Death of a gipsy (Xochano Baro I)

The minivan was speeding through the streets of the Parisian suburbs, hitting every car in its path. Tiago felt no fear, no emotion in fact. A techno-flamenco track from Timmy Trumpet & Jetfire was blaring in his headphones. He had only one obsession: to move forward, to move forward without being hindered.

The young Roma drove with his foot crushed on the gas pedal, euphoric, not realizing the devastation he was causing. "Get out of here, you Gadje bastards! Go on, get out of here, you grubs!" He was disconnected from reality, immersed in a virtual reality.

Weighing more than four tons, Tiago's vehicle was a real mechanical monster. In the days of synthetic fiber bodies, such a steel sheet vehicle, reinforced with beams, bull bars, grills on all its bulletproof windows, was an apparition from hell for motorists who saw it pop up in front of or behind them, pursued by a cohort of police vehicles. All these passive passengers, of vehicles driven by robots, saw Tiago's vehicle crush them without being able to do anything. Before they died, perhaps they had the strength to curse the engineers, civil servants and industrialists who had imposed these driverless vehicles on them. Before they understood, these poor people saw their vehicles implode, their bodies thrown like paper bags, by this tank from another century.

The front of the vehicle that Tiago was driving was filled with lead. It was a real tank, designed to break through any roadblock, that he was driving.

Tiago was usually a relatively calm individual, rather peaceful. But here, under the influence of Fenetylline, a derivative of amphetamine and theophylline, which he had swallowed as soon as he saw the cops coming, he was no longer a person to be seen.

Those amphetamine pills, he was the one who made them for the Gadje. It was the bomb. He had just been caught delivering a stock to dealers of the Traore gang in Montmorency.

The cops had sprung up everywhere, supported by the military who were bombing.

As everyone scattered in panic, Tiago swallowed three pills, put his headphones on and started his car. It's true that this shit was powerful. Soon Tiago felt his heartbeat quicken and all emotion disappear. He was no longer afraid, he felt strong, invincible.

He was now driving like a lord, indifferent to the noise of the sirens of the police vehicles that were chasing him, indifferent to the loudspeakers of the drones that were telling him to stop. Tiago was a Roma, a free man. He didn't obey those Gadje bastards, never.

He could hardly hear the impact of the bullets on his windshield. Those punks, with their faggot weapons, were nothing. The windows of his minivan were armored, as was the bodywork. The vehicle was a real tank, even capable of withstanding the explosion of a mine, at least able to protect the driver.

Tiago had already broken through two army roadblocks, sending the roadblock vehicles into the scenery. The tires of his vehicle were solid, filled with an expanding foam, reinforced by three polymer layers, so they were puncture-proof. His vehicle was driven by two adapted electric Teching V8 engines, the floor was filled with batteries. Everything else had been removed. There was only the driver's seat and a huge space to transport the goods at high speed. It was a tank transformed into a Formula 3.

With such a machine, which he himself had improved and strengthened, Tiago was virtually invincible. Soon he would reach the neighborhoods around his camp. As usual, the police and military would have to give up the chase, threatened to come under fire from the camp's defense forces, who would not let Gadje, especially not cops, enter their territory. Once again, Tiago fucked them...

Suddenly, the back of the minivan exploded, hit by a Spike anti-tank missile. The vehicle was thrown in a wasteland, in the middle of thickets. A soldier had fired at Tiago's vehicle as soon as it reached the "free" zone, where he was allowed to fire without warning. The vehicle had entered the areas devastated by the previous civil war. The insubordinate populations that still remained in these areas did not count in the statistics. The new governor had received instructions from the government, he had "carte blanche". 

The percentage of population under control was sufficient. Nothing would stand in the way of the enslavement of the Zone 4 populations. If the Gipsies, the Zulus or any of these barbarian communities started an insurrection, as they did the last times, they would be sent a few radiation bombs. More exactly, it was expected that these undesirables would rise up, to solve the problem one for all.  

Tiago, stunned, went out discreetly, through a trap door. He was not seriously injured, except for his sprained wrist. Thanks to the padded armor he had carefully placed around the seats, he had escaped death. He crawled quickly, to a ruined wall. He crept along behind it and quickly moved away. It was time to leave, the Gadje had wanted to kill him. "They weren't kidding anymore, those idiots..."