Sterling made one last check of her hotel room, wanting to be sure it was indeed cat proofed.

“Here is your litterbox, your water, and I’ve fed you your dinner,” she told the small hairless cat, bent over at the waist, pointing to each item she named off. The cat wound himself around his master’s legs not paying a lick of attention.

“I’ll be back around…Murry, are you even listening to me?” Sterling said as Murry the cat pushed up on his hind legs to rub his cheek on her still pointing finger. The girl sighed, “Of course your not. You’re a cat…”

She gave her cat a final rough rub for good luck and stood up from her bent over position, stretching her back a bit as she did so.

“Well…I guess I’m off…” She said, giving the room a final glance. She picked up her purse and room key, stuffing the bag behind a chest of dawars and slipping the key between the tight leather of her pants and the skin of her hip.

She was nearly out the door when her laptop, sitting on her pillow, caught her eye.

“Oh,” She mumbled, opening a link with Ralph. <<Do you want me to put you some where else?>>

<<Well, I don’t want to be stolen, if that’s what your asking,>> Responded the piece of equipment with a grump. <<And don’t forget your helmet!>>

Sterling winced at the force of his tone, but didn’t take the snip personally. She knew he was just grumpy from the length of their most recent drive and frankly she didn’t blame him at all. They had spent the whole day before and most of the night driving. After finally arriving at the hotel where they were now staying, Sterling hadn’t even bothered to change out of her riding clothes before for flopping into bed and sleeping until sunset.

The sun had been down for a good hour and, now showered and redressed, Sterling was ready for the most important part of her journey: The Brood Races.

The Brood was a prestigious underground racing circuit that put on (illegal) street races sponsored by an unknown “benefactor”. The races were serious, fierce and dangerous, with an average of 3 deaths each night (and that wasn’t counting innocent bystanders), but the winnings were more than worth the risk. Due to the increasing interest of the police, every race was held in a different city, usually in different states and no one knew where exactly it was going to be held until the day of the race, though the state in which it would take place was usually disclosed 2 to 3 days before hand by word of mouth. Three days ago the word had gone out to meet in New York which was why Sterling found herself riding for nearly 2 days non-stop across the country. She had investigated the “usual places” for further information before locating a hotel in the general area of the city where the race was approximated to be taking place. The exact start and rout of the race wouldn’t be known until just before it started. All that there was to do now was travel the city and keep an eye out for the signs.

Sterling moved Ralf next to the room’s TV and set her saddle bag on top of it before picking up her helmet and leaving the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

<<See ya, Ralf. Watch out for Murry for me!>> she called as she walked away.

His response was a noncommittal grumble.

She smirked at her computer’s obvious show of worry and slowly made her way into the parking lot to where her motorcycle waited for her. Technically it wasn’t actually her motorcycle; the custom green and blue Hayabusa belonged to her boss back in California but after a series of complicated events, involving owed money and several amateur racing rings, Sterling found herself riding the beast in The Brood Races all over the US for extra cash. It was a confusing series of events, even to her.

She approached the motorcycle and ran her hand over its side in a loving gesture. <<Hey there Dragon-Fly, you read for another race?” She asked the powerfully build machine. She could practically feel its engine growling in her mind as it responded.

<<Does the pavement burn? And don’t mess up my wax job with your oily hands. Hurry the hell up already. I want the f*** out of this place. >>

She sighed, slipped on her gloves and mounted. The engine growled heavily as she started it and pulled out of the parking lot.

<<Lets get you some fuel and me some dinner, then we’ll go find this race, ok?>>

Dragon-Fly’s excitement rattled through her mind and she sped up slightly in proxied eagerness.

<<Hell yeah!>> It roared wanting very badly to swerve through several lanes of trafic. Sterling easily reigned in his eagerness.
Sterling however, didn’t quite share the same enthusiasm. Though she had been waiting for this particular race for over two years now, now that it had come she was beginning to experience her usual feelings of reserve.

<<This isn’t just any race, Dragon-Fly. It’s the Blood Gauntlet. Don’t get too over eager.>>

The Blood Gauntlet was akin to the simi-finals of some sports. It was a series of 4 races that were considered some of the roughest, and bloodiest of all the Brood Races and not just because of the wild courses. The winnings were outrageous and the prestige it brought the winners was more than envied over. It was killed for. Many a finalist had been found murdered or worse in their hotel rooms over this competition. Money was always exchanging hands. People were always watching. Everything about this race was going to be fast paced—the adrenaline, the bets, the drugs, the money, even the deaths. To say that Sterling was nervous was an understatement. But she had come this far, and she wasn’t going to back out now.

Dragon-Fly jerked under her hands.

<<Don’t be a pussy!>> It growled, <<So you might get messed up a little, so what! Isn’t this what we’ve been riding for this whole time??>>

Sterling sighed, <<I’m not thinking about backing out. I’m just…worried, that’s all.>>

<<You always worry, meat-sack, stop it.>>

The girl rolled her eyes at the insult and pulled into a McDonald’s to grab something to eat before continuing on her way.

Slade transformed lazily in an alley about a block away from the petrol station that he'd bought his fuel from. Sitting in his car form the small device that Nigel Banks had given him clicked into life on his drivers seat [ooc - see a business proposition]. A hologram of a middle aged driver shone into view. Slade still had no idea how his company, the Kabal, had invented it. Slade had been tinkering with it but still couldn't work it out...

It had definitely had its uses, he could drive and be noticed far less now considering when he drove it looked like he had a driver! It had also allowed him to participate in the legendary brood races. Having been obsessed with vehicles from an early age it was unsurprising that Slade would know of the underground races. He had wanted to race before but hadn't been sure how they would take a car wishing to race people... now he had the perfect disguise. He never met in person, had an account that he paid from or they put the funds in and when he turned up no one took enough attention to check whether the driver was a hologram. It was perfect.

This race was closer to home tonight, inside NYC. He'd got the call a few days ago and tonight was the night. He was looking forward to it now the competition was higher. He'd almost found it boring racing the novices in the earlier races. Now there was real competition with people that really knew how to drive. Being a car must almost be an unfair advantage Slade thought fleetingly as he drove off towards the race. Almost...

>So this is the Booby Race.<

"Brood Race, dumbell."

>Whatever.< Vibe wrinkled her nose as the smell of numerous sweaty bodies wafted in their direction. >Ugh! Oughtta call it the BO Race. Don't these people know what soap is?<

Amp rolled her eyes, and continued moving through the gathering crowd.

What had begun as a night out on the town for the girls, lead to an overheard conversation about a hush-hush event, one that promised both money and chaos. Having struck two major chords with the copperheaded pair, it didn't take much sweet-talking on Vibe's part to get themselves 'invited'. She barely even had to use her charms to grab one of the guy's interest, and a gentle nudge with her hypno-song had sealed the deal.

Thus the girls found themselves mingling with this brood of machine-frenzied fanatics. An undercurrent of both excitement and dread permeated the atmosphere, and air that Amp found herself enjoying much more than her sister. To her it felt like a silken cord, stretched so tightly and held so taunt, that at any moment it could snap, taking her along for the ride.

Vibe, meanwhile, had other interests. She coyly took the arm of the youth who'd brought them. She seemed oblivious to the seedy, unkempt nature of his appearance, though quite the opposite held true.

"So, Dil, who do we see about the odds on this little game? Hmm?" Her smile dripped innocence, as did her tone.

"That'd be Mikey. Over there." Her attention was pointed toward the doorway of a building, where a man dressed in a black business suit stood, flanked by two die-cast bodyguards.

>Typical,< she thought to herself.

"Of course, you know who to bet on, don't you, Sugar?" The boy bent towards Vibe, sending a trail of stale, and cheap, cologne her way. Her eyes took on an impish glint. She leaned in really close to him, as if to kiss him.

"Why, of course I do," she replied softly. Just before he could make contact, she slipped from under his grasp, easily turned and walked away, leaving the kid struggling to keep his balance. Ultimately, he failed, and face-planted in the street.

Amp fell into step beside her sister as they approached 'Mikey'.

"Pig," she remarked softly. Vibe scoffed.

"You're just jealous I didn't have to hypnotize him."

"Hardly. That just makes him a sucker on top of it."

"Keep tellin' yourself that, sis. Keep tellin' yourself that."

Petunia wasn’t petunia today. Today Petunia was a mighty dragon watching her friends joust with large giant robotic beasts of the future that held giant humans inside them as hostages. Petunia and her friends job was to free the giant humans from the clutches of such evil creatures…. Ok what was actually going on that Petunia was in her dragon fly form and she was having her bee and wasp friends play chicken with car wind shields. Still really entertaining. All the while She was singing in her high piched buggy voice.

“I’m bringing home a baby bumble bee.”

Petunia darted straight up as a car creamed and splotted two of her stinger wielding buddies. The guy behind the wheel put on the winsh shield wipers smearing bug juice even farther.

“Wont My Mommy Be so proud of me.”

Splot, Splot.

“I’m bringing home a baby bumble Bee.”

Splot, Splot, Splot, Slpat!

“Ouch, In stung me.”

A group of five honey bees turned themselves into bee cream against the front of an SUV. The driver scrambled with the wheel, turning. The breaks squealed and lights flashed. The passenger girl looked sea sick as the SUV jumped the curb them bumped back onto the road. Wind shield wiper fluid squirted off to the side, completely missing where the bees had won their game of chicken. GO BEES! Too bad there can be no replays when you win such a game. Life sucks that way sometimes.

Well enough practice for the race. It wasn’t like Pix had a problem dodging traffic. She was of course smarter than the average dragonfly, and put that together with the natural speed, plus the swarm she would be summoning to tilt things in her favor, well…. Lets just say Pix felt confident that some money would be won under the proud Petunia Gardener name. Time to fry some bigger fish.

Ok. So now about that race. Petunia darted home, where she filled herself with left over macaroni and cheese, topped with a honey, mustard and peanut butter sandwich to be sure she’d have enough energy to create her comatose fliers. Then she prepared a bag that was light enough for one of the large dragonflies, that Hades had cloned for her, could fly. Dressing in light cloths that flowed like air across her skin, and wouldn’t wrinkle when they were wadded up and stuffed into the bag. A nice silky pair of pants, and a lime green silky shirt.

Getting into the races weren’t all that hard. No one stopped you when you were a bug. Bugs don’t count. Once inside, she buzzed to a side to turn human so she could place her bet. So… Where was she to place things again?

Smartest thing to do when looking to do something, was to follow someone who looked like they knew what they were doing. Lucky for Petunia, Pix spotted two. A pair of red heads. So she followed them to some Odiferous, individual named Mikey.

Speeding down the yellow lines in the center of the black tarmac the ash grey motor cycle swerved deftly into the confined space allotted to it as its driver hunched over and manipulated the controls; providing a burst of speed which made the engine roar and sent the machine flying between the two rapid vehicles on either side, prompting them to display their outrage for such a maneuver with a series of sharp horn blasts which were all but ignored by the leather clad motorist and only served to produce a smirk beneath his obsidian helmet as he sped away.

It had been far too long since he’d last taken to the streets like this; indeed he almost cursed himself for not taking action sooner. Driving was one of the few things he enjoyed; it refined his senses and honed his reflexes, not to mention the adrenaline rush he got each time he escaped what should have been certain death. Even flying couldn’t compare to this; in the air there were no restrictions; he always had control and could do virtually anything, whereas here, on the surface, there were a multitude of factors beyond manipulation, there were rules that had to be followed, and occasionally broken.

Switching gears the elemental slowed his pace as he shifted his weight and strayed onto a nearby exit ramp, although he still had ample time he needed to arrive at his destination early to take care of a few matters, mainly registration as he was essentially unheard of on the circuit, and this wasn’t the type of race anyone could join; the local authority was extremely interested in tonight’s events and as such the only way to join was to be known well enough so as to be above suspicion or alternatively make a lucrative “donation” to the event administrators who would then swear they’d known you for years.

The Brood Races, he’d heard of them occasionally; illegal street races with suicidal risks and outrageous payoff’s. They were the equivalent of the semifinals to the world cup and garnered attention from the entire underground sector for the races were a trial unlike any other and those who won always found their services sought after for a skilled driver was always in high demand. Victory was not easily achieved though, the competition was ruthless and there were no rules in place to protect the health of contestants, anything was fair game and as a result death was not only a possibility it was a certainty, and for one who sometimes dealt in death the brood races provided an opportune moment to inhume a particularly evasive target with no questions asked…

It didn’t take long for Sterling to get her food and Dragon-Fly’s fuel. She soon found herself driving around the city searching for some sign of the race. In the back of her mind Dragon-Fly was still nagging about the relatively slow speed they were going.

<< Settle down already. You’ll be able to fly as soon as we find the race, >> she scolded him.

He just revved his engine restlessly.

As Sterling entered a more industrial looking section of town, she felt her instincts ping. She looked around carefully and began to notice tell-tell signs that she was close. Several faded red ribbons tied along a fence line to her left, and further down, a newish poster on a phone pole of a wide-mouthed wolf and directly across the road from it on the other side of the road, a coiled snake. Sterling was able to recognize all of these as signs that she was nearing where she should be. After all, the Brood’s symbol was a coiled wolfdragon. She drove deeper into the area and slowed down as she approached two smoking men, leaning against a chainlink outside a large complex of warehouses.

“Maybe you can help me?” She asked coming to a stop and starting up the script that would let her know if she was in the right place.

The men didn’t immediately respond, which was a good sign.

“Only if you’re looking for a snake,” replied one of the men after taking a long drag.

“Try a wolf,” She responded.

The second man now spoke.

“You have a name?”

“Dragon-Fly,” she responded again, giving the name of her motorcycle, signifying that she was a racer not a spectator, otherwise she would have been expected to continue with a script.

The man smirked and nodded as he pointed to the warehouse just behind them.

“The gate’s there,” he said simply and resumed his smoking.

Sterling didn’t say anything else as she pushed off and rounded the corner just beyond where the men stood, entering a short driveway that led to the complexes’ gate. As she approached, two darkened figures appeared out of the shadows and silently opened the gate for her. She tired not to let her eyes linger, but she couldn’t help but notice the automatics strapped over their shoulders.

Somewhere to the right, where the fence narrowed against the side of one large wearhouse, Sterling caught the glint of a much smaller gate being opened and several people quietly stepping though and quickly disappearing into the building though a door she almost couldn’t see in the darkness. Apparently that was where they were letting the non-contestants enter. But that didn’t concern her.

As she pulled around the warehouse and could feel the ground vibrating under her feet. There had to be one hell of a party going on in there. She could practically see the flashing lights pulsing in time to the loud music, smell the sickly-sweet stench of drugs, alcohol and sweat, feel bodies pressing against one another in rhythmatic dance and perceive the other more raucous acts being preformed in the shadows around the edges of the room—everyone consumed by the hypnotic rhythm that completely swallowed up anything that entered that room. Sterling shuttered internally and was glad she wasn’t inside. Not that she didn’t appreciate a good party, but she simply couldn’t understand the necessity of all the chaos.

She came upon a second darkened warehouse with one of its bay doors lifted just enough that only small cars and cyclists could enter through it. That was the one unspoken condition of these races: Only the small could enter. Anything larger attracted too much attention by those who couldn’t appreciate the race for what it was (which was basically an over glorified, rowdy party, at this point in Sterlings opinion). What Sterling truly couldn’t wait for was the finals, but that was jumping the gun.

Sterling ducked as she pulled under the half lifted door and into the simi-darkness of the open warehouse. There were all sorts of vehicles inside, their drivers loitering near them. Sterling felt a fluttering in her stomach at all the beautiful machines gathered in one area. She had to restrain herself from opening connections to them all.

Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head when she caught what she though was a Lamborghini sulking in one corner. She had the sudden compulsion to go pet the pretty machine and ask it its name, but a mental thump on the head brought her back to reality.

<< Eyes ahead meat bag, your being talked to, >> Dragon-Fly said, calling her attention to the heavily tattooed man with more metal protruding from his skin than some of the vehicles had metal on their bodies. He had an open laptop in one arm.

She took off her helmet, pretending that it had obstructed her hearing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you,” she said, pushing her static-y hair out of her face.

The man gave her a wry look, grinning around several piercings in his lips, not at all concealing the way his eye roved over her body.

“I asked your name little lady,” he replied with a strange sugestiveness in his voice.

Sterling tried to look more secure than she felt as she gave him the information he needed which basically consisted of Dragon-Fly’s name and a Brood registration number.

Once finished, she made to turn away but the man stopped her.
“How old are you exactly,” he asked with a grin.

Unsure of where this was leading Sterling answered slowly, “22,”
“Ah, good, so you are legal then!” he responded with suggestive tone.

Sterling nearly tripped over Dragon-Fly as she recoiled, as if the comment its self had physically tried to grope her. The man just laughed, turning away with a wink as another participant entered the warehouse.

Sterling couldn’t get away fast enough.

~~

As Sterling walked Dragon-Fly to a far end of the warehouse to wait (hopefully alone) until the race began, she noticed two large view screens on the walls. Their volume was turned low as the warehouse wasn’t sound proofed, but they reflected scenes from inside the main warehouse and it was basically as Sterling had expected it. Flashy and Wild. Giant view screens were all over a makeshift “stage” where several high DJs pumped out music. The screens currently displayed hypnotic pictures and bight amorphous colors which, once it began, would eventually switch over to live footage from the race. The music wouldn’t slow or quiet though, and neither would the rest of the party. The only thing that would change would be the amount of money in people’s hands. Sterling couldn’t care less about the party-goers however. Her attention was attracted to the very top of the picture where a row of darkened windows sat unobtrusively.

The VIP rooms.

Those were where the ~real~ parties were, where the people who’s opinions really mattered lounged and would quietly watch the race on private view screens. These were the people who’s attention she wished to attract.

She felt a sudden swell within her and gripped Dragon-Fly’s handlebars tight enough that her knuckles whitened.

<< Hey!>> protested the motorcycle, but Sterling wasn’t paying attention.

<< I’m going to do it Dragon-Fly. I’m going to make the top 5. I have to. I just have to…>>

Slade had no trouble finding the place. To be fair if you knew what to look for it was easier than finding a fish in a barrel. He had already made the arrangements, finalised the necessary phone calls. Driving upto the supposedly discreet pair guarding the entrance he stopped 5 metres away from them. They pulled out a ragged piece of paper, Slade knew they were checking the plates. The one on the left nodded to the other and he signalled for the gate to be opened.

Normally they needed to go through with a childish game of wordplay but Slade knew how far a little money could go. All the guards knew was that a car with a certain plate would pull up, if it had the number plate let it through no questions asked. His racer alias was Carbine, whle not a name Slade normally associated himself with it was important they not use or know of his real alias or his name: for both Slade's security and his company.

Pulling through, the usual raves and dives met his senses. Slade sighed mournfully, if only he didn't have to pretend to be human. Then he could party like everybody else, not to mention get to know the other drivers. Slade felt it important to know the other competitors. He'd have to beat them after all... He drove straight through and ignoring most of the others around pulled infront of another burly man. This guy was one ugly son of a...
"Name, sucker?" The oviously tetchy man grunted while standing infront of the car bonnet.

Slade's radio bucked into life, assuming the most natural voice possible he replied "Carbine, send me to the tracks yeah?"
Slade had found that even though the hologram's lips barely moved most people never noticed when they were that far away. Especially not the dumb f*ckers who ran this place.
The burly man double-checked the name, scowled and waved him through to the left.
"Good luck precious!" he leered as Slade crunched past. Slade wouldn't wait in the docking garage, people tried to speak or banter with him and that wouldn't end well. He drove through the small holding area where the rest of the groups waited. Some of the machines in here were sick! Slade definitely felt today was going to be a good race as he moved through into the waiting and preparation entrance for the race. This was the place for quiet thought, preparaton and for the religious or scared: praying. No one would bother him here.

As expected, the door guards blocked the Twins' way before they could enter the building. As one the petite pair placed their hands on their hips and shifted weight to one foot.

"Hello? There's already one door there. Ya don't need three." Vibe glared in annoyance.

"No kids allowed," one of the men replied bluntly and dully. Amp blinked.

"And your point is....?"

"No kids allowed."

Vibe looked at Clone Number Two. "Do us all a favor. If you don't have anything useful to add, don't talk. Now move it."

Behind them, 'Mikey' watched in amusement.

"No kids allowed," Clone Number One continued to repeat. This time the Twins walked forward, until they each stood directly in front of one of the men. Their twin grins held less warmth than a glacier.

"Do us a favor, Tall Dark and Dense. Say that one more time."

Clone Number Two did the smart thing; he rolled his eyes and looked away. Clone Number One? Not so bright.

"No ki-"

Even if the girls had given him a chance to finish, he wouldn't have heard himself talk. The most he even heard of the attack was a momentary shrillness, kind of like the feedback on the microphone, and a loud POP!! After that, pain effectively became the focus of his concentration. Clone Number Two paled at his companion's scream, and dodged sideways as he fell to the ground, hands clutching his ears. In the dark it was hard to tell the color of the liquid seeping through his fingers.

The Twins' turned their frigid smiles on the standing guard.

"Now then, for you information, we're not kids." Amp fished in her clutch and pulled out an ID, probably one of the few valid ones on property. She held it up, but out of his reach. "Next time you assume someone petite is a kid-"

"-be sure you know who you're dealing with." Vibe finished the sentance, and took the ID in her own hand. "So, who is this 'Mikey' who handles the green."

"That would be me." Mikey stepped away from his perch. A smile reminiscent of Oppressor pulled at his lips. "How can I help you? Ladies."

Vibe flipped her hair over her shoulder. "That's better. We were told you handle the odds for this little get together."

"Indeed I do. Please, right this way." He motioned with his arm toward the rave inside. "Care for a drink, ladies?"

"He wishes." Amp's comment carried to Vibe's ears, but no further. The longer-haired girl's grin widened.

"Why thank you." The swept gracefully in ahead of him.

Petunia halted a decent ten feet away from the red headed duplicates of each other. Noticing a problem when the ape men at the gate seemed to only have the vocabulary of a three word fraise.

"No kids allowed,"

Well that could be problematic seeing as Petunia had never looked a day over 15 in her 23 years of life. Pix grinned inwardly though. He had ID. At the very least, she would put the men to sleep, like the way her parents put her dog to sleep, and her bugs got put to sleep. Man those pets can sleep a really long time… Yeah, yeah, yeah. Pix knew the truth about putting things to sleep, but it was better for Petunia on the outside if Pix convinced herself of other wise. You know. Crying an mourning ruined one’s completion, and salt from tears dried out one’s skin. Big waist of time.

Pix continued to be amused as she watched to see how the red headed duplicate duo took on the duo mountains of muscle. Suddenly one of the muscle men was on the ground, and, to Pix’s utter delight, bleeding from the ears. Oh they were very interesting. The two girls walked past the guards, and it was pix’s turn to get through the gate. Her and her 4 foot, plus what ever her high heals added to her height, self.

So the scenario repeated it’s self. Petunia stepped up to the two guards. Only being addressed by one this time because the other was still on the floor holding his ears, with the dark stuff still seeping through his fingers. Yummy.

The guard that was left still standing opened his mouth and said. "No kids allowed,"

Petunia leaned closer to the man, Staring up at him, and he stared at her, with his eyes widened. “Excuse me Mr. But after what happened to your friend, without those two girls lifting a finger, do you really want to try me and find out what surprises I hold in my hand?”

Two seconds later, Pix found herself marching past the gate. Mr. Big, strong, and tastes like chicken, was back to repeating the fraise "No kids allowed," and Petunia was being swallowed by the chaos that she loved. Ok about the money she had brought with her. Hadn’t she intended it a bigger wad? Ok so where had that Mikey man gone off to with the red headed duo? Petunia began trying to follow them.

Location, location, location.

If there was one true annoyance about the brood races it was that they were never confined to a single locale. The reason for this was obvious enough as even the most asinine of authorities would eventually notice habitual metallic marathons within their own trivial territories. It was therefore a nettlesome necessity that the race become an itinerant event, a peripatetic phenomenon if you will; lingering no longer than was required for the tournament to terminate or to conclude contestants celebrations.

The downside of such judicious judgment though was that the event became exceeding elusive for any callow contenders or wandering wildcards who wished to participate. Fortuitously there were ways around aggravations such as these and in the elementals case it had been a simple matter of bribery which led him to the arcane arena and the clichéd custodians tasked with obstruction those who lacked the necessary qualifications. Sadly due to the late timing of his employer Zephyr himself fell into the aforementioned category and thus upon his approach the masked merc was halted by the racers retainers who recognized neither the rider nor the vehicle.

The men themselves were nothing of note, they were the stereotypical hired muscle which came a dime a dozen in a city like this. Their attire was a darkened casual wear, designed to be unrestrictive and unobtrusive, however even the tenebrous night sky could not hide the bulges under their jackets or the purposefully tarnished firearms at their sides. Whoever was funding this event would clearly brook no interruption, either from local law enforcement or curious bystanders.

“Can we help you sir?” the first guards voice was entirely neutral and his expression betrayed neither hostility nor amity though his stance clearly implied that the elemental would get no further unless the man liked what he heard.

Remaining seated on his machine the merc’s posture did not change as he silently titled his head to the side in a gesture that could be interpreted as either puzzlement or disdain for the pair before him. “I’m here for the race” The reply was somewhat muffled by the obsidian helmet yet the elementals tone could still be discerned and it was surprisingly genial given the circumstances.

The two guards paused for a moment to see if the leather clad motorist had anything else to add, however when it was clear that he had finished the one on left shook his head while right casually handled his firearm. “I’m sorry sir but this private property, I’ll have to ask you to lea-.”[/color]

“Wolf, snake, serpent, brood… is there any other code word I’ve missed?” The merc’s initial geniality was now gone, replaced instead by a weary tone bordering on annoyance. He hated word games like these, a single code word he could understand, maybe even two but when you created an entire scripted discussion to obtain a datum of information then that was excessive. Besides if you had any sort of talent for covert work then you shouldn’t even be at the point where word games such as this were necessary. Instead information should have simply been shared on a need to know basis, which in the elementals mind, was the contestants and the contestants only. The spectators shouldn’t even know where the race was taking place and they certainly shouldn’t be having a rave in the neighboring building yet, unless his ears deceived him, that was precisely what was happening.

Zephyr sighed and shook his head, this wasn’t his problem. He just needed to get inside, find his target and wait for the race to begin. Giving the guards a cursory glare that they were both oblivious to the elemental released his grip on the handles and reached a hand slowly into the pockets of his ebony jacket before withdrawing a small handful of green notes which he tossed to the hired muscle. “Consider that an early Christmas bonus” he informed them dryly as the first thug glanced at the denominations and raised an eyebrow.

“Very kind of you sir, if you’d like to pass inside contestants vehicles are being held in the main area”[/color]

The elemental made no verbal response, instead opting to lightly rev his engine to signal the end of their brief exchange. The one guard pocketed the cash while the other held open the gate as the merc accelerated and headed towards the half open garage door which emitted the faint glow of iridescent light. Lying flat against the chassis of his bike Simon barely slid under the door and inside the unassuming construct.

‘Well now, this is different.’

Scattered throughout the warehouse were machines of every conceivable design and colour, no two vehicles were the same though the one thing they all had in common was their Lilliputian size. One would not find any ungainly four wheeled trucks in this arena, nor any high riding monstrosities, though Simon was somewhat surprised when he spotted the Lamborghini, a car like that had no place in an event such as this. It may have been aesthetically pleasing and its engine, while not the most efficient or powerful was certainly up to specs, but the whole car handled like a box on wheels. That combined with the poorly positioned mirrors and tiny back window made trying to navigate even modestly busy streets a nightmare.

Silencing the engine the elemental deftly slid off the machine and idly began to walk the bike through the veritable museum of motoring as he sought a place to park his own vehicle. Despite his initial scorn for the Lamborghini the display of vehicles here truly was impressive and were he earnestly competing Simon would have actually doubted his chances, for although his machine was custom model on which he had spared no expense it seemed the same could be said for many of the other contestants.

“Hey you, in the black fishbowl, I need a name”[/color]

Momentarily halting his wanderings Zephyr glanced over his shoulder towards the source of the loutish remark and an expression of annoyance floated over his masked features as he spotted the dark sinned individual who had sought his attention. The man was carrying a diminutive laptop in one heavily tattooed arm while the other made some type of adjustment to the silver headset atop his bald cranium as he approached the lean motorist and repeated his earlier request.

“I’m gonna need a name and your Brood registration.”[/color]

Rolling his eyes within the confines of his obsidian helmet Zephyr’s sighed once more and withdrew another roll of bills from the lining of his jacket. Tossing the not subtle bribe in the administrator’s direction Simon leaned against his ash gray motorcycle and replied in his customary bored monotone “Lets skip the paperwork, just put my name down as Wildcard.”

The bald man flicked through the noted with his one free hand before nodding to himself and quickly pocketing the roll as he shifted the portable computer in his arms. “Whatever you say pal, your gonna have to change the name though, it’s taken.”[/color]

A ghost of a grin tugged at the elementals lips as he heard this and he allowed a note of curiosity to permeate his voice as he responded. “Oh? Who by?”

The administrator didn’t even bother to turn his head as jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of a crimson sports car which brandished a vinyl of Aces and a joker card on its hood. Underneath the vehicle a pair of legs and sandal clad feet could be seen. “Him, though he spells it Wyldecard, either way the boss doesn’t like it when two racers have the same name and as that guys the favourite for tonight the boss’ll probably side with him.”[/color]

Crossing his arms over his chest Zephyr bowed his head and uttered a long contemplative sigh; things had suddenly become far more interesting. Whoever his employer was they were obviously intending to make a killing, no pun intended, at the books tonight by ensuring that the top contender didn’t finish the race. If that were the case then maybe he should place a few bets as well, generate a slight bonus for himself, that meant he’ d have to find whoever was running the books, well he did have some time to kill.

“Hey buddy, still waiting on a name here.”[/color]

Roused from his internal machinations the elemental blinked his azure eyes and tilted his head back towards the administrator whose computer screen displayed a simple prompt box asking for a name. Without bothering to answer the man the merc’s arm darted out and struck a single key on the keyboard before the administrator had a chance to pull back. “Will that do?”

Taking a second to cast a cursory glance at the single letter which now flashed on his screen the tattooed technician raised a brow speculatively before shrugging it off. “Yeah I guess.”[/color] Closing the device he maneuvered it under one arm and made to walk away, “Good luck with the race Z”[/color]

Sterling sat propped against a wall, Dragon-Fly parked in front of her, shield-like, emotionally blocking the rest of the room from her. She crouched on the floor, a map spread on the ground before her and a red marker clutched between her teeth as she plotted different theoretical paths for the race to take. While she couldn’t necessarily prepare for obstacles set up specifically for the race, she could at least get a feel for what the natural problems would look like. Her map was splashed with lines, dots and symbols known only to her as she marked back routes and potential hazards in this area of city’s layout. Her drive through the area while searching for the “starting line” had also added to her well of information. She completely tuned out the noises of the other competitors around her, deeming them irrelevant to her currant task. Here, absorbed in logistics and strategical thinking, her conscious immersed just underneath the rational, strumming waters of fine tuned machines, Sterling was in her best element. The human factor that made her so uncomfortable was removed and all that was left was pure mechanical logic. However in a human dominated society, ignoring the human factor wasn’t always advisable, as she unfortunately found out when someone(thing?) knocked into Dragon-Fly, toppling him over. Trapped against the wall, Sterling could only yelp startledly as a little over 520bls (236kg) collapsed on top of her.

<< Sterling! >> Dragon-Fly called to her. Though he wasn’t quiet heavy enough to kill her falling from a dead stop, he knew he was still large enough to injure her significantly.

In the instant Sterling had she did the one thing she could to keep herself from being crushed; she flew through her and Dragon-Fly’s connection and willed him to turn his handle bars, giving his fall a slight angle. It wouldn’t stop him from falling, or even hitting her, but at least the fall would have significantly less force.

Dragon-Fly let loose a string of mechanicaly imaginative curses as his side scrapped against the concrete flooring . He caught Sterling’s left side on his way down, though she tried to turn away from his fall, but he seemed more concerned about the condition of his paint work than his companion.
Wincing in pain and clutching her side, Sterling glanced angrily about for the source of the fall.

There wasn’t anyone there.

<< Did you see who did that? >> She asked, standing up gingerly to pick Dragon-Fly back up. She wondered who would find her threat enough to try to bump her off this early.

<< No! I was idling! I told you to keep your eyes forward, meat sack! Now look at my paint! Son of- >> Dragon-Fly griped.

Sterling simply sighed, rubbing one arm, as she maneuvered Dragon-Fly against the wall to sit in front of him. As she went back to studying her map, she didn’t go quit as deep into thought, one metaphorical eye scanning the world around her as her motorcycle continued to curse.

((OOC: I’m excited for the race to start, and I wanted to do it this post, but it just didn’t seem like the right time yet. I guess this gives everyone a chance to actually place their bets/prepare for the race/stalk their targets? XD Maybe give a signal when you are finished with your pre-race stuff? I don’t want to move ahead before everyone is ready. ^_^)

ooc - next post i can race.

ic - Slade blocked out most of his perceptual information, right now he needed calm and quiet. It had been a long time since he had felt nerves on the course and for this race they had returned on principle. He began to run through and visualise how he would deal with the upcoming situations: who to slipstream, the right times to push his engines, the right time to hit another driver, these all came into consideration and more plausible or possible notions swam through Slade's concentration as he mentally prepared for the upcoming race. The course would be awkward, city racing always came with the added dangers of crushing an innocent bystander under the wheels of your vehicle, and then there were always the cops.

There were few others in here so far, most seemed to be making frantic last minute modifications or repairs to their cars or their bikes. Slade had been using the extensive areas available in the Kabal vehicle bay to upgrade and improve his own systems. He felt satisfied that his performance levels would easily match most of the engines in the race. Announcements occasionally drifted across the preparation areas, most announcing betting odds and competitors but now more and more were counting down to the beginning of the race. It would start soon.

Slade exhaled calmingly, when the race was due to begin all the vehicles would be assembled where Slade currently rested. The big doors infront would slowly grind open and then the competitors would roll out to the official start line. Then, hopefully, all hell would break loose.

A virtual tsunami of sensory indulgement engulfed the Sonic Sisters as they entered the racing 'lounge'. According to their ride, the Brood Races offered the stereotypical hope of fame and fortune to its winners. However, it also appeared that for those not interested in the two 'F's', plenty of other options reared up to take their place. To judge from the current gathering, most of those options lacked in the morality department.

Vibe and Amp followed their host to the bar first, accepting their shockingly colored drinks, on the house. Naturally neither of them had any intention of consumption in this place; despite their demeanor, they were not that foolish. But putting on a show came easily enough, and they both giggled coyly as they were escorted to the betting booths.

"So, Ladies, what can I interest you in this evening?" Mikey looked every bit as trustworthy as a shark dressed in a tuxedo; Vibe swore his teeth were pointed. "We have some very skilled drivers tonight. Do you have a particular interest? Perhaps that young man you rode in with?"

"Hardly," Amp snorted. "If he makes it to the finish line, I'll be surprised."

"Interesting. You know, we don't usually deal in reverse wagers since, naturally....."

"There can only be one winner, but umpteen losers," Amp finished his sentence, matching the man's oil-slick tone of voice. "Naturally," Mikey grinned.

"I suppose if you were to give me a finishing number, I.... might be persuaded to reconsider."

Amp brought her drink to her mouth, tilting the liquid tantalizingly close to her lips, and held his gaze over the glass rim. A soft melody reached his ears, hidden from the rest of the room by the general din overhead, but heard quite clearly in the bookie's ears. His eyes glazed over, and his grin faded. Amp smiled.

"Sounds like a plan, Mikey dear. We'll even make it simple for ya. Hundred to one." She set the glass down and opened her clutch, pulling out two fifty dollar bills. "How much money do you see there Mikey?"

"One hundred dollars," came the monotone reply. Amp shook her head.

"No, no. Mikey, you really should get your eyes checked. This is one thousand dollars. It is, isn't it?"

"It is one thousand dollars."

"Very good. Now, take that money and put it with the rest of your funds." He complied dully. "Good! Now, write down this bet, with all of your others. Amp and Vibe, one hundred to one odds, one thousand down, on Dil Landers being the tenth one to be knocked out of the race. Ya got all that?"

"Yes."

Amp leaned back, smug satisfaction written all over her pale features. "Good boy Mikey. Now go get us another drink."

Obediently the bookie stood and turned around. In that instant the Twins swiftly stood and disappeared into the raving crowd, headed for the door. Behind them they left a confused gambling shark wondering where his prey had gone, not realizing he'd been hooked instead.

Petunia was absorbed into the chaos of the party. Sure there was money, but there was light too. Light so beautiful you had to touch it. And then there wasn’t just one source, but hundreds. Money from Mikey could wait. Petunia didn’t worry about signed agreements. Her share would come later. The light was more important. All the lights, and the surfaces they shined on thanks to glazed eyes, the glitter that Sweet and BO brought to a body, and the jewelry that sparkled around the necks of both, men, and women.

Everything flashed with the pulse of the music, just begging to be admired. The problem was that Petunia couldn’t admire every single one at once. Not by herself. Her head filled with a buzz as she grabbed a drink from the bar and let herself be swallowed up by the crowd. Shoulder to shoulder with individual that gave her disgust, and an entire picture of abstract, dancing, beauty that a life time of snap shots wouldn’t give her enough of.

Ok. So Petunia really liked light… and as she strolled through the crowd, taking in the flashes, she began to leave a trail of more light. Lightening bugs, Copies of her dear deceased pet Bob.

The fireflies went around their room on their own accord. Blinking and flashing with the beat of the music and adding to all the pretty lights. Multiplying them. Petunia walked around the crowd. Weaving her way in and out, mesmerized, before she realized she was running out of time. Pix was running out of time, and she hadn’t indulged in her drink.

Petunia shook her head. Cursing herself for loosing track of where she was. It was the light’s fault. Always the light’s fault. The perfect distraction and light didn’t know it. Petunia was supposed to be multiplying herself into a different form, and her forms were supposed to be attracted to lights. Not that lightening bugs weren’t attracted to light. But it needed to pulse to the right beat. Something petunia couldn’t change… yet.

She stood in the middle of the bouncing, dancing, croud. Running her fingers through her hair, she spun on her heal, walking straight into that pair of duplicates, that she had followed in.

Hades strolled up to the door with muscular man in tow, when he went to these areas he had a disguise that was recognized widely. Behind his back his nickname was Scarface but his actual alias was Flare, needless to say his face on this particular had a row of scars running down it. it actually had a certain attractive air about it, the scars did not lent people to be repulsed by them, quite the opposite they actually interested most people. They looked like they came out of doing something professional. He walked with an air of one who was confident of himself, even the way he walked showed that he had street smarts, it was almost as if his body language said “I grew up here, I have been a part of this for a long long time, I know the ins and outs of this place.”

The person who tailed behind him was Grit. Grit had been a guard for the Mutant Registration camps, but he had tried to save Mutants as much as possible, taking blame on himself and finally in the camp raid he had risked his life many times over to get mutants to safety. His mother, his only surviving relative had passed away the week before. The result of him helping the mutants escape was to be turned out of the military with almost no hope of ever joining again, despite his credentials. He had trained with the SAS.

Despite all that the government had refused him access to any of his mother’s possessions, he was turned out of his flat. They had frozen his accounts and threatened to court martial him if he protested in any way. He had offered to teach martial arts/ military training to any mutant in return for food and lodging and was currently waiting for people to take him up on that. He trusted mutants more than he did humans despite being one himself. So for now Hades had taken him under his wing.

Together they strolled up to the entrance where there were two guards, one looking slightly pale, there was also a pool of liquid on the floor.

“Name” growled one of the guards, he was in a bad mood after what had happened to the last guard. Hades turned one of the sides of his face to the light, “Does this qualify?” Hades growled back softly but menacingly. His face it seemed was magic.

“Ah Flare go right through please, and the other bloke…”

Hades cut him off, “He’s with me”

The guard stopped in mid sentence, looked up, “Right!” and stood aside to allow both of them in.

First thing they met after the door was the clubbers and the pounding music. Hades paused long enough to murmur to Grid “Stay close” and then he walked right into the crowd.

Hades slid through the throng of bodies like a shark through water; Grit however had bump and shoulder through them. With Grit on his tail trying his best to keep up Hades weaved past the partygoers , through this doorway and that. Till he came to a sudden stop in front of two body guards who could have passed for Olympic weight lifters.
“No one enters here” a voice that almost sounded orkish emitted in a sort of grunt was projected from one of the giants.

A voice issued from inside the room “Who is that?”
Again Hade’s scar seemed to work wonders.
“Ah Scar! Come in.”

Hades turned to Grit, “Feel free to go and get a drink, ill call you if I need you.”

Passing through the first pair of Giants, both he and the other dark person had to show ID to get through the next pair. Then Hades met with one of the hosts of the Brood. He closed the door and they started to talk business.

Grit ambled off to the bar to get a drink, he suddenly stopped for a bit looking stunned as he saw Amp and Vibe, for an instant they one of them seemed to look his way and see him, but he could not be sure, anyhow he proceeded to the bar and ordered a drink.