Thread: The Fast and the Fucked (Closed for Forever Unbreakable)

Sylvester P. Anderson was not the exception to the rule. He was the definition of it. Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. He did not have absolute power, but he did have power working as an undercover narcotics officer. He had been undercover for two years now, and was just coming into some real power within the gang he'd been tasked to infiltrate. At first it had been boring grunt work. Bouncer, bodyguard, hired muscle. The lame stuff, but eventually it led to his spot as a driver for the Velvet Fire. All of their cars were a sparkling purple, and had engines that made them fast as fucking fire. Their drivers were some of the tops in the country, but had all been kicked out of legitimate jobs for one reason or another. Drugs, booze, prostitution, assault, they were all scum, but they were fucking good at what they did. Sylvester's fake background was that of an ex-racer over in Europe. He had the typical European build black straight hair, black eyes, pale skin, tall and lanky. With a slight Russian accent it worked well, but some of the crew still made cracks about him being ex-KGB. Syl, as they called him, put up with a good nature and continued to shine as driver. He wasn't the best mechanic, in fact he could barely change the breaks, oil, or a tire, but behind the wheel he was probably the best on both talent and brains. He didn't just drive with touch, he planned everything, and was meticulous. His mechanics hated him, because his checklists were insane and he couldn't do half the shit or understand it. However, as the bosses continued to promote him, the mech's learned to deal with his obsessive behavior. Which was great for Syl, one less thing he had to worry about. This was especially important because something, or rather someone, new had come up in the gang. Some kid. They called her, Mermaid, because one time a boss had bought her a Little Mermaid back-pack when she was ten and she had kicked him straight in the nuts. She was now either fourteen or fifteen and had a reputation as one of the best drivers around. Syl couldn't believe it, and the more stories he heard about her, the sorrier he felt. He knew the brass had enough to put away most of the Purple Fire, and he had begun asking them to do it more and more often, just to save this little girl who was going down a terrible path. Whether or not she knew how much her cute little body was being taken advantage of, Syl wasn't sure, but he knew it was happening. He'd even had to take her up to the bosses a few times after she had got so drunk that she'd taken off her shirt revealing her barely formed breasts to several of the most dangerous rapists and ex-con's in the country. Sylvester's conscious was really beginning to get to him, and it was obvious whenever he was around her. He was the only one that treated her like the girl she was, in the politest way he could. Now she was standing just a few racers away from him, as they were given the map for the next track and the low down on cops and traffic, including various safe houses and roadblocks they could use if things got too hot. What the hell was she doing here! This was one of the biggest races and craziest parties, snort, H, weed. It was everywhere, booze flowed freely. Condoms were handed out liberally. Nervously Sylvester rubbed his hands together as all the racers began shaking hands around him. God he hoped she would be okay...