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1985 AD
One year after Max arrested Barbelon and Pinko. The war over the oil fields in the Middle East did not wind down, but heated up as more nations desperate for fuel joined the fray. Main Force Patrol’s ability to keep the roads safe was strained to the breaking point, with many of its officers killed or crippled by gangs of biker nomads and insane gloryroaders.
This chapter takes place near the end of the events of the first film, when the MFP’s top pursuit man, Max Rockatansky, went rogue…
Roop pulled into the garage beneath the Halls of Justice, and got an eerie feeling when he saw the guard station sitting unoccupied. It had always annoyed him in the past to see probies sitting around, smoking, not paying a lot of attention to who was coming in or out, but now he would give anything to go back to those days. He looked around the dimly lit garage, hoping to see a familiar face, but saw only dark corners. The garage had never seemed so eerie. From his radio, the sound of Dispatch’s high-pitched, nasal voice echoed throughout the concrete cavern.
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“... report of a motorcycle run over by a semi, resulting in instant fatality. We need someone to follow-up and take the truck driver’s statement. He alleges that our stolen Pursuit Special was involved in this accident…”
“Accident,” Roop muttered, turning off the radio and parking Big Bopper II across several parking spots. He cut the engine and got out, taking a moment to look around the nearly empty garage. His hand unconsciously went to the service revolver hanging at his hip. The March Hare was nowhere to be seen. Scuttle was out of the hospital since the battle with the Nightrider, but Roop had not heard anything about him returning to work. Same story with Sarse; if Sarse was out in the March Hare, but was not responding to any calls, then that was suspicious. Goose was, of course, out of the picture, but Roop was also surprised to see that Fifi Macaffee’s immaculate Buick Riviera was also gone.
More importantly, Barry’s secret project, the black Pursuit Special, was also gone. From what Roop had heard, it was an eight-cylinder demon summoned from Hell. If it was true that Max had taken it, then Roop was glad he had ignored Dispatch’s constant demands to go and get it back.
“Is anybody here?” Roop wondered aloud.
He made his way to the stairwell, then took the stairs two at a time until he came to the administrative level. As soon as he opened the door leading from the stairwell, he heard Dispatch’s high-pitched voice reverberating through the dreary, empty hallway. “Code unspecified. We have a 'query/locate' on a black Pursuit Special: Unauthorized use by a Main Force officer. This is designated as a potential Code Three Red Alert…"
“Dispatch!” Roop called out. “Dis… er, Betty! Where are you?”
Roop entered the administrative hub, a large room lined with aging metal desks. The typewriters sat gathering dust, and every ashtray was still full from the night before. The atmosphere was heavy without officers typing out reports, arguing, and handling suspects. Betty sat in the corner, hunkered over her large radio set. She suddenly sat up, staring at Roop with big blue eyes, her red hair in a bun seeming out of place in the run-down office. Roop was surprised, too, for Charlie was sitting atop the desk next to hers, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he kept an eye on the main entrance. He had a dull, angry expression.
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“Charlie?” said Roop. “The hell you doing here?”
“Same as you, apparently!” said Betty. “I can’t get even one officer to do their job around here! I swear! Can anyone come in here and steal a-”
“Oh, lay off it, Betty.” Roop made his way over, a little unnerved by the way Charlie’s eyes followed him.
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“Seriously?” Betty slammed the radio handset down on its cradle. “You do know that Fifi is going to explode when he comes in here and sees you kicking up your heels, don’t you? What is wrong with you? Charlie’s been in here for hours, just taking it easy, while some traitor goes gloryroading in one of our pursuit models!”
Roop did not like the idea of Betty talking down to Charlie. Then again, Charlie did not seem as if he minded, but only sat with his arms crossed. Roop sighed in exasperation.
“What’s he supposed to do, Betty? That’s not some scumbag gloryroader… that’s Max out there! You think he’s gonna listen to us? After what these biker skags did to his family? They even ran over his baby, for Chrissakes! Think he’ll pull over if he sees some blue and red lights? Think he’ll sit down for tea while we hash it out with him? Christ, Betty.”
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Betty winced.
“He’s out there eating them alive, is what he’s doing,” said Roop, throwing his arms wide, then letting his hands fall at his sides. “And if we get in the way, he’ll do the same to us. Can you blame him?”
They sat in silence. Roop sat down heavily, running his hands through his hair. They listened to the dull hum of the radio, unsure of what to do.
“Well,” Roop finally said, “where’s everybody else? Where’s Sarse?”
Betty turned away. Seeing that she was not going to say anything, Charlie pulled his electrolarynx from his jacket pocket and placed it against the tube in his throat - a special gift thanks to the Nightrider. “SARSE CAME IN, BEFORE ME,” said Charlie, the electrolarynx producing an odd, digitized simulacrum of human speech. “BETTY SAID HE ACTED NERVOUS. I LOOKED FOR HIM. FOUND THE EVIDENCE ROOM DOOR HANGING OPEN. NO SIGN OF SARSE OR THE MARCH HARE.”
“Christ,” Roop growled. “He nicked somethin’ an’ rode off!”
“Roop!” said Betty. “We don’t know-”
“The scag’s a tweaker, Bets! I tried to tell you guys… an’ now he’s run off with coke, pills, meth, God knows what else!”
Charlie frowned, and looked as if he wanted to speak. After a moment he shook his head, then jammed his electrolarynx back into his pocket. Though he did not want to admit it, he knew that Roop was right. Too frustrated to sit still, he rose and went to a window.
Just then, Betty’s phone rang. She reached for it, but Roop snatched it away from her. “Macaffee?” he said. There was a long silence on the other end.
“Roop?” Fifi Macaffee said on the other end. “Where’s Betty?”
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Roop’s heart leaped at the sound of his boss’s growling voice. Now there was hope. Now Fifi would come and set things right.
“She’s here, sir! Me and Charlie, too. But where are you? Sir, Max is on a rampage out there. He’s huntin’ down all the bikers, an’-”
“I know all that, Roop,” said Fifi, sounding surprisingly unalarmed. “Just put a cork in it and listen for a minute, will you? I’ve been arguing with Labatouche and the city council all morning. They-”
“Commissioner Labatouche!” said Roop, face reddening. “That slimy rat! He always-”
“Damn it, Roop, there’s a bigger picture that you aren’t getting! Now, listen! Labatouche is on our side, always has been. He knows we’re the last line of defense. But, things have been so crazy… the war keeps ramping up, there’s no jobs, gangs are out of control… and now with our best man gone rogue, it makes us look like we’re just another gang.”
“But sir, they kept tying our hands! Making it so we couldn’t fight! At least Max is cleaning up all the-”
“I know that, Roop,” Fifi said quietly. Something about his tone clamped Roop’s mouth shut. Despite the heavy, close atmosphere in the office, he suddenly felt cold. “But it looks like… Roop, it looks like city council is filing a petition to have our federal funding redirected to the war effort.”
The silence hung heavy as Charlie gazed out the window. His mouth fell open at the sight of a rough-looking man on a motorcycle slowly passing by the gateway of the Halls of Justice. The biker came to a stop, then rolled back until he stood right in the middle of the gateway. He looked around the concrete lot, obviously scanning for officers. The man’s jacket was dingy, covered in dirt, and he had something hanging off his hip that looked like it might be a piece of metal attached to a chain. The biker was the sort of nomad trash one might meet outside of the city, not hovering around the very entrance of the Halls of Justice.
Roop tried to wrap his mind around Fifi’s statement about their funding. “So there’s…” Roop swallowed a hard lump in his throat. “There’s still a chance we won’t get shut down?”
“Roop, I’m calling to say you don’t want to be there when they shut us down. They’re going to look for someone to pin the blame on. I don’t want you and Charlie to be the last guys showing up for work when that happens. You understand what I’m saying, Roop?”
“You think we should… lay low for a while?”
“Damn it, Roop! Everything’s falling apart! Don’t you get it? We were already under scrutiny, but with Max going off the rails, it makes us look like we’re out of control. Officers are walking out left and right, and even if they weren’t, the suits and ties in city council can’t stand the heat of a biker war. They want our troops back to handle the job, so they won’t have to deal with it themselves. They’re going to hang us out to dry, Roop. This isn’t about retiring, or getting a new job. This is about getting out of the way while it all comes crashing down. Get the hell out of there right now, Roop! And take Betty with you.”
Roop’s eye went to Charlie reaching into his jacket, pulling out his electrolarynx as if drawing a gun. Placing it to his throat, he said, “TWO BIKER NOMADS, SCOPING OUT THE PLACE. NO… THREE OF ‘EM.”
Betty leaned over in her desk and peaked through the blinds, then she pulled back in alarm when Roop grabbed the string and jerked the blinds all the way up. Sure enough, he saw several bikers standing on their motorcycles just outside of the gate. Two of them were bearded and dressed in weatherbeaten attire, but a third was dressed in a shiny black jacket emblazoned with a rainbow design on the back, with the name LUCIFER emblazoned across the colorful design.
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“Ah, God,” said Roop. “Those are Gravediggers, they’re not even the guys Max is chasing down. This is… this is really…” He fell silent as he saw one biker motioning to others that he could not see beyond the wall. He froze, unable to believe that this was really happening.
“Roop,” Fifi’s voice came through the receiver, his tone oddly casual despite their situation. “Get some gear out of the armory. Then head down to the garage, and pick out a car you like. Tell Charlie to do the same. Then you boys… you get Betty out of there. Alright?”
“Right… right, sir.”
“You don’t have to ‘sir’ me,” Fifi immediately responded. “Been an honor.”
The receiver clicked, then fell silent. Though Roop knew he should explain the situation, he could hardly speak with his throat tightening up. But Charlie must have already understood, for he went to the keystand and snatched the key to the armory. He said nothing, but turned to Roop and gave him a look of grim determination.
Roop did not need to say anything. They both knew that the Main Force Patrol was dead.
Somehow the vermin had won.