[Issue] Chelmsford Rallycross 20XX

[Narrator]

Rallycross day was always a big draw, both for the gearheads in the area and for people who liked seeing alleged cars being driven by quasi-professionals around a track.


It was held in what could only be described as a muddy, disused field; a course laid out with rope and cones and trampled down wheat indicating where the cars would be asked to go. Some rudimentary bleachers had been set up at one end -- on a straight, where the odds of a car careening off of the road were probably at their lowest, if not exactly "low". There was an element of risk here, but that's what people were going for, inn't it?


Along the frontage road leading to the field was the check-in station, as well as parking for drivers still waiting their turns. A bunch of amateur mechanics were checking out the cars, making sure that they met basic safety requirements and weren't going to fall apart on the road and/or kill someone. "Basic" was probably the word; a lot of these cars were patched together with duct tape and fast welds, but they did at least have rudimentary roll cages and things of that nature that would probably keep anyone from dying, and helmets were a requirement, as well.

While there weren't exactly any brand new supercars in the lot waiting to go, there was a surpringly large collection of cars. Hot hatches, rear-wheel drive cars, plenty of bodged together Ford Mondeos. Someone had brought a Trabant to the park and was proudly sitting atop it as people joked with him. Vans, motorcross bikes, quadbikes -- pretty much any sort of motorized transport could be found.

((open))

[Ainsley Green]

Ainsley was good at drawing people and animals, but less good with technology. Laughably less good by some people's standards.

He wasn't really into cars, but this seemed like a good, free opportunity to work on something mechanical in his sketchbook.

He found a place out of the way, flipped a few pages, and settled in to study the vehicles.

[Narrator]

A faint animal voice drifted from the nearby wheat.

"Must wait longer. Feed soon."

It wasn't that strange an animal thought. Any number of small predators could be patiently stalking something even smaller through the overgrown field. But something about it felt wrong, like it was speaking two languages.

[Ainsley Green]

More interested in animals than cars, Ainsley does indeed pick up on the weirdness and tucks away his drawing pad under his arm to go and investigate.

Maybe it's just two animals trying to get the better of each other? He attempts to hone in on the 'dialects' to get a better grasp of what animal or animals might be in play here.

[Narrator]

As he nears the edge of the wheat, the voice is joined by others spread out in the field. They all sound to him like they can't decide what they should sound like.

[Ainsley Green]

Ainsley shrinks a bit at the cacophony of voices. Steeling his nerves with a gulp, he tries to focus in on just one of them. If he can tell what it is, he can respond back.

[Narrator]

The nearest of them suddenly goes quiet for a moment before saying, "Smell two-leg. No let see."

The wheat begins to rustle a little as the animal draws back.

[Ainsley Green]

Ainsley still hadn't pinpointed a single dialect, so he tried one he usually used for non-predator birds.

"No need to see. Can hear. Come out and play. Won't harm. No eat prey."

[Narrator]

It stops and Ainsley picks up an actual sound; a sound like a raven trying to yip like a startled dog.

A very big raven.

"Two-leg speak?"

[Ainsley Green]

"Yes." Ainsley replies back , altering his bird dialect over to corvidae.

"I speak. Who you?"

[Narrator]

"Master calls me Coal," it answers proudly, more like a canine would talk than a bird. The ripple in the wheat nears, but stays well inside its cover.

[Ainsley Green]

Catching a slightly sharper intellect now in it's choice of words, he switches to canine with it.

"It's nice to meet you Coal. I am called Ainsley, but some call me Lee, if that is easier."

"Who is your Master? "

[Narrator]

"Master is... Master," it says. So maybe not that sharp.

[Ainsley Green]

"I see." Ainsley replies.

"Will you come out to greet me? I don't want to hurt you." Requesting again now that they were speaking the same language.

[Narrator]

"Master say not be seen until two-leg-who-smell-like-cow get here..." it says with reluctance.

[Ainsley Green]

"I don't smell like cows?" He replied, amused.

[Narrator]

"You smell like two-leg," it says simply.

A crow perches on a nearby loudspeaker pole and turns its head to stare at Ainsley's back.

[Ainsley Green]

The pressure of being watched causes Ainsley to tilt his head slightly over his shoulder, but keeping his front towards the mystery creature. It didn't seem inclined to harm him, but canines had a way of being unpredictable in his opinion.

"Friend of yours?" He asks of the unseen thing, remembering he'd heard two voices before, and one was definitely corvidae.

[Narrator]

"Eyes of Mast..."

Coal suddenly lets out a strange, pained whine.

[Ainsley Green]

"I see." Ainsley replied, switching his dialect back to corvidae.

"Hello friend." He greeted with a polite smile.

[Narrator]

The crow cawed, "What doing?"

[Ainsley Green]

"Make friends. What do you?"

[Narrator]

"Watch you. See if threat," the crow says.

"You want friend?" Coal asks in a small voice, as if trying not to let the bird hear.

[Ainsley Green]

"Seem like threat?" Ainsley asked, sounding amused again.

"Of course. Always. All are my friend. You too." He replied to Coal.

[Narrator]

"Human no trust," the bird states, "Dog-brother no should listen to human."

It cocks its head as if listening to something.

"Master want meet. Follow!" it caws before flying off towards the silo not far from the nearby barn that seems to be the center of the pre-race festivities.

[Ainsley Green]

Ainsley doesn't immediately follow, gauging how Coal reacts to Ainsley being summoned.

[Narrator]

"Coal go too. If Master like, we be friends," the unseen creature says, sounding hopeful.

[Ainsley Green]

"Alright then." Ainsley wasn't sure he really had an option at this point, so he decided to play it cool and follow along politely. He did keep his eyes pelled to see if Coal revealed himself.

[Narrator]

Ainsley only caught a few scattered glimpses of black as he followed the crow to the silo.

(Split off to simplify things)

[Will Stanton]

At some undetermined point after the events in the quad, a green Peel Trident lined up to take it's run along the makeshift track.

There did not, at first glance, appear to be anyone inside the dang thing, which would probably be concerning to many of the onlookers.

[Narrator]

"Next up, entry #43, a fine example of the sort of the level of quality and craftsmanship you can expect from the Isle of Man, a Peeeeeeeel Trident!"

The announcer's voice boomed over a makeshift tannoy system; the announcer himself in the loft of an old barn overlooking the field.

[Will Stanton]

And with that, Will took off down the track -- an (intentionally) comical sight, as the Peel couldn't even hit 30 MPH. Theoretically, that would make the turns easier, but the Peel also had shit handling, so every swerve was an adventure.

[Narrator]

The voice of a different announcer takes over without an introduction, full of electric energy.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, next up we have quite the show for you. Give a big hand for Muto's Magnificent Menagerie!"

It is odd to announce such a thing mid-run isn't it? Yes. As evidence, a bright crack appears by the side of the track and a hulking semi barrels into Will. Almost simultaneously, crow-dogs like the ones menacing Ainsley emerge from the fields to surround the audience.

[Will Stanton]

The Peel Trident did not exactly have a five-star crash rating. Bits of metal flew as the truck slammed into Will, mangling the car beyond repair.

[Robin Stanton]

A bit further back on the track Robin screeches around a corner and tears through the tape marking the rally track.

[Narrator]

The semi screeches to a halt, a metal shred of the Will-Mobile impaled on the chrome bull's horns affixed to the grill. One side of the trailer opens up and several humanoid forms hop down onto the track. No two of the bestial beings are alike; one resembling a werewolf but with devilish hooves, another with the head of a horned lion and four additional arachnid legs extending from its back. A minotaur in tactical body armor steps ahead of the others, clearly the leader of the monstrous band.

He watches the oncoming pink Cadillac with an amused, predatory gleam in his eyes. "Right on cue, boy."

[Samantha McManus]

"That's... that's Will, isn't it?" Sam asks as they skid to a stop.

She vaults out of Robin's backseat.

"Get away from him..."

[Narrator]

"We aren't here for the polymorph," the minotaur says with a bass, lightly Scottish rumble.

"Flayer, take the so-called Morrigan. Hellhound, the pink one. Stormhawk, keep the green occupied. Manticore, with me," he orders, the latter leonine creature already straining his literal leash to get going.

An amphibious looking female with a face full of tentacles stalks for Sam, sending psychic tendrils to probe her defenses.

The werewolf runs at the car, fire running his arms as claws ignite.

A black and yellow hawk-woman dives for Will from the direction of the barn.

The final pair make a beeline for Tosh after he exits the car.

[Will Stanton]

Will, bouncing and rolling over several times, shifted from car to person as he rolled through the fields of wheat.

It was there, coughing and catching his breath, that the hawk-woman would reach him.

[Robin Stanton]

Robin meanwhile opts to remain a car for the time being, revving her engine and trying to ram the Fire-Wolf headhood-on.