POD: Alternatives

POD: Alternatives is a story in the world of POD. It was written by Revs and edited by RedLine. The content here was taken from Jupiter State Museum.

## Introduction

Welcome to the factually-accurate narrative, written by Revs - a survivour of the events on planet Io - and edited by RedLine, who has made Io his principal historic study for several years.

The narrative is called POD: Alternatives. Why "Alternatives" if this is a factually-accurate account? Well, as you will probably know, the offical account of what happened on Io has always been called into question by experts, and rumours persisted that the offical version of the events was not the totally correct one, but because of the 30 year rule, no-one involved in those events was able to speak up.

Of course this month marks the end of the 30 year rule. The - newly reformed - United Earth Council themselves will be releasing all the remaining offical documentation later this month, and perhaps because of that, we were contacted by Revs, who asked if we were interested in his story.

Of course we were interested. One of the reasons the story is serialised is because much of the early part of the "real" and "offical" stories are exactly the same, so the facts can be checked with the existing records. It's only towards the end that things get a little hazy, but by the time those parts of the story are to be released, the final offical records will have been released, and so the facts towards the end can also be verified.

## Chapter 1: Fork-Tailed Devil

The twilight sky was a deep blue. Darker coloured clouds rolled and boiled across it with the same urgency as the wind wailing through the deserted structures of Galleria. Lights flickered and died; giant video boards advertised the latest deals whilst automated manikins modelled the slickest suits and the most flattering dresses to the non-existent shoppers. Not so far away the gong-like sound of metal crashing to the ground could be heard. POD was taking control of this area. Papers, dust and all manner of personal effects rushed down the street, caught in the stiff breeze. Across the street a sign, "Sentinel Security Products", swung noisily by it's last remaining screw. A couple of papers fetched up against it, flapping momentarily before continuing their crazy flight and, as if the added burden were too much, the final screw gave way and another gong sounded as Sentinel Security Products crashed to the pavement. The dust settled. A couple of rodents scuttled to where the sign lay, investigating the possibility of food, having been attracted by the noise. Nothing unfortunately. But now a new sound: a gentle, throbbing gurgle. The two sat up on their haunches, noses twitching, a predator perhaps. A predator it was. Emerging from its hiding place down street, it turned its attention toward them. Ponderously, quietly, it rumbled closer. Quickly the two companions scurried away.

There it is. Craig Blades brought his car to a stop. I knew it was around here somewhere. Sentinel Security Products, this is the place all right. The gurgling stopped abruptly as Craig shut off the engine, climbed out onto the street and shielding his eyes from the dust, ducked quickly into the store. Inside, the effects of looters were obvious. Much as the police and army tried to prevent it, they couldn't stem the tide of lawlessness that arose during the panic of the final days before the evacuation. He turned slowly around surveying the overturned displays, pillaged clothing racks. It was pointless looking in the armoury, the door of which stood ajar showing blast marks and scars from broken entry, anything worthwhile would've been taken. Unconsciously resting his hand on the automatic strapped to his right thigh Craig moved into the store, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. It'd be a good idea to keep the car in sight - there was no telling if any of those other guys'd followed. Now, they should be right about here... Ah, what's under that smashed counter? Yep, just what I came here for. Craig lifted a pair of IR night vision goggles out of the display case: Now I can practise at night-time with the headlights turned out. No one'll be able to see me. Well, might as well grab some ammo and head for my hootch. With a quick glance up and down the street, Craig stepped towards the car, touching a button on the side. The gull-wing door hissed open mechanically.

Roaring momentarily before settling once again to a quiet gurgle, the strange predator awoke and, studied by a couple of rodents, rumbled away.

For someone marooned on a dying planet I should not be enjoying myself, smiled Craig, guiding his car through Megapol. But here I am in the car I dreamt about as a kid on a fast road and there's no one to enforce the speed restrictions! Unable to contain his glee Craig burst into hoots of laughter, accelerating through the gears, his Fuego gave him yet another kick in the back. This really was a driver's car! It seemed that every detail in the road was fed through the whole car. He could sense just what the car was doing through his hands, his feet and even through the seat! And the handling characteristics were just amazing! And that's gotta be good news cuz this thing is obsessed with head-butting the horizon! The fork-tailed vehicle thundered down the four-lane whipping up dust and sending papers into crazy spirals. This thing just does not want to stop! Ha! Like my dog chasing sticks! Sixth gear, the engine note deepened, the numbers on the head-up display blurred upward. One hundred and sixty five! Okay, time to calm down, that's enough excitement for one day. Let's save the speed for the next race. After all, I need to live to get off this rock... Even as Craig eased off the accelerator, his Fuego thundered past a virus infected speed limit sign, whipping out a tailwind that shook and rattled the battered sign until the last layers of rust around it cracked, and with a snap it turned a double-cartwheel and speared into the ground. It'd soon be dark and he'd be able to try out his night vision goggles. And if the weather stayed dry it'd be a good night to go test on the old stock car oval and make some adjustments. Yeah, it's gonna be - What the heck is that?! Growing larger in the rear-view was another car: droop snoot, cockpit-forward configuration, and wide body close to the ground with a blue paint-job. Craig felt a chill run up his spine, "*A 'Pursuit Special'*", he murmured. "I thought they were only talking about building those things...". It was unmistakably a Police car - a highly modified variant of the Bakar-95. What's he gonna do? Write me a ticket for cryin' out loud?! The Pursuit Special was coming alongside already. It was impossible to see the driver through the black tinted windows. Craig threw the switches that would readjust the spoilers for better down force, slacken the brakes and boost the dampers. Maybe he's gonna be unfriendly. Craig slipped down to fourth. The engine roared. Fuego surged ahead. And the safest place for me is ahead of him...

Captain Derek Stealth was testing his car, or "B-95" as he and his friends often referred to it. Only this one wasn't a regular Police B-95. It had a little something extra, which is probably why the chief spontaneously dubbed it the Pursuit Special at a press conference. 550-brakehorse and a ground-effects system with more suction than a Veitland twister, yes, an aptly named car. Heh. Next time I see those guys, we'll soon find out who's top of the heap... They'll never - Hey wait second! Derek stared in surprise at the Fuego cruising down to the intersect, "*A 'Fork-tailed Devil'*", he breathed. Well. Time to see how my wagon measures up. Derek brought the B-95 alongside the Fuego. Can't see the guy through that fancy red glass. Let's just hope he - WHOA! There he goes! Derek threw the switches for pursuit mode and felt a tiny tremor as the topside and under-belly spoilers optimised the ground effects. He dropped down to fourth gear and floored it. The car howled and surged away.

Craig glanced to his left, "*Either I'm getting déjà vu or that guy ain't getting the message*". Both cars were door to door. If he tries to sideswipe me it's gonna be messy. But before Craig could think further, the Bakar seemed to pounce ahead! "*I DON'T BELIEVE IT!!*" Craig shouted. Easily gaining a couple of car lengths, "INTERCEPTOR" was clearly visible on the B-95's rear spoiler. Then for no reason it slowed and levelled with Craig's Fuego again, being careful to leave at least a two-foot gap between them. Two engines thundered furiously. Trails of dust spiralled away from tyre treads. Two cars blasted under an overpass. Understanding dawned on Craig with a wide grin, "*A little sparring contest?*" He flexed his fingers on the wheel and gear stick, "*Okay...*". There was a turn up onto a slip road in quarter of a mile. Three hundred yards. Two hundred. One hundred: decelerate. Gears. Turn. Accelerate and Craig guided his Fuego through the fierce right-hander up onto the slip road.

Captain Stealth studied the movements of the other car, "*He controls with a light hand*". I'm not dealing with the usual punk car-thief here. The B-95's front wings crammed close in behind the other's taillights as the two vehicles scorched through a wide left turn toward uptown Megapol. A twist of the wheel and a jab at the accelerator brought Stealth's B-95 round in a violent right-turn. Stealth clenched his teeth, more power! Birds flapped away from their roost, the Pursuit Special leapt over a road cutting. Immediately there was a right hander. Stealth cut the wheel. The spoilers couldn't compensate...

The B-95 vanished from Craig Blades' rear view. "*What?*" But it was too late to consider further, a series of tunnels gave a strange sound to the engine as he was swept round an extensive U-turn. Exiting the tunnel Craig tried to orient himself, I don't know this part of town so well. A yell of terror escaped him as multiple taillights and "INTERCEPTOR" filled his vision. Under superb control, the rival car executed a power-slide, leaving the Fuego behind in a trail of dust and whirling debris.

"*Clean it up, Captain*", Stealth admonished himself, bringing the B-95 out of a four-wheel drift, back into a straight line. "*They didn't call me the Drift King for nothing*" he smiled. Seeing the Fuego still in his rear-view, Derek roared with laughter. This is such a blast! I've never had so much fun in all my career!! Executing a sharp left hander Derek smiled to himself as his rival insisted on his left flank. He had the line on the turn and there was no way he was going to give it up! The tyres started to squeal. The B-95 broke into another slide! Stealth caught a glimpse of concrete posts to his left and the Fuego blasting over a platform to his right as the back-end threatened to swap places with the front. Kill the power and turn into it! Concrete posts whipped past, inches from Stealth's tyres with a sound like turbine blades on a hovercraft. Then the road opened up, the B-95 flashing under a display hoarding. Strange how they're still cycling through their ad' programs. Right branch in the road. Fork Tailed Devil straight ahead...

Armco panels blurred past and Craig was heading back down the four-lane. That cop is big in my rear-view already. He must've hit some Pod or maybe some oil. An indicator on the head up display changed to amber. I need to get tanked. Another glance in the rear-view. Red and blue lights flashed as an undulating wail cranked up. I don't believe this! Ahead was another slip road. I've gotta lose this guy if I'm gonna keep my fuel supply secret. Craig lined up as if to pass the slip, the Pursuit Special was gnashing at his rear fins. With a light snatch of the wheel, Craig sent the Fuego boiling up the slip. There's a hard right.. Too fast! Time seemed to unravel, as Craig buried the brakes and cranked hard on the wheel, his free hand working the sequential shift. The four wheels bit hard into the dust and the Fuego flew sideways. Craig nipped the handbrake and the back flew out. With the steering at full lock, he dropped the brakes and floored it. The engine roared hungrily, and Craig let the steering feed out as the Fuego completed a deceptively graceful near-180 and roared away towards the industrial sector.

That sly guy! Captain Stealth smiled to himself. The Fuego had vanished from in front of him up a slip leading to the industrial quarter of the district. He brought the Pursuit Special round, in a smoking 180-degree handbraker, to face up the on-ramp that would lead him towards the top of the slip his rival had just taken. Captain Stealth killed the lights and sounds he'd put on for a bit of fun and theatrical effect. He really is the Fork Tailed Devil...

"*I'll go to ground for a while 'til I'm sure he's gone*", thought Craig. Now, how do I get the car out of sight? Craig studied the street ahead. A large dog snarled, menacing the car with its fangs. "*No empty threat*", Craig mused, watching the animal warily cross the road ahead of him before entering a storefront. The wide entrance of a shopping mall further up invited him with animated manikins and more video boards. The Megapol Mall... Looks a pretty safe bet.

Captain Stealth found the quiet throb of his B-95 soothing as the vehicle proceeded at walking-pace along another of Megapol's deserted streets. He'd doubled back out of an industrial estate to find himself in another chic commercial district. Well, it looks like Fuego-man lost me. But what a scream that little race was! Shame we could be dead a couple of weeks from now. It was getting dark now and the lighting in various stores came on, as well as the street lights; all automated and unaffected by Pod as yet.

Craig threw some overhead switches and turned off the engine. The car was well concealed among some clothing displays and some manikins were milling around close by. A "female" one was wearing a luxurious looking dress. Wow. My wife will look great in that. I'll bring one back for her as a souvenir. Craig emerged from the Fuego, the door sank downward with a barely audible hiss whilst he pulled up the collar of his leather jacket. He paused for a moment to listen: no one's around. Craig armed the anti-theft, "*Now to find that dress. And some food*".

Derek turned down a side street. A couple of cats fighting and hissing fled from the squat form and headlights of the approaching vehicle. This is the delivery access for a couple of the malls. And "Red Line's Road Craft" store is near here I think. Turning up one of the ramps, Captain Stealth guided his B-95 into one of the malls. The car, taillights glowing, passed a sign that was almost unintelligible from Pod corrosion. It clattered to the concrete floor, "MEGAPOL MALL. FREIGHT ENTRANCE and TRUCKERS' RECEPTION".

## Chapter 2: That's One Less...

The evening sky smouldered with streaks of vivid red. Sounds intruded on the ear: a rhythmic clanging, competing with the wind's incessant moaning through the waterless canal-bed. A small freighter sat broodingly on the canal floor, listing to one side, overshadowing the gelatinous green fungus that caused part of the concrete floor to fizz and boil. POD was visiting the Sewer, paying no attention to the sign that read "Warning: New Columbus Waste Reprocessing Plant NCW-01 is strictly off-limits to all unauthorised persons. Trespassers will be prosecuted." A small trickle of water wound its way past the stricken vessel and into a small crater in the floor. POD had pulled the plug on this area. And now a new sound; with a sharp cry a solitary gull swooped down to land on the freighter's corroded bulwark. Cocking its head to one side, it stared past rusted hull-plates into the small stream. No food. With a sound like a rasping sigh, it flapped away. All the while the rhythmic clanging continued, the reproachful complaint of a listing freighter.

The gull carried its plaintive cry into the distance. The wind continued its moaning. The red clouds continued to seethe angrily across the sky. And a deep-throated rumble began to echo through the tunnels a short distance away, increasing moment by moment. Dust and pebbles began to trickle from the canal walls until, in an explosion of sound, two cars and a truck erupted from a service tunnel into the canal-bed. Fountains of filthy spray spurted away from the trio of vehicles, each fighting for grip on the slippery floor of the canal-bed whilst they jostled for the best position. Impassively the old freighter watched them approach, jumping, swerving and clashing noisily with the ringing, crumpling sound characteristic of car-body panels. And in that brief moment they were gone, leaving only tyre-prints and a fresh film of spray on rusted hull-plates.

A quick glance in the rear-view gave Marvin Hunt good cause to smile. Several car-lengths behind, the Truck and a Jaero were busy trading paint and that would give him enough of a lead to put a couple of curves between him and them so he could sneak away to his hootch without being followed. Ahead of him gaped an exit from the canal-bed, Marvin up-shifted and straightened the curve through the exit taking his Frazer once more into the dim labyrinths of the Sewer.

Nate Packer was determined to teach that pig of a driver in the Truck a thing or two about driving. He'd been on a test-drive and was returning through the Sewer when a chance encounter with the Truck and Frazer occurred. Since then the witless moron in the Truck hadn't ceased in trying to batter him and the other guy off the road! That wasn't Code and that scum-sucker knew it! The Frazer was getting away and now, Nate decided, it was his turn to show that jerk a set of taillights before vanishing into New Columbus. Nate coaxed his car in a little closer to the Truck's tailgate. Not as good as drafting a car but even though the truck had no ground effects there'd still be a little benefit as it bull-dozed the air out of the way. Then it'd be so long and thanks for the slipstream... Nate was pretty certain the Truck had had some extreme modifications. After all, how'd he be able to keep up with me an' the Frazer? But it won't help him any... Smoothly downshifting Nate slipped from behind the Truck and floored it. In fifth gear the Jaero leaped ahead towards a gap in the approaching left-hander's armco. Nate's blood tingled with adrenaline, white knuckles on the wheel, his car wallowing slightly in mid air briefly and then with a jarring thud one of the rear tyres landed quickly followed by the other three. Yeeeeehaaahhh!!! This is it, baby! This is where it's at! Crates of rat bait burst and skittered every whichway whilst Nate and his Jaero thundered down the new short cut. A quick glance in the rear-view to confirm the good news and – What the…!? Cartons of bait careened and exploded across the tunnel once more to make way for the Truck ploughing through them. A look of determination set on Nate's features: time to up-shift. Instruments – hot but not bothered – just the way I like it. Another jump approaching... ready, ready...

Marvin Hunt began to relax a little. Those other two were out of sight so he'd drive out of the Sewer and head for his "home-stroke-garage", as he called it, near the City. The Frazer felt firm in his hands as the wheels soaked up the smaller bumps whilst the car maintained a steady poise following the undulations over the 'crete. This place is a rabbit warren, observed Marvin, noticing an emergency relief tunnel whilst preparing to straighten a left curve. Satisfyingly talkative thought Marvin of his car's steering, taking a wide line into the curve and looking to position the car, "*Just about there...*" on the exit. Marvin reflexively glanced upward to see what caused the shadow to pass overhead; his jaw dropped in astonishment. That guy! Marvin caused the Frazer a nervous wobble as the Jaero landed to one side with a splash of sparks. A flash of yellow in the rear-view showed the Truck landing a couple of car-lengths behind! Seeing the curves well ahead, Marvin chose his line and flipped the safety cover on a switch marked, "GAS". After a moment's hesitation and a glance to his left Marvin thumbed the switch and was thrust into his seat as the three-second boost of nitrous oxide propelled the Frazer car-lengths ahead! This is all getting just a little out of hand! Stay calm! Grip the wheel gently now! Come on, Marv', pull yourself together!! The rakish throb of the engine changed pitch as the Frazer launched out of the tunnel toward a tight hairpin. Now this I can deal with, executing a scorching handbraker, Marvin zigzagged away from the curve into the complex that would take him out of the Sewer and out of danger...

Perspiration pricked Nate's face. The Truck had shunted him and smashed the lens of his rear-view camera. He didn't have any door-mirrors and couldn't see where the Truck was or what he was doing. Not good, thought Nate, preparing to execute a hand-brake turn through a right-hairpin. He turned in and began to pinch the handbrake when, instead of seeing his planned exit ahead, a bone-jarring impact threw his head against the side-glass and sent the world whirling past his windshield to reveal the Truck diving round the corner of some grey buildings. Recovering, Nate sent his Jaero through a gap in the same buildings to emerge door-to-door with the Truck on is left. Nate could feel the car acting nervously, struggling for grip - the back end must've taken a real hammering. The head-up display indicated red on the rear left quarter. The two combatants roared into the cavernous hall which housed the in-processing vats of NCW-01. Nate had a low 'crete wall on his right and a yellow wall on his left. There was no room to do anything but break hard and get away using a J-turn. He stamped on his brakes and the harness bit into his shoulders mercilessly but the Truck reacted quickly by turning across the Jaero's path, denting panels and hemming it in. Nate fought with the wheel but his front panels were pinned between the wall and the Truck. Suddenly the wheel bucked and threw off Nate's hands when the steering gear collapsed causing the Jaero to come to a shuddering halt.

Nate sat up straight, dazed, staring at red ignition lights, the car curiously silent. Then he remembered. Reaching for the door-latch he groped for the release-catch on his harness. Foetid air flooded into the car as the door opened by itself and powerful arms reached in, hauling him clear of the car. Too surprised to think properly Nate could only say, "*This isn't the Code you psycho moron!!*"

"*Do you think I care about your code?*" was the hoarse reply. Next moment Nate found himself flying over the wall to land in the stinking yellow, green and brown sludge of one of the vats. He started to swim for the side but it was impossible, the sewage was more like mud, his strokes degenerated into futile flailing and thrashing. A burning, scalding pain began to cover his body and Nate let out a cry of agony realising that the vat must be POD infected. And up there behind the wall stood his murderer, a man of wrestler's proportions wearing a bandanna, laughing. It was the last thing Nate ever saw...

* + -

She's gonna look gorgeous in this! Craig Blades regarded the green dress he'd found for his wife. Megapol Mall showed remarkably few signs of looting or damage, Craig noticed, compared to other places he'd seen. 'Guess clothes come further down the list than weapons and food. But Maria's gonna love this! I can't wait to see her show off and do twirls in it!! Some distance away the sound of falling masonry could be heard. Craig turned his head in the direction of the sound. With a distant rumble a building, one of the residential towers most probably, slumped into the ground with the secondary crashes of collapsing overpasses and walkways. If I get a chance to see her... Craig selected another dress, "A red one!" he smiled, and then it was time to go find the Fork Tailed Devil.

The flashes of a dying strip-light sporadically revealed the form of a Police officer slowly advancing down dark aisles of supermarket shelving. Ripped food packets and their contents lay strewn about the floor alongside objects that had been used as weapons. Clearly there'd been a food riot here at Megapol Mall's Grocery Express. Captain Stealth recalled the death of a paramedic here when the riot took place. Pasta crunched quietly under foot. It seemed so long ago. Rats' eyes twinkled from among food cartons. Stealth had been careful to examine packaging carefully for signs of gnawing but otherwise stuck to bottled or canned goods. Even though some of the freezers were working meat products were risky; except soya of course, which was beginning to sound very appetising. Well, he'd gathered enough food for a couple of days. Might as well grab some cans of CoolTech and a filter from Red Line's – tonight would be a good opportunity to do an oil-change...

Craig froze. After a few moments he slowly and silently began to back away, carefully unsnapping the gun's retainer strap on his holster. Keeping his eyes fixed on that wide and squat form, INTERCEPTOR proclaimed the certainty of retribution for any wayward citizens, Craig edged behind some display shelving and observed the dormant vehicle for a few minutes. No movement from within. And only the quiet, steady ticking of hot oil landing in an engine's sump could be heard. It had to be the Pursuit Special he'd raced with earlier. Its driver was obviously around here somewhere. Craig turned his head slowly from side to side, watching, listening for any movement in the large display lobby. Nothing except for the distant rumble of a heavy vehicle, most likely a commercial hauler on autopilot. Time to go. Craig drew his weapon and flipped off the safety catch, No telling where he is...

Captain Stealth, bending double, moved quickly and quietly through a store entrance and stole behind some clothing racks bracing his back against one of them. He could hear the blood pulsing through his temples whilst he made an attempt to control his heavy breathing. Outside, an engine throttled down to an idle and purred gradually closer. Stay calm and think rationally, Derek. The faint smell of exhaust fumes drifted into the store. Close. Too close for me to sneak away. Carefully Stealth put down his carton of CoolTech and drew his service automatic. A flick of the thumb released the magazine. Armour piercing. Well at least I've got that in my favour. For as much good as it'll do. With a click it slid quietly back into place. Now, stay down and don't make any rhythmic sounds. Plastic and glass of once desirable consumer goods crunched beneath the weight of eight armour-belted, deep-tread flotation tyres. Dust, mud and rust scarred camouflage armour plating. Servos whined briefly – a heavy calibre, Gatling-type mini-gun followed the arc of vision swept by the various detectors that swivelled on their mounting, trying to re-establish contact with the target. How on Io did a Python get here!? Sweat began to trickle down Stealth's back. If that thing gets any closer I'll have tread marks on my face. Facing Stealth from across the room an electric door abruptly swung open and in sashayed a quartet of automated manikins. A quick whine of servos, a thunderous roar and in quick succession the four manikins exploded. Its engine revved up and amidst shattering glass, moaning steel and collapsing displays the Python patrol vehicle bulldozed into the store, hungry for more blood. It's now or never! Stealth didn't waste time shooting but dived sideways behind a counter and crawled toward a staff exit. He leapt through the doorway as the Python, a manikin's arm and torso pinned on its front crash-bar, smashed and splintered its way after him. Another deafening burst of fire. Dust and masonry raced overhead as he dived once more; the Python was tracking him thermally! He was in a small storage room and there were no exits! The Python smashed into the room and immediately detecting him traversed its terrifying gun. But a fallen beam prevented it from lining up! That thing's gonna fire its self-defence gas and I'm gonna die anyway. Stealth made a desperate lunge toward the patrol vehicle and the gaping hole left in the wall behind it...

Craig Blades turned with a start at the sound of weaponry and destruction nearby. Without further hesitation he bounded back through the store shoving oblivious manikins aside to find his car. Craig slammed past a set of doors and, painfully arrested by chrome railings and glass, found himself looking across a kind of ravine in the mall, with stores making up the sides of that ravine. Craig was about ten feet above the ground level. Well this isn't the way I came. A bridge lead to the other side across which a set of doors burst open and out ran a police officer yelling and waving frantically. Craig was about to go for his gun, but in trying to avoid the idiot cop he overbalanced. The cop was already bearing down on him and reached out to haul Craig to his feet when he noticed how loud the noise of disintegrating displays, collapsing ceiling panels, fusing electrical systems and revving engines were becoming. "*LEAVE NOW!*" screamed the policeman in his face. The words were no sooner out when across the bridge, a robot patrol vehicle crashed through more plate glass and tumbled through the railing on to the ground floor, turning its gun and looking for them as it did so.

"*A Python!?*"
"*Shift your butt!!*"

Craig needed no further prompting as the two of them retraced Craig's steps through the doors and into the store. Yet another thunderous burst of gunfire: glass and displays disintegrated at their heels. Taking another exit, the one that Craig originally intended, they spilled into another clothing department. Ahead of them waited Craig's Fuego. Stealth staggered to a halt: the Fork Tailed Devil. "*Climb in and don't touch anything!*", called Craig over his shoulder whilst disarming the anti-theft.

"*Get me close to the freight entrance. I can reach my car from there!*"
"*Police Interceptor?*"
Stealth turned towards Craig, "*You got it*".

With wry smile, Craig started the engine. Roaring furiously the Fuego awoke and, scattering manikins, it stormed out of the store.

  **Database**