Twisted Metal: Wrath Of The Wolf

[Bee]

Okay, another attempt at writing. PLEASE read and review. Thanks.


Twisted Metal: Wrath Of The Wolf

By The Cowboy From Hell
-666-

***
DISCLAIMER:
I DO NOT own Twisted Metal, or any of the crap in this fic. Don't sue, you'll get nothing. I rent.
***

This is a story I've been mulling around for a few years, now, and I finally have a character and a direction to put it in, so, here we go.

This takes place some years after Twisted Metal: Black


******


A lone grey wolf walked through a Junkyard. Brandon Hayley was the wolf, and the Junkyard was now his. He bought it for a few reasons. One, the price was difficult to beat, two, he loved the old iron that sat here in varying states of death, and three, it gave him his own business. Money he desperately needed if he was going to give his Fiancée the life she deserved.


He sighed lowly as he sat on the fender of a smashed '56 Chevy, thinking about her. Her name was Shade Darkhalzen, a rather attractive Akita Inu, who was two years younger than him. She was sweet, funny, cute, and forgiving and caring to a fault. It left the poor wolf each day feeling that he didn't deserve someone as great as her. Hopefully this business would give him what he needed to deserve that wonderful girl.


As his mind drifted back to the present, he noticed a run down quanset hut at the far end of the lot. He never saw it before, in his many trips down to this scrapyard. He looked around, noticing that he was in a formally fenced off area of the yard. Yes...he remembered a tall chainlink fence about forty feet behind him. As he walked back, he noticed the posts of the fence were cut off crudely at the base.


"Why would they take the fence but leave all these old muscle cars?" he asked aloud, confused.


He shook his head, and looked back at the aluminum building. Curiousity got the best of him, and he walked to the building.


When he got there, he saw a rather imposing steel chain and a massive padlock on the doors. He looked down at the keyring he was given, as he looked for a key that would match it. Sure enough, he found the one labeled "Master", and gave it a shot.


He inserted the key, and tried to turn it. Nothing but resistance. Pulling the can of WD-40 out of the cargo pocket of his BDUs, he pulled the key out and gave it a quick squirt. He had expected a few stuck locks from the derelict property, so he came prepared. He banged a rock against the lock, to free up the rust inside, and tried the key again.


*CLICK!*


Success! He pulled the lock away, and pulled the chain out, dropping it at his feet. Trembling with curiousity and excitement, he opened the doors.


Nestled deep inside, next to faded red toolboxes and Olive green boxes of lord knows what was a very odd looking vehicle. From what he could tell, from his failed days as an overland trucker, most of it was a mid-70s Peterbilt, model 359. On it's front bumper, covering much of the grill, was a mid-80s police car, attached by more massive logging chain. The headlights were relocated higher, so that they could still be used. Thick armor plating covered much of the rig, and massive I-Beams protected the fuel tanks, and served as steprails. On either front fender was a 20mm Gatling gun, with belts of ammunition still fed into them. Bullet dents covered much of the rig, and it appeared to be a faded black color. The tires appeared to be Solid-Rubber Military-Spec, and he could faintly see painted on the door, "Darkside". This made a chill run up his spine.


He always had a penchant for killing, and he hated himself for it. He was kicked out of the Marines for killing too much, and fired from the Police for "accidentally" killing a few men. This is what he secretly referred to as his "Darkside". Now, he was staring down the gunsights of someone elses Darkside.


"Darkside...." he said aloud, a tingle shooting up his spine, "...that contest...years ago...what was it called?...Twisted something..."


All of a sudden, he felt very cold. He pulled his trenchcoat closer to his smoke-grey fur, but it didn't help. He heard a voice behind him, that made him spin with unheard-of speed.


"Twisted Metal. My brainchild." The stranger said. He was a human, tall, lean, and bald as a plucked chicken. Scars covered much of his face, and a rather noticeable one ran across his throat, like someone tried to kill him.


"Who are you, and what are you doing on my property?" Brandon growled lowly, flashing his sharp fangs. His left paw rested on his Taurus revolver, Shade's Birthday gift to him.


"My name is Calypso, and I came here to talk, Staff Sargeant Brandon Hayley, Dishonorably Discharged from the United States Marine Corps in 2012." He said, smirking.


"H-how do you know that?" he asked, his deep lupine voice faltering, as he took a step back.


"I know a lot about you, Brandon." Calypso smirked, as he walked slowly around Brandon, "you got discharged in 2012, fired from the Police Force in 2015, fired from a rather large shipping firm in 2017, enrolled in Community College, and dropped out within three months. Currently engaged to be married to Shade Darkhalzen, whose parents are Stripes and Bash Darkhalzen. Need I say more?"


Brandon growled lowly, as his darker side took over. In a flash, the revolver was out, hammer cocked, and pointed at Calypso's head, "What do you want from me?"


"The last driver of this vehicle, a rather pitiful girl we called Dollface, commited suicide shortly after losing to Sweet Tooth in our last contest. I ordered the previous owner to lock up her vehicle, and keep it safe until the appropriate driver came along. You, Brandon Hayley, are that driver."


Brandon's ears, which were laid back in anger, perked up slightly, "driver for what?"


"Why, the new Twisted Metal Games, of course." He said, smiling darkly, "should you accept, I haven't had anyone turn me down yet, you'll get to feed that darker side of you. The side of you that stems from years of abuse as a young pup. The side that wants to kill. If you win, I can show you what you need to do to deserve Shade."


"...and what do I have to do to win?" he asked, lowering the large revolver.


"Survive." Calypso replied, "I shall return in 48 hours to receive your answer."


With that, he turned and left. Brandon looked at the truck, and back at Calypso. He was gone. No footsteps in the dirt, no shadow around the corner. Flat GONE.


Brandon shook his head, and leaned against the truck. He had seen a ghost. It HAD to have been a ghost. Being more canine than human, he was attuned to such things, which would explain why he held a conversation with it. His superstitious mind explained it to himself, as he closed the doors behind him, and left the Junkyard, lost in his thoughts.


******


He stepped inside the sad little trailer he shared with Shade, and took his cowboy hat off, hanging it on the nail by the door. He was greeted by the short, lithe, black blur that practically tackled him, licking his muzzle in a doggish, but cute, way.


"How was your day, baby?" she asked, her golden eyes gleaming at the wolf she loved.


"Boring." He lied. Well, partially lied, "exploring the property, mostly. Gonna open it up tomorrow."


"Well, that's good. I haven't seen you as happy as when that nice old man handed you those keys." She smiled, hugging him tightly.


"So, how was your day?" he asked, always interested in what she told him.


"Perfect, as usual." She smiled.


He sighed inwardly. They barely made rent, the place was a shithole. He hated it, and he knew she did, too. She was only saying that to make him feel better. She cared too much about him to say otherwise.


After a quiet meal of fried chicken and mashed potatoes, the thought of Calypso still plagued his mind.


"Say, Shady," he started, trying to find the words in his mug of coffee, "what would you say if I entered a contest?"


"What kind of contest?" she asked, cocking her head in a way that made him smile.


"A Demolition Derby." He partially lied, "I've got enough on the lot to piece a car together, and we could really use the money."


"As long as it makes you happy baby." She smiled, placing a reassuring paw on his.


"I might be gone for a few months. Do you think you can handle the Junkyard by yourself?" he asked, not having the heart to tell her that losing meant more than the contest.


"Pretty sure, baby. The pricebook is still under the counter?" she asked.


"Never moved it, love." He smiled, as he sipped the bittersweet swill.


"Well, then, I can handle it. If not, I can call Frank from down the way. He said he'd lend a helping paw." She smiled, as she put her plate in the sink.


Brandon followed suit, wrapping his scarred, muscular arms around her, "I swear, everyday I tell myself there's no way I could love you more, and everyday you prove me wrong."


Shade giggled, and turned her head to kiss the side of his muzzle, "I love you too, wuffy."


******


The next two days passed with relative boredom. The occasional gearhead or greasemonkey would stop in, and offer a friendly chat, and he made a few sales, but, it was quiet and sedate. His calmer side loved it.


Finally, as he was pulling an intake manifold off of a wrecked car for a customer, he saw the "ghost" again.


"For a second there," he grunted, as he yanked the heavy iron piece from the engine, "that you wouldn't come back."


"For a second there, I thought you would say no." Calypso smirked.


"So, what do I get if I win?" Brandon asked, as he set the part on the tailgate of his pickup truck.


"Whatever your heart desires." Calypso replied.


"Its not what I want. It's what She deserves." Brandon stated, staring the man in the eyes, "I want to give Shade the life she deserves. The kind of life where I don't have to sleep with a loaded pistol under my pillow, the life where the landlord doesn't yell at her until she cries. The kind of life a girl like her deserves."


"If you win, it will be yours." Calypso said, offering his hand to Brandon.


Brandon took it, and shook. A jolt of fear and a murderous rage shot through him, as he felt the warm hand of the man in his paw. This wasn't a man. This wasn't human.


Calypso let go, and left. Brandon didn't look back, knowing full well he wouldn't be there.


...He just made a deal with the Devil himself.


******
Chapter Two
******


Brandon left the part with one of his employees, and left them in charge for the afternoon, as he drove his truck to the back of the 250-acre wrecking yard. He pulled up to the building, and pulled the doors open. The black truck seemed to mock him as he stepped inside, glaring at him through the headlights.


"Might as well find out what's all in here." He sighed, as he opened the boxes up.


Ammo. But not just any ammo, the illegal kind. Armor Piercing, high Velocity bullets. Opening up larger boxes, he found replacement motors and barrels to the Vulcans. More boxes housed sheets of armor plating. The tools, which he expected to be cheap, chinese pieces of crap, were Snap-On, American made, and in very good condition. He found a keyring, the skull of a small rodent, with three keys on it.


"Keys to the rig." He mused.


He inserted a key into the doorlock on the truck, and unlocked it. He swung the door open, which was much heavier than he expected, but balanced nicely. He saw why it was so heavy, there was a good inch-and-a-half of heavy armor plating on the Cab and the doors. The interior was stripped of any creature-comforts, save for a cushy-looking driver's seat. There were unknown toggles on the dashboard, and what looked like triggers mounted to the underside of the steering wheel, along with triggers on the long shifter.

He climbed back out, and turned his attention to the next key. It was relatively small and short, so he tried the fuel tanks.


Normally on a big rig, the fuel fillers were out on the tanks themselves, for speed of refueling. But these were mounted inside the framerails, which would prove dangerous on a rig meant for hauling. But this wasn't meant for hauling, afterall. He unlocked the armored doors, and opened the fuel doors. The smell of relatively fresh Diesel fuel met his sensitive Canine nose, which suprised him. The truck look like it had sat for decades, yet the fuel smelled days, maybe even weeks old.


Curiousity getting the best of him, he went to pop the hood on the beast. He quickly discovered it wouldn't, no, couldn't, tilt forward like on a traditional big rig, so he inspected the sides, looking for the latches. He found both of them on the driver's side, just above the Vulcan Cannon. He flipped them open, and pushed up on the heavily reinforced hood, until it hit the stops on the passenger side with a loud clang.


What he saw made his jaw drop, and his wolfhood harden.


Caterpillar C18, 6-cylinder Diesel engine. In the mounts, it stood taller than he did. A large pair of Turbochargers fed into an intercooler, then into what he assumed was an 8-71 Roots-Type supercharger. The head of the beast was unlike anything he had ever seen. Even the aftercooler looked foreign to him. It HAD to have been a custom piece, designed to put out as much power as possible. He saw plumbing for something he didn't expect.

Tail wagging excitedly, he began to look around the truck, until he finally found what he was looking for. Four tanks, two for Propane, and two for Nitrous Oxide, to give the vehicle an insane burst of speed. He finally figured out why a cop car was chained to the front.


"It's a giant battering ram." He said, in awe.


He shut the heavy hood, and sat on the driver's side I-Beam, when he noticed a letter. He picked it up, and looked at it. His name was written clearly in caligraphy on the envelope, so he opened it.

"Brandon Hayley,

If you are reading this, than you have chosen to become the new driver of Darkside. We have taken the liberty of doing maintenance on your new vehicle, as well as replacing the old ammunition with new.

I know you are a technical man, so here are the specs on the Vehicle you will be driving in the contest.

VEHICLE: DARKSIDE
YEAR: 1979
MAKE: PETERBILT
MODEL: 359
COLOR: BLACK

ARMAMENT: 2 - 20MM VULCAN CANNONS

4 - HEATSEEKING MISSILES

4 - SPECIAL MISSILES

1 - SPECIAL

SPECIAL ARMAMENT: NITROUS OXIDE/PROPANE INJECTION, TO PROVIDE INSTANTANEOUS ACCELERATION FOR VEHICULAR RAMMING

DEFENSIVE:

1.75 INCH ARMOR PLATING ON CAB/ENGINE BAY

SOLID RUBBER TIRES

BULLETPROOF GLASS


ENGINE:

DISPLACEMENT: 19.5 LITRES
NUMBER OF CYLINDERS: 6
CYLINDER PLACEMENT: INLINE
POWER ADDERS: 2 - 90MM GARRETT TURBOCHARGERS

1 - 8-71 ROOTS-TYPE BELT DRIVEN SUPERCHARGER

1 - SINGLE CORE INTERCOOLER

1 - TWO-STAGE AFTERCOOLER


DRIVETRAIN:

TRANSMISSION: 5 GEARS MANUAL, 4 GEARS AIR-SHIFTED/ 20 FORWARD GEARS

AXLES: ROCKWELL INDUSTRIES HEAVY DUTY UNITS

FINAL DRIVE RATIO: 5.44:1


FUEL TYPE: HIGH SULFER DIESEL


Please say your goodbyes to Shade tonight, and meet us for orientation in Midtown at midnight tomorrow.

~Calypso

[MISTER BIG T]

Needs more sweet tooth.

[Bee]

I agree. I have stuff perculating right now. Keep your eyes peeled for the wolf/firehead staredown contest! >:3

[Bee]

Here we go.

Twisted Metal: Wrath Of The Wolf
By The Cowboy From Hell
-666-
***
DISCLAIMER:
I DO NOT own Twisted Metal, or any of the crap in this fic. Don't sue, you'll get nothing. I rent.
***

This is a story I've been mulling around for a few years, now, and I finally have a character and a direction to put it in, so, here we go.

This takes place some years after Twisted Metal: Black


******
Chapter Three
******


That night, he made his love known for Shade known several times, leaving her with the knowledge that he would be gone in the morning, but would return as soon as he could. He quietly left the sleeping woman, and gathered some stuff into his old General Issue duffle bag, and headed out to Darkside.


Once within the relative comfort of the aluminum building, he began building his new persona. He left the loving, caring man that he was behind with Shade, bringing the cold, brooding, murderous wolf that got
kicked out of the Marines.


Starting at his feet, he laced up his heavy, steel-toed work boots, and tucked his camoflague BDU pants into them. On his waist sat three belts. One, with a large silver beltbuckle, firmly held his pants up, while the other two were handmade leather gunbelts, holding on either hip, his Taurus Revolver on one side, .454 Caliber, and the other, his first pistol, a Ruger P90, .45ACP Caliber. Tucked into his camo pants was an O.D. Green "M*A*S*H*" t-shirt, over which he zipped up a leather vest he wore when he was a trucker. Embroidered on the back of it, complete with a flaming skull, was his old nickname from the Corps, "Cowboy". On his right bicep sat strapped a combat survival knife, and on his hands sat heavy leather welding gloves. Over his eyes sat auto-darkening welding goggles, and on his head sat a faded black Stetson, given to him by his father the day he enlisted. Brandon Hayley was no more, only The Cowboy.


After calling his employees, making sure that they would follow Shade as if she was him, he made sure that the rig was in top running condition. Much to his suprise, the entire drivetrain was in top-notch shape. The exterior only looked like crap.

Brandon fancied the thought of washing the truck, but, if it was going to get shot at, rammed, and blown up, why bother. He sat on the hood, watching the sun go down, thinking about his girl. He was doing this for her. He would make sure he deserved her, or die trying.


At roughly 10 p.m., he climbed into the rig, and got used to the controls. He noticed a new envelope on the dashboard, and opened it. It housed rather detailed directions to a warehouse in the middle of Midtown. He sighed, knowing he said his goodbye last night, and started the rig up. He strapped himself in, and shifted it into first.


The big rig rolled forward, and he edged it down a back road out to the interstate. His fate was sealed. Darkside was now traveling to the Twisted Metal Games.

******

The rig pulled up to the warehouse, was ushered in, and into a parking space. Cowboy got it parked, and climbed out, getting his first look at his competition.


The first one he noticed was a rather off-looking ice cream truck, armed similarly to his own. The driver was a muscle-bound freak, with a headful of....fire?


He shook his head, and looked to the next vehicle. A taxi-cab, which was piloted by...an eight year old kid. He had a remote control in his hands, and was sitting on the shoulder of an obviously dead man. Cowboy's animal senses picked up the sent of his decaying flesh from here. It made him queasy.


The next one was a horribly disfigured human, driving an old, beat up Tow Truck. He had a pained look on his face, Cowboy could only assume why.


The next was a middle-aged man, with a skull strapped onto his face like a helmet. A scythe was strapped onto his back, and his vehicle was a motorcycle. Lightly armored, but probably fast as Hell. He would be a potential problem, Cowboy noted silently.


The final driver of the group was what appeared to be a preacher, dressed in a trenchcoat and a wide-brimmed hat. His eyes looked kinda red, and not in the "oh, he must smoke pot" kind of way. His vehicle was an old El Camino, and there was someone in the bed, wrapped in burlap, and was struggling visibly. Cowboy shrugged it off, not caring if anyone in this room lived.


He suddenly felt out of place, a lone Anthro in a room full of humans. True, his kind was a minority, and a despised one at that.


"Hey, look what we got here. A puppy." A cold, harsh voice said from behind him, making him turn.


The man with his head on fire was talking to him, with a twisted grin on his face, behind an equally twisted wooden clown mask.


"I'm Canis Lupis, dumbass. Read a book. Or does that fire make you illiterate?" Cowboy replied coldly, his ears laying back.


"You've got a lot of balls showing up here, mutt." The man said, his eyes narrowing. Cowboy noticed the glint of a bloody kitchen knife behind the man's back.


"More than you do, Pinky." Cowboy snorted, "Marines know how to Kill. Unlike you."


This seemed to strike a nerve with firehead, as he brought his kitchen knife up, and tried to stab him with it. Cowboy easily countered with his forged steel survival knife.


"YOU'RE GONNA DIE, MISFIT!!!" the man shrieked, struggling to press his blade further. This angry yell caught the attention off the others.


Cowboy only laughed coldy, pressing his blade forward, "Please, fleshbag. I've killed more people in three months than you have your entire life!"


The man Cowboy knew as Calypso stepped forward, and Firehead stepped back. Cowboy kept his blade in a defensive posture.


"Put those away, both of you." He said calmly, "there will be plenty of time for that later."


Cowboy grunted, and resheathed his knife. He smirked to himself, seeing the knick his knife put into the man's blade.


"Gentleman. Welcome, to Twisted Metal." Calypso began, "as most of you can tell, we have a new face among us. Replacing Dollface in Darkside, is Cowboy here."


Cowboy nodded, as Calypso put a hand on his shoulder.


"He is the first of his kind to participate in these games, and he should feel welcomed. Because, if he doesn't, he'll kill you all." Calypso laughed, causing the other participants to laugh.


"I'll fucking do it." Cowboy said simply.


Calypso turned Cowboy slightly, introducing him to the group, "We have Yellow Jacket, Mr. Grimm, Junkyard Dog, Brimstone, and Sweet Tooth."


Cowboy nodded to each man, and growled deeply at Sweet Tooth.


"Do you have any words for your fellow participants?" Calypso asked, seemingly starting fights for him.


"I was a Sargeant in the Marine Corps. I have killed over three-hundred men across three continents, and I will enjoy killing each and every one of you. I don't fight for myself. I'm not self-centered and selfish as y'all are. Fuck off, and lets get this over with, so I can go home." Cowboy said lowly.


Calypso laughed at Cowboy's callous and cold speech.


"Looks like we'll have some fierce competition this year! Cowboy here is right. Fight hard, and fight fiercely. The last man, or wolf, standing, will be given directions to my stronghold, where they will be rewarded with the one thing their hearts desire." Calypso suddenly got real cold, "Now get lost."


In a flash, the participants ran for their vehicles. Cowboy's animalistic speed made him reach his first. He took notice of the missile racks now attached to the sleeper of his truck, and climbed in.


The angry roar of six battle-ready vehicles starting echoed through the warehouse, as the vehicles were ushered out into the city. Cowboy flipped the now labeled switches on, only to receive a red light. As his truck rolled off the property, the lights turned green, indicating his missiles were now live.


"This is for you, Shade." He said quietly, as he turned down an alleyway, tracking his nearest target, the cab known as Yellowjacket.


His heartbeat pounded in his ears, as he snuck up the alleyway, and stopped. Within seconds, the yellow cab rolled past. They mustve seen him, 'cause they threw it in reverse, and backed up. Big mistake. Squeezing both triggers on his steering wheel, the Vulcans opened up on the little yellow cab.

The loud roar of the Vulcans, followed by metal hitting metal, followed by squealing tires, excited something deep within him. The thrill of the hunt, the tracking of wounded prey.

Cowboy floored the rig, and tore off after him. The rig was nowhere near as fast as Yellowjacket, but it kept up enough to continually pester him with the Miniguns. That was until the unmistakeable rumble of a V-twin, followed by the scraping of metal against metal, met his ears. Mr. Grimm used his special, and the side of Darkside had a nice, long, deep scratch down it. Cowboy barked in anger at the man, and broke off chase of Yellowjacket.


He flipped the switch on his dash labeled SPECIAL and he got thrown back in his seat. Darkside hit ramming speed, and collided with the back tire of Mr. Grimm, causing him to fly over the handlebars in a heap. In a bit of expert driving, Cowboy locked his brakes, and sent the rig into a spin. The back wheels hit the bike, and sent it flying down an alleyway.


Now, most people would stay in the truck, but Cowboy wasn't most people. He swung the heavy door open, and jumped out, revolver in hand.


Mr. Grimm charged him, scythe held high. Cowboy dodged quickly, and pulled his trigger.

*BANG!!*

*BANG!!*

*BANG!!*

*BANG!!*

*BANG!!*

*click*

*click*

Five .454 caliber bullets found their mark, burying themselves in the man's back. He was dead before he crumpled to the ground. Breathing hard, adrenaline pumping, Cowboy scanned the area, his ears twitching. He heard four more engines getting closer.


He bolted for his truck, slamming the door behind him. Just as he clicked his seatbelt on, he saw Yellowjacket once again, this time being chased by Brimstone's white El Camino.


While he couldn't use his special, he could still ram, possibly taking out two people at once. He shifted it into first, and floored it. Thick black smoke dumped from it's exhaust pipes, as the tires squealed helplessly against the pavement.


Darkside shot forward, it's miniguns blazing. Cowboy pressed himself against the seat, and waited for impact.


*CRASH!!!!*


Brimstone saw the massive black truck coming, and swerved out of the way, but Yellowjacket didn't see it until it was too late.


It was like a monstor truck rally, almost. The armor-piercing bullets tore through the windshield, killing the occupants, though one was already dead, and the truck collided with it. The heavy rig shot up over it, crushing much of the front end with the extreme weight. The missiles detonated, engulfing both vehicles in a fireball, and Cowboy kept driving.


His rig finally rolled over the wrecked car, and he had to stop to calm himself. He noticed Brimstone, sitting there. Almost waiting for something. Then it came.


"Good job, participants." Calypso's voice rang through a radio Cowboy only just now noticed, "you have survived todays challenge. You should be proud of yourselves. Your weapons will be disabled until you get to the next battlefield, Uptown. How you get there is your choice. Oh, and Cowboy? Creative work with Mr. Grimm. That one's going on the highlight reel."

[Frisk E. Coyote]

I love it! Very imaginative and the scenes a nicely written!

Needs some more emotion.

But still awesome!