I listen to a podcast following the game ideas of fictional game development company CoolGamesInc. And of course I got ideas from the most recent podcast, in which they create a spiritual sequel to both ‘Shadow of the Colossus’ and ‘Burnout 3’. And I guess I wrote fanfiction for a game that does not exist. Seriously, give the podcast a little listen if you are at all interested in video games:

https://art19.com/shows/coolgames-inc/episodes/c873ad7d-efd3-401c-a4e0-0ddc92a9802b

So, here goes!

You could feel the trembling, like the great motor of the world was revving in anticipation. The Garage was here. From within, the drone of damned engines swelling to a cacophony of noise. Within, the individual tones of those lost could still be heard- screaming, roaring- nobody knew which. The terror of the Garage was that once a car went in it never emerged again.

It tempted us with cheap ‘parking’. Hah. We learned to hate that word. Some thought once you entered, your engine was hooked up into the infernal mechanism that powered the massive structure. Others said the Garage was the next step- cars combined and evolved.

There were few that would not U-turn and floor the accelerator at the hint of a tremble these days. But there were some. They came from many backgrounds- some had racers honour stripes, others simple silver- more common than tarmac. They were the brave ones.

The simple truth was that bravery and destruction went hand in hand- they had only their tail slaps and rams- simple cartial arts to stand against the Big Ones. Many bore chugging engines and cracked windshields from their battle against the Fire Engine. More had run dry and still lay there on the edge of life, their fuel tanks containing only fumes- they had been chasing the speedy Motorbike. I remember those days.

I was an old model, but they trusted me. They came when I revved my V8 from the top of a cliff. I was the only one brave (or crazy) enough to charge the Military Tank head on- I hit an exposed oil container, finally felling the monster. I paid a price.

On the Day the Garage came, we had a plan. That had been our only defence. We would circle it, find a weakness and infiltrate. It was an unspoken agreement that if we crashed, the others kept revving. Upon a cliff, we saw it rolling across the plains. The sound of vanished friends and family were calling out to us- makes and models familiar and in pain. It was disheartening- somehow worse than the scrape of steel on steel we warpaths had come to know. Some reversed slightly, their tires nervously spinning on the sand. The shaking reverberated me to the chassis. To steel my old steel frame, I revved as loud as I could- I was slow and my ride was uneven, but the revving still worked- the others took up the cry and charged down the moderate slope… To destruction… Or glory!