Gimps in Cars

[Basil]

Remember WW3? No? Anyway, Karc and I got bored and decided to start a Mad Max style RPG. Posts don't have to be long, and nothing is serious.

Character name: The Tourist.

Vehicle: Dirty grey (once white) Lada Niva decked out with a dead wombat chained to the front bumper and spiky bits on the doors.

A distant cloud of dust churned towards the tiny fortified Outback pub, and a few minutes later, a filthy car with what appeared to be a dead animal chained to the bumper skidded to a halt in front of the pub's entrance. The pub's owner, a bald man with a serious case of fatness, watched the owner of the car with suspicious eyes through a hole in the heavy steel door. The owner of said car lowered his pair of filthy sunglasses and hailed whoever was sitting behind the door of the pub.

"Oi! Got any beer?"

[Karcentric]

Character: Chain

Vehicle: Matte black 1981 Pontiac Trans Am, with boadicea spikes on wheels and spikes welded to the front of car, and scythe blades sticking out of the back of the car.

Driving down the deserted highway Chain spotted what looked like a wreck ahead. Slowing down from his 150kph he saw two bikers picking through the remains. As they saw him they ran for their bikes, Chain dropped a gear and floored the loud pedal hurtling at breakneck speed towards the two bikers.

Just as the first reached his bike Chain slammed into the man impaling him into the front of his car, however he missed the second biker. Skidding to a stop and stepping out of his car Chain watched the second biker disappear into the horizon.

"Fuck him." he muttered digging through the pockets of the man still impaled to the front of his car find nearly $500.

Getting back in his car he sped away looking for the nearst town.

[Basil]

"Beer?", said the barman from behind his door, "what kind?"

The Tourist stared at the door for a moment. What kind of beer? What on earth was that bastard on about?

"Well I dunno. Beer?"

"-We have horse beer", said the barman.

"-Horse beer?"

"-Yeah, courtesy of Polly the Pony". The Tourist looked to the side of the pub and saw a small enclosure with a skeletal, mangey horse eating out of a trough. A bucket labelled 'beer' was placed behind it and already contained a goodly amount of yellow liquid.

"-Eeeehh...I think I'll give the beer a miss. Anything else I can drink?"

"-Well, we do have moonshine made of old tyres and potatos", said the publican, sounding slightly chagrined by the fact his horse beer had been turned down.

"-That'll do", said the Tourist. The heavy door was unlocked and opened, enabling the Tourist to step into the fortified pub's odorous interior. He was greeted by a greasy-looking old witch mumbling about Pepsi-Cola and a couple of midgets drinking 'horse beer'.

After aknowledging these denizens with a nod, the tourist sat down at a table and drank the moonshine the publican gave him. It evidently tasted foul, and would probably kill a lesser man, but the Tourist was no lesser man. He was a tourist.

[Karcentric]

Driving for sometime Chain finally caught up with the other biker, who had gathered reinforcements, spying their dead comrade dragging along the front of his car they surround his car shouting threats at him smiling and waving at the bikers Chain continued driving speeding up and slowing down, taunting the bikers.

One of them swung a short axe denting the front fender of his car. Chain saw red, ripping the handbrake on and pulling the wheel hard to the left, arcing the car in a 180 degree turning knocking half of the bikers off their bike sprawling all over the road. Flooring the throttle his Boadicea spikes made short work of the remaining bikers. Stopping the car he grabbed the body of the man who had struck his car dragging the wimping man to his car chaining him to the back of his car. The man's pleads fell on deaf ears as Chain continued his search looking for a drink.

[Διμι]

Character: Unknown

Vehicle: Attractor Mechos


The asphalt cracked underneath as a massive set of two solid metal back wheels carrying forty tons of mechos crushed over it at nearly 120 kilometers per hour, throwing bits of destroyed roadway and dust into the air behind them. A massive three ton rotating blade hovered before the vehicle, slicing in half an unfortunate elephant crossing the road before the animal was pulled under the front wheels, emerging in a churned, sloppy red mess out from under the back axle. The machine continued on, as if nothing had happened.

A thin pillar of smoke rose up ahead, and the massive contraption began to brake, slowing coming to a halt. The metal front wheel of the Attractor rolled over a spiked up wreck of a bike, crushing it well into the ground in a fine metallic paste. Something had occurred here earlier. Several burning remains littered the road near another burning car, and skid marks were clearly visible on the ground - one of a small car, another of a second bike. Something had occurred here.

Curiously enough, no door on the five meter tall mechos opened to reveal the driver. The circular blade lowered, and the vehicle started forward, slamming the burning wreck out of its way as if it were no more than a feather. Slowly, the machine accelerated, continuing its path down the road.

---

The machine had plowed on down the roads and off them for many years, and was almost universally avoided by all drivers alike. None had ever even seen it stop to reveal a glimpse of its driver, and none ever managed to stop it to find out.

The engine never seemed to give out from a need to refuel, and so, the others had avoided it, outrunning it, or, if they couldn't, getting run over.

The Attractor sped on.

[Basil]

Seven goblets of tyre and spud liquor later, the Tourist was feeling quite happy, and had engaged the bartender in a conversation regarding monkeys when something terrible happened. The ground shook like a herd of stampeding giant wombats were charging the pub, and the greasy old lady screamed a long, banshee-like shriek of death, murder and Pepsi-Cola.

The Tourist's mouth dropped open as the pub suddenly got brutally shredded into rusting, asbestos-filled trash by an enormous circular saw.

"Wells shit", said the Tourist, stumbling off his bar stool and racing towards the door, which was now the only thing standing. Opening and slamming the heavy door behind him, the Tourist lurched towards his Lada.

"He better not be nicking my car!", said the Tourist. Thankfully, the oversized tractor did not seem interested in nicking any vehicles, only crushing and mangling the occupants of the now annihilated drinking establishment. Polly the Pony suddenly found herself free as the chain holding her back was sectioned by the mechanical juggernaut. Polly neighed and made a run for it, but this bid for freedom was cut short when the Tourist ran her over and proceeded to tie her corpse to his car's roof.

After murdering Polly and hastily getting back into his old banger, the Tourist sped off through the flat desert scrub, leaving the doom tractor behind.

"Strewth!", said the Tourist, drunkenly swerving to avoid the rusted remains of a three-wheeled van. "Fuckin' FedEx drivers!"

[Διμι]

Character: Russische Schweine (name given to him by his adoptive German parents - he still doesn't know what it means)

Vehicle: 'T-34' UAZ 469 with lifted suspension, BOGGER tires, welded steel bumpers, a winch, tubular engine air supply and underside shields with Red Star and T-34 decals. Rear seats converted into storage area for a HUGE arsenal of weapons. As pictured (without the bumpers):



Russische slouched behind the wheel of his car, hidden in the roadside undergrowth, half-asleep. A sudden rumbling shook him from his slumber. Lifting his head, he could just barely behold the massive machine as it rumbled by at well over the safety limit.

The hunter's eyes shone. It wasn't every day that he had the opportunity to bag prey of this size! Russische gunned the T-34's engines, and the UAZ jeep burst out of the undergrowth and onto the battered road. He floored the pedal, and the vehicle lurched forward, following the massive cloud of dust in the distance.

In minutes, he had caught up to it. The massive tractor was busy flattening the remains of what used to be an establishment for the less fortunate denizens of the area. The huge circular saw swung in huge arcs, decimating everything still within reach.

Russische leaned back and hit the brakes, steadying the wheel with one hand, and reaching with the other into the back of the vehicle. His grip closed over a tubular rocket launcher, and he pulled the weapon into his arms just as the jeep screeched to a stop.

The Attractor had just seemed to notice the new arrival by the time Russische had finished loading the weapon with a sizeable missile and steadying it on the frame of his door. The Russian pulled the trigger, and the rocket fired, making his car buck from the recoil and filling the cabin with acrid smoke. Russische cursed, opening all windows to vent the gas.

The projectile sailed in a smooth arc, slamming into the Attractor's side, erupting in a pillar of flame that obscured the entire remains of the once-bar and sending a shockwave that made the bulletproof panes on Russische's windows rattle. The man shielded his eyes, struggling to make out the remains of the machine in the mass of flames and smoke that now covered the area.

He felt the ground rumble again, as something massive stirred within the inferno. Russische had barely time to hit the gas and swerve out of the way as the circular saw emerged from the flames and swept through the space where his car had been seconds before. The huge tractor barreled after the UAZ, its massive metal frame covered in scorch marks and parts still flaming, but otherwise completely unharmed.

"... Suka..." Russische groaned, flooring the pedal again and speeding down the road as the lumbering craft slowly began to pick up speed behind him.

Hurtling down the road, Russische could soon make out a dingy white jeep ahead of him. A Niva! he thought, a real 21213! His foot still on the pedal, he quickly pulled up beside the second soviet contraption and waved to the second driver, a man wearing not-quite-Soviet sunglasses.

Behind them, a cloud of dust was slowly rising into the sky, growing ever closer. The Attractor was gaining.

[Basil]

"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit", swore the Tourist, glancing in the cracked rear view miror in horror. A very large explosion had occurred, followed by the apparition of a rather foreboding cloud of dust behind him. Had the doom tractor struck a petrol tank? Had it decided to chase him and turn him into minced Tourist meat?

Suddenly, a black jeep appeared next to him, and the driver waved at him. The Tourist waved back uncertainly, smiling diplomatically to avoid having a petrol bomb chucked at him for being rude. His smile quickly vanished however as he saw the familiar and very frightening shape of the doom tractor behind them.

"Oh Jesus Christ in a handbag, this ain't good!", he said, slamming his foot down on the accelerator. The Niva bucked wildly in the rocky, scrubby terrain, forcing him to swerve back onto the road, crushing a tramp as he did so.

Dusting his faded Hawaiian bucket hat off, the Tourist brought the Niva's motor up to its maximum speed: 157 km/hour. The Niva was intended to be a rugged, not too fussy car, not a high speed hot rod.

"Time to put some 'roids in this old whore!", said the Tourist before opening the glove box, revealing a small, black hole. The Tourist then proceeded to empty a bottle of cheap booze into the hole, causing a few small flames to erupt.

"Eat it up, you swine", he muttered. The hole was in fact a chute leading into an extra motor, a motor that ran off booze. The Niva roared and gained more speed, putting more distance between him and the relentless doom tractor, but the evil machine still managed to keep up.

The Tourist wound his old window down and poked his head out, shouting at the other driver in the fancy black jeep.

"D'YOU HAVE A PLAN TO SHAKE THIS FUCKER OFF?"

[Διμι]

"D'YOU HAVE A PLAN TO SHAKE THIS FUCKER OFF?" Russische heard the second driver yell over the roar of the two engines and the growing rumble of the huge tractor slowly closing the distance behind them. The Russian could now see the individual teeth of the gigantic blade as it spun, slicing through the empty air before it, eager to smash through the two cars it was chasing.

Slamming down ever harder on the gas, Russische opened the glove compartment, extracting a hand grenade and a bottle of Stolichnaya. He took a swig, pulled the pin, and tossed the grenade out of the window onto the road. The explosive blew just as the Attractor rolled over it, flames bursting out from under its frame and shrapnel flying in between its solid metal wheels. The massive machine skidded a bit, but regained its course a second later, and continued barreling after the two jeeps, now hardly twenty meters away.

Russische let out an intangible mix of Russian mat and took another swig. Unlike the grenade, the vodka was not entirely useless in this situation. The Niva's driver evidently activated some form of secondary forced engine, and now accelerated ahead of the Russian's own UAZ. Russische pushed forward, sliding into the 21213's huge slipstream, following him closely.

A rickety-looking wooden bridge overlooking a roaring river hardly ten meters below came into view just as the Attractor closed the last few meters between itself and the UAZ. The teeth of the blade grazed the rear window of the jeep, smashing it into pieces and pushing the UAZ forward.

The two jeeps flew across the bridged gap just as the massive tractor attempted to brake, realizing that the flimsy construction would never support fifty tons of metal and deadly intention. But it was too late, the Attractor skidded onto the bridge, its locked wheels throwing up sparks, flames and huge chunks of asphalt as it tried to stop. The bridge shook for a second before its support columns gave out in splintering cracks and it collapsed along with its load into the torrential waters below. The tractor, having the consistency of a solid block of steel, sank out of sight almost immediately. The rest of the bridge floated on downstream.

Russiche's car skidded to a halt. The driver door popped open and the Russian stepped out, vodka bottle in hand. He waddled over drunkenly to the edge of the gap, gazing at the rushing river below. The giant machine was nowhere to be seen.

[Karcentric]

As Chain rumbled towards a known pub he was greeted by billowing smoke and carnage. Slowly down he shouted to one of the randoms standing watching the building slowly burn to the ground.

"OI, YOU. What the fuck happened here?" He asked.

"A giant tractor came rolling into town, not 20 minutes ago and tore the building to pieces. It chased a couple of guys off that way just after." An elderly man said pointing out of town, the road seemed to be crushed, taking off in the direction the old man pointed.

Building up speed he followed the ruined road standing on the side of the road a pack of kangaroos were standing looking back and forth, with a grin he swerved towards them knocking 3 down with a sickening thud and flood of bright blood coating the front of his car.

As he came to the old bridge he slowed as the surface of the road got rougher, across the canyon two jeeps were parked one of the occupant was looking down into the canyon. Slowing to a halt he grabbed the old 357 revolver from his glove box tucking it into his belt he stepped out waving to the man who was swayying slightly while looking down.

"Whatcha looken for?" He called to the man.

[Basil]

The Tourist stumbled out of his car and did what any slightly sane man who has just escaped a giant lawnmower after drinking booze made of old tyres and spuds would do: he whooped.

After whooping and doing a small victory dance, the Tourist strolled unsteadily over to the UAZ's driver, who was looking down into the canyone below. The Tourist, being slightly afraid of heights, glanced cautiously over the edge and saw nothing but water. The doom tractor was gone.

"Watcha looken for?"

The Tourist looked up and saw another man standing on the other side of the canyon, next to a hot rod decked out with a collection of spikes and scythes.

"-Oh, we're just checking that the giant lawnmower FedEx death truck is good n' gone", said the Tourist, calling back across the canyon. He suddenly realised that as well as being drunk, he was also hungry. Unfortunately, he didn't have any food.

"Have any food?", he asked the hot rodder on the other side of the canyon, "I'd fancy a sandwich."

[Karcentric]

A second man got out of his jeep joining the first.

"-Oh, we're just checking that the giant lawnmower FedEx death truck is good n' gone" He called out adding "Have any food? I'd fancy a sandwich." He asked.

Walking back to his car Chain hefted a large lump of fresh kangaroo carcass off the front front of his car.

Offering the meat and calling out, "I haven't got any bread however."

[Διμι]

"Thank you," the Russian replied "but I prefer horse."

Walking over to the Niva, he pulled a massive carving knife from his belt and sliced off a hefty chunk of horsemeat from what was once Polly. He placed the slab in his mouth, and gulped it down whole, washing it down with another serving of the liquor. Having convinced himself that the tractor had been disposed of, he walked back over to his car and opened the rear door. He took out two gasoline canisters and set about filling his tank.

"Shit," he exclaimed as the last drops of the precious fuel dripped down "I'm almost out. Just one more tank and I'll be dead on the road. Looks like we'll have to find some more benzin."

He walked over to his car and slowly began to roll out the entire length of the winch. After baring all eight meters of steel cable, he loaded the hookhead into the same rocket launcher he had used earlier and fired it over the gap, the end of the cable landing near the traveler on the other side. The man affixed the hook to his bumper, and fired his engine, flying straight over the gap and coming to a halt hanging from the side where the Russian and the Tourist were situated. The winch on Russische's car quickly pulled the Pontiac up over the lip of the gorge to join the other two men.

---

Several miles away down the same riverbank, a circular door opened on a peculiar cottage that seemed to be set in the ground. A short, stout man, just as peculiar, emerged holding a long pipe. His hair was light and curly, and also happened to make its way down his arms and, more heavily so, between his toes.

"Oh does a hobbit fancy a pipe of Long-Bottom Leaf in the morning!" he exclaimed, sitting atop his fence and lighting the mentioned apparatus and looking out over the river.

The waters shifted, a small whirlpool formed, then a gigantic rotating blade burst from the river, followed by the rest of the Attractor. Leaving huge gouges in the muddy bank with its wheels, the hellish machine rolled out past the man and into the woods, leveling trees by the dozen with its blade as it went.

"bout time that Gandolf upgraded his ride," the man exclaimed just as jovially.

[Basil]

The Tourist walked over to the newcomer and took the slab of kangaroo meat from him, exchanging it for a bottle of booze labelled "Old Instant Death". The Sun was particularly savage at this time of day, and, considering the desert they were in, was hitting even harder. The Tourist went over to his Lada, wiped the dust off the bonnet and dumped the slab of kangaroo meat, letting it cook on the now boiling hot metal.

"Nothing like a barbecue", said the Tourist before taking a toothpick out and putting it between his teeth. "Anyway, about the petrol, there's a station not far from here...but I heard it was taken over by a bunch of feral cannibal children."

[Διμι]

"Feral cannibal children, you say?" Russische lifted an eyebrow "seems we're in luck. I remember in the good ole' days, I picked up a few parenting skills from my old folks before they passed their way."

The Russian rummaged through the massive weapon stash in the back of his car, eventually coming up with a black leather belt with very dangerous and bloodied-looking steel rhinestones and iron cross designs embedded in it. To top it off, the accessory's buckle was in the shape of a swastika. Russische hiccuped loudly. "Aye, this one here belonged to my old man. He was a great guy, except when he used to beat me with it. Told me to keep it and use it someday on children of my own. I'm sure I have a few left here and there, it's just that I can't ever seem to find them again after the first time."

He twirled the massive black strip, the rhinestones scraping across the asphalt and throwing up sparks into the air. "looks like we've hit just the occasion" he said nastily, starting the engine again.