Chapter 17.5: Crash Test Dummy

Santa Fe, California. August 2005.

Arse over tea kettle was becoming less of an accident and more of a lifestyle for me.

Between wire work, animatronic creatures, underwater sequences, and now car crash stunts, I spent just as much time right side up as upside down.

When shooting auto crashes for film and television, the actual stunts were performed by either stunt drivers or mechanical rigs. This was, of course, discounting movies that drowned themselves and their budgets in CGI. Then the actors would be filmed on a soundstage wrapped in green screen in what was called a ‘process car/rig’.

Have you ever been to the mall and been annoying enough that your parents put you on those kiddy rides so they could get fifteen minutes of peace? Think the grown-up version of that.

Barring a few rare cases, this process was the norm. “Bas, please perform the final safety checks. If you die, we’ll be joining you. And no pressure, but I like being alive.” The small earpiece crackled to life. I was very much determined to establish myself as one of those rare cases.

I sat in the driver’s seat of the disposable Monte Carlo. To ensure that I didn’t burst into flames or anything, it had been stripped of all electrical equipment and drained of all fluids. It was basically furniture at this point. A steel rollover cage reinforced piece of furniture.

I grabbed the steering wheel and jerked myself forward as hard as I could. The harness hidden under my padded baggy shirt, tethered to the cage, as well as the safety straps lashed over my lap and legs ensured I barely budged an inch. I glanced behind me and extended my arm to knock on the rear passenger window. They replaced the glass on the rear windows, including the baseball hole, with strong plastic that wouldn’t shatter into a million pieces. The front had only the safety nets over them, and instead of a windshield there was a hood mounted camera rig pointed at my face for a clean shot.

I gave the ok to the crew watching me on the monitor. “All set! Let’s roll!” Literally.

The stunt team had borrowed a rollover crash simulator from a local car safety testing facility.

The whine of gears turning sent my heart into my throat. The car with me inside it began tilting. I felt that same plunging nervousness in my gut as if I was reaching the apex of a rollercoaster.

The machine beneath me whirred to life and began accelerating up to the calculated speed. The sudden vibration signalled my action.

I clenched my hand around the steering wheel, strained my face as if I was trying to tame the car as it swerved, and looked just beyond the camera. “Oh, sh-!” Then, without warning, the machine came to a sudden halt. In that split second, I felt the jolt, like the world had turned on its head.

The car launched into a barrel roll over a prepared sand pit, and my stomach somersaulted with the car.

Gravity lost its hold on me, then came back with a vengeance.

Physics reasserted itself. My body rocked hard as the fender crumpled under the impact, but before I could be rag dolled out, the harness and straps embraced me possessively; the g-forces and squeezed me right back into the leather.

The world around me devolved into a hurricane of swirling dust and colour. I thought I would’ve been able to maintain more control, but the adrenaline coursing through me and the crash itself had me thrashing in my restraints.

Once, twice, we flipped.

The sharp sound of metal turning to shrapnel was the soundtrack of the car tearing itself apart until a muffled thud punctuated the wreck coming to a stop in a cloud of dust.

Only when my eyes stilled did I find my breath restarting. “ight-? Ba… re yo… alr- Bas, are you alright!?” I guess hearing was the last sense to come back because I swear I could taste my breakfast.

As I came to, butt squarely facing the sky, I turned my heavy, blood filled head to the side.

From between the safety net, I saw a dusty pair of sneakers, a hairy arm unlatching the door, and the bottom half of a fire hydrant.

Rescue was just one middle-aged man away.

I breathed a sigh of relief as higher thought also returned after being made to flee by my lizard brain.

I looked down the lens of the camera, gave a shaky peace sign, and said, “can we do that again?” Maybe I spoke too soon about higher thought.

Unstrapped successfully, I felt two sets of strong hands yank me out and set me back on my feet. A third, very familiar pair began patting me down and dusting me off.

“Hey, Cadbury, I’m okay.” I soothed her. Outsiders wouldn’t be able to tell, what with her religiously stoic demeanour, but the slight tremble in her hands clued me in.

“I’m afraid not, Mr Rhys. There appears to be something wrong with your head.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Urgently, I reached up and felt around, trying to see if I was bleeding or had a wound. “What’s wrong?” I didn’t feel any pain.

“It is evident that the part of your brain that prevents you from doing stupid things is broken.” I shouldn’t have expected any less.

“Stop fooling around, Cadbury.” I playfully swatted away her frantic fingers. “C’mon. Let’s go see how the shot turned out.” The viselike grip on my shoulders reminded me just how strong my nanny was. I wasn’t going anywhere, apparently.

“You are not to even consider moving a single muscle fibre until and unless the physician proffers you a clean bill of health. Do I make myself clear?” she turned to the med tech who’d made their way over and immediately began taking my vitals. “You let him leave with so much as a scratch, and I assure you, doctor, the next take will feature you.” The audible gulp could’ve been either one of us.

The doctor, under my au pair’s stern gaze, conducted a thorough examination and gave me the A-OK after assessing that there were no signs of trauma.

Walking away from the crash site, production graciously gave me a hero’s welcome. More specifically, they hailed me with fiery applause and an icy drink.

I made a bee-line towards Justin to review the footage. I focused on the playback and studied my performance. “Looking good? Or do I need to take another ride?” So that’s what I looked like when I was actually scared. Once the CGI debris and product placement were added in, the shot would look dope.

“You’d actually go through that again?” Lin seemed surprised, though I don’t know why.

“Yeah, if I needed to.”

“… No man, the shot’s perfect.” God, save me from this awkward conversation.

“The boy who lives!” Ask and ye shall receive. The joke wasn’t a surprise. I barely stopped a groan. What was a surprise, however, was the presence of the main cast, who I wasn’t expecting to meet till next week.

“What are you all doing here?” I blurted out, but I didn’t forget my manners for long. I approached my colleagues and immediately got to shaking hands.

Sung Kang, better known as Han, was the first to greet me. “We all had the same idea and came to see whether or not we’d have jobs tomorrow.” the just in case you died was louder left unsaid. Cheeky bitch. Someone was already in character.

“Then I’m guessing you won’t mind if I bring popcorn for when we film Han’s crash.”

He laughed, “Sure, man. I’ll even share it with you. Unlike you, I’m very comfortable just letting the stunt doubles do their job.”

“Harry fuckin’ Potter, man!” I smoothly shifted from handshake to dap. Pop!

“Li’l Bow Wow.” I reciprocated.

“Ain’t a li’l no more. It’s just Bow Wow now.”

“Then feel free to call me Bas.”

“Cool, B. Let’s get a photo together. I’m gonna put it on my Myspace page.” …right.

“You should use Facebook.” Keiko Kitagawa, who played my Japanese classmate and gateway to Han’s crew, piped up. “It is also very famous in Japan. Just like Harry Potter.”

“Face-who? Ain’t nobody gonna use that shit.” Bow Wow barked confidently, incorrect.

Ignoring him, I took Keiko’s outstretched hand. “It is nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Sailor Mars.”

She gasped, pleasantly surprised that I’d done my homework on her, then teased me with a fake scowl. “Mars janai. Keiko desu!”

The intro train kept chugging along as I chuckled down the parade line. Brian Tee was next, and DK’s smile came with dimples deeper than the ditch I’d left the car in. “Man, they’ve got you playing any and every role a Japanese man can get, huh? A yakuza member, a sushi chef, and even a salaryman who runs away from Godzilla.”

Those dimples disappeared so fast (and furious), “you know who I am, too?”

“Mhm.” I continued down the line and met the actors playing both DK and Han’s right-hand men. “I’ve seen each Austin Powers movie like twenty times.”

I knew I was being unctuous. But I was a firm believer that offscreen chemistry was visible on screen. So, best foot forward and all that.

Intellectually, I recognised the script had gone through something of a minor overhaul, but with the handful of scenes I’d filmed so far, I’d not really seen much except for a few dialogue tweaks. Standing in front of me, however, was the first bit of proof of that promised change.

“And you are?” I prompted. Instead of the incredibly out-of-place Australian played by Nathalie Kelley, was a svelte Asian woman closer in appearance to Han and DK.

“Sonoya Mizuno.” Japanese name, British voice, and a hafu face.

I recognised her from my time before Bas. She was in Ex-machina as the dancing android, had a role in Crazy Rich Asians, and was also going to play a part in the Game of Thrones prequel, though I never got a chance to watch that before my impromptu allergic reaction.

“Pleasure. Now that we all know each other, mind filling me in on why the main cast is all here together?”

“I got word last night that all the drift cars are finally ready.” Justin Lin clarified the situation. “I thought it’d be fun if we all headed to the warehouse together and got acquainted with our new toys.”

The shutters rolled up with a loud rattle, the fluorescent lights flicked on with a deep buzz, and our awe rang across the showroom. Nissan 350z, Mazda RX7, Skyline R34, and many more. Each with five to six identical duplicates, all riced enough to run a Chinese buffet.

Bow Wow approached the legendary bright orange and black Veilside RX7 and whistled… couldn’t blame him. “Now this must be my ride!” He clicked the button on his key fob, but the alarm didn’t come from the Mazda.

Sung Kang unlocked it instead, hopped in, and roared the engine to life. “Not quite.” He pointed out the giant green, hulk themed MPV. “Your monster’s over there.”

“Man, this is some bullsh-!”

I reflexively caught the two keys tossed at me. I opened my palm. One logo was Mitsubishi, and the other was a stylized ‘S’.

I questioned Justin with a tilt of my head.

He pointed at the bright red Evo and the blue Nissan Silvia. “One gets trashed, the other gets the spotlight. Your choice, which is which.”

The red Mitsubishi was iconic, I liked it. But, as I approached the blue Silvia S15 Spec-R. There was a certain fizzing in my belly. “Mona Lisa.” I breathed out. When I sat inside, I could practically feel that car mould itself around me. Yeah, I knew which one I was picking.

Maybe I did have a concussion, because I think I just heard the Teriyaki Boyz suddenly playing in my head.