MotoSlaughter

The Death Rig tore down the main drag of Smash Town at 115 miles per hour thanks to some recently added NOS injectors. Danny Guns Montreal held tight to the steering wheel, feeling the worn leather start to slip out of his fingers. There were deep ruts in the asphalt of Bloodbath Boulevard; it was a popular road to hit max speed, and with the multitude of tire types plus the treads of the tank-based vehicles, the tracks had become a favorite way of maintaining course even when bodies were pinging off the cattle guards.

Danny shifted down into sixth gear to get the Death Rig’s RPMs up. He was headed towards the intersection with Laceration Lane and there were always plenty of mobs there just waiting to be slaughtered. Bent wipers stuttered across the cracked glass of his windshield, barely removing enough blood and bio-matter for him to see theoncoming crowd.

At a hundred yards, he flipped a switch on the dashboard that electrified the cattle guard on the front bumper. Blue-white lightning shot out in front of the car, seeking out a path to ground. At fifty yards, he stomped on the rubber switch between the clutch and the brake, activating the four heavy duty springs beneath the car’s chassis, launching the Death Rig into the air. With the distribution of weight and added force to the rear springs, Danny was able to get a favorable angle of attack, looking down into the crowd.

A moment before impact, he pulled a lever near his blinker to activate the Death Rig’s mandibles. Rusted blades unfolded from the car’s grill, pushing through the cattle guard before they extended out to the side, making the Rig look like a giant scorpion. As the blades tasted the blood of the first pedestrian, they snapped shut, cutting down eight pedos in one swoop. The electric prod took another six, while the Rig itself landed cleanly on four of them.

Tearing through the crowd, Danny watched the counter in the lower left of his windshield bump up to 257. A timer next to it showed 1:32 remaining. If he could double his score before it ran out, he’d set a new record for Bloodbath Blvd.

The Death Rig’s V-10 engine growled, sounding more like a snarling wolf than a man-made machine. Launching into the air to pounce on the crowd had taken the car out of the rut, but with a slight pull on the steering wheel, Danny found the groove again. He shifted down into fifth and gunned the engine, sending the RPMs into the red. Up to sixth. Up to seventh.

Vibrations tore through the car as the speedometer topped 130 miles per hour. The odd mob pinged off the bumpers and even the mandibles scored another hit as Danny noticed a small grouping. As time wore down, he considered breaking free of the ruts to cut a wider path through the street. After all, there were plenty of mobs standing on...