11-21-2008, 10:31 PM
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."
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."
The last mutt standing.
The one and only, Cowboy from Hell.
******
Bury me with my guns on,
So when I reach the other side,
I can show him what it feels like to die.
I can show him what it feels like to die.
Bury me with my guns on,
So when I'm cast out of the skies,
I can shoot the Devil right between the eyes.
