jimsin
14th July 2009, 02:58 AM
I don't know what came over me, but after tiring of tiring of trying to get the elite gold medal for Chenghou Project on Phantom I decided to write a brief fanfiction. I don't claim to know much about the Wipeout universe, and it's not written very seriously, but I thought I'd post it here anyway.
4/8
They say the average lifespan of a Phantom Class pilot is thirty laps – I remind myself of this as I sit here on the grid, strapped inside the cockpit of this rocket powered coffin known as the Icaras. This is the fourth race of my first season; Chenghou Project, and since the finish line will be my twentieth lap, there’s supposedly more chance that I’ll survive the race than not.
It’s the time spent waiting on the grid that I hate most, those endless minutes that they spend calibrating the systems. You can’t help but contemplate your own mortality. Still the corporations ensure that we are the highest paid sports stars that have ever lived, and if I can even survive the next five races, then I’ll never want for anything again.
I’m last on the grid. I don’t know how they decide the running order, but this is the fourth time I’m starting from the back. It all seems most unfair, and is making me somewhat paranoid..
Looking up through the canopy I can see that giant white anti-gravity yacht floating around above the circuit. They say that the fat cat supremo who organises this whole sick sport watches the race from onboard. Heaven knows what goes on in there, he keeps himself shrouded in mystery .Well today I’m going to give him a race to remember. I’m third in the championship, but there’s only two points in it. I want to be in the lead going into the next race at Metropia, and I’m going to pull out all the stops.
Over to the left I can see thousands of spectators lined up against the main straight. Ghouls all of them! Well, my wife is in there somewhere, and she’s not a ghoul – but I can imagine the majority of the crowd are just yearning to see some sort of spectacular accident. They seem to forget that there are people inside these ships!
Further down the straight and to the right, there’s the Terminus One building – that’s where I arrived at the Chenghou Project last night. I briefly bumped into the championship leader Max Van Uber on the stairs outside the building. He wished me good luck in the race. Seemed like a nice guy to be honest, but on the track there’s no room for kindness.
“THREE” – I really wish they’d count down from ten or something.
“TWO” – Must time this boost just right.
“ONE” – Aim to be on the left of the straight for the first corner.
“GO!”
You’d think you’d get used to it, but my stomach feels like it’s been left behind on the grid. We are given months of simulation training, but it can’t prepare you for this sort of acceleration.
But enough of that already. I’d been hoping to overtake at least one other ship on the straight, but they all started perfectly, and I’m still in last place at the first right hand corner.
The first corner isn’t much of a challenge, but it’s important to position yourself properly for the dreaded Chenghou hairpin. After wrestling with the controls to ensure I hit the first two zip pads, the Icaras is totally out of shape, and I'm unable to prevent the base of the ship from slamming into the outer wall beneath the decorative monorail.
My whole body feels ruptured by the impact, as if my skeleton was bursting out of my skin. The Icaras slows to a near standstill, and looking up I can see the most sinister looking track official watching me from a small tower on the inside of the hairpin. I only glimpse him for a second before slamming on the accelerator again – the ship catches another zip pad which propels it high into the air and over the jumps. I try frantically to execute a barrel roll, but nothing happens.
Steering hard to the left I struggle to keep the nose down through the next endless shallow downwards curve. Up ahead there's an almighty explosion and the entire track is monetarily engulfed by an arc of purple light.
“CONTENDER ELIMINATED”
Again I only catch a brief glimpse of the blackened wreckage of Max Van Uber’s Goteki 45, scattered across the banking. There was no way on earth he could possibly have survived. Tragic for him, but a massive boost for my championship chances. This was the first time in years that a Goteki 45 had been ahead on the points table, so there would be much disappointment for the fans.
Going under the bridge I manage to pick up a boost. It all happened so quickly that I was at the next corner before I thought to use it.
The massive blue “ROBOTS BUILD ROBOTS” sign looms above me. So if Robots build Robots, who builds the Robots that build the Robots? It’s a bit of a chicken and egg scenario, but no time to ponder this because I’m already at the next corner and still in seventh place.
I need to do something fast, there’s a short straight ahead followed by a plummeting drop before the final chicane. Robots build Robots – I hit the boost.
"ENERGY CRITICAL" - Obviously my request to supply the Icaras with extra energy had fallen on deaf ears.
The ship soars upwards and over a couple of the rival craft – the acceleration pushing my eyeballs into my brain. Now I just need to get the nose down to get into the tunnel chicane and I’ll cross the line in fifth.
There’s a large neon yellow EG.X sign above the tunnel entrance and it’s filling my vision much too quickly. Must get the nose down. Robots build Robots - oh dear.
“CONTENDER ELIMINATED”
4/8
They say the average lifespan of a Phantom Class pilot is thirty laps – I remind myself of this as I sit here on the grid, strapped inside the cockpit of this rocket powered coffin known as the Icaras. This is the fourth race of my first season; Chenghou Project, and since the finish line will be my twentieth lap, there’s supposedly more chance that I’ll survive the race than not.
It’s the time spent waiting on the grid that I hate most, those endless minutes that they spend calibrating the systems. You can’t help but contemplate your own mortality. Still the corporations ensure that we are the highest paid sports stars that have ever lived, and if I can even survive the next five races, then I’ll never want for anything again.
I’m last on the grid. I don’t know how they decide the running order, but this is the fourth time I’m starting from the back. It all seems most unfair, and is making me somewhat paranoid..
Looking up through the canopy I can see that giant white anti-gravity yacht floating around above the circuit. They say that the fat cat supremo who organises this whole sick sport watches the race from onboard. Heaven knows what goes on in there, he keeps himself shrouded in mystery .Well today I’m going to give him a race to remember. I’m third in the championship, but there’s only two points in it. I want to be in the lead going into the next race at Metropia, and I’m going to pull out all the stops.
Over to the left I can see thousands of spectators lined up against the main straight. Ghouls all of them! Well, my wife is in there somewhere, and she’s not a ghoul – but I can imagine the majority of the crowd are just yearning to see some sort of spectacular accident. They seem to forget that there are people inside these ships!
Further down the straight and to the right, there’s the Terminus One building – that’s where I arrived at the Chenghou Project last night. I briefly bumped into the championship leader Max Van Uber on the stairs outside the building. He wished me good luck in the race. Seemed like a nice guy to be honest, but on the track there’s no room for kindness.
“THREE” – I really wish they’d count down from ten or something.
“TWO” – Must time this boost just right.
“ONE” – Aim to be on the left of the straight for the first corner.
“GO!”
You’d think you’d get used to it, but my stomach feels like it’s been left behind on the grid. We are given months of simulation training, but it can’t prepare you for this sort of acceleration.
But enough of that already. I’d been hoping to overtake at least one other ship on the straight, but they all started perfectly, and I’m still in last place at the first right hand corner.
The first corner isn’t much of a challenge, but it’s important to position yourself properly for the dreaded Chenghou hairpin. After wrestling with the controls to ensure I hit the first two zip pads, the Icaras is totally out of shape, and I'm unable to prevent the base of the ship from slamming into the outer wall beneath the decorative monorail.
My whole body feels ruptured by the impact, as if my skeleton was bursting out of my skin. The Icaras slows to a near standstill, and looking up I can see the most sinister looking track official watching me from a small tower on the inside of the hairpin. I only glimpse him for a second before slamming on the accelerator again – the ship catches another zip pad which propels it high into the air and over the jumps. I try frantically to execute a barrel roll, but nothing happens.
Steering hard to the left I struggle to keep the nose down through the next endless shallow downwards curve. Up ahead there's an almighty explosion and the entire track is monetarily engulfed by an arc of purple light.
“CONTENDER ELIMINATED”
Again I only catch a brief glimpse of the blackened wreckage of Max Van Uber’s Goteki 45, scattered across the banking. There was no way on earth he could possibly have survived. Tragic for him, but a massive boost for my championship chances. This was the first time in years that a Goteki 45 had been ahead on the points table, so there would be much disappointment for the fans.
Going under the bridge I manage to pick up a boost. It all happened so quickly that I was at the next corner before I thought to use it.
The massive blue “ROBOTS BUILD ROBOTS” sign looms above me. So if Robots build Robots, who builds the Robots that build the Robots? It’s a bit of a chicken and egg scenario, but no time to ponder this because I’m already at the next corner and still in seventh place.
I need to do something fast, there’s a short straight ahead followed by a plummeting drop before the final chicane. Robots build Robots – I hit the boost.
"ENERGY CRITICAL" - Obviously my request to supply the Icaras with extra energy had fallen on deaf ears.
The ship soars upwards and over a couple of the rival craft – the acceleration pushing my eyeballs into my brain. Now I just need to get the nose down to get into the tunnel chicane and I’ll cross the line in fifth.
There’s a large neon yellow EG.X sign above the tunnel entrance and it’s filling my vision much too quickly. Must get the nose down. Robots build Robots - oh dear.
“CONTENDER ELIMINATED”