Hello everyone ^^ It is Saturday I hope you enjoy. There is a little bit Spanish talk so I will translate it. ( Like this) Beside it. Some fairly heavy drug use in this chapter, in no way shape or form do I endorse drug use. Drugs are bad mmkay kids?
Vespidian, Arc 6, Chapter 4: Interlude Burnout
Smoke wafted through the oil-tainted air. It was a good stench, one that Burnout was used to. It meant that things were getting done. An engine roared to life, then puttered and died with the excited cries of a lunatic. Things were definitely getting done tonight. It brought a smile to her cruel face, though it was covered by the skull bandanna and her bugged out eyes were under her tinted goggles. Her half shaved head, let the long purple hair drape over one side. Cook Cook was on a roll. He was screaming and raving about something and that was always a good thing. Last time he had a breakthrough he figured out how to make fireproof suits for the goons, before that he souped up the bikes to survive the intense heat from their Pyrokinesis. This time? Who the fuck knows, the man was a genius.
Burnout walked back and forth decked out in motorcycle leathers. The flaming skull with wings emblazoned upon the back of the jacket with a bold A H in the eye sockets. It was customary for any Angels of Hell member to have it somewhere on their outfit. Her gloved hands left the fingers exposed as she twitchily scratched at her neck. It was already red from irritation and if this persisted then the old scabs would break and start to bleed again. It had been a full day since she had, had a hit and it was getting to her. The high had ended long ago and now she felt cold, lost, and paranoid. Were her men holding out on her? They sure seemed happy for not having any drugs. She cursed under her breath and scratched harder, tearing a scab and shuddered from the pain. It always cleared her mind and focused it at times like this. Brought things into perspective and kept things grounded.
The garage for the auto repair stop, Sparky’s was positively brimming with boisterous banter as some other members came rolling in hyped up on something. They had been messing around all day and a little lesson was in store. Burnout’s hand glowed sending a fireball the size of a hubcap into the guy who was smiling the most. It smacked him clear off the bike and he promptly rolled across the floor, screaming while the others laughed at his pain. Their voices were jeering and irritated Burnout. Fire filled her hands again and the whole group took off running. She snuffed it out, shaking her head. This migraine would be the death of somebody.
Her eyes roamed over the familiar wide open space, where suits hung from hooks and mechanized bikes, sat on platforms to be worked on. Among this veritable jungle of pipes and cylinders was Cook Cook. Everything had been cobbled together by him. If they had better funding, then they could most likely get things to look fancy rather than somewhat ramshackle in appearance. It had a bit of that atomic punk feel to just about everything that he made. Gears and twisting springs, glowing tubes flowed through thick plates and heavy structures. Although none of this stuff was powered by heated water, it was all nuclear. Twice as efficient, twice as dangerous and twice as likely to go critical if it got hit in the wrong place. Of course, that was Cook Cook’s specialty, sacrificing safety for performance and output. Sure, it made every one of these bikes a literal death machine to use, but it sure was a wild ride before it blew up.
“Wh- what- whatcha working on Cooky?” she asked, looming behind the squatted mechanical suit.
Cook Cook didn’t even acknowledge that she was there. He kept tinkering away on her bike, welding torch in hand. Sparks sprayed as he melded metal and bent the chassis. Her eye twitched with irritation, but she knew better than to interrupt a Mecha Engineer while he was inspired. If he was not responding, either this is all just a figment of her drug deprived mind or he was in a transcendent state of creation, crafting things that had no business ever being made reality. It was fucking magic how the man broke every law of physics. She had no idea how it worked, only that it did. Seriously, who the hell would think to power a bike with the raw radiant power of a Pyrokinetic, Cooky that is who. He was smart, but that damned Fire Chief seemed to be three steps ahead at every turn. Cooky made a new napalm and Fire Chief made a grenade that could instantly kill the fire. Cooky figured out how to use radiation to create a potent chemical fire that could burn without fuel and Fire Chief concocted a water solution that destabilized it and snuffed it out. It was back and forth and stressful enough to induce nail-biting from Burnout and she was not even the one trying to out think a certified genius.
Then, of course, there were the Junior Teams. Oh boy, did she hate those little shits. Especially that new one, Mecha Fairy. That little bitch got Blaze caught. Not only that, she brutalized him and tore his dick off. She could not think of anything that would be more pleasing than to roast that bitch alive. Not only would it be satisfying it would totally rub it in Fire Chief’s face as well as get revenge. It was like three birds with one fireball. She really liked the sounds of that. The others on the team were, well not really a problem, besides maybe that nut case Sunshine. In terms of raw power, hands down she was the strongest on that team. It had more to do with how versatile she was than anything else. Last time she rained kittens made out of water and it tripped Burnout out so badly she almost had a breakdown. It did not help that she was on acid at the time and they turned into butterflies with people faces. Everybody else on that team would scatter like chickens set ablaze if anything even remotely dangerous looking came at them.
She tapped her foot and held her hands still. She had the shakes. It did not feel good, to do nothing, but wait. However, without a steady supply of cocaine, well, there was not going to be a rescue attempt for Blazerunner. It was pissing her off, he was going to get shipped off any day now to the Institute. No one really knows what happens there, but people go in and never come out, at the least not the same. Speaking of Sunshine, she would be a prime example of an extreme case. If memory served that little ball of light used to be a psychotic serial killer. A warning to every Villain of what will happen if you get shipped. Whatever they did, it involved Mind Divers or maybe torture, likely both. Half the heroes in the league are ex Villains, who have had an attitude adjustment. Neon Nurse would be the only other that she could think of with a decent rank in the city. Although it was different for her, she betrayed her group and sold out their lair, so that she would not go to the Institute.
A compromised Lair spells doom for any group usually. That alone should have ended the Cyber Sirens, but Spark Spray and Vira got away. Now, they are holed up on the North West corner of the city, little bitches stole it from Burnout, she was still mad about losing such prime drug turf. That being said, there was not much she could do now that they were entrenched. It would be suicide to try and charge into their base with the amount of attack drones and defensive measures in place. She shook her head, remembering the last time they tried, lost fifty members and did not even get through the first set of blast doors. Rich kids, she spat on the ground. Well, what could she expect from the children of some of her richest clients?
Breaking Blaze out was going to be a problem. The Heroes were expecting it and moving him around like a pearl in a shell game. Time was fleeting, which made that deal with Glitter Kitten even more pressing. The bitch was holding out, but she always came through in the end. At the least, she had never disappointed yet. This, though, was kinda a big deal. Biggest for the cat and only the fourth largest for Burnout herself. She had been looking forward to the after party for a while now. Last time it was such a blast, she rode around the city naked, during a night long, sex, alcohol, and drug binge. Just remembering the wind caressing her bare body made her shiver. This time there would not be a party, at the least not right away.
Cooky was a short little bastard. Barely five foot and that was tip-toeing, outside of his suit anyway. He was fat too, kinda looked like a plumber with the cleavage going on back there. A huge bald spot on the top of his head, made it kinda look like an egg. Normally he wore oil spattered overalls and a welding mask. In the battle suit, he was taller than her and could stop a car going sixty. Then, of course, there were the flamethrowers built into the arms, jump jet on the back, and shoulder mounted rocket launcher all fueled with irradiated chems. He figured that shit out after a tangle with the Atomic Raiders. The stuff is easy to get too, there is a damned river of it running underneath the city courtesy of the Atomic Raiders and Bronson Atomic Industries.
The idea to get a hit of that was a very short-lived one, even for Burnout. Desperate as she might be, she had seen what it did to somebody who got it spilled on them. It was not a good way to go. It melted the man into an ooze. The only person she knew that was crazy enough to snort a line of it or inject it into their balls would be Demon Rider. Granted, he was on a whole other level. Even for a rank 9, the guy was nuttier than squirrel shit. Name a drug or something that is bad for you and he has done it at one point or another. By all rights, he should be dead a thousand times over. You gotta be crazy to break into hell, steal the Devil’s personal drug stash and take off with five of his bitches. Apparently, the Devil was not even mad and gave him a demon bike that ate drugs as a reward. All that he wanted in return was to watch the world burn. Win, win as far as Burnout was concerned. Speaking of him, it had been a while since she had even gotten coherent orders. The last time she had heard anything was, “Burn the fucking Diablos! Burn them, Burn them all!” Then there was something about kittens laced with LSD, no idea what that was about.
That was like a year ago. It is hard having a drug addled lunatic as your boss. At the least the demon bitches were acting as his secretaries, otherwise, it was doubtful anything would get done. Burnout had been true to her orders, even without a steady supply of drugs to sell or even use personally. Luckily the Diablos had plenty and it was easy enough to steal. The best part was selling it back to them. That always brought a smile to her face. Killing them all, though, that was proving to be very tricky. She might as well be trying to fight all of Mexico. There was a lot of them, like a metric shit ton. Ten members for every one that she had. Although for the time being she had more Supers. They had a wall of goons, though.
The ante had been upped recently, from the escalating fighting. Especially now that word on the street was they managed to wrangle in a Kraken merc. It must have cost them upwards of several billion. Kraken never works for cheap. Unless you wave a couple billion at them, they won’t lift a damned finger. At the least not the higher ones like Nitro, Molotov, Abyss, Soviet Love Hammer, Blood-Rage, or Mishka. How did she know they spent so much? Simple really they got one of the nastiest, Nitro. It did not take a month to take out LA. Well, two could play at that game. Burnout had already shacked up with a new, powerful Boss. If she managed to do her job, then she was guaranteed to get a heavy hitter that could help take out the Diablos and anybody else for that matter once and for all. The other thing that she stood to gain was membership into Kraken. The problem was the Boss was not happy with her performance so far. Honestly, they were lucky to even be alive after pissing the Boss off.
Burnout hit her head against a support beam. It was not her fault. How was she supposed to know that one of the mooks was going to go scorched earth status and burn the blueprints to that death whatchamacallit? It was so damned hard too, to steal it from Dr. Tesla. She killed the guy responsible personally and that was what saved them more or less from the Boss. It sent shivers down her spine, remembering how close they had come to death. They were already in too deep now, she had seen his face. She had no idea why he was acting like a Hero, but it was none of her business. Asking questions tended to get you killed. If she ever got caught there was not a single doubt in her mind that a hit man would take her out before she could squeal. They were spared for now. However, she was on the shit list and was relegated to laundering money, even her mooks knew not to burn it. She made damned sure of that.
“Burnout!” cried several members who tore into the parking lot.
Her brow furrowed and she walked out to them. “What?”
“The Diablos are moving a shipment. They are going to be leaving any second.”
“See fuckers? That is why I am the boss. I know shit,” she smirked, fire billowing out from around her. She was getting pumped up. Finally, there was something to do. She was not made for sitting and thinking things over carefully, she could do it that did not mean she liked it, though.
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They nodded their heads not wanting to piss her off. She walked back inside. Cooky had just finished welding on a train scoop shaped like a skull onto the front of her bike. It actually looked pretty good and the spikes to gouge at people she drove past were certainly a plus. The shout had spurred movement from the rest of the members and more than a hundred poured out of the woodwork like fleas on a stray dog. They suited up and mounted their roaring bikes. Cooky stayed behind, too enthralled in what he was doing to come along. It was not the first time and likely would not be the last.
She pulled off the bandanna tying it around her left arm. Her gaunt face certainly had seen better days. The drug use was not helping in the least. A front tooth had been knocked out, during her last fight with Enforcer. Her tongue poked out as she smirked. She owed him one for that and next time they crossed she would pay him back. She tossed her goggles to the side and lifted up her helmet. A distorted skull covered the front with large eye sockets and a jagged maw of teeth, the back was smooth and bone white. She slipped it on and tubes wormed up her nose. The two cartridges on either side of her face fed it drugs when she pressed a button. It was very handy when she needed a boost and could not go fumbling around for a needle.
Burnout slid into the seat of her bike and wrapped her hands around the handlebars. It felt like she was whole again. Originally this thing had been a Harley Davidson, now it was certainly something more, something monstrous. It glowed, flames being pulled into it from her. The engine ignited like a bomb and it took off like a rocket barreling out onto the street, smoke and charred pavement left in its wake. Shouts from her men filled the air and her twisted smile spread. The familiar rumble and growl of her partner made the world seem distant. She only felt alive when she was riding. This was going to be a fun night.
Street lights wavered, zooming by as they weaved in and out of traffic. They took the back roads and the less reputable routes that led through downtrodden neighborhoods and by sketchy crack houses. Naturally, all of it was under their control, however, with the semi-drought of drugs, business was not doing good. That was all going to change after that deal tomorrow. The streets will be flooded with cheap crack and the high-end stuff will get sold off to the CEOs of various businesses. They were rather faithful business patrons. She would likely make the money put into the deal in less than a week due to the sheer demand. Burnout knew how to squeeze the market and make them pay through the nose to get the good stuff. After all, she would rather use it herself than sell it. However, she did know that the funding was important. It was hard to run a multi-billion dollar drug smuggling and dealing ring. Well, she was not in charge per se, but she certainly was a big cog in the gears. Of course, anything stolen from the Diablos or anybody else for that matter was free to use since it was padding the numbers so to speak.
They crossed over Down Town territory into the Industrial District. Lately, the place had been a war zone with the Sixes and Sevens going nuts. Any Villain worth their weight in anything knew about the affairs of others. It would be stupid not to know what your rivals and allies were up to. In other words, it was perfect for a hit and run, smash and grab type deal. Not only would the cops be busy with the riots, but the Diablos would think it was the Sixes that stole their shit or even the cops raiding a supply line. That and they had come prepared to frame somebody else. It was a powder keg doused in gasoline, surrounded by flaming tar. It was at no point a matter of if it would self-destruct and likely take out half the city to block wars, it was a matter of when. She always did like to watch the fireworks, now it was time to set them off.
She eyed the target, a short convoy of three white vans that had “Jose’s Agriculture & Gardening” on the side. To most, this would not raise an eyebrow. Just some people going back to drop off the work vans after a long day of work and go home. It was a legit business that did all manner of stuff from harvesting the crops to mowing lawns and installing landscapes into people’s yards. To the astute, well, it was clearly a front business. It was rather ingenious really, they would stash the stuff in people’s yards or out at their work sites and none would be the wiser. That was until last month when Burnout cracked their system and figured it all out. The Angels of Hell had some too, mostly body shops or motorcycle repair places. Mostly, though, they were used to hide the bikes and anybody that was currently wanted.
Burnout raised her hand and gave the motion. Everyone sped up. The vans floored it, seeing the headlights following. The sides opened up and men stood, holding the straps with one hand while raising their guns with the other. It was a wide assortment from AR-15s to Mossberg riot shotguns and 9mm Sig Sauer pistols. The Diablos were well armed, but so were the Angels. The night lit up with the cacophonous roar of gunfire, beating back and forth between the two sides. One of the bikes bolted ahead, covered in flames, rider screaming and then it detonated, tearing the street to pieces ahead. Everyone swerved to avoid the gaping sinkhole. One of the vans reacted too late and plunged in. She gave a hand signal and ten of her goons descended upon the wounded quarry.
Normally Burnout would simply douse her opponent in napalm, but there was the chance of the cocaine getting torched, so that was a no go. The side compartment on her bike opened and she lugged out a heavily modified grenade launcher. It used to be one of Enforcers, MKII models. It was a real bitch to get the tracking device out. With a flip of the switch it was set to electro rounds and she fired. The recoil nearly unseated her and the round punched through the front of the lead van. Arcs of lightning jeered away from it, bursting streetlights and blacking out nearby warehouses. That one was dead in the water, engine fried. It veered to the side hitting a light post and the driver was ejected out into the street. Her tires bumped as he popped below her treads. She gave another signal and five chain wielding goons assailed the van, knocking out the windows. Others joined in like hyenas. They dragged the dazed Diablos out and started, beating the ever living shit out of them. Gunshots rang out distantly as she continued after the last remaining van.
This one had a Super. An Endurance, Shielder Subset by the looks of it. In other words, this was going to be a pain in the ass. Bullets bounced off the bubble surrounding it and recoiled back at the firer. Several of the front line were cut down. The back opened up and Burnout’s eyes gaped, her fist slammed into the side of her helmet. Burnout shuddered in elation, as the familiar high started pumping into her brain. It was not much, though, the last of her rations. It was similar to a gas tank running on fumes, just enough to get it kick started. The world moved at a snail’s pace. Her heart pounded in her chest and eyes dilated. Fire covered her from head to toe, it reached out forming wings and she took flight. A mounted mini-gun spun and a hail of armor piercing rounds sprayed into the group where she had just been. A whole line of bikes crashed into one another as their drivers were pelted with rounds, tearing them to pieces. Explosions rang out, as they went nuclear and a mushroom cloud reached up to the sky. It lit up the night for a brief moment before the wind and dust gusted out, smothering all the light and sounds.
Cackling like a lunatic she crashed down on the shield, cracking it and her bubbling flames wormed their way inside. They were trapped in there with it. Men flung themselves out the side, burning so brightly. Burnout watched their shadows dance, writhing and screaming. Her smile grew and grew. No longer protected by the Super she swung herself inside, kicking one of the mooks out the other side. He splattered against an underpass wall. Everything moved slowly and she took her time, lighting them on fire. At first just gentle kindling, then it escalated as the napalm stuck to their faces and oozed down their bodies. She could not stop laughing, as their faces scrunched up and their eyes filled with fear. Everyone is afraid of fire after all. If they were not, well, they just have not been burned yet. They held themselves, clawing at the warping flesh and searing agony.
All the while she tucked the fertilizer bags that were strewn about the floor in the belt she had stolen from Dr. Tesla. It was a very handy thing, this utility belt. It was a dimensional pocket and could store around two tons of stuff, five hundred in each of the four pockets. It was almost as though she was going shopping, humming away, as though there were not melting bodies all around her. A white powder puffed out as one of the bags lit up with flames. The fumes and smoke nearly made her eyes roll up. She threw up and held herself steady as the world started distorting and turning black. Burnout slammed her head against the metal wall of the van and shook it to get the spots out of her eyes. She stamped it out and pocketed the last bag. Her head, buzzing and feeling light. Jittery and hyper she scratched at her neck, making sure that she could still feel pain. If she could not, that was when she knew that she had problems. The blood coated her fingers and the dull sting let her know she was still in the clear of overdosing.
She clambered back out and mounted her bike. It had melted a groove in the roof and nearly fused to it. Blinking several times at the passing lights that glared at her, once more her wings of fire spread, lifting her up. The van exploded in her wake, sending shrapnel scattering in every direction. The pieces melted against her molten shield. Could she have saved her men from the bullets? Likely. Did she feel that they were worth it to try? No. It was not worth the risk. Got a problem? Throw more fodder at it. Just one of those bullets would take an arm off and that was if it just grazed. There was not a snowball’s chance in hell she was going to risk herself for those mooks, besides it all worked out. What are twenty or so goons to six thousand pounds of cocaine? Each of those vans had a ton on them.
Burnout slowed down the bike and pulled up alongside a blackened man. He was still trying to get up and a flickering field protected him from the fires. She grinned and kicked him in the face. He lay flat, shaking uneasily. She glanced him over and noticed his broken leg. Slowly, excruciatingly she dug her heel into the snapped bone and he writhed screaming. She jumped up and landed on his other leg, she bounced off when the field extended. Burnout did not like that, not one bit. The smile died on her face. She mounted the bike and edged it over his leg, it twisted and she relished his scream. His barrier had been weakened due to his pain.
“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here, Muro De Escudos. What is the matter? Does it hurt? You should get somebody to look at that, it looks broken. It might get infected, want me to cauterize it for you?” smirked Burnout.
He grit back, “Vete a la puta.”
“Such language,” she replied, wagging her finger at him. “Didn’t your momma ever tell you not to speak like that? Oh, my mistake she was too busy sucking my dick. Oooh I am going to have to take you to the burn ward for that one.”
Muro struggled, yelling and hitting at the bike wheel. It would not move an inch, though. She continued, “Come now, old friend. Tell me everything you know about Pico’s operation and I will put you out of your misery. As the number four guy, you should know where the storehouses are. If you don’t, well, I am going to have a lot of fun with you.”
“Ir al infierno que chupar la polla coño,” he yelled back.
“Hey, I hear it is a rather lovely place. Unlike you, my boss has actually been there. That sounds like a no to me. Well, I guess we are going for a ride,” laughed Burnout, wrapping a chain around his waist. She triple looped it and melted it in place, attached to the back of her bike.
Mura screamed, “Noooo!” when the bike roared to life and the chain slack snapped tight. His face ground against the melted asphalt and they took off, speeding down the street.
She rode back to where the others had gathered. Along the way she made sure to melt down any evidence of her gang. Bikes, bodies it did not matter they all got the super heated napalm that could melt metal in as little as ten seconds. It really depended on the type, not that she really cared though. The first van sat with blood smeared across the side and the bodies had coins over their eyes. Her grin spread. Perfect. They had brought bags of green spray paint and tagged the side up with the four-leaf clover of the Sixes and Sevens gang. It was their calling sign, that and the coins. She cackled hysterically when they finished up and packed away all the plunder from the raid. It was a real shame that, that mini gun had gotten melted. In the distance she could hear the sirens of the cops. Her sinister smirk only grew.
“Clear out.”
What a lovely night. Her head bobbed back and forth to the hoarse cries of her prisoner. He rag dolled, bouncing off of the street with sparks flaring away from him. Twenty goons, for a Super and half a ton of Colombian Bam-Bam? Fuck yeah! That was so worth it. They are going to tear each other apart! She rubbed her hands together with glee, driving with her heeled boot, just thinking about all the terrible things she was going to do with Muro when they got back to her lair. The remaining eighty or so thugs had formed up behind her and split the remaining drugs between them. It was enough to last them for a month, minimum. Her pocket vibrated and the jingle started up while she fished around for it. “Na, na na na, na na na, Drugs, gimme drugs, Gimme drugs, more, gimme more, gimme more!”
“Yo,” she said, wind whipping by.
“Hey, is that screaming I hear? Nyah? Is this a bad time?”
Burnout’s face lit up, “GK! My bitch, what the fuck is up?! Nah, nah great fucking time. I am, so, fucking high right now, like literally I think I could blow up half the city.”
“I thought you guys were scraping the barrel?”
“Nah, bitch, nah we just fucked the shit outta the Diablos. The best part is they will think the Sixes did it!”
“Nyahaha! That is fucking hilarious. Hey, you want to get your shit from me tonight? Nyah, Boss says there is a rat. Tomorrow is compromised.”
“What?! A rat? Who is it, who the fuck squealed?!”
“Blazerunner.”
“Son of a bitch! Traitorous dog. I will kill him. I will rip his, fucking balls off- oh, well. I guess Mecha Bitch beat me to that. Damn it. Dammit, dammit, dammit! Fuck! Dreamer and her fucking mind raping! Hmm, well, so much for rescuing his ass. Boss going to whack him?”
“He’s already dead. So? You coming or not?”
“You bet your sweet ass I am coming. First I gotta make a little stop. I gotta get the cash. Same place?”
“Meet me at the other drop spot.”
“I know the one. See you there, GK.”
Burnout hung up the phone and pocketed it. Her fingers trembled in rage and fire shot into the sky, “FUUUUCK!”