[Mach 2]
//Wanna know the harem list? Huh? Do ya?//
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"You are either the luckiest motherfucker around or Satan's out to give you a mean rimjob once he drags you to hell."
A groan of pain and slight annoyance came from JP's heavily bandaged body. Every limb, his arms and legs were covered in thick white casts while the rest of his body was completely covered in bandages. Only his mouth, eyes and nose were safe from the white cloth and even then just barely. JP was lucky to be alive, most of his bones were fucking reduced to dust in that crash and it was safe to say that his spirit was all but crushed.
Still, at least he had a friend by his side. That friend of course is Shelby Mustang himself. The two have known each other for a long while now, having met a few years ago on a race circuit and just sort of got off on the right foot.
Shelby's expression was all but happy, the man was annoyed, pissed off even at the tragedy that befell his pompadour-wearing friend. These kinds of accidents don't just happen. At least, they shouldn't. JP's car might not be the marvel of engineering that Shelby's was, or used to be considering it hit the scrap yard not long ago, but it was strong for its size. One of the most important parts of a race car is the wheels, and TransAm had a very strong chassis. A wheel wouldn't just fall off. Especially not when there was a loud bang that followed. It had to have been a bomb, sabotage. But there was no proof and the car was still jacked to shit, not to mention JP wasn't particularly happy with his loss.
"Dude... shut the fuck up. Shouldn't you be at the award ceremony? Second place is pretty good as far as I remember..."
But Shelby only snorted in response, clearly not letting JP let wallow in his own self-loathing, "Oh shut up bitch, you know that your car was being jacked the moment you stepped on that gas pedal."
Indeed, JP knew that he wasn't supposed to win the race, it was in his contract. He was supposed to mess around with the odds to bring the house as much fortune as possible. Still, his pride as a racer would not allow him to stay back and step on the brakes when he had so much left to give.
"Whatever, people tend to drop out, you might still be able to get in."
JP didn't allow Shelby's words to give him hope. It was true that people tended to drop out after they have qualified, freeing a spot or two for the other, more ambitious racers. Most of this had something to do with the fact that the location of REDLINE was largely decided at random.
"Meh, it depends on where they choose to hold it. My money's on Jurai," JP waved Shelby off, or at least would have if his arms weren't in casts.
The funky male sighed at his friend's dejected response before snatching the TV remote from the bedside table and turning on the small picture box. Every channel on Planet Dorothy was showing the same thing, and that was the qualification list of people for the REDLINE.
"We have quite the roster for this REDLINE! In the first spot, Cherry Boy Hunter, Sonoshee McLaren! She's taken first place in YELLOWLINE and has accepted the qualification into REDLINE! She's a new female racing star! In the second spot, Maniac On Wheels, Shelby Mustang! This man was only a hundredth of a second away from the first place! His car is never the same but always top of the line!"
Shelby snorted as the pictures of participants appeared on the screen, "Well, guess I did pretty well."
"No shit," JP sighed in resignation, he really wanted to participate in that damn race as it was held only once every 5 years.
"Hey, cheer up crew cut! They still have to announce the place it will be held!" Shelby was almost impatient to hear the name of the planet where the 8th REDLINE race will take place.
As if on cue, the name of the next location appeared on the screen and left both of the men in silence...
"ROBOWORLD HAS BEEN CHOSEN AS THIS REDLINE'S CIRCUIT!"
The two men stared at the screen as it showed a desolate, almost apocalyptic world of stone and metal. Roboworld was the home planet to humans similar to those on Earth, however, these ones possessed extensive cybernetic enhancements. Not to mention it was widely known that they had more than one war crime under their belt and a fascist-like regime.
"Well... this sucks major ass," Shelby's words weren't far off, the world was the last thing anyone wanted to visit, especially so when the announcement broadcast was interrupted by the Roboworld officials themselves.
"DEAR PEOPLE OF OUR NEBULA! WE CAN NEVER ALLOW THE REDLINE CRIMINALS TO ENTER THIS SACRED PLACE! ANY AND ALL THOSE WHO CHOOSE TO PARTICIPATE WILL BE VIEWED AS ENEMIES OF THE STATE AND DESTROYED ON SIGHT!"
This... certainly did get a reaction from people. What interested these two men though was the fact that one of the qualified racers dropped out! Just one, but this one spot might allow JP to get in if he was selected!
"Shoto-O-Jin has announced that he's withdrawing from the race! This leaves one spot open, folks! Do you know what time it is?! DEMOCRACY TIME!"
The announcers had allowed the public to make a vote, a vote that would determine the racer to fill in the blank spot. Shelby was already in, but JP wasn't for quite obvious reasons. As such, the two were practically glued to the screen when they showed the results...
1st Place: TAKUMI FUJIWARA
2nd Place: JP
They didn't even bother reading the rest. JP didn't get in, such was the gloomy and unfortunate truth. But who the fuck was Takumi Fujiwara? That wasn't important right now, what was important was that JP, unfortunately, did not manage to get in.
"There you have it, people! The White Ghost, Takumi Fujiwara takes the stage as the replacement for Shoto-O-Jin!"
With a sigh, Shelby turned off the television and threw the TV remote back onto the bedside table. Just as JP sighed dejectedly, the room to the hospital room burst open in walked a green-skinned, big-eared alien man dressed in a beige business suit. He looked like Yoda, but taller, less wrinkly and with more hair. This man was named Frisbee, like the throwing thing, but was also something akin to JP's manager/mechanic. In the man's hand was a heavy and thick metallic suitcase, arguably JP's pay for the race.
"Wassup wrinkly ass Yoda?"
"Evening to you too, gas guzzler."
It couldn't have been more obvious these two didn't get along... by getting along. It was a strange manner of acquaintanceship these two shared. They weren't friends, far from it, but they had just enough respect for each other to fuck around with words. Honestly, there was nothing for Shelby to do here but leave, Frisbee wanted to talk to JP alone.
"I'm off, bye-bye you bunch of obnoxious bastards."
"Don't trip, tutti-frutti looking ass."
But JP had one last thing to say before Shelby walked through that door, "Oi, Shelby."
The racer already had the door handle in his hand when he stopped to turn his head over his shoulder and look back at JP, "Hm?"
"Don't lose."
The male blinked behind his pink sunglasses before a wide, toothy grin spread across his lips, "I won't."
And so, Shelby shut the door to JP's hospital room behind him before briskly walking away from the hospital altogether. He needs to get his woman, get on a new ship that would take him to at least near the damn N*zi aliens and then also get a new car. As he did though, he couldn't help but think back to his bedridden friend.
Shelby was a little glad JP didn't make it to the REDLINE, not because he was afraid of losing, but because he knew that Roboworld could very well finally put an end to his danger-loving buddy. He wouldn't have that. Friends, family and lovers are some of the highest values of someone from Planet Supergrass, Shelby being no different.
Now... he can go all out. Put the pedal to the metal without any worry for his friend. Or so he had hoped...
A feral sneer found its way onto his face, his surprisingly sharp teeth showing from behind his lips...
...
...
...
"...They will be under my wheels..."