The Veruppa

“I think we could.”

“Honestly no way it could happen, Brenda. You’re putting too much stress on the gears, then the whole engine’ll come apart.”

“It’ll work, just you watch, Kent.” Brenda cranked her spanner one last time, and wiped her brow, reaching over.

“Oh, it’ll work for all of five seconds, upon which the coils will just crack open from all the steam, and I don’t want to be anywhere near that thing when it expl-”

Brenda turned the dial, silencing Kent with a loud click. He fidgeted nervously, and then took a few steps back. Nervous with anticipation, Brenda floored the pedals. It went brapp, then vriiip, then the coils began to hiss. Pistons fired, pumping back and forth with the vigor of debauched lovers. Steam flooded the room. Five seconds later and it still purred like a big, prehistoric cat.

Kent shouted over its cry. Something about not riding the thing. The Veruppa defied him with a squeal of its whitewall tires burning into the floor, and with Brenda in its jaws, roared into the night.

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