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DamianRuyin
Star
- Joined
- Jul 26, 2010
Welcome to ‘Engine Heat’
This group rp is still being fleshed out, so pardon the mess.
More will be be added as more interest is garnered to areas pertaining to world building.
Basically this is an interest check and/or character creation page.
The plot would revolve around a small racing crew, one sponsored by a large cooperation. Each individual is one of the most skilled individuals in their own field, yet also carries some hefty character flaws to compensate for it.
This particular crew is out to win this year’s tournament, winning prize money that will set them up for live.
Characters:
Handler/Teamleader (F): Open
Mechanic/Greasejunky (F): Open
Driver (M): Taken
Driver (F): Open
Technician (F): Open
Will add more characters when there is enough demand. Convince me to add more male spots.
The announcer nearly screamed, trying to let himself be heard. Thousands of spectators were roaring in their seats, half of them for the race, the other for the explosions. In the year 2059, everything was a spectator spot.
"Just three more mile, you understand?" A voice said calmly through the headset. "There is a piece of debris in the middle of the road exactly a quarter of a mile from here. You race down to it, avoid it at the last second and hopefully take out one of them." The driver said nothing, eyes fixed at his surroundings. He had already reached to point of shutting down everything around him, not hearing the explosions, screams and roaring engines. He rammed his bike to the left, avoiding the burned out wreck that was embedded in the ground there, seconds later an explosion could be heard, followed by the sounds of screaming and pieces of metal falling to the ground. A burst of flame erupted from the exhaust of the Skyliner as its driver gave it everything he had. He could hear the vehicle protesting, metal shaking and vibrating. “Come on bitch! Roar for me!” He yelled out as he blasted towards the finish line. He could almost feel the breath of the other drivers in his neck, only providing more fuel for his insane end sprint. There was a natural limiter on these bikes, one his mechanic had removed for him; crazy bitch. He knew the thing was nearly ready to explode when he crossed the finish line, immediately letting the throttle go.
He drove the vehicle to the side, skidding to a halt. The minute he removed the helmet from his face and threw it up in the ear, he heard the thunderous boom of feet stamping on seats, shouting and hands clapping, even some gunfire to celebrate. The driver, Alex, beamed as he held up his arm, enjoying the applause he got. Although it was only the second race of the season, he had done well this day. His vehicle was still intact and he had not received any bullet wounds or stabbing injuries. This year’s blood-race was especially brutal, yet the prize money was mouth-watering. He heard tires grinding to a halt behind him, signalling the arrival of his teammate. Seconds later a punch landed on his shoulder, in her way complimenting him for a job well done. He enjoyed the scene a little more before he glanced at his right, seeing his team mate meet up with their mechanic.
The mechanic was a fucking piece of work, 50% insane, the other prodigy child. The things she could do with an engine was unreal. She was simply too good to be fired from the team, yet also too unstable to be left alone without any supervision. She once quoted that an engine wasn’t complete until the sheer roaring sounds could get her off.
The driver was similar to himself, adrenaline junky, troubled childhood and a fixation to go faster and faster. They only had one rule, don’t fuck with each other while driving, the other side was ok. She was the leading female driver and stood fourteenth in the national ranking, compared to her first place as a drinker within the team.
Alex groaned as he was led towards one of the side rooms, his bike and helmet being taken care off by his mechanic. He was led into the room and was instantly engulfed in flashing lights and cameras bleeping on. Now came the only downside to his job, besides death. He spoke the words he had been trained to say, all written down by his sponsors. Larger companies now ruled where nations had been ruling before. The financial problems in the beginning of this age where fucking enormous, one crisis after another. Finally nations collapsed underneath their own depths and corporations rose up from their ashes, carving out their own little territories. Without those countries, ethics and laws changed aswell, slowly as that might have been. Now sponsorship, blood races, cage fights to the death, etc, all was now permitted. Alex couldn’t give a dam, he wasn’t hired to be a historian nor a philosopher.
He signed a picture of himself, a picture of his rookie debut. Back then he simply had a self-bought engine and an old sword, coupled with a whole lot of balls and recklessness. Three races later and he had a sponsorship going for him and was recruited in a good team. That had been three years ago. He signed the picture and left the room, waving to the cameras as he moved towards the garages and locker rooms.
He passed another member of his crew, a talented technician. She was this age’s Beethoven, swapping violins with terabytes and pianos with software. Everyone called her Wizzy, seeing as she was a god dammed wizard when it came to tinkering and fine tuning. If you coupled her with their mechanic, you birthed one of the greatest race monsters ever. He grinned as he passed her, not wanting to bother her and her tinkering. She was changing or updating something in his car, no doubt fine-tuning something inside of it. While their mechanic as a god dammed lunatic, Wizzy was a quite normal person, although as guidable and innocent as you could be. More than once had Alex seen Wizzy being teased or toyed with by her team mates.
He went towards his locker and began undoing his suit, placing the tight fitting suit inside of it. He glanced at his naked frame, bruised on his thighs and arms. A few scratch marks, although that had been before the race. He forced himself into the shower and let the warm water heat up his frame, driving away at least some of the fatigue. He heard the knock on the door, no doubt his handler. “Yhea, come in.” He said as he ran his fingers through his hair. The handler was someone to hold this team together, send by the company they worked for. She could be considered ‘sane’ when compared to the rest of the team. She had both the intellect and the social skills to get along with everyone, yet was secure enough to sometimes be one of ‘guys’ and take a punch, even help out with the repairs if they had a hand short.
He glanced at her and nodded, non-verbally telling her that he would see her in a few minutes. He left the room and opened his locker again, glancing at the picture he had taped there. It was an old picture, taken when he first joined the team. They had changed since then, only getting closer and closer. Just glancing at the picture would give any man a reason to stick to this team, something he was very, very aware off.
From left to right: His handler, his teammate, the mechanic, the technician.
This group rp is still being fleshed out, so pardon the mess.
More will be be added as more interest is garnered to areas pertaining to world building.
Basically this is an interest check and/or character creation page.
PLOT
The plot would revolve around a small racing crew, one sponsored by a large cooperation. Each individual is one of the most skilled individuals in their own field, yet also carries some hefty character flaws to compensate for it.
This particular crew is out to win this year’s tournament, winning prize money that will set them up for live.
Characters:
Handler/Teamleader (F): Open
Mechanic/Greasejunky (F): Open
Driver (M): Taken
Driver (F): Open
Technician (F): Open
Will add more characters when there is enough demand. Convince me to add more male spots.
STORY
“AND WITH JUST TWO LAPS TO GO!!”The announcer nearly screamed, trying to let himself be heard. Thousands of spectators were roaring in their seats, half of them for the race, the other for the explosions. In the year 2059, everything was a spectator spot.
"Just three more mile, you understand?" A voice said calmly through the headset. "There is a piece of debris in the middle of the road exactly a quarter of a mile from here. You race down to it, avoid it at the last second and hopefully take out one of them." The driver said nothing, eyes fixed at his surroundings. He had already reached to point of shutting down everything around him, not hearing the explosions, screams and roaring engines. He rammed his bike to the left, avoiding the burned out wreck that was embedded in the ground there, seconds later an explosion could be heard, followed by the sounds of screaming and pieces of metal falling to the ground. A burst of flame erupted from the exhaust of the Skyliner as its driver gave it everything he had. He could hear the vehicle protesting, metal shaking and vibrating. “Come on bitch! Roar for me!” He yelled out as he blasted towards the finish line. He could almost feel the breath of the other drivers in his neck, only providing more fuel for his insane end sprint. There was a natural limiter on these bikes, one his mechanic had removed for him; crazy bitch. He knew the thing was nearly ready to explode when he crossed the finish line, immediately letting the throttle go.
He drove the vehicle to the side, skidding to a halt. The minute he removed the helmet from his face and threw it up in the ear, he heard the thunderous boom of feet stamping on seats, shouting and hands clapping, even some gunfire to celebrate. The driver, Alex, beamed as he held up his arm, enjoying the applause he got. Although it was only the second race of the season, he had done well this day. His vehicle was still intact and he had not received any bullet wounds or stabbing injuries. This year’s blood-race was especially brutal, yet the prize money was mouth-watering. He heard tires grinding to a halt behind him, signalling the arrival of his teammate. Seconds later a punch landed on his shoulder, in her way complimenting him for a job well done. He enjoyed the scene a little more before he glanced at his right, seeing his team mate meet up with their mechanic.
The mechanic was a fucking piece of work, 50% insane, the other prodigy child. The things she could do with an engine was unreal. She was simply too good to be fired from the team, yet also too unstable to be left alone without any supervision. She once quoted that an engine wasn’t complete until the sheer roaring sounds could get her off.
The driver was similar to himself, adrenaline junky, troubled childhood and a fixation to go faster and faster. They only had one rule, don’t fuck with each other while driving, the other side was ok. She was the leading female driver and stood fourteenth in the national ranking, compared to her first place as a drinker within the team.
Alex groaned as he was led towards one of the side rooms, his bike and helmet being taken care off by his mechanic. He was led into the room and was instantly engulfed in flashing lights and cameras bleeping on. Now came the only downside to his job, besides death. He spoke the words he had been trained to say, all written down by his sponsors. Larger companies now ruled where nations had been ruling before. The financial problems in the beginning of this age where fucking enormous, one crisis after another. Finally nations collapsed underneath their own depths and corporations rose up from their ashes, carving out their own little territories. Without those countries, ethics and laws changed aswell, slowly as that might have been. Now sponsorship, blood races, cage fights to the death, etc, all was now permitted. Alex couldn’t give a dam, he wasn’t hired to be a historian nor a philosopher.
He signed a picture of himself, a picture of his rookie debut. Back then he simply had a self-bought engine and an old sword, coupled with a whole lot of balls and recklessness. Three races later and he had a sponsorship going for him and was recruited in a good team. That had been three years ago. He signed the picture and left the room, waving to the cameras as he moved towards the garages and locker rooms.
He passed another member of his crew, a talented technician. She was this age’s Beethoven, swapping violins with terabytes and pianos with software. Everyone called her Wizzy, seeing as she was a god dammed wizard when it came to tinkering and fine tuning. If you coupled her with their mechanic, you birthed one of the greatest race monsters ever. He grinned as he passed her, not wanting to bother her and her tinkering. She was changing or updating something in his car, no doubt fine-tuning something inside of it. While their mechanic as a god dammed lunatic, Wizzy was a quite normal person, although as guidable and innocent as you could be. More than once had Alex seen Wizzy being teased or toyed with by her team mates.
He went towards his locker and began undoing his suit, placing the tight fitting suit inside of it. He glanced at his naked frame, bruised on his thighs and arms. A few scratch marks, although that had been before the race. He forced himself into the shower and let the warm water heat up his frame, driving away at least some of the fatigue. He heard the knock on the door, no doubt his handler. “Yhea, come in.” He said as he ran his fingers through his hair. The handler was someone to hold this team together, send by the company they worked for. She could be considered ‘sane’ when compared to the rest of the team. She had both the intellect and the social skills to get along with everyone, yet was secure enough to sometimes be one of ‘guys’ and take a punch, even help out with the repairs if they had a hand short.
He glanced at her and nodded, non-verbally telling her that he would see her in a few minutes. He left the room and opened his locker again, glancing at the picture he had taped there. It was an old picture, taken when he first joined the team. They had changed since then, only getting closer and closer. Just glancing at the picture would give any man a reason to stick to this team, something he was very, very aware off.
From left to right: His handler, his teammate, the mechanic, the technician.
