A Dej Named Bo: Permanent Retirement by 4x4pup < Submission

Keywords male 1301681, female 1183841, anthro 255887, canine 213489, mammal 68818, rodent 38275, blood 23568, kangaroo 16393, dickgirl 11505, car 9926, gun 8485, marsupial 5181, violence 4807, beaver 4512, bicycle 284

-- Chapter 1: Downhill Domination --

Jundum/July 15th, 2001. Qamakosei "Ken" Tanaken was healed up from spraining her ankle after riding a dodgy bicycle that she had gotten on the cheap last week, and was back on the mountain bike circuit in parts unknown. The staging area for the race was in a sawmill in the mountains. A good amount of time before the race, Ken noticed an unfamiliar woman with what appeared to be a production crew around her. She decided she'd have to investigate and walked over. Before she could speak with the woman, she took off on a warm-up course, a singletrack that twisted through a wooded area. Ken watched with the same eyes that the inventor of the steam locomotive might have. Analytical, watching out for any imperfections. Boy, did Ken find imperfections.

The woman - a kondoggoo (kangaroo) with wavy, shoulder-length ginger hair and dark pale blue and white fur - walked back up the trail with the bicycle. Ken looked at her with the air of a disappointed trainer. "Your form sucks." She stated plainly. The 'goo stopped in her tracks. "If you don't get your center of gravity down, you're gonna highside right into a tree. Jeez, you look like you've never rode a bicycle in anything other than a parking lot." The kondoggoo's nose crinkled as she bared her teeth as Ken spoke about her form. "Listen here, buckaroo. I've been doing stuntwork for 24 years now. I think I know what I'm doing."

The kondoggoo walked past Ken. "I've been doing MTB for as long as you've been stunting, buckaroo, so I think I know what you're doing wrong." She told the 'goo firmly. "Why don't you do your job and let me do mine?" The 'goo said, getting back on the bike, ready for another go. "Alright, fine." Ken said, throwing her hands up, "Don't blame me when they have to replace you when you wreck your shit." The look on the kondoggoo's face looked like that comment got to her. She kicked off and did another run, returning to the trailhead again.

"You nearly went off on that left-hander." Ken commented as the 'goo walked past. "Look, mate, my character in this scene has never ridden anything more than a Huffy 20 years ago. If I look like I'm about to crash, then that's gonna look great on film." The woman said, pointing at Ken sternly. Ken looked at the cameras. "But you're shooting in 720p." She commented under her breath. "Where's your stunt coordinator? I could tell him some pointers on how you could maintain control while looking like you never had it to begin with." Ken said kindly. "I am the stunt coordinator! I know what the fuck I'm doing! Now fuck off, cunt." The 'goo snapped and went down the trail.

She rode through the rutted opening straight, physically dodging past trees, almost caught air over a bridge, and landed into a right-hander bermed chicane. But when she hit the left-hander that she nearly went off on twice before, it happened. She got thrown clean off of the bike and let herself ragdoll onto the forest floor, missing hitting a thick root by centimetres. The production crew oohed and ahhed in shock, except for the first AD, who asked "Did we get coverage?" A camera operator simply said "Yep."

The 'goo sat up, her shoulder smeared with dirt and sticks in her hair. She looked like she had just been betrayed by gravity. She stood up, picked a stick out of her hair, grabbed the bike and trekked back to the top of the hill again. The look on her face was one of humility, whereas Ken's was stoic with disappointment, "I'll only help you if you ask for it. You're clearly not interested in it, anyway." The 'goo got back on the bike at the top of the trail. "You don't realise how close you came to snapping your neck, did you?"

The 'goo's breath hitched. "If you would have stayed on that bike another half-second, you'd be eating through a straw. Airbags give. 180-year-old pines don't." Ken approached her and put her hand on the 'goo's shoulder. "It's okay to admit you're overwhelmed or need help. I don't want you to break your pretty little face." The 'goo turned to Ken with a sarcastic smirk at the word "little." She chortled and shook her head, getting off of the bike. "Show me."

Ken smirked and got on the mountain bike. "I'll show you how it's really done, first." Ken kicked off and rocketed down the straight, barely moving her body past the trees, clung to the bridge with measured precision, carved through the chicane and past a left-hander by a tree, then rode the large bermed right-hander, pre-loading over a final wooden ramp and landing like a feather. She trekked back up to the top of the hill. "Now, I'll show you how to make it look frantic."

Ken took off again, bunny-hopping in and out of the rut to dodge the trees, pre-loading and catching big air off of the bridge, cutting the chicane out completely and purposefully wobbling around the next two turns and pre-loading the tough jump to make it, adding an unbalanced-looking wiggle when landing. After she went back to the top, Ken clinically explained exactly what the 'goo needed to do to sell the scene and keep herself alive.

After about 15 minutes of pointers, a kondoggoo woman, maybe 10 years younger than the woman Ken had been training, walked up. "Boss man wants you to shoot the scene soon. I can try to stall, but he just needs a couple of lines from me." "I think I'm ready." The stuntwoman said. Ken smiled and patted her back. "I'm Ken Tanaken, by the way. Preztiag, Weasauppen, Rayken." The stuntwoman shook her hand, "Mel Leedham, Wooroogooyoodoobagong, Noosowonggo, Wannadoo." "Gesundheit." Ken joked, and Mel laughed. "This is our star princess, Blaine Lindberg, from Siddely." Mel introduced the main actress from the show, who did a deep curtsey despite wearing trousers.

"So, what is this show, anyway?" Ken asked as they walked to the trail the show would be shooting on. "The pitch for this show was the intro sequence from Mannix set to 'If You Want Blood' by AC/DC recorded to a VHS tape that someone found in a bin." Blaine stated. Ken simply blinked, possibly in shock. "It's a miracle we're on series 4, somehow." Mel joked - Ken got the sense that was her off-camera catchphrase, and that she had been saying that for at least two seasons. "I think the pilot episode is on WBC's ErgoView page. Inspector Rhoade Trane is the name of the show." Blaine added as they reached the trail. The cameras were already in place, and the director looked like he was ready to go. Blaine ran ahead to do her lines, as well as a short run over to the bikes, before Mel needed to come in.

"If you're scared, I can always take over for you." Ken quipped to Mel, who looked her over. "With all due respect, we're busty kondoggoos and you're a flat beaver with a candy cane tail." Mel said. Ken laughed, but remembered to cover her mouth as the director yelled, "Quiet on the set! Roll cameras!" Blaine stood upon her mark. "Blaine's actually a theatre kid that the producers yoinked from some ancient 1930s theatre in Siddely." Mel commented to Ken. "Action!" The director shouted. Blaine ran forward, skidding to a stop in the dirt in front of a camera. She looks up at nothing, looks around the environment, and then spots a few mountain bikes at a rental shop nearby - a facade the producers put in. "Beats walking." Blaine said and hopped on the bike, pedalling off towards the nearest trail. "Cut! Alright, that was good. Let's bring in the double!" The director shouted.

"Yeah, I can tell." Ken commented as Mel rode toward her mark. The trail ahead was more intense, but Mel had already scouted it. Ken's words rang in her head. "Remember - you're an inspector from Siddely who hasn't ridden a bicycle in decades - you simply have enough natural talent to not kill yourself on a black diamond." "Right, roll cameras... action!" The director shouted, and Mel sprinted toward the trail - a much taller, multitrack one. The first obstacle was already tough - a rocky chute that led into a 5 metre drop onto gravel. Mel glided over the rocks and purposefully wobbled on the landing.

She bounced over the bumps and went onto a long, snaking singletrack bridge with a 1 metre drop in the middle, making sure to nearly ride straight off of the edges to make it look good. She intentionally kicked gravel over the edge of a precarious bridge over a deep dip in the terrain. She got big air over another snaking bridge and had to pedal hard for the big spectacle stunt - a jump off of a 15m high ramp. She hit it at max speed and did a nac-nac in mid-air, landing on the ramp on the other side like she knew what she was doing.

The trail levelled off for all of 3 seconds before going into a gnarly, off-camber, downhill right-hander. Mel ran the banking of the berm just like Ken had told her to do, powersliding through the grass into a banked 180 turn that looked like a slice of a superspeedway. Mel handled it like a pro and was just getting into the flow when the director yelled, "Cut! Print it - that was flawless, Mel! Great job. We might have to let you have 30-minute practice sessions more often." The director praised her sarcastically as she slid to a stop. "Bring Blaine in!"

Luckily, Ken had enough time to give Blaine some pointers, even though the rest of the course could have been passed on a Schwinn cruiser. It was a flat, 30m section of loose gravel. She hit the marks just as flawlessly as Mel did - it was clear why these two had been kept on for so long. She slid to a stop and looked into the distance at nothing, seeming rather disappointed at that fact. "Cut! Okay - I think that's a wrap, people!" "Uhh... guys, I don't think stunt sequences were made to be shot in one take!" Ken quipped, but she was wholly impressed. She went to shake Mel's hand, but Mel gave her a hug instead. "Thanks, mate. Couldn't have done it without you." She said. "Mel insists on doing long takes - says it's better for consistency. We're both a bit artistic." Blaine said.

"I bet you're very artistic, kid." Ken chortled. "For a theatre kid from Siddely, she's alright." Mel patted Blaine on the back. Eventually, everyone got back to the sawmill staging area. Blaine and Mel were free for the rest of the day as they had finished shooting, so they decided that they would watch the race. They had ditched their police inspector outfits as they walked the pits of the mountain bike race. Blaine wore a sundress and Mel wore a tank top and some skinny jeans. Maybe too skinny. Ken, meanwhile, was in her full race gear: spandex bib shorts, gloves, a helmet and a jersey that just said "MASOCHISM" over and over in a stenciled font.

In fact, she was doing pre-race signings. Behind her was the full, original Masochism "extreme sports lifestyle drink" lineup. They all had asymmetrical bottles that were advertised as having "ultimate grip" for "intense situations" and push-pull caps with tethered flip-top covers for quick, one-handed access. They saw a staggered release starting on Mierk 6, 1992. From left to right, in order of release, we have Salmiak, an aluminium chloride-flavoured birch beer that featured a forest on the label. Next to it was Battery Acid - which was their carbonated energy drink - a "toxic waste green" mix of phosphoric acid, potassium chloride and 200mg of caffeine per bottle, the label being bombarded with lightning bolts. The other three were ones we haven't seen yet. The third one was Wipeout, a bottle of concerningly-cloudy red liquid that had an unsweetened cranberry flavour, and was apparently high in zinc and iron. Its label was neon green with cartoony, zombie-like blood droplets oozing from the top.

The last two were Watersprout, the colour being somewhere between Windex and Baja Blast, which was a tropical punch-flavoured drink that was high in sodium (in fact, straight sodium chloride was mixed in), featuring a label that was somewhere between a Jazz pattern Solo cup and a city pop album cover. The last of the original lineup, released Seplute 26, 1992, was real-brewed lapsang souchong tea mixed with Ergonian bourbon. It featured a unique barrel-shaped bottle that was stencilled with MASOCHISM and TEXAS TEA branding.

Ken nearly choked on the Texas Tea flavour she was drinking. I'm still unsure if it was the overtly smoky flavour and sludgy texture hitting on a hot summer day, or if it was because her eyes met what the policeman trousers had previously hid, and what the skinny jeans couldn't. Mel was a deejer. "Wow," Ken said between coughs, "I hope you've never had to do a nude stunt on your show." Ken said as she wiped some primordial black sludge from the side of her mouth. "Well, I don't feel comfortable being naked, so I put that in my contract. That might be why they felt fine casting a deejer as my double." Blaine laughed.

"So no Renegade or Walker, Texas Ranger topless scenes for you?" Ken chuckled. "No, no. Trust me, Ken - not every buxom woman wants to show it off." Blaine insisted. "Clearly, Mel doesn't feel the same way." Ken smirked, pointing out Mel's white tank top. "Like Lisa Loeb said: 'Natural, not trendy.' If it wasn't for the show, I might not shave." Mel said, which made Blaine blush, but also made Ken's breath hitch. "I know I don't!" Ken said with a smile. Mel laughed, but Blaine covered her face.

Eventually, the race was underway. "... Tanaken has carved her way all the way up to second place from that shocking start, with 200 metres to go!" The lap-by-lap announcer belted. "But Mitchell isn't letting her by without a fight - that's the widest mountain bike I've ever seen!" The colour commentator added. Up ahead was a bridge section into a chicane - the same feature as the course Mel practiced on, just bigger. Ken was about to do what is called some "crazy shit."

She squatted down over a hump in the bridge and carved left. Then, she jinked right and suddenly lifted up on the bike with all of her might. While Mitchell carved the turn as normal, Ken cut right through the chicane, missing the course markers by centimetres. She landed awkwardly, nearly going over the handlebars and high-siding to the right at the same time. She recovered, but Mitchell locked up the brakes and went face-first into the dirt, nearly causing a multi-rider pile-up.

"And 'Kamikaze' Tanaken lives up to her nickname again with an incredible pass that has left Joannie Mitchell knocked for six!" The lap-by-lap announcer crowed. "I'm not sure Mitchell will be that big of a fan of hers after that one, Jiq..." The colour commentator added. "Well, either way, it's worked - it's Tanaken clear to the finish line!" Blaine and Mel cheered from the finish line as Ken tore past. "I taught her that!" Mel snickered.

Ken skidded to a stop and pumped her fist. Just then, she noticed Joannie Mitchell bombing down the hill. She was not slowing down for the finish line. Ken hopped off of the bike in anticipation, and so did Joannie, entering into a charge as her bike hit the floor. She lunged for Ken, who simply used her own momentum against her, sending her skittering in the dirt. "And we have a fight on our hands at the finish line!" The announcer said as Ken took her helmet off.

Ken began to twirl her helmet by its straps when an official ran in and separated the two. "If you ever pull a dog act on me like that again, I'm gonna sort you out, cunt!" Joannie shouted at Ken, pointing at her aggressively. Ken simply watched on, a blank stare on her face. "Something tells me it's a good thing we don't have a live mic on our camera!" The announcer quipped as Ken calmly hopped on her bike and rode off.

Mel caught up with Ken after the race. Ken was back in street clothes and helping her team pack up. "Ah, you've come back." Ken set a bag down and gave Mel a hug. "Great race, mate." Dey said. "Hey, before we go..." Ken handed Mel a business card for the car club. "Oof... not sure I'll ever wind up in Rayken." Dey relucted. "Well, did you ever think you'd be in the middle of nowhere, Saltchuck, Keyhoetana?" Ken quipped. Mel looked like dey were about to say something, but didn't. "Maybe we can convince our director to head out that way." Blaine posited. "Yeah, we're on our 'globetrotting' series anyway. No idea if we'll have any budget left for series 5, though." Mel chuckled with melancholy. "If not, we can always do that Fall Guy knockoff you've always said you wanted to make." Blaine put her hand on Mel's shoulder.

And then there was trouble. Joannie walked over. "Here." Ken said and grabbed a drink from the cooler and tossed it at Joannie. "That flavour's perfect for you." Ken snickered. Joannie looked down. "WIPEOUT." Suddenly, crimson liquid splattered onto the dirt. It stained Ken's shirt as it dripped from her forehead. "Ow!" She said. Joannie smiled and grabbed Ken, "You're alright, mate! You're alright!" Joannie said, shaking her hand and shoulder. Ken was unwounded, and the bottle of Masochism sat half-empty on the ground.

Ken was slightly worried, but Mel and Blaine knew this was a classic display of aggressive Wannadoonian camaraderie. Their smiles seemed to calm Ken. Still, she had to have the last laugh. She grabbed the bottle and splashed Joannie with it. Joannie recoiled and shook the drink off of her fingertips. She smiled, said "See you in Eutoia, Kaze." and left. "Guess you've gotten the full Wannadoonian welcome, eh, Ken?" Blaine commented. "Not any more so than the time I got blindsided by a wallaby during an enduro in '89." Ken smiled, towelling off.

-- Chapter 2: Too Much, Too Late --

Jundum 21, 2001. Preztiag, Weasauppen. It's early morning outside of the only hotel in town. Television production trucks swamped the parking lot of the small two-storey brick building. Mel walked out of the hotel and to the sidewalk. Dey silently observed the sleepy town, which seemingly hadn't even woken up yet. Dey were seemingly measuring something between the park and the hardware store using deyr hands. A man walked up, "Aren't you up a bit early, Mel? Aren't you feeling jet lagged?" He said groggily. "We got here at 22:46. I got settled in at 23:13. I watched some TV and went to bed at 23:45. I got up an hour ago. I got precisely 7 hours, 12 minutes and 38 seconds of sleep." Dey replied.

The man, Inspector Rhoade Trane director Alan Smith, side-eyed Mel. "This town is perfect. Look at this bloody road. Looks just like the one they landed a plane on in Cannonball Run." Dey continued, unbothered. "Melvi, what did I tell you about doing stunts we can't afford?" The man said. There was a pause. "I don't know, I probably didn't remember it as being important." Just then, Blaine hugged Mel from behind, who reciprocated by holding her arms. A frantic production assistant ran up to Alan and whispered something in his ear. It looked like what little soul Alan had left decided it was time to go, as well.

"Girls, I don't know how to tell you this... so I'll get Cal to tell you instead." Alan grabbed the assistant and basically hid himself behind him. "Why do I got to be the one to tell them?" "You're the finance guy!" "Our finance guy quit after season 2! I'm the second AC, remember?!" Alan groaned and held his forehead in his fingers. "Look, girls... we're out of money." "What?!" Both responded, but Blaine's response had an air of shock, and Mel's anger. "Alan, we're starting episode 12 today, what do you mean, 'we're out of money?!" Mel snarled. "Good news, good news, the good news is... we have enough money to finish shooting this episode, and then to finish editing the season."

"... And we can't budget in another squad car, so you're gonna have to work with the ones we have left." Cal said. The crew looked at the two (2) remaining squad cars. They were both VT Holdens, both in silver, neither with police markings. "One of them's a six cylinder..." He muttered under his breath. "And the V8 has no destruction licence, so, uhh, don't wreck it." Alan advised. Mel groaned. "We'll scout some locations." Mel shook her head and expanded an old ute nearby. While most TV shows hire people specifically to be location scouts, the Inspector Rhoade Trane crew had learnt to trust Mel's eye for detail. For Mel and Blaine, it was a bit of a ritual.

Both got into the ute, a Toyota Celica A60 with big fenders, looking like a bastard of the Celica Twin-Cam Turbo and the Celica LB Turbo Gr.5. In fact, it might have been a Twin-Cam homologation model ordered as a ute. Mel grabbed a box of cassettes from the passenger footwell and thumbed through it. Dey grabbed a copy of NOLA by Down and put the tape into the deck, B-side facing up. Dey started the car. "Stone the Crow" played as dey shifted into gear. They drove all around town looking for interesting locations to shoot scenes or stunts. Particularly stunts. They checked the north end of town last. As they were driving on Main Street, the crossing gates came down. Mel stopped the ute. A passenger train whizzed by doing 100 klicks, just as a short train hauling 12 empty flat cars and 4 empty box cars went past going 50. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Mel asked Blaine with a toothy grin. "Oh, yeah." Blaine nodded.

The two pulled up to Kamikaze's Bike Shop on Commercial Street and went inside. "Oi, is Ken in?" Mel asked the clerk, who shook their head. "She's at the arcade at the other end of town." The duo shrugged at each other and headed south. When they pulled in, Xeagan Burledtt was putting letters on a sign. The sign said "OPEN HO," which was either what the sign said when the strip club was still active at this location, or Xeagan was about to put a "U" on the sign. Above this sign was another sign, which said "The Nyornet's Nest," combining the anthro bear species nyorera with "hornet's nest." The name was a nod to the original arcade started by the original version of Jav and the gang's car club: The Bear's Nest, established on Earth in 2016 AD.

The location was scouted by Earthling Wild Wolf Automotive founding member Suki during his visit of Ergon, and the Wild Xcalthallpa crew, the Ergon imprint of that club, had just gotten it fixed up. They even planted a mature birch tree behind the parking lot, and planned to plant many more trees. Ergonian parking lots frequently feature trees, and even parking lots in downtown Preztiag feature tall, skinny ash trees. Unshaded lots, stereotypically, represent lazy, greedy or otherwise seedy businesses. So most strip club parking lots go unshaded. Mel and Blaine went inside.

Amazingly, the smell of sex and barley no longer lingered in the air - instead, it smelled of fresh carpet, ozone and... mm... freshly-cut wood panelling. The place was dotted with skylights letting in natural in such a way that the CRT's in the arcade cabinets were still clearly visible, popping with colour and cutting through the shadows. The arcade was slightly noisy - loud enough to hear the games from a few paces but not so loud you had to shout over. The carpeting was dark grey with geometric squiggles in purple, canary yellow and burgundy. The walls were bourbon oak.

Mel and Blaine came upon Ken as they walked around the arcade, "Oi, Yank." "Hey, Xeag-- oh! It's you guys!" Ken hugged the two, "Don't tell me you're shooting in our little rinky-dink town!" "We might be. If I get my way." Mel said in an almost teasing manner. "Dey usually do." Blaine said as if they'd had this conversation before. "Well, I could always back you up if you needed another intimidating dyke to, uh, 'convince' your showrunner." Ken said, flexing her muscles.

So off they went, back to the hotel. "No." Alan said in the lobby, the three girls standing before him. Mel in particular had a convincing look on deyr face. "Aw, come on, Alan! This'll be our 'Case of the Final Fade-Out!' It'll be a big, meta finale!" Mel said with so much enthusiasm that it might be considered joy. "Look, Melvi - I'll put this in perspective using another old television reference: The Fugitive." Alan deadpanned. Mel looked around, and for a split second, it almost seemed if she thought Alan was right. Then a devious smirk crept across her face, "First of all, 'The Judgment (Part 2)' was the most-viewed episode of television when it premiered. Secondly... do you know what finale beat that record? Do you know what show doubled the record, despite citing The Fugitive itself as a reason as to why not to have a definitive, closing episode?"

Alan knew what was coming. "February 28, 1983. M*A*S*H, season 11, episode 16. 'Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen.' That record still hasn't been beat to this very day, almost 20 years later!" Mel continued with enthusiasm. Alan sighed and put his hands together, almost like he was praying, "Alan Alda convinced CBS by saying that 'everyone knows the Korean War ended.' The Fugitive had a happy ending. Both series had sequels and follow-ups. Mel... Inspector Rhoade Trane has her whole career ahead of her. Are you sure you want to kill her off?"

Mel nodded, suddenly solemn. "I'm sick of this production. I never wanted this globe-trotting season. Things were fine when we were jumping HQ's off of skips in a Siddely industrial park. Alan, we jumped the shark." "I know," Alan groaned, almost as if he was physically pained. "I know. I didn't want it, either. I'm sorry." The two hugged briefly. "We're gonna give Inspector Trane the proper Dirty Mary send-off she deserves." Mel smiled and turned to leave. "Wait, what? No! We are not doing the Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry ending! Where are we gonna find a whole bloody train in our budget?!" Alan protested desperately. "I know a gal with a clapped-out 1952 EMD F7." Ken said. The room fell silent outside of the 1940s jazz playing on the muzak. She lifted up her cell phone and shook it teasingly, a smile on her face.

Jundum 22, 2001. Filming was about to wrap. Mel had written the episode to be incredibly meta-heavy for those who were paying attention, including references to being shipped off to a small town in Bumfuck, Nowhere, and a general sense of having lost the plot. Mel decided now was a good time to make the subtext between Inspector Trane and Sergeant Darsbury, text. They were set up in the intersection of Railroad Street and Main Street. Both Holdens were there. "Alright, last couple shots of the show, people! We're almost awoken from this nightmare! Just keep doing what you've been doing for the last 80-odd episodes, and we'll be done in a jiffy!"

"Alright, Inspector Rhoade Trane, season 4, episode 12, scene 48a 'Dirty Mary Finale', take one, action!" Alan said through a megaphone from his director's chair. The V8 Holden was parked on the tracks, apparently stalled out. Mel took the V6 Holden and lightly bumped the V8 free of the tracks. "Cut! Perfect. Bring in the train!" The aforementioned train was brought out of a nearby siding, hauling some old rolling stock behind it. The paint on the loco and the train cars was very faded, and rust shone through the peeling colours of the local shortline railroad. It was being driven by Unithella Pacifica, a local train driver that Jav had met a couple of months ago.

Mel swapped herself for a dummy, who was posed to be giving a salute. A camera was rigged in the car, facing west and looking out the drivers-side window. Mel guided Uni in. "Okay, stop!" Dey said, and Uni did, but the train still slightly bumped the car, caving the door in. "Well, thank god we're doing a left side and front-on shot of the car." Dey muttered to deemself. "Clear the set!" Alan barked. "... Scene 48b, take one, action!" Unithella throttled the locomotive up, causing it to back away from the car. This was a quick shot, which would be played in reverse and overclocked to give the illusion that the train was about to hit the car. "Cut! Good!" Alan said over the megaphone, before picking up a walkie-talkie. "Uni, take her back a half a klick. Next time I say 'go,' full throttle it here."

"10-4, good buddy!" Uni chriped over the radio. Eventually, the train, crew, and cameras were all in position, and many Preztiagians began filming from inside their houses. "Alright, we only have one chance at this, so I want it perfect! I want full coverage. Let's send this show out the right way. Scene 48c, action!" Alan swapped the megaphone for the walkie again, "Okay, Uni - go!" Unithella released the train's brakes and throttled up, the old unit billowing smoke as the engine growled in response.

The anticipation was immense, building like the speed of the elderly locomotive. Faster, faster, and faster still, it climbed. It reached 62 kilometres per hour - 12 over the speed limit for freight trains on this line - before Uni braced her large body for impact. And what an impact it was. The Holden bent ferociously, following the contours of the streamlined locomotive. Its front and rear panels looked as if they held still in mid-air when the 250-tonne beast hit it with half a megajoule of kinetic energy.

The train kept a-rolling, pushing the car through the ballast rock, sending it flying, like a high-speed snow plough. It kept a-rolling for about 150 metres, taking about 20 seconds to stop. The scene was silent for a brief moment as the train finally came to a rest. Then, the crowd cheered and applauded wildly. "Cut! Reposition cameras!" Alan barked through both the megaphone and walkie-talkie. The camera operators leisurely moved into position like they were getting paid by the hour, as they were.

"Shit!" The actor playing Sgt. Darsbury said, trying to start the car once more, before he leapt from the disabled vehicle and sprinted down Railroad Street. The camera lingered on a torn-off inspector patch laying in the grass near the wreck as Darsbury opened the passenger door to check on Rhoade. After a brief pause, he started to cry. "And that's where the credits will roll." Alan said, showing the girls a rush on his laptop from a hotel room the following day. "Fucking awesome." Mel said. Blaine, Ken and Uni were there as well. "You guys were lucky we were gonna re-do the ballast today. I might have not done that otherwise." Uni said. "Okay, I probably would have." "How'd you convince the railroad to let you use that F7?" Ken asked. "Well, they were gonna donate it to the railway museum in Atacoleo..." Uni said, shrugging. "Existing damages." "Existing damages!" Uni agreed with Ken. "I can see why you lot are friends." Alan shook his head and smiled.

There was a knock on the door. "Jav." The person behind the door said. "Come on in." Ken told deem. Ken's friend, Javalynn Korone, walked in. "Alan, right? I wanna buy them Holdens off you." Alan almost leapt from his chair and turned toward Jav. "A friend of my friend's friend in need is a friend indeed. I'm willing to pay you retail for that V8 if you'll give me the wrecked one for free with it." Jav said suavely and pulled out deyr chequebook. Dey cut a cheque for 150,000cr, signing it on the spot. That was a few grand short of retail on the car, a difference of about 17,500 credits, in fact. But that was pennies for a car, especially one that was barely used.

Alan swiped the cheque without a second thought and shook Jav's hand. "I'll get the title and destruction licence for you now!" "Pleasure doing business with you. Woxxie will be pleased." Jav began chatting with Alan, but Mel took Blaine for a walk. Mel said nothing, but Blaine knew that look. That was deyr desperate look. The look dey made when dey would go on a walk before a challenging stunt. They left the hotel and got into the ute. Mel looked through deyr cassettes. Dey picked out Badmotorfinger by Soundgarden. Dey put it in the slot, B-side facing up, and started the car. "Room a Thousand Years Wide" played as dey shifted into gear.

They silently drove out of town. Blaine almost felt as if Mel was planning this... whatever dey were planning. They stopped just passed the county line. Mel got out of the car and put deyr hand on the gate. It was wooden, greyed with age, and splintering. It looked like it was being held together with the shrubs and grass that had began to take it over. Blaine exited the truck and walked over, putting her hand on Mel's upper back. An aging for sale sign creaked in the breeze. It was rusty, but the price on it was new. It said the price was 3,000,000cr.

A car pulled up - a brand-new BMW 530xi. Yes - they offer an all-wheel-drive E39 on Ergon. Blaine looked over briefly, but Mel was locked onto the house on the property. It looked to be in worse shape than the Queen Anne on the southside of town that was owned by one of Ken's friends. They managed to fix that heap... surely Mel could get this place fixed up. The BMW driver was a woman from the bank. "I'll sign a cheque for two mil right now." Mel said, still looking onward. The woman looked flabbergasted. "Great! Sounds like a deal!" The woman sounded like a co-worker had just gotten her exactly what she wanted for Christmas. Mel got a cheque out of the car and made it out for a cool two million.

-- Chapter 3: Hot Wheels --

Mel signed a larger, A4-sized paper on a table in a modestly-sized bank office. The calendar read Waugh 4, 2001. Dey shook the hand of the bank woman, who gave deem the keys to the house. They looked rather old and pitted. Mel and Blaine went back out to the property, The Smiths' Hatful of Hollow was set to the B-side in the tape deck, with "Reel Around the Fountain" currently playing. Mel got out of the ute and pulled a pocket knife out and began to cut the detritus away from the old gate, which had given up the will to stand upright the second the knife went through a particularly load-bearing root.

Mel simply looked back at Blaine and shrugged. Dey collapsed the knife and pocketed it, tossing the old timber aside. The road there was barely visible. The grass had began to grow tall between the tire tracks, only stunted by years of oil and coolant seeping into the dirt. And it certainly was dirt - the once-gravel driveway had withered away to loose dirt. Mel looked at the ute again. Dey flashed an indifferent shrug and got back in. "You got your Raykenian tick shots this year, right?" "Yeah, got 'em before filming started." "Alright. Just making sure." Mel snickered and smiled as dey drove up the path. "Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want" began playing over the ute's stereo.

Mel stopped the truck in what would have been the driveway in front of the garage. The garage looked much newer than the rest of the house - probably a 1940s construction. The ute was buried up to its headlights in grass and weeds. The house itself was rather grand - a large two-storey Double Foursquare with wood siding that was ragged and greyed with age - likely a victim from the same 1980s farm crisis the Queen Anne in Preztiag experienced. The two looked at each other, and with tears in their eyes, and hugged. They held each other, softly crying until they were interrupted by the cassette deck's auto eject. They shared a short chuckle.

They dried their tears and exited the ute. They stared at the house as if it were a piece of modern art with a rather helpful plaque. They knew what it meant, but they stared at it as if it were an abstract puzzle they needed to solve. The windows were all intact, so that was a good sign. The key also fit in the door. The door stuck a bit, but it opened with a shoulder bump and an almighty creak, which might have awoken a couple of nearby nocturnal creatures. The inside of the house looked better than the Queen Anne as there was not a giant hole in the roof. The floor was covered in dust and the wallpaper was peeling.

"I feel like Dexter Holland is gonna pop up and start singing about suburban decay." Mel commented as they walked inside, alluding to how much the house looked like the one from the music video for The Offspring's "The Kids Aren't Alright." The house had good bones, and was in very good condition considering it hadn't been touched since 1987, which let a bit of weight off of the girls' shoulders. Blaine even had a cautious smirk on her face at one point. However, the basement was a bit rough, being the original stone wall basement with a quick and dirty layer of concrete on the ground that looked like it had been done 50 years ago.

They went back outside. "Y'know, I have half a mind to grab some camping gear and sleep... in our house." Mel said, which made Blaine smile again. Mel went over to the garage and put the key into the lock. Dey tugged on the handle and the door opened with a bit of force and a shimmy. Mel suddenly jumped back as if a Tasmanian devil had just lept from the derelict garage. But, it wasn't a Tasmanian devil. "What is it?" Blaine asked. Mel, who was covering deyr mouth with deyr off hand, looked at her briefly before lifting the door. It was a 1969 Plymouth Subruban woodie wagon. "Oh, my god!" Blaine exclaimed.

"I think we might have made the right choice." Mel beamed. Dey looked over the car. The tires were flatter than a bilby on the McDougal Highway, and the car was caked in dust. "Poor fella. Last owners must have had to leave her behind when they got kicked out. Probably grabbed the ute and as many belongings as they could. Surprised nobody found her before - I guess they market was that bad that they didn't bother looking." "The barn." Blaine said, which caused Mel to snap to her, and then snap to a nearby barn, which was a deep, faded brown with some missing planks, but was otherwise intact. The two quickly bashed through the overgrown trail up to the barn. Mel fumbled through the keys on the ring the bank lady had given deem and unlocked the barn doors. Mel and Blaine looked at each other and nodded, before they opened the doors.

Straight to heaven, like getting hit by a stray bullet. Mel nearly passed out.

Six whole cars sat before them... well, five whole cars and one in many pieces. On the left was a sports car hidden under a dirty tarp, next to it was a hot rodded '73 Trans Am, and next to it was a Gavril Bandit 400 GT. On the right was a 1968 Geddes Champion, a 1980 Saab 900 Turbo and a primer grey 1932 Ford that was only a frame, axles and body sans hood, which sat a couple metres away, as if was still ready to be put back onto the car. All of the cars were caked in dust and had flat tires. The Saab had a big, dried oil stain underneath it.

"I'm gonna cry again." Mel admitted, shaking deyr arms out. "Slap me, I must be dreaming." Blaine said, so Mel did, causing her to yelp. "Welp..." Mel looked between the cars, then took a 25cr coin from deyr pocket and flipped it. It landed heads up in the dirt. Mel picked the coin up without breaking stride toward the covered car. "Is this what I think it is?" Dey asked, feeling the bumper. "An S1 Esprit? I think it might be, you know." Blaine replied.

They peeled the old tarp back. The car was painted black and was, indeed, a Lotus Esprit. "No shit!" Mel exclaimed, as dey had seen the golden stripes on the side of the car. "I didn't even know they sold any of these here!" The car was a limited Commemorative Edition model. "Did they ever make these left-hand drive?" Blaine asked. Mel checked the VIN plate. "Argh. It says it was built 1980. It's a repop." "I mean, surely, there weren't that many ordered. Surely."

"Some 250 Commemorative Editions were ordered for 1980, making it the third-most-popular year for them." An effeminate man spoke. The two snapped to the voice. It was Woxres, Javalynn's brother. He was wearing a white cropped camisole, a pink pleated miniskirt and matching striped stockings. He was really coming out from the first time we met him. Jav was stood beside him, dressed in deyr usual cargos and sports bra combo. "1979 was the second-most popular, with 417 units moved... that's the usual Ergonian limited edition post-limited production bloat. 1986 was the most popular year, selling a whopping 597 units. As soon as it was announced that John Player weren't going to sponsor Lotus for '87, people panic bought the Commemorative Edition." He explained.

"Well, I see why y'all called me over!" Jav bellowed with a big smile. "Y'all got a little goldmine here, huh?" "Looks like we're not having rabbit for dinner - it's all Texas Tea from here. Erm, sorry." Mel said. Jav, a hoppit (rabbit), raised a forgiving hand, "S'alright, I'm as big of a Beverly Hillbillies fan as anyone. Let's see what you got here." They walked towards the Firebird, boots kicking up dust off of the floor. Woxxie's had heels, but Jav's were combat spec. "Are these unlocked?" Mel tugged on the driver's door handle of the Pontiac. They weren't. Suddenly, Blaine tossed some keys to Mel, who caught them.

Mel unlocked the door and popped the car's hood, which had been cut for a bug catcher and supercharger. Jav opened it after feeling for the latch. "No shit! An LS2 with a Turbo 400!" "For real life?" Mel asked. "Right here. Only one cable coming off the throttle - the 350 used a mechanical linkage for kickdowns." Jav took out a flashlight and shone it toward the back of the engine. "Yep - Turbo 400. Look at the tranny tunnel. You couldn't put a playing card through there if you coated it in lard." "Honey... check the VIN." Woxxie said, pointing with a dainty finger. Mel read it. "1973?"

Woxxie nearly fainted, being caught by Jav. He shook his head to make sure he was awake, "This car is one of 180, and they put a supercharger on it, and... is that spray paint?" Jav flashed over the fender with the torch." "Oh... my god. That's like restoring a Rembrandt with crayons." He took a deep breath. "Well, you certainly have an authentic street rod, here." He smiled through pink lipgloss. They went onto the next car, the Gavril fastback. "Wow. This might be the newest car here." He looked at the Saab, and then back. "Yep. Likely the newest car here, barring repops." "You can't be serious. This car is newer than that thing?" Mel said, pointing at the Saab.

Woxxie put a soft hand on the car's fender. "This car was introduced in 1986, coming out a full 8 years before the 60s-styled Bluebuck." "No shit - this car was bought a year before this property got foreclosed on!" Mel boomed and quickly checked the car's instrument cluster. Dey stood up and put deyr hands on deyr head. "178km on the odometre!" Dey paced. "I feel like I'm gonna pass out, man. Woo, I'm seeing spots." Dey crouched down, head in deyr hands, and took a couple of deep breaths. "Ever since I came to this little rinky-dink town... I've kept hearing voices in my head telling me to stay." Dey stood up. "I haven't been to church in 26 years, but I think Zorng was speaking to me directly about this place."

The barn fell silent briefly, as if to acknowledge a gift that had been given. The group walked over to the Geddes, sat by the door, across from the Lotus. "Are Geddes very popular in Wannadoo?" Jav asked. "No - our 'underdog that fights against the Earthlised big 3' brand was Darwin, who still make new cars." Mel answered. "Yeah, it was sad when Geddes announced they would no longer make new cars and transfer to just making new off-roaders back in '97." Jav said in a disappointed manner. "Oh, wow! This isn't a Champ - it's a Champion!" Woxxie said, approaching the car.

Mel side-eyed the boy. "Okay, you know how Plymouth has the Barracuda, and the performance model was the 'Cuda?" Woxxie asked as if he was going to keep talking irregardless. Luckily, Mel nodded. "Geddes did the same thing. They introduced the Champion in 1968 as their pony car, and introduced the Champ trim for '69, which had dual carbs on all engines and a tighter suspension. The Champion was decently popular into the 70s as it offered roominess and fuel efficiency, whereas Geddes' later models only had one or the other." He explained.

Mel unlocked the car and popped the hood. Jav opened it. "Looks like the 293 V8, which is the smallest 8 cylinder. If you had the 255 I6, that would really be a basic bitch." Dey uttered. "Looks like you have the Luxe model... vinyl roof, FM radio with cassette, half-vinyl seats... if you can find the hubcaps, you'd be able to tell instantly." Woxxie mused. Mel held a finger up as if to ask for a moment and went to the trunk. Dey popped the lid with the key and lifted it up. "Wow." Woxxie said with a long breath.

He picked up one of the hubcaps, of which all four were there, stacked neatly in a tower. They were still shiny chrome with absolutely no pitting. "It's definitely a Luxe trim. I believe they called these the 'Roulette 15's' - clearly inspired by one of the hubcap sets offered on the '64 Impala." He gently put the hubcap back down and closed the trunk. "You don't see stock Champions anymore. When economy cars started finding their footing, lower-power pony cars began falling out of favour. Racers loved the Champion - they'd order 'em stripped out, put a supercharged Hemi in them, and take 'em drag racing. They'd save 20 grand when compared to a new Mustang or Camaro. The Champ GA - which was made for a short-lived NASCAR series - was conversely hugely popular in street stock drags, costing about the same as an upgraded Champion."

"Well, this one's pissed on the floor." Jav said, looking underneath the Saab. "I'm surprised the Lotus wasn't the first one to do that." Jav looked around the undercarriage with a flashlight. "The seal must have gone. Puked all the oil out of the sump." Jav stood up and dusted deemself off. "This guy certainly was a true car enthusiast. Every enthusiast should own at least one Saab." The group went over to the old Ford. A tarp sat over what looked to be an engine crane. Jav took the tarp off. A large, mostly-intact V8 was dangling from the chain. Jav whistled profoundly. "Side-oiler 427. Check the trunk - see if the intake's in there." Mel opened the trunk with the car's trunk key. The intake manifold was in there, and so were the carburettors and air filter. Jav whooped, "Twin four-barrel Holleys! This is the same setup they put in the Shelby Cobra. This sucker makes 650Nm of torque from factory!" Dey said, picking up both carburetors, which were larger than deyr fists. "This guy definitely was an old-school street rodder."

"Makes me wonder what happened to him. I'm sure we'd wind up becoming friends." Mel mused to deemself. Blaine gave deem a slip of paper. Dey took it and read it. "NC-03-4585?' A phone number? Where'd you find this?" "Inside, luv." Mel took out deyr d-comm and walked outside. Thanks to Ergon's advanced technology, making a cellular phone call in a rural area was a breeze. "Hello?" A man on the other end of the line spoke. "Is this still the number for Michael Desmond?" Mel asked. The man hesitated, "Yes. Who is this?" "My name is Melavic. I just moved to Weasauppen. Your cars are still here." "My cars are... in the barn? They never got rid of them?" "Apparently not. I guess nobody cared about them until now. The banker's eyes lit up when I cut the cheque - I'm the first owner since you got kicked out."

The man let out a dramatic breath. "That's great! Oh, that's great." "My mate runs a museum in Preztiag. We'd love to have your stories with these cars. Especially that Firebird - woof." The man laughed, "I had some good times in that car. I'd love to see them again, and have other people enjoy them." "Have you got a sprog? Er, kid? I'll give you back the Deuce coupe if you want." The man chuckled again, "I bought that car when Max was six years old. We only got to work on it for two years before we had to leave. He still lives with us... he's kind of distant. I'm sure you know how kids get when they're that age." Mel snickered, "Yeah, we got a couple of 16-year-old terrors in our car club. We'll get some new rubber on the cars, clean them up and put them in the museum. It's at 2318 Highway 35 in Preztiag."

"I'm half-surprised the Champion wasn't hot rodded." Woxxie said, but was interrupted by Mel walking back into the barn. "Let's get these to the museum." Dey said. Woxxie clapped his hands, "Ooh! I'll send for the boys." He whipped his D-comm out and speed-dialled a number. "How come I feel that's not the first time he's been excited about 'sending for the boys?" Mel asked. Jav laughed, and Woxxie could be overheard talking about semi trucks and weedwackers. "Wox's really come out of the closet recently, since we've started recruiting people for this car club. If you ever see him when he's at the museum, giving tours? He used to be like that all the time, but now he's dressing up and being fruity and shit now." Jav explained. "I'm happy for him."

A few weeks later, on Waugh 17, Mel and Blaine were outside of a brick ranch house in Hazelhurst. They got out of the ute and knocked on the door. Alan answered. The three hugged. "Ah, this is refreshing. A new start." Mel said before almost spilling the contents of a binder onto Alan's coffee table. A hand-made poster sat on top. It had sketchy linework and was coloured in with coloured pencils. "A Dej Named Bo. Dey're not an actor, but dey play one on TV." Alan read the poster aloud. He rifled through the other papers. Scripts, stunt sequence ideas, the works. "Mel?" He asked. "Alan." Mel responded. "We're not going to be able to afford 'Sheep' by Pink Floyd for a scene where you chase a livestock poacher through a field on a Honda Big Red." Mel clicked deyr tounge, "Damn it. Argh, fine."

"What if we used local music? It would probably be a lot cheaper than licencing major label or Earthling stuff." Blaine said, almost suddenly. Both looked at her. "Fucking love you, Blaine." Mel said with a smile. "That's a great idea, Blaine - I already have contacts in a couple of services that can streamline that process for us." Alan said, excitedly. It sounded like he hadn't been this excited in years, almost as if he thought this actually might work out after all. "The old crew is down for it, yeah?" Mel asked. "Yep - we've got about 40% of the Road Trane crew. Have you got the 'studio' ready?" "Well, the grass is low enough to where the ticks won't get ya todger, now. We can work the rest of the details out as we go. We might have to shoot in Preztiag for the first episode."

"What are your plans for the star car? We're not gonna be able to have Gentek funnel us sixty Holdens per season." Alan asked. A Cheshire grin crept across Mel's face. "That look! I don't like that look!" Alan said. Mel put a laptop down on the coffee table and put deyr password in. "What's your WiFi password?" Dey asked. Alan clicked his tounge, sighed, and typed it in. Mel sat down next to him and went to ErgoBuy, setting the price limit to 50,000cr and the radius to 100km. "Boom. '75 Ford LTD four-door for 25k, complete in frosty gold." Dey said, pointing a listing out. Alan took the computer and lowered the limit to 25,000cr and clicked "lowest price first." Mel side-eyed him.

There were now only twelve cars on-screen, with the LTD being the most expensive car. The cheapest was a red first-year Subaru Impreza hatchback with crash damage for 9,950cr, three different Honda Accords (a blue 1977, a grey 1981 and a grey 1985) all for 18,500cr each, a black 1974 Lincoln Continental with flat tires and its bumper falling off for 20,000cr, a blue 1980 Dodge Ram 50 that was more rust than truck, a surprisingly mint 1985 Ford Orion in grey (both for 20,500 each), a silver 1982 Nissan Puslar N12 that looked like it had shoddily-repaired deer damage for 22,500cr, a blue 1984 Dodge Grand Caravan with rumpled fenders, a gold 1985 Jeep Cherokee with rusty rockers and a 1985 Mercury Topaz with the same issue, with all three having the same asking price of 23,500cr. "This sucks, dude." Mel uttered.

"You're gonna buy the most expensive car you can find on ErgoBuy?" Alan asked, groaning. "Within a 100km radius." Mel said proudly, doubling the search radius. "Ah, look here - a '70 Saab 99 convertible in Weezagren for 17 grand." Mel said with a smile, looking at Alan. "The Saab puked the seal all over the barn floor..." Mel's words from an earlier telephone call echoed in his mind. "Buy the cunting LTD, Mel." He said, looking like he was about to have a headache come on. "Hell yeah!" Mel said, high-fiving Blaine. "Let's get funky!" "Ladies, how many times have I told you 'I don't want to hear about your sex lives?" "I said nothing about sex. You men are all the same, always thinking about sex. I should order a disco 8-track to go with the car..." Mel said, starting sarcastically but ending with a ponderous tone.

Mel rang the man who was selling the car. It had a rather solid frame, although the interior looked like a termite mound. Mel paid the man with two 10,000cr notes, they shook hands and signed the title. They took off in a convoy: Blaine in the ute, Mel in the Ford (with a towel draped over the front seat) and the man following in his personal pickup truck. He was going along so the dealership wouldn't have to ring him to confirm the title transfer. They arrived at the Ford/Lincoln/Mercury dealership in Preztiag, which was located downtown. It faced the Chevrolet/Buick/Pontiac/Opel/Oldsmobile dealership, and the Dodge/Plymouth/Chrysler/Jeep dealership was catty corner to both.

The dealership was lined with a dozen new F-150 pickups that faced the road. In fact, it was as if the F-150s and Silverados were sizing up the new Rams that had only been on sale for three weeks. Blaine and Mel pulled into two available parking spaces and walked inside. "Everywhere" by Michelle Branch was on the muzak. The air conditioned room was like a cool pillow to the face on a hot summer day, with daylight reflecting off of the glossy linoleum floors, and the sickly sweet new car smell heavy in the air. The cars in the showroom appeared to have been taken directly from that year's "youth" brochure: a Mustang convertible in an aggressively-cheerful yellow - with "white" leather interior that was actually beige - flanked by a Focus that resmembled the default one from Need for Speed: Underground, and the red-headed stepchild of the brochure: the ZX2, which was almost instantly an iconic rental car despite being marketed as "new," "hip," and "absolutely in no way your mom's Ford Escort cut in half." It wasn't yellow, no - instead, it was finished in an offensive blue.

"May I help you?" A lot lizard spoke. No, literally - he was a lizzabli, Ergon's anthropomorphic lizard species. "We would like a destruction licence for our '75 LTD." "Wonderful. Step right this way." The lizzabli led the threesome to his office. "Have a seat, I'll take the keys and have our team inspect it." Mel gave him the car's keys. The three chatted about their backgrounds for about 12 minutes. The man was a farmer from rural Hazelhurst County who bought the car at a bulk auction.

"Absolutely (Story of a Girl)" by Nine Days played on the muzak. "It was apparently a Soppen car, so that's why the frame was so good. I just had no room for a five-and-a-half metre long car." The farmer explained. "Well, we'll have some fun with it - that's for sure." Mel smiled. "Alright, we've examined the car." The lizzabli set some papers on the table. One was a list of problems that the car had, one was a contract, and one was a repop of the 1975 LTD's option sheet, which looked to have been copied multiple times. "Okay, here are the problems we found with the car. The interior is the big issue - it's, quite frankly, grody. Otherwise, the other issues are those that simply come with age. We cannot legally deduct value from your trade-in for this, so we will only be charging you for the interior, which will cost 22,500 credits." He circled the price quote.

"Ah, can we get a discount if we take the interior out ourselves? We were gonna keep it, anyway." Mel asked. "Yes - that will halve your labour cost, but will be a slightly steeper parts cost, as we'll have to order entirely new seats - assuming you're taking the whole seat out." The lizzabli replied. "Yes, perfect. I'll yank the interior out and have my buddy trailer it here in a bit. Right now, let's get the title and everything set up." Dey put the title and their ID on the table. The farmer put his ID on the table as well. "Okay, perfect. We here at Kleuti Ford are licenced by the DMV to transfer titles, so we will get this squared away within 48 hours."

"Oh - I forgot. I haven't gotten a Weasauppenian ID yet." Mel said sheepishly. "Oh, that's fine! As long as we can confirm you are a real person, we're good. We can deliver anywhere in the county, as well." He said. "I'll probably pick it up from here - I'm just in Darville County." "Wonderful. Now, let me just check off your option list." So he did. "You will be saving about 8,000cr by deleting the interior, so you won't have to pay much at all in the grand scheme of things. We will leave the front seat in the vehicle as we would have to charge you for removing a safety feature otherwise. You can remove it yourself in the parking lot and we'll pay you the difference - sign here to say that you agree to that exchange."

Mel signed the agreement. "Okay, wonderful." He slid the contract over to Mel. "This is the Destruction Licence contract. Basically, it says if you do not return the vehicle within 30 days of it arriving at our dealership, you will pay for the full value of the vehicle, minus any damages done to the vehicle. The more destroyed it is at the end of 30 days, the less this charge is. The level of destruction will be measured by an employee of Kleuti Ford, the Fdahlt Motor Company, the Ergonian Department of Motor Vehicles or by a licenced scapyard. You may surrender the vehicle after you return it, or you may purchase it. You may extend this 30 day period, but a fee of 100 credits per day is applied as collateral, and you must contact a representative from Fdahlt or the DMV at least 7 business days before the time runs out." He explained. If you're finding this boring, don't worry - it was worse for Mel. If you're finding this fascinating, you might be more autistic than I am.

"Sign here, here, here, here and here. Initial here, here, and here." He pointed and Mel signed. "Perfect. Now to print the licence." He got up and walked over to a surprisingly small printer, which was about the size of a breadbox. The machine started off what sounded like a normal printing job, but then it hissed steam and spat out a licence with a sound somewhere between a guillotine and a stapler, with a spring-loaded "ting" that sounded like a mix of a PlayStation disc tray opening, a button being pressed on a tape recorder, and the shutter of an old SLR camera.

"There you go," He said, handling the licence to Mel, "The car will be ready by next Sunday. We will telephone you to let you know that it's ready. Just remember to display that licence in any filmed production or to any DMV representatives before, during, or after destroying the car." "Yes, I have used a destruction licence before. I've... just never applied for one." Mel said. The licence was hot in Mel's hand - not dashboard-in-Waugh hot, but hotter than a freshly-printed piece of paper. Mel held it to her nose and took a deep sniff. "Ah. Mouldy old dough."

"Does it really smell like that? I thought that was an urban legend." Blaine asked inquisitively. Mel offered it to Blaine, and she sniffed it, being slightly repulsed. It smelled like a forgotten box of baking soda in a pantry after a hurricane. The three left the dealership. "Well, ladies, that was an experience." The farmer said. "Yeah. Never knew smashing up old cars was so... bureaucratic. I just jump shit off of cliffs and call it a day." Mel quipped. "Well, it was nice meeting you, but I must go park a tractor back in its rightful spot." The farmer bowed and left in his truck. The girls drove out to Jav's garage on Highway 35.

Mel pulled into an open bay and got out. "Jav! I need a torx screwdriver!" Dey demanded. "Name of the Game" by The Crystal Method played over the muzak. Jav appeared in the doorway, "Well, what sizes do you need?" Mel shrugged and motioned to the car, "Need to strip the interior!" Jav shrugged and went to deyr computer and typed the car in. "What year is that whale?" Dey asked. "It's a '75." "Ah, jesus, you just had to pick a transitional year." "It was 20 grand, flawless frame!" Jav gathered some tools and walked over to Mel, handing deem a screwdriver and a torx driver with a T15 bit in it. "Be gentle." Jav teased. "I'll show you how 'gentle' I can get - we got a bed in our house, now." Mel smirked. Jav rolled deyr eyes.

It took Mel three hours to strip the car. Jav leaned in the doorway again, "So... you come to Rayken and instantly want to do a resto on a land yacht?" "This is a business expense, luv." Mel said, putting deyr arm on the doorway. Jav audibly sniffed. "You have been busy, huh? Explain to me how a giant... gold elephant is a business expense." Dey asked. Mel pulled out the destruction licence. "I'm a stuntdeej, remember?" Mel smirked, and Jav let out a resigned chuckle. "Any more flirting and you'll make me jealous." Blaine quipped with a smirk. "Jav has a cock. You don't." Mel stated bluntly, pointing at both.

There was a brief pause. "Is that why you keep asking me to peg you?" Blaine asked sincerely, which caused Jav to laugh. Mel blushed and briefly tripped over deyr words, "Anyway, they do offer in-depth replicas of bunky cars, but I figured it was just ripping the interior out - how hard could it be? Not very, as it turns out." "Mel, it's a lot easier to take it out than to put it back in." Jav smiled sarcastically. Mel let out a resigned sigh, "I know." "That's a problem for future Melavic." Blaine jested, patting deem on the shoulder. "I'm, uhh, clearly gonna need you to truck this thing back to the dealership." Mel admitted. "No problem, 'Sheila." Jav put deyr hand on Mel's chest.

Mel gathered the interior scraps and affixed a sign - made from a sheet of A4 paper and a Sharpie marker - that read "NOT FOR SCRAPPING" as Jav fetched deyr rollback tow truck. Jav backed it up and Mel hooked it up. The hydraulics whirred as the boat was winched onto the truck. Jav flattened it out and Mel helped secure the car. Both hopped in, not putting their seatbelts on, and drove back into town, with Blaine following in the ute. "21st Century Schizoid Man" by King Crimson was on the radio. "So, what's your plan with this thing?" Jav asked. "You know the first episode of Dukes of Hazzard?" "You're gonna jump a cop car in a 6m long cargo ship?" "Well, shit, Jav! They didn't have any '69 Chargers on ErgoBuy!" "If they did, I would have bought it well before you did, Sheila!" Jav said, beaming.

They pulled into the dealership lot. One of the F-150s was turned slightly more toward the Rams than earlier, as if it was provoking the new trucks. Mel hopped out and walked indoors. "Narcotic" by Liquido was on the muzak. "Oi! Johnny what's-his-face." The lizzabli from earlier snapped to deem. Dey threw the keys at him, and he barely caught them. "Shipwreck's here, now without the biohazard interior." "Oh, yes - wonderful! The new car should be ready within a week - if it's later than the 27th, give us a call. Would you like to pay now, or pay then?" "I'll pay now. No sense in waiting, and I've got buyer protection, right?" "That's right, yes."

The two went into the office again. "With the interior swap, it should cost you about 13,500 credits. Deleting the interior on the new car makes the total 5,500cr." He said. "I'm only in 30 grand and 3 hours of elbow grease for this thing. That's not bad, right?" Mel quipped with a smile. "Considering an LTD optioned like that would probably cost you 200,000cr outright, I would say you got yourself a very good deal." Mel shook his hand. Dey then cut a cheque. It stung a bit, paying that much for a car they knew would be shredded come Cvrikkit, but as dey said before: It's a business expense.

Dey nodded and left the room. Dey stopped in their tracks midway down the hallway when "Holy Grail" by Hunters & Collectors came on the muzak. "Jeez, do you lot always put on music from someone's home country when they buy a car here?" Mel quipped in general. "No, not at all!" The receptionist, whose hair appeared to be 90% product, deflected. "It's 98.3. Corporate says we should play pop rock radio to bring 'more youthful customers' in." Mel rolled deyr eyes and smiled, going outside. "This one's on the house. If you ever need someone to cart junkers around or work on them on location, I'm more than willing to lend a mechanic or two, at a discount." Jav said, throwing some chains onto the back of the truck.

"Thanks, Jav. It means a lot to me." Mel gently grabbed Jav's hip and kissed deem on the forehead, which made deem blush. Mel got in the passenger seat of the Celica. Some commercial was on. "I think we'll be okay." Mel said, looking Blaine in the eyes. "Why's that? I mean, glad you feel that way, but--" Mel changed the radio station to 98.3. Blaine's fur bristled. The two hugged. Blaine put the ute in gear and made a three-point turn, peering its nose out past the F-150s to check for traffic. "There's a throwback for you - 'Holy Grail' by Hunters and Collectors, a WRIA top 20 hit from 1993." The radio DJ said, "We got more fresh rock music coming up... right now!" A bumper played, "98.3 XPRK, Weasuappen's hottest rock tracks" spoken by a compressed female voice.

"The Bartender and the Thief" by Stereophonics came on. The two looked at each other and smiled. Mel held one of the preset buttons down as Blaine revved the engine, dumping the clutch when the chorus began. The car's suspension swayed to one side, its rally heritage on full display as the rear wheels spun, rotating the ute into the sunset. They literally drove into the sunset, as their house was almost due west down this road.

-- Chapter 4: The Name is Keston --

Various stock footage of car stunts began to play, and so did an alternative rock song that had a baggy drumbeat, a very Lalo Schifrin-inspired bassline, downtuned guitar stabs and funky, Mike Patton-esque vocals. The singer sang about doing things one's own way. The whole sequence felt very similar to the intro to the PlayStation 2 game Stuntman, despite that game not yet coming out for another year on Ergon. The footage was interspersed with B-roll of Mel and Blaine, as they were the only "main characters" in the show at this point. They were billed as playing "Bo" and "Daggy," respectively.

The show started where Inspector Rhode Trane left off: Mel knew dey wanted out, and decided to have cameras filming cameras, shooting behind-the-scenes footage that they could use specifically for A Dej Named Bo. Ergonian copyright law works in such a way that the crew and production company of a show owns the copyright, the publishers/studios simply own non-exclusive distribution rights, so the pilot was able to use the actual ending scene of IRT as it was shot, in addition to the behind-the-scenes stuff.

The entire scene played out as it did in IRT. After the actor that played Darsbury went to the side of the car to check on Trane, Alan yelled "Cut! That's a wrap! Great job, everybody!" The actor stood straight up and walked off. Bo walked up and shook his hand. "Pleasure doing work with you, 'Detective." "Likewise." Bo walked to the Ford LTD and got in. Daggy was already sitting in the passenger seat. "What a bloody nightmare shoot." Daggy said. "I'm glad we're done with this show." Bo shook deyr head and put the car into gear.

Dey hit the radio button, and a jangly pop rock song with uptuned snare drums played as dey pulled a U-turn. They went to their house. A file folder hit a coffee table. "Alright. Keyteb Loithen. He's a local boy out of Heratton. Arrested on suspicion of murder. Jumped a 15,000,000cr bail. Supposedly, he's holed up in a small town somewhere in Hazelhurst County." Daggy said in a serious tone. "So, what do you think we should do? Knock on every door in town?" Bo quipped. Daggy shrugged, "I mean, gumshoe detective work's as good of a place to start as any." Bo grunted in a disapproving manner. "We don't have to knock on every door if we find the right door first." Daggy reminded Bo in a condescending manner. Bo rolled deyr eyes.

They went to The Nyornet's Nest. A sleaze rock song blared over the muzak, sounding like a mix of Mötley Crüe and Blue Öyster Cult's first albums. Zestava Xekadogov, one of Jav's friends, was tending bar. "If you want Wannadoonian black licorice drink, you go up north to crazy bicycle woman's for that. We don't sell that crap here." "You know this guy?" Bo said, sliding a picture of Keyteb over. "Aren't you those bounty hunter girls from Coyton who the Plunckett County Sheriff's Office is trying to stop?" "Look, Sheila: our methods might be a bit out there, but do you really want this guy running around your neighbourhood? He shot a man in Heratton just to watch him die."

"My neighbourhood? I live in a farmhouse outside of the city! I can hit man who is flanking me at 300 metres with a busted plank at midnight - if someone tries to attack my home, they will see Zorng before they see me." Zestava bellowed indignantly. "Congratulations, Red. You can hit the broad side of a barn." Dey slid Zestava a 200cr bill. Zest stared at Bo briefly before pocketing the bill. "He was here earlier. Not a regular. Ordered a shot of bourbon, paid and left. Something was off about him. Maybe was my Ruskov Army training. Maybe it was the mama bear instinct. He was driving shitbox Subaru. Dark red. Probably rental car."

"Thanks." Bo nodded and went to leave. "Ladies." Bo and Daggy stopped and looked back. "One for the road?" Zest held up a local Weasauppen whisky. Xel smiled, grabbed the bottle and filled a shot glass to the top and drank it in one swig, setting the shot glass upside-down and walking away. "Hey! You have to pay for that!" Zest shouted. "I just did, Sheila." Bo smirked and walked out. Zest pulled the 200cr from her pocket, rolled her neck with frustration, and opened the till. "That was a 50cr shot..."

The girls got back into the LTD and drove towards town. They pulled up outside of Korone Automotive and went in. "Oi. Do you service rental cars here?" Bo asked Jav. "Rental cars? Fuck, the closest--" "Cut!" Alan shouted from off-screen. "Oh, shit, I'm not supposed to say 'fuck,' am I?" "Can't say 'fuck,' 'cunt,' 'pussy' when referring to genitalia, and we can only say 'shit' four and a half times." "Got it, got it." "Take 2, from the top."

"Oi. Do you service rental cars here?" "Rental cars? Well god damn, we ain't got a rental car office within 30 klicks of here." "We're looking for this man. Last seen in a dark red Subaru." Bo held up the mugshot. Jav leaned in and squinted deyr eyes. "Ain't seen him. I could cross-reference my folder of people that have tried to sell me scrap without serial numbers..." "If you see anything..." Bo put deyr business card on the counter, being sure to flash some cash when removing it from deyr wallet. The card read as follows:

BOJAX KESTON

Bounty hunter and stuntdeejer for hire

66 Caroucho Rd, Coyton, Weasauppen

CY-0555-1864

Receptionist: Dagatha Streier

The two went downtown and decided to have lunch in the new picnic area of Centennial Park, located around the central fountain. "Maybe we could ask the local police if they could help us." Daggy mused, finishing a sandwich. "Are you kidding, Dag? The last time I asked a jack for help, the Plunckett County Sheriff chewed me out so bad I looked like the pen cap of an ADD-riddled third year student. Bloke's got a nightstick so far up his ass he could beat someone with his neck." "Like a giraffe?" "Like a giraffe with a stick up his ass, yeah."

"Hey, girls!" A man said. The two snapped to the voice. It was Lieutenant Rythen Osbun of the Preztiag Police Department, with officer Brockham Lyxxe, who typically went by "Barney" for obvious reasons, in tow. No, he wasn't a purple dinosaur. You'll find out why the more you get to know him. Bo put deyr head in deyr hands and deyr elbows on the table. "Mind if we join you for lunch?" "Yes." Bo said definitively, which was partially drowned out by a kind "No" from Daggy. The policemen sat down. "What's got you two over in Preztiag for, anyway?" Rythen asked. "Nothing. Just enjoying a nice summer's day." Bo said condescendingly. "We're looking for this man. Keyteb Loithen, age 32, height 178cm, weight 75kg." Daggy said, sliding the photo over to the officers. "Last seen in a dark red Subaru on the south end of town."

"Yeah - I recognise that guy. I ticketed him for rolling through a stop sign not 20 minutes ago, right before we took our lunch break." "Son of a bitch." Bo said. "Bo, look, we gotta reach out to local law enforcement sometimes. I mean, we had no real leads on this guy." "No - he's right there." Bo said blankly. A dark red Subaru Leone wagon drove by on the street just south of the park. Bo stood up and literally ran over the table in pursuit, knocking deyr drink over onto Barney's shirt. "Bo! I just had this dry cleaned!" He cried out. But Bo didn't stop. Dey bounded toward the LTD, Daggy chasing after.

Bo hopped in the LTD, which was pointed the wrong way, and Daggy slid over the hood of the car, taking out the hood ornament and falling to the pavement. She stumbled into the passenger seat of the car. "Son of a bitch! We didn't even go to Heratton and we lost the hood ornament!" Bo shouted at Daggy with what appeared to be real frustration, and put it in gear, cranking the wheel full lock to the left. "It's not as easy as you make it seem, Bo!" Daggy snapped back as the car lurched around into a wide U-turn. "No shit!" Bo shouted, right as the car went over the kerb on the other side of the street, sending a hubcap flying.

"Should we go after them?" Barney asked Rythen. "Yeah. Let's." He replied. Both men abandoned their lunches and sprinted to their squad car, a 1971 AMC Matador. A squirrel hopped onto the table and stole a French fry. Meanwhile, Bo frantically raced after the compact, which had just turned north. Bo locked the brakes up, decided better of it, and began paralleling the red car. They ran a stop sign or two on the next street over and managed to head the little car off.

Bo attempted to initiate a handbrake turn in front of the Subaru, but instead nearly hit it head on, the car's huge weight and drum brakes preventing it from sliding out. A real but quiet, unscripted, "Oh, shit" escaped Mel's mouth as both cars came to a halt. "Keep going!" Alan shouted. "You know, I didn't actually think a half 'shit' was even possible. That's just what the content rating policy said - one 'shit' for every ten minutes of runtime. We're shooting a 45-minute programme." He mused to the assistant director. Bo exited the LTD and ran to the driver window of the red car.

The window slowly rolled down to reveal an elderly poodle driving the car. "I'm sorry, Sonny. Did I cut you off back there? My depth perception isn't as good as it used to be." The woman spoke in a shaky voice - not from fear, but simply from age. "Ma'am, did you rent this car out of Heratton?" "No," the woman vehemently shook her head, "I bought this car brand new in Jundum 1982. It was one of the first ones brought to this country, you know." Daggy repositioned the car and leaned out of the driver's window, "Sorry for the trouble, ma'am. You're free to go." The woman drove off. But Bo was not free to go. A police car pulled up, and Rythen and Barney got out. Bo held deyr forehead with deyr hand and growled lowly.

"Bo." The lieutenant said sternly as he walked over to deem. "If you would have stuck around for half a second more, I could have told you that the car I ticketed was a 2000 Subaru Impreza GF. It's a rental car out of Heratton." Bo looked back at Daggy, almost embarrassed. "I sympathise wanting to catch this guy, Bo, but you can't go around splashing our officers, tearing up our grass, running our stop signs and terrorising women that were old enough to hear about the Archduke of Alosia being assassinated on the news." Rythen told calmly and returned to the police car. Barney got closer to the two bounty hunters. "Look, if you girls need any help catching this guy, I'm 100% behind you. The guy he killed was my second cousin's fiancé." He said in a conspiratorial tone. Bo smiled and put deyr hand on his shoulder. "You're a good sprog, Barn."

"Thank you. What's a sprog?" Bo simply shook deyr head and smiled before getting back in the car and driving off. Barney got back into the cruiser. "Everything good, Barn?" "She called me a 'sprog.' What's a sprog? Does she think I'm gay?" "Sprog' is Wannadoonian slang for a child. But, Barney, I don't know how to tell you this..." The girls drove all over town looking for the car, but turned up nothing. Surprisingly, they found none at all. Then again, Preztiag doesn't see many new cars. They went back home. "Like a ruddy needle in a haystack." Bo mused, staring at a photo of the car that Barney had forwarded to them, which was a screengrab of earlier dashcam footage.

"An untraceable plate and a car thats probably collapsed and hidden away somewhere." Bo tried to piece it together. "Well, with an 8-figure bond, you're not gonna be conspicous. It's a lot harder to catch the smart ones." Daggy reminded deem. "Well he was conspicous enough to roll a stop sign!" Bo argued. Dey got up and paced, eventually looking out the front window at the road. "What are you thinking?" Daggy asked. "I'm thinking it would be really convenient if he drove past right now." Bo kept watch on the road. At least 10 seconds passed. "Damn it." "What about that crazy Jaekipian bicyclist we met in Keyhoetana a couple shoots back? Think she might know something?" "Just because she's Jaekipian doesn't mean she's gonna know the location of an Jaekipian rental car."

"Yeah, my buddy, Rivers? She said there's been a little red Subaru hatchback parked on a bank over the river for a couple days now." Ken stated, pointing up the river in her shop. Riot grrrl music played in the background over the speakers. "It hasn't been enough for her to make a report on it, but it was enough for her to confide in me about it." "Thanks, Sheila." Bo and Daggy left Ken's sporting goods store. "Well, it's a good thing this thing has wobble-matic suspension if this guy's really just in a field like Ken said he was." Bo mused, putting the car in reverse. "Only one way to find out."

They drove up north past the river, with Bo pulling over on the soft shoulder. Dey got out and proceeded on foot. After about 70 metres, they came to a clearing. Bo slowly approached the red car. A voice echoed in Bo's head, "Remember, Bo. Never corner an animal..." Suddenly, Bo was hit in the back of the head and collapsed to the ground. The only thing dey could see was a blurry image of the car peeling out and the sting of rocks pelting deyr skin. Dey scrambled to deyr feet, but the car was already 50 metres away. Still, dey ran after it.

Daggy heard the revving and scrambled to put the car in reverse to block the Subaru in, and succeeded, but Keyteb jinked right through some tall grass and took off north. "Oh, shit!" Daggy said as she reached for her phone, speed dialling a number. "Barney! We got him going north on Main outta town! Send Sneed & McCoy to that clearing I talked about to grab any evidence, and meet us in Coyton! We'll try to yard him there!" Bo was only a couple of seconds behind, and lept onto the fender of the car, deyr right foot slamming down onto the hood before they landed at the driver's door, leaving a ding in the fender and a large crater in the hood. Dey swung the door open and shoved Daggy into the passenger seat, causing her to yelp. Bo slammed the car into gear and trenched the dirt and gravel behind them as they took off. Dey hit the radio, and a bluegrass song about a bounty hunter going after a bail jumper started playing.

Daggy relayed their location as they pursued the hatchback through the backroads of Hazelhurst County. Although the Subaru was lighter and more manoueverable, the unrestricted-by-gas-crisis-standards 7.5L V8 of the Ford kept it in sight, successfully yarding it to the outskirts of Coyton over in Plunckett County. Keyteb drove onto a large ridge, but stopped near the end, right before he would have driven off of a 20m high cliff. "Get down!" Bo shouted at Daggy, so she hit the floor of the car as Bo and Keyteb got out of their cars. "... Because that's when they're most likely to strike." Bo's father said in deyr head. Two shots were fired. One from Bo using a Glock, and one from Keyteb using a Beretta. Keyteb was hit in the left thigh and went down. Bo was hit in the left shoulder and went down, nearly falling off of the cliff. Bo quickly sat up and turned to shoot Keyteb, but hesitated when he got in the Subaru.

Keytab rocked the car into reverse and hit the front of the Ford with his driver door. "Daggy! Get the tourniquet from the glovebox and get in the back seat!" Bo shouted, and Daggy complied. Bo got into the car, putting it in reverse and going after Keyteb down the ridge. Daggy tried to put the tourniquet on, but struggled to do so. Keyteb reached the bottom of the ridge and slammed the car into drive, wheels kicking dirt up as he tried to get away. Bo was much more measured - dey did a wide Scandinavian flick and gently pedalled the brakes to prevent them from locking up. Then, dey put the car in drive and feathered the throttle so the car would keep grip. This is when Daggy got the tourniquet on.

"Cut!" Alan shouted. "Alright, people, this is the big, climactic stunt of the episode. Cameras, take five while we prep the car." The on-set crew, aided by Jav and a couple of deyr mechanic employees, descended on the Ford. Even Mel and Blaine pitched in. They swapped the seat for a racing seat with 5-point harness, loaded the trunk with sandbags and strapped them down, removed the radiator, re-plumbed the fuel tank to the trunk, chained the motor and battery in place and welded some bump stops onto the suspension. The car already had a skidplate for the engine and drivetrain mounted before the cameras even showed up for the day, as well as a hidden roll cage.

When the car was ready, the air was tense. "Alright, everyone! We only have one shot at this scene, so let's make sure we hit our marks and get full coverage! Action!" Barney pulled up next to a dirt mound and parked perpendicular to the road it was by, reversing in. He had seen the confrontation on top of the ridge and knew there was only one road out of here. He got out of the car on his cell phone. "Alright, girls! I'm here. I got a roadblock set up, and I'll tell you when he comes by." Just then, a flash of red went past, apparently having lost an exhaust. "Okay! He just went by me--" Barney was swiftly interrupted as the LTD crested the dirt mount next to him, losing its remaining three hubcaps. "Son of a--!" Barney said as hit the dirt, the car flying for 12 metres before crashing down on the front subframe. The entire car bent, the headlights smashed, the windshield spiderwebbed and became unseated as the rear window shattered.

"... Bitch!" Barney let out in legitimate shock as he peered over the fender of his undamaged cruiser. Mel brought the car to a stop, but the gear lever wouldn't budge. "Fuck, gonna have to fix that." Dey quickly killed the ignition, ensuring the car wouldn't overheat. The crew cheered as dey exited the car through the window and did a bow. Alan walked over to Barney. "That was brilliant work, officer. I love an actor who can put the 'improv' in 'improving a scene." "Gee, thanks, Mr Smith! I wasn't quite expecting it myself!" Barney replied, seemingly amused by his own utterance.

The crew descended on the car again, and so did Jav, with a smaller wheel lift type tow truck. Dey backed up to the ruined car. Dey hooked it up and lifted it so that the crew could make the collapsed suspension straight enough so that the car could move without bottoming out, using mighty hammers to do so. The skidplate seemed to do its job, leaving the oil pan, transmission and driveline intact. The fuel tank and ballast were removed from the trunk. When the front suspension was fixed, Jav swapped ends and lifted the rear of the car up. The fuel tank was put back and the lines were re-plumbed again. The crew straightened the rear leaf springs out as the factory front seat was installed again. Finally, the radiator was dropped back in. The special effects man put a small smoke machine in front of the radiator before a mechanic looped a chain through the radiator valance and one of the skeletal loops of the hood to keep it from flapping.

Jav set the car back down. "Hey! Someone bring a handycam in here. I wanna get something for the DVD extras." Mel shouted toward the camera crew. Someone rushed over with a camcorder in hand. Mel sat in the car. "Alright, so we snapped the shifting linkage on the barge after doing our big finale stunt with it. It stayed in drive, which is about the best case scenario for it. The problem is that this car has a lock-out that prevents you from starting it when in gear." Mel explained to the camera, then cranked the key in the ignition. The started motor clacked and whirred like normal, but the car didn't start, despite mechanically surving the jump. "Here's what you do - and this is 100% not mechanical advice."

The camera made a jump cut before Mel pulled out the plastic knee padding from under the dashboard. "And this is with the battery disconnected, of course. You're gonna want to find the two wires that correlate to the neutral safety switch, which should be these two right here." Dey tugged on two wires with deyr claw. Dey pulled the plug they were attatched to, cut the wires and unsheathed them with some electrical pliers, then twisted them into a coaxial braid and shoved it back into the plug and re-connected the plug to its mate. "Now the car thinks it's in park. So, I can start it again..." Mel cranked the engine, and it amazingly came back to life after about six seconds. "And when I let go of the brake..." The car lurched forward and drove off. "I can drive again!" Dey shouted back at the camera. Before the shooting resumed, the front doors were tied shut.

The two ruined cars raced on the dusty back road, with the Ford threatening to shoot a damper to the moon if it hit a particularly bad rut. Barney got in the car and took after them. "Car 2, dispatch! I have a wanted felon trying to escape law enforcement on Truello Road in Coyton, heading toward Preztiag! Recommend Car 1 and Car 0 set up spike strips at the bridge!" "Barney - what the hell are you doing in Plunckett County?!" Rythen spoke over the radio. "Uhh... family gathering! He nearly took my cruiser out when I was heading home!" "Dispatch, Car 1, Car 0. Head to the bridge on Commercial Street. Car 2 is requesting spike strips for a pursuit." Rythen audibly slammed his receiver into its slot after hearing dispatch.

The Little Subaru That Might powerslided onto County Road G, headed eastbound. The LTD, despite resembling a runic S and spouting smoke like a volcano about to erupt, kept on its heels. Barney wasn't too far behind, his cruiser almost going on three wheels around the bend. A glam metal song about self-destructive behaviour with Tom Keifer-esque vocals and a driving blues rhythm played as they raced down the two-lane blacktop. "Car 1 to dispatch. We are set up with the roadblock on Commercial Street." Sargeant Sneed spoke on his portable radio. He was hunkered down with a honey dipper shotgun behind the northern wall of the bridge. Rythen was behind him with a Colt Navy revolver. Sneed's partner, Major McCoy, was taking cover behind the southern wall with an M4. Just behind him was Chief of Police Phil Dickinson, who was ready to give chase in Car 0, a dark metallic grey 1970 Mercury Montego four-door with a spotlight and dog dish hubcaps. On the other side of the bridge sat Car 1, a 1970 Plymouth Satellite, parallel to the road, next to the spike strip.

"We see him." Sneed reported. Keyteb suddenly slammed on the brakes. Mel seemingly missed deyr mark, as dey locked the brakes up and smashed into the back of the Subaru, causing its rear hatch to curl up like a poked caterpillar, the rear quarter panel to crumple like an accordian, the right taillight to absolutely disintegrate, and the rear bumper to peel back like a snap bracelet. The last of the hubcaps decided that was a good time to leave as well. The cars shuddered to a stop, right past where they needed to turn. The only new damage to the Ford was a slight wrinkle at the front of the left fender.

"Cut! Cut! Cut! Melavic! Baby! You're not supposed to hit him! You could have turned that thing into a thin paste!" "You try to stop a 2-tonne car with rear drum brakes from 120 kilometres an hour, cunt!" Mel shouted at Alan. Mel climbed out of the car and jogged over to the stuntman who was driving the Subaru. "Sorry about that, mate! My brakes are cheese." "That's alright - bit of a fright seeing that not stopping in your rear view. No harm, no foul." They shook hands as a muscular man - Jav's employee Ian Zedden - beat on the quarter panel of the car with a sledgehammer to get it to not rub on the tire. Someone else tore the inner fender out. "Places, people! Take it from right here. And Mel? Remember to increase your braking distance a bit." Alan shouted through the megaphone. Mel smiled and shot him a backwards V. "Action!"

The Subaru chirped its tires and shot down a disused side road that went down a hill, and Bo followed. The hill led to a parking lot with a warehouse on the left, a rail line and pedestrian bridge in the middle and an old brick building to the right. The rest of the area consisted of pine trees. The Subaru came to a stop and Keyteb came out shooting. Bo locked the brakes up and ducked, putting deyr body over Daggy's. Bo sprung upwards when the shooting stopped. Dey opened the door and fired at Keyteb, who was limping up the stairs of the bridge, but couldn't hit him. The bridge looked old; it was a large, arched piece of iron that stretched over the three sets of tracks. Despite its styling, the bridge was only two months old. A freight train was passing eastbound underneath.

"Stay in the car!" Bo barked at Daggy and followed Keyteb. Keyteb had begun to scale the lattice fence of the bridge. "Get down from there, you idiot! You'll get yourself killed!" Bo shouted over the noise of the train, pointing deyr gun at him, hesitating. He lept into a passing grain car. "Son of a bitch!" Bo said, holstered deyr gun and lept over the fence, landing on the grass beside the stairs. Dey sprinted alongside the train, deyr kondoggoo legs almost matching the speed of it. Dey jumped onto the ladder of a tanker car and quickly got to the top.

The train was slowing down - someone at the last station had probably called into the railroad. Bo ran along the tops of the train cars, running toward the grain car. An empty flat car now sat between Bo and Keyteb. Bo jumped down, hitting the wooden deck with a thud and sprinting toward the grain car. Dey climbed the ladder, but he was gone. Dey looked around, and noticed him running through the back yard of a house. Dey dropped back onto the flat car and looked for oncoming trains. Nothing. Dey got a run up and then lept from the flat car, clearing the tracks and ballast and rolling to a stop in the grass. Dey rose to deyr feet. Deyr jeans and shirt were stained green all up the sides and back.

Dey saw him again and paralleled him on Depot Street, running up the middle of the road. Cars honked and drivers swore, but Bo didn't stop. The road was about to end. Preztiag Union Station lay ahead. It was a huge building that straddled all three tracks of the rail line with a giant iron archway connecting the two four-storey-tall art deco brick buildings that acted as abuttments for the glass canopy, resembling a slightly wider, single-canopy London Paddington station. Bo saw Keyteb run into the parking lot, but dey were then bumped by a car and sent tumbling. When dey looked up, dey saw that it was a dark red 1982 Subaru Leone. "Sorry, young man! I told you about my depth perception!" The elderly poodle behind the wheel shouted after rolling the window down. Bo got up, and when dey looked at the parking lot, he was gone. Dey ran toward the station.

The station was packed with commuters. Bo bladed past some commuters and barged others out of the way. Then dey saw him. He was waiting on the local high-speed train, which was approaching the platform. Bo drew deyr gun. "Loithen! Give it up! You got nowhere to go." He slowly put his hands up and turned around, "Alright. You got me. But you forgot something, 'Detective.' There is always somewhere to go." He dramatically fell backwards towards the track. Bo dropped deyr gun and reached for him, missing him by centimetres. He fell onto the tracks.

His eyes opened, showing the canopy and blue skies above him. He looked to his right to see the GG1 locomotive, which had stopped a couple of metres shy of him. When he looked back, Bo's fist filled his vision. Dey lofted his unconcious body onto the platform and jumped onto it. "Sorry about that!" Dey said to the train engineer. Daggy pulled up in the LTD, which was still heavily smoking, followed by the entirety of the Preztiag Police Department. Bo handcuffed Keyteb and patted him down, taking his gun and any ammo and putting them in deyr waistband and pocket, respectively. Daggy and the policemen walked up.

"Took you long enough." Bo joked. Daggy patted Bo's shoulder. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the man who killed my future second cousin-in-law." Barney said in an uncharacteristically condescending and aggressive tone as he sized Keyteb up. "Allegedly" was all Keyteb said. "Why, you little--!" McCoy held Barney back from socking him. One black eye was enough. "Well, ladies, I'm impressed. You captured him alive and didn't destroy any city property..." Chief Dickinson spoke in a low, bourbon-like drawl. "... but considering most of the police force helped you, I do believe that this is our arrest." He smirked devilishly.

"Daggy?" Bo asked. "Yep?" She replied. "Get on the train." Bo said in an unusually high-pitched voice. The two ran onto the train, with Bo yanking Keyteb along. The doors shut. "Should we go after them?" Barney asked. The chief sighed, "As reckless as they may be, they did their jobs." Bo cuffed Keyteb to one of the overhead luggage racks. "Oh, shit, the bullet wound!" Bo said to deemself. "Yeah, I'm kind of bleeding out, here." Keyteb said. "Shut up!" Both hunters said. Bo cut his pantleg open with deyr pocket knife. "Looks like the bleeding has stopped a bit, but I'll still pack it for you. Consider it a 'thank you' for having crappy aim."

Later, Bo sat on the edge of the ridge in Coyton, deyr shoulder now bandaged up. A jangly, introspective 1960s folk song played in the background. "Hey." Daggy said and sat down next to Bo. She had an envelope in hand. "Payment for Loithen came through." Daggy opened the envelope and took out half of the money - ten 100,000cr bills and five 10,000cr bills. Bo counted them and smiled. Dey put them into deyr wallet and wrapped deyr arm around Daggy, looking out at the vast expanse of the area, where their house could be seen in the distance. "I really think things are gonna be okay." They turned to each other and made out as the sun set. Alan looked at his script. It read, "BO POCKETS MONEY AND LOOKS INTO DISTANCE. END SCENE." The credits rolled. At the end, a faux memoriam was placed at the end for both vehicles. "Stopping is for pussies" was written underneath the image of the LTD, its D-Licence and one of the "D-Tags," a serial number located on the vehicle in multiple places that matches the number on the destruction licence. "Best 10 grand I ever spent" was written under the Subaru.

-- Epilogue: Appetite for Destruction --

The girls started to get a bit grabby. "Okay! Cut! Cut! Print it! Girls, get a room!" Alan shouted. The girls broke their kiss and looked around and laughed. Mel got up off of Blaine and helped her to her feet. The crew packed it up for the episode. Mel and Blaine went home, well, they went to their house, which was located on the same property. They made love and woke up the next morning, snuggled up to each other. Blaine gave Mel a kiss and got out of bed. Both got dressed and got into the LTD, which was parked in the barn. Mel wrapped a bungee cord around the driver's door, with Blaine parroting with the front passenger door.

"What are the Pecada odds on us getting pulled over for real in this shitheap?" Blaine quipped and wrapped her arm around Mel. Dey started the car and shifted into gear. The car shuddered unhappily as Mel pulled out of the barn. "Depends if the Darville Sheriff is as up himself as the Plunckett Sheriff is." Mel smiled as the old car trundled onto County Road G. Amazingly, they made it to Kleuti Ford in Preztiag. A man with an Ergonian DMV shirt on stood next to the man who sold the car.

"Wow. I'm surprised it's still running." The salesman commented. The girls got out. "The radio? It's okay." Mel quipped. "It's not rusty or a Chevrolet, Mel - it's a Soppen Ford, remember?" She snickered. Mel and Blaine shook both of the men's hands. Everyone introduced each other. "She's all yours." Mel said, handing the destruction licence to the lizzabli. The DMV man got into the car and drove it into the garage for inspection. "I say that - I would like to purchase the vehicle for my collection." Mel corrected. "Certainly." The salesman told. "I'll get you a price when he finishes his inspection."

Mel and Blaine waited in the maintenence lobby of the dealership for the inspection to be completed. "Everything You Want" by Vertical Horizon played on the muzak as Mel wrote in a notebook, and Blaine read The Case of the Sun Bather's Diary by Erle Stanley Gardner. "Are you sure?" The lizzabli spoke to the DMV man out of earshot of the girls. The DMV man simply nodded. The lizzabli put his hand on his forehead and sighed. He and the DMV man approached the girls. Both put down their books and looked at the men in unison.

"Well, ladies, this is unprecedented." The lizzabli spoke, holding his hands together like he was praying using only two fingers and his thumbs, before turning his fingers to the girls. "You have done so much damage to this car that the cost to repair it surpasses the sticker value of the automobile." There was a pause. "It would cost more to repair than it's worth." The DMV man said. "All you need to do is to sign the transfer paper, which we can do here." The lizzabli said. Both girls looked at each other. After a short pause, they stood up, high fived each other and whooped. "You'll have to tow the vehicle. This is a salvage title; it cannot be registered. If you choose to repair it, then you can easily go to your local DMV and have the vehicle be inspected and get the title cleared if you pass." The lizzabli explained. "I'll call Jav." Blaine said, going outside. "Let's go into my office." The lizzabli said.

On the table was the damage report. It read as follows:

2001 FORD LTD MK II
DESTRUCTION LICENCE: YES (No. 01FRDS2F4T)

FRAME BENT IN 4 LOCATIONS
MOTOR MOUNTS SHEARED
SIGNIFICANT SUSPENSION DAMAGE
SEVERE FRONT FASCIA DAMAGE
HOOD BUCKLED
MINOR FRONT FENDER DENTING
FRONT WINDSHIELD MISSING
NO PASSENGER DOOR WILL CLOSE
BACKLIGHT SHATTERED
REAR BODY BENT DOWNWARD
HUBCAPS SCUFFED
SMALL TEARS IN UPHOLSTERY THROUGHOUT

VEHICLE DESTROYED.

The lizzabli layed a piece of paper, which identified itself as title transfer paperwork, on top of the damage report. There was a multiple choice between a sale, a gift, trade, inheritance, and... a prize? Interesting aside, there. The sheet also had lines labelled "Reason for gift or prize" and "traded for" next to the "sale price" field. These weren't for bureaucracy - they were simply data points. He checkmarked the sale box and wrote 0cr for the sale price. He signed the "Seller's signature" field, and Mel signed the "Buyer's signature" field. The DMV man accessed a computer in the office and printed out a brand-new title, which had the car's year, make, model, trim and VIN number listed, along with Mel's full name and a terminal and date listed at the bottom. It was a thick but flexible paper, the same kind that Ergonian banknotes are made from.

The lizzabli stamped the old title with the DMV man's "VOID" hole punch and put it in a shredder. It was technically his, after all. He took another hole punch and punched the destruction licence with "USED," which means the destruction licence is now invalid. The DMV man put a larger die cutting machine on the table and put the vehicle's D-Tags in it, stamping them with "VOID" as well. They, the destruction licence and the licence plates were then returned to Mel, who responded with a thankful smile and nod.

Jav soon pulled up outside with deyr rollback tow truck, which had the Impreza on the back. Mel pulled up behind the truck in the LTD and got out. Jav went about strapping it down to the truck's wheel lift. Mel and Blaine got into the truck's cab, with Blaine taking the middle seat to ensure the dejes don't get frisky. "Looks that Kill" by Mötley Crüe was playing on the radio. Mel was visibly beaming with the metal in hand. The destruction licence, D-Tags and licence plates of the Impreza lay in the passenger footwell of the truck.

Jav got in. "You girls are gonna make me invest in an 11-metre truck." Dey smiled and put the truck in gear. Dey pulled out onto the street. "You look chipper, Sheila." Jav commented, glancing at Mel, who snickered. "This was such a fun experience." Dey said. "You always remember your first time. I wish I kept my first - but I was 12 years old, and my dad scrapped it without my say. He held the licence, anyway. That red car I got? With the flames? That was the first one I owned personally." "You said 'own' - but isn't this more like a rental?" Mel questioned. Jav pouted, rolled deyr head, and lifted deyr left hand off of the wheel slightly. "I guess you could put it that way. But like you saw - you can always buy it and get the title. Which, I had to register the Subie under my name, I hope you don't mind."

Mel looked back at the Subaru, which didn't look that damaged from this angle. "Oh! The damage report and receipt for that blank check you gave me is under all that crap." Jav said. Mel set the tags from the LTD down and sifted through the Subaru's tags, finding a clipboard with a receipt that partially covered the damage report. The receipt was for 18,750cr. "Damn. We should have smashed it up harder - buying the destroyed one cost more than the regular one." Mel mused. "Yeah, the front end of this thing is basically perfect. I could clear four figures scrapping this thing. Which, by the way, if you ever want to let a car go, go through me. That skips the middle man of them having to trailer the wreck here." Jav said. "So... they don't take any parts? It's straight to the scrapyard?" Mel asked. Jav turned south onto Main Street. "Yep. Government requirement that keeps the power in the hands of the consumer. Back in the 1600s-1800s the manufactures bitched and moaned about that to no end, but they came to terms with it around the time that gasoline cars became popular." Dey said.

"Oh? Didn't take you for a history buff, Jav." Mel said with a cocky smile. Jav let out a single, hearty laugh. "That's my kid brother rubbing off on me." Dey said with a smile. Mel moved the receipt out of the way and read the damage report, which said as follows:

2001 SUBARU IMPREZA GF
DESTRUCTION LICENCE: YES (No. 00SUBE2TGP)

CHASSIS COMPROMISED AT RIGHT REAR
FRONT LEFT FENDER DENTED
LEFT DOOR SEVERELY DAMAGED - WILL NOT CLOSE
DRIVER DOOR MIRROR MISSING
DRIVER DOOR GLASS SHATTERED
REAR PASSENGER WINDOW SHATTERED
FUEL DOOR BENT
REAR RIGHT INNER FENDER REMOVED BUT ACCOUNTED FOR - SOME CLIPS BROKEN
REAR HATCH SEVERELY BENT
BACKLIGHT SHATTERED
REAR SUBARU BADGE PARTIALLY MISSING
RIGHT TAILLIGHT ASSEMBLY SHATTERED
REAR HATCH HANDLE REMOVED BUT ACCOUNTED FOR
REAR BUMPER SEVERELY BENT - AMAZED STILL CONNECTED
REAR RIGHT HUBCAP PARTIALLY SHATTERED - OTHERS ALL SCUFFED
DRIVER DOOR CARD DEEPLY SCUFFED

VEHICLE DESTROYED.

"Huh. I'm surprised. We damaged more parts on the Subaru, but I guess we, ah, really went for the jugular on the yacht." Mel said. "Yeah, if this Subaru was body on frame instead of shitty unibody, I could swap that shit out in a day. But if you were gonna fix it, you need to fucking..." Jav briefly took deyr hands off of the wheel to make a crunching motion with them. "LEGO piece it together." Jav pulled into the back parking lot of the museum. Woxxie clapped with excitement when the cars arrived. "Alright, ladies! Oh, boy. I can't wait to pose these cars. I'm gonna have an interactive touchscreen display with them, so visitors can watch the exact moment of the show where these cars met their fate." He lovingly held his hands together.

The episode wasn't shown on television. Not yet, at least. Instead, it was posted on the production company's ErgoView channel, hoping to get picked up by a publisher that wouldn't sink their claws into them as badly as the last. The channel, now named Drop Bear Productions, used to be called "Inspector Rhoade Trane Official Channel." In fact, most of the content was compilations from the first 3 seasons of IRT. The video was titled "A Dej Named Bo: 'Permanent Retirement' [PILOT]", and had a whopping 1,258,218 views within a month of its upload.

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