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Crossover

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Oompa

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Crossover

PostTue Dec 10, 2013 7:13 pm

He was driving along the straight, when his mirror fell off. The man in the Belgian looking car didn't need that mirror. He didn't need it at all. He was in the lead of the race, almost 4 seconds ahead, and this race wouldn't last long no more. Just four turns, a crossing and a last left turn. The falling mirror had gleamed. Sensing an offset in his zen, he searched for the source of the warning, but was drawn into a world where only Stylus is at home. In his usual brilliancy, he was unable to feel the restrictions of inertia, nor the impossibilities of intergalactic flattery. He was unable to see, even just for a brief moment in time, that he was no longer himself. The curbs were not his to take, no, the curbs had taken hím, and for that, every apex in his being gleaned an eternal, silvery glow, nailing him to the track together spinning forever inward...

Stylus destroyed the four turns, crossed the road and dove into the round right turn back towards the same crossing. Stylus completed it superbly and was nearing the crossing when he returned to this era. Off guard, he promptly started calculating his move through the oncoming traffic. From his left and gaining rapidly, seven cars in line, fighting for positions, themsélves looking ahead in anticipation.

Who of us will make it through that braking zone, unscathed? They ask themselves, completely ignoring the lapbusting God coming from the right. Matic leads the pack, and together the bus of hell storms towards the juncture. Behind Matic, the Sliders enfant terrible avec turbo, Reirom, who frequently changes his name and morphs into a pseudorom, even though the gates to race were already closed a million times for him. Reirom, a proud man with a short fuse, and an inner drive to pursue any wrongdoer accross vast wastes of carefully designed, inner track landscapes. There, in the vast wilderness, Reirom must have lost his sense of direction, which might explain why he bw. But Reirom, or Romrei, or KINGROM, is a pretty devilish driver with a lust for chaos, capable of pressing fast laps, but preferring his nature instead.

The group vibrates, some have seen Stylus and start to react. Bruno, the Showmaster V8, taps his brakes. Serif, having followed Bruno closely for so long at such a straightline speed, does not react in time and hits Bruno, creating some distance in what has now become a zipper. Cars swerving to the left and right, all trying to manage the coming Pulsar, that will blind all but the most conscious or inspirational drivers, until they have long since ventured too deep into their braking zones, and will to slide towards the sand, where they will start to drown and long for asfalt, like a diver who can see the boat, but who's acidic lungs are depleated. The drivers will strangle one another, or bump a poor soul deeper into the sand, but mostly it is just a blink-of-the-eye moment, the preparation-date for which has long since expired. Basically, it all depends on who gets grip first.

At these lines and speeds, Stylus will miss Matic and Reirom, but will probably impact on Bruno. Stylus and Matic know that, as does Bruno. Thinking of the coming fatality behind him and the time that it will allow him to breathe, Matic suddenly and violently swerves to the right of the track, crossing dangerously close in front of Stylus, who decides to move left a bit to penetrate the gap behind Bruno with a vengeance, when suddenly a written message appears. It's Reirom, saying: 'wtf?' before crashing into Matic, sticking them both to the trees on the inside of the turn, ruining Matic' race for ever over. Behind them, Stylus, the everlasting deity of earthly affluence, had steered his car a pixel too far to the left, putting him on a collision-course with Serif. The only way to a certain win now relied on his crash-management.

The tiniest fragments of time click away as if they never existed, slowing Stylus-time to his inner palace of extraordinairiness, where he stands in his favorite postures, contemplating his next move. He could crash into Serif, which would bump the red upstart accross the track and into the trees. With Matic and Reirom screwing around, Stylus would survive the blowback, cross safely into a deserving first place, and claim his cup. His two millionth' twenty second. Seeing that is the best option, Stylus reverts to racetime, looks around to make sure his line is still right, and braces for impact.

But in close proximity to Serif were still three colossal cup candidates, armed to the teeth, and hungry for hell. Zimur, in the middle with ikbeneenkat behind him. Ikbeneenkat moves to the right, immediately threatening Stylus's safe retreat. To Zimur's left goes Tjjj, who will cut into Stylus' line if Serif is somehow missed. Stylus, however, reckoned this to be an impossibility beyond comprehension. At the last possible moment, Serif turns right, cutting into Stylus at top speed. As Stylus is launched into a prefectly deserved oblivion, Serif, temporarily dazed, is swamped by the other contestants. Dust and sand is thrown into the moist summer air, dancing in the roaring engine heat. As Serif struggles to stay in front of his rivals, they all dive four wide into the roaming righthander. At this point, anything goes.

In the trees, blocking all of the inner lines, however, Reirom had gotten into a feud with Matic, already pleading. 'Sry matic. lag. dont kill me. wtf.' Matic kept eerily still, however. He didn't seem to move at all, as if he was now somewhere else. Not once did the car jerk or shake. There was no angry fist shaking from the window. Matic just sat there, away from this world. Reirom, realizing the enormity of his mistake, started to cry. 'MATIC DONT KILL ME WTF' Reirom knew where Matic had gone. He had gone to the holy place.

At the time Matic decided to reveal his true powers, Serif, Zimur, Tjjj and ikbeneenkat had ignored the braking zone. All of them now cut into eachother, and, as time quickened, they went into a sliding frenzy, as vital grip was lost for all. In front, Reirom was trying to convince the heavens above but could instead only look into his rear view mirror. It was the end of all things.

In the final stages of the second race for the Cup at Tripola, Matic and Reirom, stuck in the unforgiving trees, were hit by a vast closing fastball of carnage. The explosion blew the drivers apart, who were flung in all directions. Zimur drowned, Tjjj was smashed to bits. Ikbeneenkat turned his engine off, and took a stroll down memory bush. Matic returned to bathe us in his shared existence, shivered one time, and proceeded to control our destiny by 3,246 seconds.
Last edited by Oompa on Wed Dec 11, 2013 6:08 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Tijny

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PostTue Dec 10, 2013 8:06 pm

Haha, that's genius. Fascinating how your whole story only equates to, what, 3 seconds of race time. You certainly have a way with words. :)
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Whiplash

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PostTue Dec 10, 2013 8:21 pm

WTF I just read?
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szymek66

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PostTue Dec 10, 2013 9:19 pm

Whiplash wrote:WTF I just read?


have same feeling
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Mike Nike

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PostWed Dec 11, 2013 6:00 am

:D
well done! :)
the beginning was cool ->first 2 lines i was not realizing that you talked about TS. and i kept on, being in a mood to read a story of a legendary race(r).

haha, i would probably buy sliders books written by oompa :)
probably a well alternative to get new players to the game hehe

@Tijny:
haha, i also thought: he took a few seconds from an RDP-Antisliders race and "converted" it into an epic story full of tension :D, readable not just for the ts community.
also...had to think about "Z", reading that ;)
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Oompa

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PostWed Dec 11, 2013 12:12 pm

Thanks :)

I can write more if you guys want. I thought about doing an entire FSV cup, but halfway through this thing I realized it would be a big work. Next time when there are 20 on the server I could record and make stuff up, maybe just the first race and then see what happens.
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Stylus

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PostWed Dec 11, 2013 4:44 pm

Haha, I enjoyed reading this.
U should do more ;)
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dede

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PostThu Dec 12, 2013 7:32 pm

Just GREAT! :D

Now I feel like playing full contact, wtf??

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