Post by Blake Worship on Apr 6, 2009 19:32:00 GMT -5
Sleek...
Wide-frame, low center of gravity...
More horsepower than a herd of wild stallions...
Jet-black, with a steel-blue racing stripe down the middle and on the sides...
Worship's favorite car...
Better than any Cadillac Escalade or CTS...
For those days when he thought fuck passengers, fuck speed limits, and fuck every hater living in the City of Angels watching him racing down Sunset Blvd...
Only today... if only just for today...
He wished his baby wasn't capable of going 0-60mph in 2 seconds...
It was all a blur. Before he could take time to think Blake was crouching down in a tiger stance before leaping straight up into the air to dodge his own car. The hood grazes past the toes of his shoes as it goes by, causing him to flip in the air. Worship does a somersault and lands flat on his back hard in the driveway as his car crashes through the wrought-iron gate and into the patio table and chairs in his large sideyard.
Blake lays there for a moment, stunned, then sits up slowly on one hand, holding his head with the other. He winces, pulling his hand away from the back of his head to reveal blood in the faint light of the suburbian sunset. He turns towards the house with a dazed look as he sees his son Sean running towards him screaming "Daddy!", his wife Samantha grabbing from behind to stop him, though she wanted just as badly to rush towards him screaming as her son did.
Sammy: Oh my God--baby what just happened?!
Sean: DADDY!
Worship: Go back inside...
Sammy: Tell me what's going on!
Sammy's hollered pleas are nearly drowned out completely by the sound of a revving engine blaring from the sideyard of the Worship residence.
Worship: I SAID GO BACK INSIDE!!!
Sean: NO! DAAAAADDYYYYYYY!!!
The cries of his usually playful young son are the last fading sounds he hears as Samantha drags him and herself painfully back into the house and shuts the door. Worship rises slowly to his feet and walks to the end of his driveway near the street before turning to face his car. The black-and-blue speed demon had bulldozed through half the outside furniture in his sideyard before turning around in his backyard, and was now beaming its custom red halogen lights straight into his eyes...
BLAAAKE!!!
The front door is closed again before he can turn to see his wife's face, but in the air he spots a seemingly empty black duffel bag soaring unreasonably fast through the air, landing by his feet with a clinking thud. Worship lifts the bag into his hands and smirks grimly as his car revs its intentions louder with each passing moment.
Worship looks up at his now possessed car. Taken over by the mind, body and soul of a mere adolescent, hell-bent on utterly exterminating him for a multitude of reasons, the majority of which are beyond his understanding. To Blake, Jonny Corrigan was just a deranged and confused soul, tormented by twisted ideas of what it means to be a genuine human being... designed, devised and defined by his sanity-depleting past... but now, behind that wheel, Corrigan was a bonafide threat to his life, and this was no longer a sick misunderstood game, but a literal real-life fight to the death...
With a grinding and screeching of pavement and a cloud of smoke, the car is off. Worship's eyes sizzle an electric blue before burning a sinister neon red to match his glaring headlights, whipping away the duffel bag to reveal his massive titanium Crossbat. Worship releases chilling battle roar before slinging the bat sideways straight at the car's windshield, barely managing to smirk at the sight of it crashing through his car before sudden impact--and then... nothing...
Sometime Later...
Paramedic: [bursting through ER doors] We've got two newcomers in, people!
Doctor: [rushing up] What do we got?
Paramedic: No identification on either of them yet. We Mr. Skinny Jeans here, Caucasian male, late teens to very early twenties. Lookin' at a massive concussion likely due to major blunt force trauma to the face, as well as a sprained neck and wrists, a dislocated shoulder and one broken rib, was found crashed into a parked car across the street from where the residence took place.
Doctor: Yeesh. Kid's face looks like he got hit with a meat tenderizer...
Paramedic: He was also found with large metal oddly cross-shaped bat laying with him, which right now we're guessing was thrown through the car's windshield.
Doctor: Good God... and what about American Gladiator over here?
Paramedic: African-American male, about mid-twenties. Major concussion, cracked skull, severly cracked forearm, two--possibly three cracked ribs and a hairline fracture in the left tibia. We believe he was hit by the car the other one was driving.
Doctor: And that's all he got?! That's incredible!
Paramedic: I know, freaky right? The guy IS built like an Adonis, but he really should've broken something. I mean, he got hit by a friggin' Lambo, going 75mph...
Doctor: Either he's extremely blessed or he now owes the devil a favor, or he's just very lucky... How long before we can get some identification?
Paramedic: Can't say. The psycho in the tight jeans had no ID, and we're waiting for the police to get a statement from the gladiator's wife. She was crying too hysterically to say anything... all they got so far is the license plate on the car, DEMIGOD.
Doctor: Feel like I've heard that somewhere... anyway, let's get to work on these two. With any luck we'll have them both up, walking and talking in no time...
[shadow=gray,left,300]Fade to black...[/shadow]