had, but he'd been hoping to actually race versus doing battle on the gridiron of the track. Contact to Contact sport was just ridiculous.
Sidewinder handed him a slip of electronic paper, "We have a hook we can use against Royalton if we don't find another way to get at them. These guys are guilty. Remember what I said about being guilty?"
There's no difference between us and the people we're after "There but for the grace of god-"
"And all his saints and happy fuckin' angels. Company this big we're gonna need five or six hooks to drag the monster outta the water but we're gonna do it. This is a babystep. The inspector wants to talk to you when you hit Cosmopolis."
Rex is halfway out the door, "...Caught that thunderhead display too. Told you talent like that runs in the blood."
He ignores the chesire cat grin of his comrade as he walks out the door.
----
Speed Racer is too intent on tightening the cap on the engine to notice the sportscar pulling up across the street. This is the first time that Pops has been out in the garage since...well...since Rex and he wants to do everything he can to encourage this sort of behavior.
He catches the sportscar in the rearview mirror as he rises to wipe the grime off the window. 98' Royalton Lynx. Sweet Ride.
It speeds away before he can get another look. Funny, it was almost like the car was watching him...
Behind the wheel Rex Racer goes over what he's seen and heard. There but for the grace of upbringing and personal choices go you.
Personal Choices. Choices like what to do if it were speed in the hands of the enemy. His mother, his father.
----
No defective Kwik-Save. For the millionth time since he became a Secret Agent Racer X utters the phrase that has given him meaning through his career. Sit back, sit back and picture it being Speed
His brother with his legs broken screaming in pain. His brother doing the drugs that even now flooded the street, his brother in a flaming wreck as some cartel junkie diong what his boss told him to do speeds away to Victory lane-
His hand clenches into a fist as the lights of Cosmopolis brighten ahead of him.
Stand fast and suffer long.
Brave men who work while others sleep,
Who dare while others fly...
They build a nation's pillars deep
And lift them to the sky.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson, from "A Nation's Strenth"
In the beginning there was the dollar,and lo the dollar did fall like a ton of dominos bricks and land precariously at the edge of an abyss that threatened to engulf an economy that had captured the human imagination since it's conception.
Racer X knows that there was something called "NASCAR" which was the most watched American Sport in relation to "Football" (Not the game with the round ball but with a strange Ovoid shape and something called a "gridiron" You couldn't catch Manchester United on a fucking Grindiron fuck you very much-plus all that grabbing and grabassing-) and that they sold everything to the French which resulted in American consumerism meeting French dignity and creating an unholy mess.
That was how the old timers put it at least.
The NASCAR offices had been headquartered at Daytona beach for the better part of it's conception-walking past trophies and faded photographs. When CIB went global and all the other agencies joined into one massive octopus of law enforcement, the Americans elected to locate their gambling and state commission headquarters here.
It's a far cry from Las Vegas, where they were previously headquartered.
He didn't like going beyond Cosmopolis. It allowed him an easy access point by K-Harrier or Jetstream to any number of exotic locations, going inland was like going into a foreign landscape-there were still wide stretches of plains and government farmed prarie complete with what made America Famous-the purple mountains majesty...
Looking considerably different covered with ski resorts and casinos. Racer X reflects that he doesn't like doing this because there's something like nine cars for every American now. The legal driving age is lowered to fifteen and people are churned out like factory parts. It's dangerous.
The country that people thought would slow down is faster then ever.
Paul races for the Mustang Star as "sidewinder". They're all technically on the same team, different branches of the CIB and all that (especially since the CIB went global.) Racer X remembers meeting the man only once, out of costume at some function or another-it was years ago.
-----
"So you're Racer X."
His face still hurts but he has to get out and make a good impression on his fellow drivers. The Gaming Division of the CIB will have no petty pissing contests, no squabbles over territory. We are all on the same team because the bad-guys are.
This is the first time, Racer X reflects-that any agency decided to play on the same team so openly, so brazenly.
Paul's a big buff man in a tacky suit and tie who apparently was one of the few actual drivers to be recruited, "My daddy raced in NASCAR. This's in our blood-hear you might have the same sorta disease."
Racer X thinks of someone who died and shrugs helplessly, not knowing how to respond. Paul laughs-he throws back his head and laughs.
"First rule of this game kiddo. Don't let um' see you're scared. You look ready to run with your tail 'tween your legs. Didn't think you'd stoop to that." He eyeballs the walking ghost with a shake of his head, "This ain't like drivin' on a racetrack. You're playin' with a different rulebook."
Rex finds his voice-finally-finally "What rulebook is that?"
"The ole' "Anything goes as long as it's in the best interest of the country rulebook." Paul winked, "Gotta learn to be a little bit of a hardass-otherwise the other drivers are gonna run you over like a jackrabbit on a highway. Rex."
Racer X still remembers the flustered look on his face as the big man laughed before leaning close, "Did I scare you? Too damn bad. We're on the same team but the other guys ain't gonna play as nice as I do. Learn quick kid. I don't wanna have to scrape another rookie's ass off the fuckin' pavement. Don't you know what happened to the last CIB goldenboy before you?"
----
These are the words ringing in Racer X's head as he displays a thumbprint verification. Paul's office is two doors down-next to a photo of Ben Burns and Earnheart-mentor and student-standing beside the winning racecar.
Velocity has lost alot of weight and his blond hair is slowly going gray-something that throws Racer X for a loop. Never the less, the old American driver looks up and offers him a tired smile, "...If it isn't the Harbringer of Boom himself."
X flinches, "I wish you wouldn't call me that." The media thought of that name, he hated it with a passion.
"Hey, you took my advice. No one's gonna fault you for it. Wish I'd been there to see that smug Cartel SOB get his though." He unfolded the paper.
The headline blurs for half a second as Racer X mouths the words. No. Impossible
DEFECTIVE KWIK-SAVE FOAM?
The photo showed a prone Veritas. Veritas was a Cartel scumbag, a looser, unworthy of the title of "driver" but he didn't deserve-
"Two broken legs, one broken arm-you nearly crippled the guy. Shi-it. When I said y'know, drive aggressively I wasn't thinking you'd try and kill people. Guess you took one too many pages outta my book."
----
He is a mentor, one of many that the young Racecar driver turned secret agent will have in his life. He has been a mentor and it is irksome-if not annoying to find himself in this position again.
"...You can't have any compassion for these people."
The man tied to the chair struggles valiently as Sidewinder delivers another stinging backhand across the face.
Racer X (who is not yet Racer X, not quite) fights back the bile in his throat, "...He told us everything he knew."
"He's got more to tell." Sidewinder drew out a long sharp knife, "You know what the biggest difference between us and the criminals is? A sense of honor and duty. We all started in the same game-If you don't see this shithead for what he is-"
Sidewinder stepped on the man's insole. The noise was loud.
"...Then remember this. There-there but for the grace of god and everything we are fighting to protect go you."
---
"Royalton supplies the stuff."
"Royalton supplies it, builds it, puts it out in every race car-and with Veritas loosing the Block Cartel's in a prime position to pick up some very interesting bits of real estate." Sidewinder, formerly known as Paul Velocity shakes his head, "This is like the time we went into the United Arab Nations back durin' the wars with fuckin second rate Kevlar."
Two and two were coming together. Kwik save was revolutionary-developed on the battlefield it had saved countless lives and replaced airbags in cars. fall asleep at the wheel and wake up in a snug rubber coccoon-embarassed but hatched from an egg and...well...alive
Racer X grabs the paper out of his mentor's hands, "...If it's in the T180s.."
"...That's what we need to know. How many corners is Royalton cutting? Just how many soccer vans and personal vehicles are also infested with the stuff?"
"Can't we let it ride out?" Racer X shoved the paper away, pushing it back onto the desk, "...Wait for the Media Response?"
----
"You all right kid?"
His words are ringing in his head. There but for the grace of good upbringing and personal choices go you. There's no difference between us and the people we're after. You know how racing cars got it's start?
He spews vomit into the alley, shaking his head. Death up close is something he's never experienced before.
---
"...Let little Timmy and Tammy everykid get into an accident? No. Orders are down from the top. You qualified at Melange for Fuji right?"
He did, he had, but he'd been hoping to actually race versus doing battle on the gridiron of the track. Contact to Contact sport was just ridiculous.
Sidewinder handed him a slip of electronic paper, "We have a hook we can use against Royalton if we don't find another way to get at them. These guys are guilty. Remember what I said about being guilty?"
There's no difference between us and the people we're after "There but for the grace of god-"
"And all his saints and happy fuckin' angels. Company this big we're gonna need five or six hooks to drag the monster outta the water but we're gonna do it. This is a babystep. The inspector wants to talk to you when you hit Cosmopolis."
Rex is halfway out the door, "...Caught that thunderhead display too. Told you talent like that runs in the blood."
He ignores the chesire cat grin of his comrade as he walks out the door.
----
Speed Racer is too intent on tightening the cap on the engine to notice the sportscar pulling up across the street. This is the first time that Pops has been out in the garage since...well...since Rex and he wants to do everything he can to encourage this sort of behavior.
He catches the sportscar in the rearview mirror as he rises to wipe the grime off the window. 98' Royalton Lynx. Sweet Ride.
It speeds away before he can get another look. Funny, it was almost like the car was watching him...
Behind the wheel Rex Racer goes over what he's seen and heard. There but for the grace of upbringing and personal choices go you.
Personal Choices. Choices like what to do if it were speed in the hands of the enemy. His mother, his father.
----
No defective Kwik-Save. For the millionth time since he became a Secret Agent Racer X utters the phrase that has given him meaning through his career. Sit back, sit back and picture it being Speed
His brother with his legs broken screaming in pain. His brother doing the drugs that even now flooded the street, his brother in a flaming wreck as some cartel junkie diong what his boss told him to do speeds away to Victory lane-
His hand clenches into a fist as the lights of Cosmopolis brighten ahead of him.