I told you guys it was a special week! You get not one, but two original stories. The last two stories you guys have gotten are from the universe I’m building for a future project. But today is even more special- today you guys get the origin story to one of the characters in my main work in progress. Today, you get to join Samantha Bianchi on a breakneck race for the title of World’s Fastest Mut. Will she win, or should she try again when she’s older and more experienced?
The Race
The locker room was hot and muggy and smelled of body spray and old gym shoes. Sam sat on the bench running down a row of lockers, tapping her foot anxiously. She was fourteen; short and pretty, with olive skin, hazel eyes, and ragged, dark brown hair that barely met her shoulders. Empty bags and boxes of various snack foods surrounded her as she frantically ate the last box of Oreos as quickly as she was able.
“Ten minutes to go. You should get ready,” she heard her twin sister, Emily, say in her head. Sometimes the psychic bond the two of them shared drove her crazy. Right now, it was a comfort.
“Less than half a second to get dressed, and only around fifteen seconds to get there. I’m good.”
“Don’t wear yourself out getting there. Save some juice for the race. Remember, Hummel is gonna be there too. And every single Olympian is gonna be observing, too.” She gulped nervously. Drew Hummel, the Jackrabbit, the fastest man alive; the second fastest to have ever lived. Logically, she knew Hummel would be racing- this was, after all, the Fastest Man Alive race. It merely hadn’t occurred to her he’d actually be racing. She supposed she should take an extra minute to get ready.
She flitted over to her locker. Her nerves made it take seven failed attempts at opening the lock before she decided simply to grab it and vibrate her hand until it fell to pieces and pulled out her running suit. It was a spandex speed skating suit she’d coated in silica fabric she’d pilfered from the scrap piles at one of the local factories near her hometown of Paterson, with ceramic plating she’d spent countless hours taking pottery classes after school for, attached to it like an exoskeleton.
It wasn’t much to look at, but she’d learned that normal clothes either melted or burned from the heat created from her running. She’d learned that the hard way and had the scars to prove it. At least she’d thought to paint it blue, her favorite color. The little smirking devil emblazoned on the left breast was courtesy of Em.
It took her less than a second to get changed, and less than fifteen seconds later she was four miles away at the USS Midway, where the race would start in San Diego, California, with its finish in Rochester, New York.
It was what the locals would consider chilly outside that day. Although, being from New Jersey, she more than welcomed the sixty-degree temperatures in the middle of January. She came screeching to a halt right outside the museum’s entrance, where several hundred people had gathered, most waving flags with their favorite speedster’s insignia or wearing their apparel.
More than half were displaying some sort of Jackrabbit paraphernalia. But not a single Blue Devil anywhere. This is more than a little intimidating, she thought. But why should anyone know who I am? I’m no one. Not yet.
Looking around, she spotted a few desks of people in official Raves Fastest Man gear registering racers. She flitted over to the nearest booth, right next to the start line; a dotted line only a foot or two in front of a massive two-story tall solid concrete block.
“Name?” the fifty-something woman at the desk asked without even looking up.
“Samantha. Samantha Bianchi.” The woman scanned through her list, circling her name.
“Age?”
“Fourteen.” Pause. Another scribble.
“Occupation?”
“Uh… high school?” Scribble.
“Any secondary mutation?”
“A psychic link with my sister.” Another pause. Then another scribble.
“Grab a number.” Sam grabbed a number placard and pinned it to her abdomen. “Do you have a helmet, mask, or other face covering?”
“… No. Should I?”
“If you don’t have a helmet, we have goggles and face coverings in a bin by the start line for competitors to borrow. The goggles are connected to GPS and will monitor your speed, as well as show you the approved route. Any major deviation from said route will result in your disqualification. Any tampering with another competitor’s equipment will result in your disqualification. And physical interference of any sort with another competitor will result in your disqualification. Do you understand?”
“Yes?” The woman, still without looking up once, pulled out three forms and a pen.
“Please sign this form here to show that you have had the rules verbally explained to you and that you agree. Sign this form here, to agree that any injury, no matter how slight or grievous, obtained during the race, is not the fault of Raves Industries. Last, sign this form here to agree to partake in any publicity Raves Industries may require you for, and or have your photo and or likeness used in any future promotional materials or other publicities.” Sam signed all three forms.
“Is this, like, legally binding or anything? Cuz I’m under eighteen.”
“California state courts have ruled that the Fastest Man Alive race is a form of entertainment, and therefore minors can, in a limited capacity, enter into contracts.”
“… Oh. Okay.”
“The speaker system will announce thirty seconds, ten seconds, and then the final five seconds will be counted down on the HUD on your goggles. Do you have any other questions?”
“Uh… nope. No. Not really.” Sam then realized just how hungry she was. She had had nothing to eat in nearly five minutes, and the hunger was nearly unbearable. “Oh, wait. Yeah. Do you have any food?” They have to have something, right? After all, everyone else competing is another speedster. The woman rolled her eyes and sighed. I bet she’s gotten that more than a few times already.
“Right next to the goggles and face covering bin, there’s a snack bin. Take up to three items.”
“Great. Thanks.” She flitted over to the two bins. Grabbing the three biggest bags of the most calorie-dense candies she was able to find, she scarfed them down as quickly as she could. She searched through the goggles and face coverings bin, trying to find the smallest ones she was able to. Even those were loose-fitting.
And then she spotted him. Drew Hummel, surrounded by an entourage. He was even taller and more handsome in person than in photos. Her heart raced. She had to introduce herself to him. She just had to.
“Hey, Em, what’s my record again?” she asked her sister.
“I have no idea; you broke that radar you stole from that base at fifty-three hundred.”
“Hummel’s record is like sixty-five hundred, right?”
“A little less, but yeah.” Sam grinned. She bet she could take him.
“Think I have a chance?”
“Sixty-five hundred is the speed to beat.” She snorted.
“Thanks for not answering.”
“Bitch please, you know you can beat him. Who knows, maybe you’ll even beat your precious Varma one day.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice…” Putting on a brave smile, she walked over to Hummel and extended her hand.
“Hi, Mr. Hummel, I’m Samantha Bianchi. It’s an honor to meet you.” He slowly turned from his entourage, smiling at her. He looked down and slowly shook her hand. Fuck, how is he so cool? And calm? I wish I could be cool and calm like that.
“Ms. Bianchi. It’s always nice to meet a fan,” he said with a sly, practiced smile. Fan?! She supposed she was, but still. It stung. She was here to compete with him. To beat him.
“Actually, I’m also a racer.” She tried to match his grin, but somehow, she sensed it wasn’t as natural as his. He looked surprised.
“Really? How old are you?”
“I’m fourteen.” She smiled as broadly and confidently as she was capable of. She noted the snickers and not-so-quiet snide comments from his entourage. They wouldn’t shake her. She could do this. Watch and see them laughing after the race is over, she thought, grinning wider to hide her annoyance.
“Fourteen, wow. What’s your top speed?”
“I broke the radar.” He nodded slowly.
“You know, Sally, was it?”
“Samantha.”
“Well, Sandra, almost every one of us here has broken the radar guns. Now, I’m sure you’re the fastest kid in your grade, but this is the big leagues here. So, just try to stay back and don’t choke on our dust. Okay, sweetheart?” Oh, he did not just call me sweetheart. She clenched her jaw.
“Easy, Sam,” Em said.
“Did you just hear him?!”
“Sam, you know I can hear everything you can. Just disengage.”
“You know I have no idea how to do that. Can’t you take over?
“You sure?” She felt her clenched fist shaking with anger.
“I know you can feel how much I want to hit him.”
“Fair enough.” A warmth flush through her whole body as Em’s consciousness rushed into her mind.
“I’ll do my best. Thank you very much for your kind words,” Em said through Sam’s mouth, adding a sweet, innocent smile to top it all off, before skipping off to the start line.
“I think that might’ve been just a bit much,” she thought, as Em’s consciousness faded from the forefront of her mind.
“Hey, you were the one who put me in charge.”
“Bitch.”
“Love you too. Now, no distractions. See you in Rochester.”
“See you in Rochester.”
“Thirty seconds to go. All competitors, please make sure you’re at the starting line and that your goggles and face coverings have been secured,” a voice crackled over the PA system. She realized that everyone not a competitor had moved several hundred feet away from the start line. That’s gotta be for their own safety, she figured. Sam put on her goggles and secured her face covering. Oh, that’s so neat, she thought, as a computerized HUD illuminated the goggles. There was a readout for everything- temperature, speed, body temperature, even wind speed. There was also a translucent blue line running right down the middle of the road. No matter how she turned her head, it always stayed the same. That must be the GPS guidance.
“Ten seconds to go. All competitors to ready.” She braced herself against the massive concrete block, crouching into a ready position.
“You got this. Remember, sixty-five hundred is the speed to beat.”
“Sixty-five hundred.”
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
BOOM!
Sam kicked off from the concrete hard. The force was enough to cause a massive crack to run all the way through it. She didn’t look to see how many other competitors had cracked the wall. That didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered anymore now. Nothing except that blue line and sixty-five hundred.
The city quickly faded, and in no time all that there was around her was desert. The running was hypnotic. Surroundings flew by so fast even she, with her enhanced perception, was barely able to keep track. All that she heard was the continuous thunder of the sonic boom she made. She kept half an eye on her speedometer- rising fast with no hint of slowing. There was a small rush of satisfaction as she blew right past fifty-three hundred miles per hour.
Barely a couple minutes later, when she blew right through Phoenix, she realized she’d completely outstripped most of the other runners. Only five remained in front of her, with Hummel at the lead. I don’t care about all the others. I want to beat him. Peeking up at the speedometer, she saw she was hovering even around six thousand.
But she didn’t feel tired. She knew she had more. Blasting through Albuquerque, the only person left in front of her was Hummel. How much more would she be able to push it?
She laid it all out, seeing the speedometer inching up until she and Hummel were neck-and-neck at just under sixty-five thousand. Sixty-five hundred is the speed to beat, she repeated to herself over and over.
Passing by town after town after town, the landscape quickly transitioned from the yellows and reds of desert to open fields with sparse smatterings of trees. But she still couldn’t pass Hummel.
Sixty-five hundred is the speed to beat.
Sixty-five hundred is the speed to beat.
Sam looked over at Hummel, neck-and-neck with him. He looked back over at her. And he looked angry. Angry and straining.
But Sam wasn’t straining at all. For her, it was just pure exhilaration, and the wind in her hair.
Sixty-five hundred is the speed to beat.
She laid it on, and the speedometer slowly began to rise again.
Sixty-five hundred.
Sixty-six hundred.
Sixty-seven hundred.
Beat his ass. Beat his fucking ass, she thought. I can’t just beat him. If I just beat him, then I’m the little girl who got lucky. Grind his fucking ass into the dirt.
“Quick- Jiera Varma. Seventy-one hundred, right?” she asked Em.
“One second.”
“I’m moving at almost sixty-eight hundred miles per hour. I don’t have a second!”
“Okay, according to Raves databases- ‘Jiera Varma, the fastest human to have ever lived, 1949 through 1993, blah blah blah, blah blah blah, seven thousand one hundred nineteen.’” Sam gritted her teeth. Would she be able to do it? Well, coach always says go big or go home.
Seventy-one hundred is the speed to beat.
Pouring it on, her muscles protested. She was getting tired. She’d been running full tilt for almost ten minutes. The running was so hypnotic, she barely perceived blowing right through St. Louis and running straight across the Mississippi River.
Seventy-one hundred is the speed to beat.
The air grew colder and colder. Each breath hit her lungs like a freight train. Every muscle in her body was screaming at her. She took a quick glance over her shoulder and was pretty sure she saw Hummel catching up to her. But maybe it was just her imagination. She wasn’t sure in the heat of it all.
Seventy-one hundred is the speed to beat.
Sixty-nine hundred.
Seventy-one hundred is the speed to beat.
Seven thousand.
Seventy-one hundred is the speed to beat.
Her legs screamed in protest. Every mile per hour added was torture.
But she had to.
All or nothing.
“Be careful, Sam. I feel how tired you’re getting.”
“I… can… do… this!”
Seventy-one hundred is the speed to beat.
With a scream of defiance, she poured everything she had out. She didn’t even make note of the speedometer anymore.
All she saw was the path directly ahead of her, illuminated by the blue line. She couldn’t even feel her legs anymore.
She couldn’t feel anything.
All she felt was the rhythmic pounding of her heart, beating over a thousand times per minute.
All she heard was the roar of the sonic boom.
Bright red flashed across her HUD, warning her that the finish line was in fifty miles. She couldn’t slow down, though. She had to win. Even if no one would be able to catch up to her, she had to beat Varma’s record.
Another warning. Ten miles.
She didn’t even see the crowds as she plowed right through the finish line, running right into the Genesee River, using the water to stop her momentum. As soon as she hit the water, all her ceramic plating, which she had spent so many hours lovingly crafting, shattered to pieces as they instantly went from glowing red-hot to meeting icy water.
The cold water hit her like a truck, and she instantly her body seized up. Oh, fuck.
She couldn’t move her arms or her legs and quickly realized she was sinking rapidly.
“Em…” she pleaded as her head sunk below the water.
But then, a million invisible hands lifted her gently out of the water and placed her just as carefully on the icy banks of the river. She wasn’t sure if she hallucinated it, but she thought she saw Em floating down from the crowd above to her before she passed out.
Sam slowly came to, lying on a cot.
The first thing she noticed was an overwhelming sensation of hunger. Judging by the intensity, it had to have been at least an hour since she’d last eaten.
The second thing she noticed was that someone had peeled off the outer layer of her suit and laid it next to her, the shattered ceramic barely holding onto the half-shredded silica fabric. There was a small twinge of sadness at the loss of the suit she had put so many hours into crafting. But it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be replaced. She was fast enough to find whatever she would need.
The last thing she noticed was the roar of the cheering crowd. She groaned. Hummel must have passed her without her realizing, somehow.
She slowly sat up, muscles groaning in protest. A handful of medics attended to more than three times as many other competitors. At least I’m not the only one who burned out.
“Hey, you’re awake. How’re you feeling?” Em asked her.
“Sore. And hungry. Where are you?”
“They wouldn’t let me in to see you.”
“Hey, does anyone have a snack?” she called out. One medic, a woman somewhere in her forties whose nametag identified her as Brenda, looked over at her and hurried over.
“Hey there, sweetie, how are you feeling?” Brenda asked.
“Hungry.” As if on cue, her stomach growled. Brenda smiled at her, patting her on the shoulder.
“There’s a snack table over by the entrance. And I think you’ll want to head outside as soon as you’re able to.” Sam nodded with a small smile, slowly getting to her feet. I suppose it’s time to congratulate Hummel on his win today.
“I’ll be out in a minute, Em.”
“Thanks.” Sam hobbled over to the door, pulling open the curtain —
“—Listen, before you head outside—”
—Only to be instantly greeted with dozens of flashing cameras, and countless microphones being shoved in her face, countless reporters instantly bombarding her with questions she wasn’t able to catch over the chaos of it all. She barely made out Em’s voice in the back of her head trying to tell her something, but with all the chaos, she wasn’t able to make out what her sister was trying to tell her. A hand grabbed her, pulling her back from the mob. The hand belonged to a pretty young woman not much taller than her, with long, braided black hair, pale skin, large, hooded dark brown eyes and a sharp jawline.
“My name is Christina Liu. I’ve been assigned to be your new manager and handle your publicity,” the young woman said.
“Manager? Publicity?” Sam asked, dazed.
“Given the circumstances, Raves Industries figured it would be best, and I jumped at the chance to offer my services.”
“Sam.”
“Circumstances? What circumstances?” Sam was just more and more confused as one thing after another was thrown at her with no explanation. What place had she come in? What place had Hummel come in? What about any of the other competitors?
“Come on, let’s go talk to the press now,” Christina said, grabbing her arm again and walking her over to a podium. The young woman stayed glued to her side. “Yes, you, from NTVN.”
“Sam!”
“Ms. Bianchi, how does it feel to now hold the all-time record for fastest Mut in history?” the reporter asked. The question hit her like a ton of bricks. Me? Fastest human in history? That’s got to be a mistake, right?
“I, uh, I—” she stammered.
“Is today’s top speed of seven thousand, seven hundred and eighty-one miles per hour your personal record, or have you achieved faster speeds in practicing for the race?” asked another reporter. Seven thousand, seven hundred and eighty-one miles per hour? That would mean —
“—Jiera Varma previously held the record for fastest Mut in history at seven thousand, one hundred and nineteen miles per hour. How does it feel to have beaten her speed?” asked another. Sam blinked, at a loss for words.
“You finished the race in first place with a record-setting time of sixteen minutes and fifty-one seconds. How do you feel?” another reporter asked. She turned to Christina, confused.
“I… I won?” Someone who looked identical to her was pushing their way through the crowd, making their way to the front. It was Em. Finally. She flitted over to her, pulling her past the last of the reporters. Em wrapped her arms around her tightly.
“Please tell me what’s going on,” Sam said.
“You’re gonna want to hear it out loud.”
“Then say it.” Em took half a step back, looking right into her eyes, sharing with her psychically her memories of watching the live satellite footage of the race.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, dumbass. You won. You beat Hummel. You beat Varma. You won.” Sam blinked slowly. Through Em’s eyes, she saw herself easily beat Hummel, barely past Santa Fe. She watched the distance between them grow greater and greater, entire states between the two of them as the race went on. She watched herself cross the finish line more than a full minute ahead of him.
“I beat Hummel?” She still couldn’t believe it.
“And Varma.”
“So, who do I beat now?” she asked, dumbstruck.
“Yourself,” said Christina. “The only person left for you to beat now is you.”
THE END
If you want to see more from Sam, or any of the other Olympians, make sure to follow me on my Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook pages!
Until next time.
-Nick