Unbalanced...

"U-" Rebecca starts to speak into the microphone inside the car but can't help but burst into another fit of laughter, "U-Use tongue!"

Ori and Sasha just watch from their own seats as Rebecca forces these bandits to kiss, the two naked men uncomfortably shoving their tongues into each other's mouths...

"'Becca, this wasn't what I meant when I said we should go for a drive..." Ori mutters, rubbing his forehead in exasperation.

"Oh come on! Can you honestly tell me this is not funny!?" she questions, pointing a finger at the men as they continue to make out. They stop for a second but Rebecca turns the microphone on again, "More!" she emphasizes it by revving up the machine guns...

"Killing them's fine but this... This is worse than killing a guy." Ori mutters before looking to Sasha, "I'm right, right?"

Sasha shrugs, and he only now notices the glow in her eyes. "Are you recording this...?" he squeaks, not believing that both of his companions were such perverts.

"It's going on the net, I'm hoping to make some Eddies off of it. I'm not completely perverse." she retorts, continuing to record.

"Okay, now suck him off!" Rebecca orders as one of the men turn and vomit onto the floor. That seemed to be the limit however as one of the men reach for his discarded weapon, causing the automated weapons to open fire on both of them, turning them to red mist.

"You got it outta your system now? 'Cuz I wanna keep limit testing this thing." Ori asks as Rebecca lets out a satisfied sigh.

"What's there to test? It kills good, that's all we need to know."

"I wanna see if I can drift it..." Ori admits.

--------------

It's a couple days later and the qualifier finally rolls around, around forty to fifty cars of a variety of makes and modifications were already lined up on the road behind spraypainted marks. Hundreds of people were gathered along the sidewalks, behind the barriers that'd been erected for this event only.

A dozen or so drones hovered over everyone's head, designed to follow the cars as the event progressed, allowing everyone to follow things even from the start line.

The atmosphere was boisterous despite the impending death race, the racers were either happily covering with their competitors, getting hyped up on whatever chems they had, or simply drinking as if they weren't about to join one of the most dangerous driving events this century.

One man with short black hair and a colourful flight with harness grins as he leans against his car, regaling some fangirls about his past races.

"S-Sampson! Do you think you're going to win this one as well?" one chirps, attempting to be flirtatious despite her apparent excitement.

"You think I won't? Look around, most of these junkies can't even start their cars, let alone race them." he steps forwards and stands over the girl, "Why don't you and me celebrate my win later? My place?"

"R-really-!?" she blushes heavily.

"Don't bother with him, he's probably got enough STIs to rust chrome." someone snickers as they step out of their vehicle, a large heavily armoured black truck with a pink backpack strapped to its front.

Sampson just snorts in response at the large pink-haired man, "Dean, nice to see you again, speaking of STIs though, how's your boyfriend?"

"Fuck off, Peter." Claire Russel growls as she steps out of the passenger seat, flipping him the bird.

Sampson holds his hands up defensively, "What? My bad, figured you would've changed back by now. Hey Dean, is it weird that she might've had a bigger cock than you?"

"Shut your mouth, or you'll see more of us in the race." Dean warns with a glare, making a zipping motion with his fingers.

Again Sampson snorts, "Through my rear mirror maybe, if you're lucky. Then again, with this competition, it might just turn into a one-on-one." he turns to his gunner, "Whaddya think of the odds, Keith?"

The man wearing kevlar clothes from head to toe just shrugs his shoulders, "I dunno, doesn't look good to me..." he gestures behind them all at the parting crowd which was making way for a huge vehicle.

"What in the god damn...?" Dean utters, sunglasses falling off of his face as he stares in shock.

"They can't be serious." Claire adds breathlessly.

The large tank-like vehicle stops at the very back of the other cars, unable to fit into any official space simply due to how wide it is. The doors open wing wards and three people step out and begin surveying the competition.

"I was expecting... More..." a stark-white-skinned girl remarks, a huge shotgun slung over her shoulder.

"This is the qualifier, maybe the experienced drivers will show up in the finals?" a lithe woman with short black hair, blue eyes, whisker-like marks on her face, and a fashionable pink outfit over a tight Netrunner suit, questions with a tilt of her head.

The sole man steps between them, average height but built like a brick-shit house that was easily visible through his brown synth-leather jacket and 'I <3 Samurai' shirt underneath it. His short black hair and completely unscratched face would have made him seem older if it weren't for the slightly unkempt patches of teenage fluff on his face. "Some of these guys look like they could put up a fight...?"

"Yeah, if we raced them on foot." the pale girl snickers, drawing glares from other racers.

"Hey! Surely there's a rule against bringing military-strength shit!?" Sampson exclaims as he pushes past the fangirls and walks over, pointing an accusatory finger at the trio, "It was bad enough with the Russel's goddamn fortress on wheels, but this is really taking the piss!" he gesticulates wildly at the tank.

"Fuck you Sampson, we traded armour for speed, but we're nowhere clear to this thing!" Claire counters with a scowl.

"I think we're all getting off on the wrong foot. Why don't we get to know each other before we start shooting? I'm Ori by the way." he holds out a 'friendly' hand.