Crank Novels & Stories

He knows I don’t skimp on the good liquor. The door opens and I stand up. Crane appears through the door with Matt as he closes the door behind him. Crane seems to be frozen in time. He looks old and wrinkled and well past his prime but is still as active as a young wolf. His eyebrows stand up like they were electrocuted and his nose is slightly crooked. I’m sure in his prime he was better looking. Now, he looks like life has fucked him every day and he can’t remember the safe word.

Crank. The old engine groaned, sputtered, and then roared to life with a deafening, metallic squeal. I slammed my foot onto the gas pedal, throwing the truck into reverse. The rear tires spun violently in the wet mud, throwing gravel into the fog before the vehicle caught traction. I threw the shifter into drive and gunned it. The truck launched forward, the front bumper smashing through the remaining wooden gate posts as we tore down the dark, narrow orchard road, leaving Vance and the sound of his gunfire disappearing into the white mist behind us.

"I can't brake! I can't stop the van! The brake's not working!" Billy and his gang's screams echoed across the entire valley as the van's chassis lurched violently over the road's uneven surface from their extreme speed. Sparks also appeared under the vehicle. I saw Billy sitting in the driver's seat through his wide-open windows. He was frantically trying to take control of the steering wheel. Why wasn't he live-streaming anymore with his phone? Could it be that it was because his big-spending audiences weren't giving him any gifts anymore? There was a hairpin bend on the road ahead, and if he couldn't stop, he would plunge right down the ravine that was hundreds of feet deep.

“The clock is running.” “Right,” Ara breathed. She pressed the screwdriver into the first rivet. The tool hummed with blue light, and with a sharp *crack*, the fastener started to turn.

There was a bedside table next to her with a glass of water and a bucket next to the bed. "Hello," her voice came out in a cracked whisper. "Hello," she said even louder. "Is anyone there!? Can anyone hear me!? Please. I need help!" she said as she started to cry. This was real, and she had no memory of how this happened. How long had she been here now. Did she wake up prior to this and do the same thing? She looked down at her ankle, which burned the most. It was raw, and it looked like burnt flesh all around. She felt the metal around her ankle, and it burned to the touch. She was being captive with silver. Is that what was making her so weak?

"The crank!" She let go of me. I collapsed against the wet wood of the wheel, gasping for air. She gripped the lever. It was rusted solid. She didn't strain. She didn't grunt. She just channeled that cold, white rage I had seen in the Deadlands. She screamed, a sound of pure frustration, and ripped the lever out of the housing. The wheel groaned. A metal gear ground against stone, and a hidden door in the bank of the river slid open with a hiss of pressurized air.

Nothing. "Help me." Anton set his wrench down and added his weight, his good shoulder protesting. Together they strained. The wheel resisted, then gave a fraction with a metallic shriek of protest. They pushed again, muscles corded, breath coming in grunts. And with agonising resistance the great wheel started to turn. With a final, thunderous clunk, the internal bolts retracted.

I clenched my jaw and snapped, "You're not obligated to use the company benefit if you don't want to, nor do I have any obligation to tailor everything around you!" Keira stood and stomped toward the door, clearly unwilling to accept it. Before leaving, she threw one last threat over her shoulder. "If you ignore public opinion, who knows how big this will blow up tomorrow."

the subordinate replied. Crack! Nameless froze. He gritted his teeth so hard, he cracked one of his yellow teeth.