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Bryce Kiley
2011, January 22: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
Running without SAINT’s support was a new experience for me. I didn’t like it. I was the single most heavily armed individual on the eastern seaboard but I still felt naked without my duck buddy.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have much choice in the matter. Because my tech wasn’t blackboxed like a normal tinker’s, I had to ensure that not one mimic fell into the wrong hands. Or, if one was about to be discovered, that it trigger the suicide protocol I installed to destroy all usable tech.
The proliferation of the Mimic Network had to be absolutely perfect; no one could know what I was doing. To ensure such, it could be overseen by no one else. Hell, given he was an AI, he could keep a keener eye on things than even me.
A part of me still wanted him here, watching from the central camera on my forehead. Still, I put such thoughts out of mind. This was the race I’d asked for. I hadn’t planned on a xiaolin showdown, this idea predated the specialization, but I couldn’t deny that it was the perfect chance to beta test the workings of the mystic duel.
The moment Announcemer-Moon gave us the greenlight, I bolted into the lead. The ground shattered behind me, leaving a trail of flames beneath my feet. The air before me screamed in protest at the sudden compression.
“Flame Road: After Burner,” I whispered. Tinkertech cars be damned, it was pretty hard to beat the raw acceleration of a regalia.
To my surprise, my voice was projected out into the aether for all to hear. It seemed there were aspects of the xiaolin showdown that I didn’t fully understand, not that open communication was a bad thing in this case. I’d just have to be careful with what I said.
Behind me, the others accelerated as fast as they could. They didn’t have my raw speed so they inevitably began fighting amongst themselves.
As it should be. They could bicker for second place, but the best tinker, and resident speed demon, was me.
In just a few seconds, I was already approaching the first diversion point. The walls were high here, with the road forking into a set of ramps set at varying angles. Depending on the car’s suspension and acceleration, they could take higher or lower roads towards the first mountain.
Of course, I set my sights on the steepest ramp. I launched myself into the air with supersonic speed. Except, I had no intention of coming down. I was a storm rider, a king in my own right. Why would I follow the track when a straight line was obviously the fastest path to the target?
Or, that’s what I thought. Turned out, those auroras were not just pretty lights. They were trail markers, guide rails that painted the way for invisible highways of hurricane-force winds.
Wind did not “howl.” Nor did it have an appearance. At least, not on its own. At the end of the day, it was simply air in motion. Unless it interacted with something, it was completely invisible and soundless. Which was why I didn’t notice the category five gale until my foot slammed into it.
It was like kicking a mountain with a personal vendetta. Even had I been warned, I doubted I could have reacted in time. My reaction time was excellent, but not enough to avoid a hurricane at supersonic speeds.
“Kiss my aaahh, fuck!” I yelped in surprise as I was sent cartwheeling back down into the wall of the track.
Much like the roads around me, the wind currents followed no logical pattern. This one looped overhead, ferrying me around and spiking me right back into the track before the ramp.
I conjured a swift Protect around myself, forming a hemispheric crater in the stone. I groaned, more from embarrassment and disorientation than actual pain. Clearly, flight would be of limited use here. I’d have to be more mindful of the shifting auroras, and any other surprises in store.
My four competitors raced by me, paying me no mind at all. They were too busy shooting at each other.
“Ooh, that looked like it hurt. But life ain’t no straightaway and neither is the Moonlit Rondo!” Announcer-Moon shouted, sounding way too smug for a hunk of sentient rock.
I held up my middle finger in reply.
X
Sabah Azimi
I let out a bark of laughter. It was just so Bryce, being the first one to get punished by his own magic racetrack. It couldn’t have been fun, but I knew he was way more durable than that.
Meanwhile, I didn’t quite gun it as much as I could have. I had a feeling caution was the better part of valor and was happy to have been proven right. If the others wanted to forge ahead and test the track’s obstacles for me, more power to them. APEP had plenty of fuel for later, including a few bottles of what Bryce assured me was the “good shit.”
Up ahead, Armsmaster and Squealer rushed forward. I was a little surprised to find that the Merchants’ dumpdozer had enough thrust to do that given it was by far the heaviest entrant in this race. Squealer’s vehicle specialization was maybe a lot more impressive than I’d given her credit for.
Funny enough, Miss Militia was the first to take the offense in this race. She was seated in a modified sidecar, her power taking the form of some kind of tranquilizer gun.
I couldn’t track the dart, but APEP’s systems could. Her aim was slightly off. It bounced off one of the scales of the dumpdozer and straight back towards the heroes. Armsmaster cut it out of the air with a collapsed halberd in an impressive feat of dexterity and spatial awareness.
He was a little too distracted to dodge the rotten egg that came barreling towards his head, though. Mush threw that one, definitely more insult than injury. We all got to hear the Protectorate hero swear under his breath thanks to the moon’s weird broadcast magic.
I made note of the Merchants’ defenses. Skidmark’s plates made the dumpdozer much trickier to target than I’d expected. Bryce said it imparted directional force upon anything caught in its field, but I wondered, what if the field was moving? Could it be used to reduce wind resistance?
I frowned. Had Skidmark always been this intelligent? I wasn’t plugged in to Brockton’s cape culture so I didn’t know. I didn’t think so, but maybe losing repeatedly to Bryce so thoroughly had been reason enough for him to experiment. Truthfully, I doubted anyone knew. Most people tried to have as little to do with the druglord as possible.
Compared to those three, Uber and I had a much more normal start. I was purposely being sedate and Uber’s six-wheeled monstrosity was very slow to build speed. We looked across at each other.
“Truce?” he called.
I nodded. “Until the first ramp.”
“Deal.”
“Well, would you look at that? As we approach the ramp to the first floating island, we’ve got the ArmsCycle in the lead with Creed dead last. There seems to be a truce between third and fourth place here, we’ll see how long that lasts,” Announcer-Moon declared for the world.
“Not long,” I huffed under my breath. “Creed’s got way too many tricks. Best to let Armsmaster have the lead.”
“Heh, the blue shell buffer strategy? I dig it,” Uber replied. “Care to tell us what those tricks are? You know, in the interest of truce.”
“The what strategy? Never mind. Ask Skidmark, he has personal experience.”
“Shut your whore mouth, before I fill it with my di–” Skidmark ranted.
He abruptly cut out and our announcer cut in apologetically. “Sorry, folks. Everyone gets to talk to each other except Skidmark. We don’t appreciate that kind of language here.”
“Joy, rape threats within the first fifteen seconds,” I said wryly. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Should’ve expected as much.”
I thumbed my rockets but decided against it. I’d remember that later. For now, the pangolin-garbage truck would be a fine sponge to see what everyone else had in store.
X
Bryce Kiley
Dead last. I grumbled in annoyance as I raced at a much slower pace than before. One by one, my four competitors leapt the ramps at varying heights, taking the many roads available to them.
I was much slower without After Burner, especially on the ground, but I still had enough speed to clear the highest ramp. Just for fun, I did a few, elaborate flips before landing on the other side. On the plus side, being last and this high up, I got to see what everyone else was doing.
Uber and Leet had a truce with Sabah. It was almost cute, especially since it was almost immediately broken by Leet. The moment their wheels left their ramps, Leet reached into a big trunk in the back of his kart and pulled out a bazooka that was as large as his torso. He slotted it into a swivel mount bolted to the vehicle and took aim.
He timed it well. At the exact moment APEP landed from the jump, he loosed a trio of green shells. That moment was, after all, when Sabah had the least control over her vehicle.
He needn’t have put so much thought into it, though. As much as she loved APEP, she was only a mediocre driver, certainly nothing compared to Uber’s power-assisted skills. Worse, she didn’t have a secondary gunner like Miss Militia, Skidmark and Mush, and Leet.
“Aah! We had a truce!” she yelped as APEP was flipped on its side. The green shells turned out to be big bombs, possibly not even tinkertech.
“Truce, schmuce, bitch!” Leet crowed. “We had a truce until the first ramp!”
The gamer-gremlin sounded so proud to have gotten one over on our shyest racer. Really, an attack of that caliber wasn’t even enough to scuff the paint. APEP righted itself in a second.
I laughed out loud, only belatedly realizing Sabah could hear me. That, more than the attack itself, made her angry. She growled, swore under her breath, and began accelerating again, though not nearly as fast as I knew she could. Instead, I saw her take aim.
The emblem over the car’s hood slid back, revealing a compartment. A laser gun came up to enact her retribution. She may have been a poor shot compared to the likes of SAINT or Uber, but a freeze ray didn’t exactly need precision targeting.
The crystal-blue ray streaked across the gap and froze the road immediately in front of the Mario Kart pair. They became the first to skid off course, testing Announcer-Moon’s claim about car recovery.
We continued our approach towards the first mountain. I kept a bird’s eye view while carefully mapping the auroras. I could see sections of heavy wind that would force me to land and engage with my competition, but for now, I was having a blast watching.
The heroes and Merchants had never quite stopped harassing each other. They’d taken different roads, but they both had good ranged options, one in the form of Miss Militia’s ammunition and the other in the form of Skidmark’s launchpads. Neither had been moving at their fastest because they were too busy dodging fire from the other.
“And here the roads converge!” Announcer-Moon bellowed. “Up first, we have Maven! Behind her are the Protectorate pals, Crackhead Trio, and Creed, with the gaming duo bringing up a distant last!”
I laughed at Leet’s angry swearing. I was pretty sure Sabah hadn’t even planned on being first into the mountain. Knowing how cautious she normally was, she probably planned to let at least one other person head for the major obstacle ahead of her.
As we approached the ice mountain, I saw the Protectorate and Merchants enter the merged straightaway at about the same time. Miss Militia tried to shoot out the dumpdozer’s tires, which failed because of the armored skirt it had. The bouncing bullet headed behind and towards me, something I only dodged because I’d been observing them closely.
In response, Squealer brought her truck next to the ArmsCycle. She tried to ram them off the road, but Armsmaster was agile enough to avoid a direct hit. That didn’t keep her from moving the crane Mush was on over her opponents.
Mush’s trash arms became a giant hammer to crush them. When he missed that, he spread his arms wide again, lashing out with whips of metal and wood. Armsmaster was forced to yield the road to them, ducking back a little bit slower to avoid driving right next to them.
He then stood on his bike. His halberd extended, forming a plasma edge that cut down every piece of trash Skidmark fired in his direction.
I saw Uber and Leet floating on a cloud. They were brought about a hundred yards behind me, engines already revving and swearing all the while. Leet reached for something else in his box of goodies, but Uber kept him from using it. Clearly, the duo had a few aces of their own.
The floating island of ice was up first. It looked like what a McDonald’s soft serve was supposed to look like, except with roads paved into the snow. The track was pockmarked with pockets of black ice that glimmered in the light. All along the path were snowmen. They manned forts of ice and frosted arches, from which they could rain down snowballs and icicles.
I hit the merged track and raced forward while remaining a foot off the ground. This was my jam. Unlike the rest of them, I created roads made of pyrobloin so slippery terrain meant nothing to me. It didn’t take me long to catch up to Armsmaster and Squealer.
A part of me considered jumping on the dumpdozer with another Giga Impact, just for old time’s sake. Alas, that wasn’t an option anymore thanks to Skidmark’s fields. He had plenty of time to strengthen them so me crashing into it would only send me flying off the tracks.
Skidmark and Mush saw me as I drew near. He took one look at me and saw red. After all, I broke his jaw last time and he wasn’t exactly known for being a forgiving sort of man. He shouted something that got drowned out by the wind, which Announcer-Moon continued to mute, and swiveled his turret to take aim.
Up close, I saw that he was actually shooting steel marbles, nails, and whatever else he could pick up easily. Each round struck with the force of a hunting rifle, enough to leave a hell of a bruise or even crack my ribs even through my suit. At the same time, Mush’s crane was lowered closer to the ground so he could use his arms to bracket me in place.
I let out a loud bark of laughter at that. Spinning in place, I swirled my cape around me to trigger my force field. It had stopped Coil’s snipers and Skidmark’s marbles weren’t quite that strong. Besides, Skidmark’s aim was atrocious. He was tossing handfuls on top of his layered power, hoping one would hit eventually.
I wove between Mush’s scrap limbs and around the dumpdozer. Cackling like a loon, I skated alongside the ArmsCycle. “High five, Minutegal!”
“No.” Her tranq rifle morphed into a Colt. As fast as a viper, she placed two shots into my head, the small caliber rounds making plinking noises against my helmet.
“Hey! That’s gotta be police brutality.”
“I’m not a cop and your suit’s withstood worse.”
“Still rude,” I pouted. Then, Armsmaster jerked his bike sharply to the side, evading a swipe from Mush. “Aww, that didn’t work?”
“This isn’t Loony Toons, Creed,” Miss Militia replied dryly. Her pistol morphed into a large net launcher, which she shot at me.
I caught it with a flourish of my hands before telekinetically shoving it towards Skidmark. “Fine, I know when I’m not wanted.”
So saying, I sped up slightly, so I could overtake the two. I slipped directly in front of Squealer’s truck and blew her a raspberry. She couldn’t see my tongue because of the helmet, but the noise definitely came through.
“Pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbt~”
I dodged out of the way of another punch from Mush. His fist was big enough that it severely screwed up Squealer’s field of vision.
“Fuck you, Creed!” she shrieked. “And get your shit-stained fist out of my sight, Mush!”
I saw her smash a button near the glove compartment. From the bottom of the dumpdozer came what I was sure were Hot Wheels. They looked like toy cars, the kind I used to build plastic tracks for as a kid.
I’d never seen her make drones before, but remote-controlled vehicles were probably just barely within her specialization to count. Given she could make her car go invisible, she was likely far more versatile than any of us gave her credit for.
I didn’t know what she used exactly, but they closed in on me like a swarm of ants. I tried to spin out of the way of one, only for it to stay on my tail with no trouble. Then, I felt a heavy impact on my shoulderblade, sending me tumbling.
“Fuck yeah, Skids! Show that bitch who’s boss!” Squealer howled.
I grunted in annoyance. It looked like this was as far as I’d get with a pacifist run. I was more annoyed that it was Skidmark of all people who’d gotten a hit on me.
“Alright fine, let’s play rough. Bubblegum Crisis!” I shouted. Using my own tumbling spin, I swept up moisture through Crown Chimera. It all came out again, laden with enough kinetic energy to flatten a regular car.
Squealer’s toy cars hit me as the bubble shield went up. Being unmanned, she obviously hadn’t bothered with anything but a tracking suite, thrusters, and high explosives. They hit the signature trick of the Lather Road and promptly exploded against the monstrous vibrating force.
I remained near to the ground, spouting even more bubbles as obstacles for them. Each explosive bubble covered a section of the road. Both Squealer and Armsmaster were forced to swerve sharply through the impromptu maze.
Armsmaster pulled out his halberd and tried to scythe through a bubble as he went by but almost lost control of both his bike and weapon. At the speeds we were moving, trying to “cut” one of my explosive bubbles was just begging for all that force to be directed towards the edge of your weapon. He didn’t try again.
Other than that, he had no trouble weaving through. I wondered if there was a driving assist program of some kind installed into the bike. I considered it likely given how hard it must have been to wield a halberd with any skill while also driving in a race. Other than the ego, he truly was a fantastic tinker.
But the biggest surprise was Squealer. She drove between the bubbles with the skill of an F1 driver. Definitely power-assisted, but still extremely cool to watch.
Unfortunately, Skidmark’s fields fucked her over. She skimmed the edge of a bubble, popping it. The explosive force could have been accounted for by a driver of her skill, with a car of the dumpdozer’s weight, but Skidmark’s multi-layered armor made that impossible.
They swerved uncontrollably, shrieking obscenities all the while. That dropped them into fourth place, only ahead of Uber and Leet.
I turned and raced to catch up with the ArmsCycle and APEP. I’d be happy if Sabah won, but that didn’t mean I didn’t plan on giving her a challenge.
Truthfully, I was already happy with the outcome. My goals had been fulfilled the moment the race began. SAINT was undoubtedly doing good work. The xiaolin showdown was functional. There was no reason not to enjoy this goofy, slapstick race for what it was.
X
Colin Wallis
I gritted my teeth as I steered us around another one of Creed’s explosive bubbles. He was as chaotic as always. He clearly has no intention of keeping to a truce between heroes seeing how he just tried to sic Mush on us. Still, he kept the Merchants distracted, allowing us to squeeze behind Maven for second place.
We were about halfway through the frosted island now and driving was becoming a challenge. The frozen road wasn’t the problem. This was January in New Hampshire; my bike had long since been fitted for slippery roads. No, the issue was the snowmen stationed along the sides of the “soft serve,” pelting us with snowballs of varying size.
I put on more speed. Being light and maneuverable, we had the advantage over other racers, Creed excluded. At this point, I was almost certain he wasn’t interested in winning, just causing chaos for the sake of it.
Up ahead, Maven plowed through a snowdrift before running over a snowman. It had been dragging a barricade across the road.
“I’m sorry!” she yelped.
I stared incredulously. She apologized… to a snowman…
Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. If Creed was any example, I could expect every member of his organization to be a little strange.
We gained on her. Behind me, I heard Miss Militia’s power swapping out to something with more stopping power. “Should I shoot out her tires?”
“Yes. There are no allies here,” I told her.
The loud crack of gunfire pierced the air. It hit, I saw the sparks, but Maven’s racecar kept driving as if nothing was wrong.
“Really?” Maven called. “Sorry, APEP is bulletproof. Wheels included.”
“You have an incredible car,” I admitted. I saw the freeze ray it was equipped with. It also handled exceptionally well in the ice. “Pity, you’re a mediocre driver.”
“Ooh, was that a diss? It wasn’t very good, but ‘A’ for effort,” our announcer chimed in. I still wasn’t sure how it was alive, or if it was some kind of projection. I tried not to think about it.
“Oh, shut up,” Maven growled. “You’re not getting past me.”
She did something to activate the wings on her car. The car lifted into the air with the howl of a jet engine. In seconds, she’d comfortably expanded her lead.
That turned out to be a mistake. We circled the ice cream cap of the mountain. More of the snowmen were appearing, some of them far larger than a man. They stood atop battlements of ice. The snowballs they were sending down had grown larger until some were as large as a truck.
Whatever could be said for her competitive spirit, Maven wasn’t able to weave between them all. Or maybe, it was a failing of the car itself. Jets weren’t exactly known for tight turns, after all. Either way, without the ground for traction, she took a giant snowball head-on and lost control of her vehicle.
“Aieee!” I heard her yelp as she spun into the void.
I saw her fly off until she hit an invisible wall. The shifting auroras extended down, enveloping her in a curtain of wind that froze her in place.
A cloud formed beneath the car. It began to ferry her back towards the racetrack with agonizing slowness. The sound of loud applause filled the air.
“Wow, seriously? Congratulations are in order. You have wings but managed to get tossed out of bounds anyway. Truly, it’s an achievement,” our announcer said, sarcasm dripping like honey from every word.
I heard Miss Militia let out a huff of laughter at that. I couldn’t focus on Maven’s supercar; there were too many other stimuli vying for my attention.
Behind me, Creed had taken leave of the Merchants. No doubt the flighty tinker had gotten bored of teasing Mush and Skidmark. Now, Squealer’s truck was making short work of the snowmen in her way thanks to the bulldozer attachments on the front of her truck.
Up ahead, we entered an icy tunnel. Icicles began raining down, each as large as a small child. This was coupled with snowballs rolled downhill at seemingly random intervals.
“Militia, you have steering,” I grunted as I hopped to my feet.
Magnetic attachments in my boots kept me firmly secured as I extended my halberd to its full length. With nine feet of shaft and an extra two feet of plasma blade, I could cover a significant area around me.
My HUD blazed to life, marking each target. The combat prediction software hadn’t been perfected for environmental hazards like this, but it adapted smoothly. I cut the icicles out of the air, trusting my partner to steer us between the rolling snowballs.
This had the additional benefit of creating a generous amount of steam. It hid the path of the snowballs for our competition. I also took the time to lay down a belt of traffic control spikes, specially made for today.
This race had barely begun and we were in the lead.
Author’s Note
Not much to say. This is why I didn’t want to include additional competitors besides these five. Keeping tabs on just five is hard enough. Hope you liked it though.
Animal Fact: Slavery is the natural state of affairs. You may not like it, but it's true. Well, it is if you're a slave-making ant. Let me explain.
This behavior has evolved several times and has been observed in ~50 species around the world. They invade and steal the brood from other colonies. Once this stolen brood hatches, they behave as the workforce, cleaning, scavenging, and even feeding their masters.
This division of labor is so extreme in some ants, e.g. the polyergus genus (~14 species), that “masters” are utterly incapable of caring for themselves without any slaves. The adult members of this genus are built for the sole purpose of raiding other colonies.
The demographic breakdown of a polyergus ant colony looks a lot like human slave-owning societies. There is a queen, a few hundred to a thousand masters, and thousands of slaves. The slave ants have shorter lifespans than the master ants so the masters must constantly continue to raid, lest they starve.
Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. If you’re also like me, you can find my works on
Space Battles: https://forums.spacebattles.com/members/fabled-webs.514019/
Questionable Questing: https://questionablequesting.com/members/fabled-webs.29875/