A cloud of dust and brittle asphalt rose from behind the roaring cycle, its headlight cutting through the oppressive blackness of the night. Her mane blew in the wind, its solid colour blending seamlessly with the dark sky.
You might have known me as the stunt-mare, Rainboom. You might have known me as that punk who stole candy from a drugstore long ago. You might even remember me as that quiet filly that sat in the back and doodled skulls in her history book.
None of that matters now. All you need to know is that I’m an asshole.
Call me Grim.
The sound of sirens grew dimmer, the pony on the bike spat a tooth out. Life had been rough on her, the continual appearance freshly bandaged cuts on her face served as a constant reminder.
It was only seven years since they put her underground. Things haven’t gotten much better since then.
She squinted, trying to make out the lines on the road with the aid of the dim headlight. Her breathing grew more laborious as a ramp rose out of the street. The stars became floodlights, the melancholy chirps of crickets morphed into the jolly cheer of a crowd.
“RAINBOOM! RAINBOOM! RAINBOOM!”
The crowd. The stadium. The jump.
She was on top of a bright red motorcycle, shiny chrome reflecting the bright lights like some divine object. Her hooves gripped the throttle tight, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She was on top of the world.
“Just another jump”, I said. No big deal…
The tires screeched and exhausts spat smoke. The bike shot off like a rocket, a perfect takeoff. Time slowed down as helicopters sat idle below her, five of them. So much energy. So much excitement. The crowd was pumped, almost as amped up as she was.
But there was one face in particular she cared about. A little filly on the other side, waiting for her by the ramp. The money didn’t matter, nor did the fame. No, one look at that bright smile reminded her why she did this.
Only the filly wasn’t smiling. Not when a giant hunk of metal was flying directly towards her. There was a crunch, and next thing Grim knew, she was flying head over hoof into the pavement. The wail of an ambulance and the gasp of the crowd gave her confused mind a horrifying foundation for thought.
I swear it was an accident. But that doesn't mean it didn't still happen.
She looked mournfully at the dent in her bike. It felt as if it was only yesterday she had scrubbed it clean, and yet the stain was still there. It would never leave. Guilt sank its rotting teeth into her heart, ripping the vulnerable flesh. Desperately searching for something else to distract her, the biker forced her eyes on the road sign coming up ahead.
Las Pegasus.
Maybe I can’t forget it, but I can at least fix it. That’s what he’s telling me.
Him… I won’t forget him.
What an ugly mug. Looked like some sick psychopath had stitched together body parts and had the nerve to give them life.
He spoke in a manner that made one want to tear him to pieces right then and there. She scowled just thinking about Him. Yet she couldn’t deny His offer was irresistible.
“You stir up a little chaos, survive the longest out of those freaks, and I’ll snap my fingers and grant you any stupid little wish you want. Million bits? Deal. House on the moon? Go for it. Whatever your broken little cesspool of a head can think up, I can make happen.”
Seemed like a load of shit to me, but what other options did I have? He said to meet Him in Las Pegasus. If this is some kind of sick joke, I’m not laughing. But if this is the real deal, well, heaven’s gonna have one less angel.
One less angel. Tears welled in her eyes at the thought.
He said this would be dangerous, probably even fatal. But I’m not scared - I’ve been ready to die for years now. If it means undoing that horrid mistake, I’ll crawl through the very pit of Tartarus on bloody stubs.
Grim weaved through the streets and alleys of Las Pegasus, her odd getup attracting various critical looks. It was four in the morning, but Grim couldn’t sleep if she wanted to. She had to find Him, He was somewhere in the mess of a city.
It took several trips around the freeway to find the place. A sidestreet connecting to an old baseball stadium, with a few trashy-looking types hanging around out front. They backed away nervously when her chopper rolled up to them. Grim was sick of that reaction, she wasn’t a monster.
The weight of the shotgun at her back reminded her that she was, however.
Well, what could I say? Place was a dump. Some old ballpark converted into some party house. Chain link fences around the dugouts, party lights where the floodlights should be. Brought back bad memories.
The threat of being run over was enough to part most of the crowd of drunks, druggies, and partiers long enough for Grim to search for whatever it is she was supposed to find. Some needed a little more motivation, so she clicked a button on the handlebars. The hail of lead was certainly enough to get them to shift their lazy bodies out of the way. The dugouts were a complete mess of nonsense and debauchery, she was lucky to make it to the back entrance of the park without making another dent in her bike.
A rather tough looking colt quickly approached her and tapped her on the shoulder.
“You’re here for Twisted Metal?” His voice was gruff and emotionless.
“What if I am?” She snarled.
“Then you head to the back, left gate.” With that, he had shifted back into the crowd.
Twisted Metal. Had a nice ring to it.
I’d heard of this place before… Big Blue, they called it. I thought it was just some little demolition derby ring the freaks held every so often. If they want to see some fireworks, I’ll provide.
