"Put it on my tab," I told him. "I’m entering the big knockout tournament in the desert tomorrow. The purse is a quarter-million."
I tapped the dashboard screen. My rear-facing dual miniguns were locked and loaded.
The engine of my 1970 Hound-dog shrieked like a banshee as I slammed it into fourth gear. Behind me, three tons of armor-plated steel belonging to a psycho named "Bone-Crusher" was trying to turn my trunk into a modern art exhibit.
I rocketed through the gap, the heat from the explosion washing over my car.
I let Bone-Crusher get close enough to smell his burning rubber. Just as his spiked bumper was about to make contact, I pulled the lever. The miniguns roared, spitting a wall of lead directly into his grille. Smoke erupted from his hood, and he swerved hard, smashing face-first into a concrete bridge support at eighty miles per hour.
"I"Bone-Crusher almost took my bumper off. What do we have in the back?"
"Welcome, gearheads, to the Dust Bowl Knockout! Last man driving takes the cash!" The lights counted down. Red. Yellow. Green.
The next afternoon, the desert heat was melting the asphalt before the green light even flashed. Twelve of us lined up on the grid. Monster trucks with plow blades, muscle cars with shotguns welded to the roofs, and exotic imports packed with proximity mines.
"Put it on my tab," I told him. "I’m entering the big knockout tournament in the desert tomorrow. The purse is a quarter-million."
I tapped the dashboard screen. My rear-facing dual miniguns were locked and loaded.
The engine of my 1970 Hound-dog shrieked like a banshee as I slammed it into fourth gear. Behind me, three tons of armor-plated steel belonging to a psycho named "Bone-Crusher" was trying to turn my trunk into a modern art exhibit. Gas Guzzlers Extreme
I rocketed through the gap, the heat from the explosion washing over my car.
I let Bone-Crusher get close enough to smell his burning rubber. Just as his spiked bumper was about to make contact, I pulled the lever. The miniguns roared, spitting a wall of lead directly into his grille. Smoke erupted from his hood, and he swerved hard, smashing face-first into a concrete bridge support at eighty miles per hour. "Put it on my tab," I told him
"I"Bone-Crusher almost took my bumper off. What do we have in the back?"
"Welcome, gearheads, to the Dust Bowl Knockout! Last man driving takes the cash!" The lights counted down. Red. Yellow. Green. My rear-facing dual miniguns were locked and loaded
The next afternoon, the desert heat was melting the asphalt before the green light even flashed. Twelve of us lined up on the grid. Monster trucks with plow blades, muscle cars with shotguns welded to the roofs, and exotic imports packed with proximity mines.
