You know you want it. Think you've heard it? You're dead wrong. This is the pure uncut version of the story. Like it or hate it. I don't care.

CALYPSO DEVELOPS HIS PLAN It was dark and gloomy in LA.The skies was laden with a black haze, a collection of the unsightly smog and pollution that had spewed forth from the many grungy factories of the urban landscape. The City of Angels was doing as good, or bad, as it had ever been. Crime rates were high, the homeless scattered the streets and allies and a gunshot was as common by the hour as Big Ben was to London. But Los Angles was about to meet a fate that would write it's somewhat innocent destruction, eventually leading to the demolition of the entire world.

Atop the highest skyscraper in LA, sat a man looking over the rooftops. The man sat with perfect posture and an air of importance hung in the air about him. His build was very fragile, and he didn't seem to have any body fat. Long, bony fingers protruded from underneath a sleave. Adourned in a blue double-breasted suit, under-shirt on, complete with snazzy black slacks, he peered across the buildings. He didn't seem to have a purpose for doing it, he wasn't looking for something in particular; he just wasn't very busy at the time. He sat on a throne, which was "throney" to some extent, which was constructed of old useless carparts. The room was quite large, with the ceiling stretching out to about 25 yards. Widthwise, the number was 35. The walls were laden with cool cold steel, and the floor was tiles with metal plates. A desk stood behind the man, which was also constructed of steel,no doubt in order to match the rest of the room. As a matter of fact, the silent man was wearing the only bit of color in the room, and that even had a dark sheen to it. The man stood up, still facing the window. Then, turned left and paced to the opposite side of the desk. Obviously in deep thought, the man stood with a almost tortuous solemnity. Then, noting the time from a clock on the metallic walls, (Also developed of dark ceramics and steel pieces) drew a tan briefcase from underneath the desk. About facing, he proceeded to the large steel doors, which looked quite like a gate to a vault, and opened them. Recovering, he then walked through the large doors. He stopped about fifteen paces outside of the gates and clicked his long boney fingers. The doors shuddered, and then swung shut with a echoing dark SLAM. Then that could be only heard was the click of shoes down a hallway, and the pierceing scream of a poor victum down below.

THE MAN stepped outside the building. A large sign, which looked like they had been created from imperfect gold ore pieces, read C.H.A.O.S. INDUSTRIES. The man stepped toward the curb of the grungy street that was straight ahead, and a man in a large black overcoat advanced toward him. He spoke:

"Good day, Mr. Calypso. Your limosine has been called, and will be arriving very soon, sir."

The message was recieved with a grim smile and a nod, and then Calypso stood solemn again, and the overcoat man returned to his position. Calypso was tired; he had been trying to devise a plan all day, a challenge perhaps, handed to him by the Mayor of Los Angeles himself.

"The citizens of LA are scared of nothing! You, Calypso, are to create some sort of contest in order to scare the people into behaving! I need you! LA needs you!"

Calypso closed his eyes. He really cared not about Los Angeles, but more about his own amusement. How could it be done? And is scaring LA possible?

These thoughts were interuppted by the arrival of his Limosine.

AS CALYPSO sped to his requested destination, some ordinary event occured that would indeed seal the fate of LA. As the car zoomed through an intersection, a motorcycle sped past it, missing it by inches. Calypso was caught by something with the situation.

"Stop the limosine!"

The limosine stopped on a dime.

Calypso turned about in his chair, to observe the predicament at hand. In the nick of time, he observed another limosine, this time white-colored, speed through the cross-road. There was the sound of screeching tries, and a scream. Then a sound that sounded like a "FWOOSH!" ... and then an explosion that rocked the limo. Pieces flew, and the flames grew to 50 feet high. A figure sped across the chaos; the motorcycle. He had seemed to have destroyed the white limo; but why?

"Chaperone; stop that motorcycle."

The man driving nodded, then reached for a microphone.

Outside the black limo, the man on the moto blew past. He wore a black leather coat, with black shiny pants. He had on a metallic black helmet, and carried a torn bag. Smoke and an unexplainable shine came from the many tears and holes in the sack. The limo "spoke":

"Please halt."

He sped on.

"For an audience with Calypso, who wished to speak to you."

The man realized the name. Calypso. He knew that name. He did a bootleg, and stopped the bike. He then got off of the moto.

The black limosine groaned, and then the chaperone stepped out. He proceeded around the car, and stopped at the back door. Grasping the handle, he opened it. And Calypso stepped out.

Calypso spoke...

"Excuse me for stopping you en course, but I could not resist asking why you demolished that limosine."

The man spoke. He sounded like the devil himself...

"He had a price to pay. He had to die. He wouldn't let go, so It was my duty to steal his soul."

Calypso grinned. He had an idea.

"And just who are you, might I ask?"

"I am your savior and your satan."

"Well, how would you like to help me out?"

The leather man relaxed.

"It is not me who needs the assisitance, but that is at a later time. But for now, I am listening."

"Good. I need you to recruit some people for me. As a man with a know-how of LA..."

A nod.

"...and a ability to find people easily..."

Again, a nod.

"...I need you to search the city for people who want to engage in a contest. A contest of strength and steel These people need to bring a vehicle of some sort, outfitted with state-of-the-art weapontry."

Calypso paused, but the man showed no motion.

"The car may not be too large, or too devastating, but aside from that, any car."

"This is a contest?"

"Yes."

"What are it's intentions?"

"The rules? Search and destroy. Ceise and desist. The Hunter and the Hunted. The victums will battle each other on the streets of their hometown...LA. On the rooftops, in the suburbs. No rules." Calypso became more excited as he spoke.

"It shall be a battle to the death, and the losers will suffer before the depths of hell. The winner will recieve a grand sum of money."

The leather man spoke:

"A battle to the death requires a larger prize. Other than that, I shall be off."

"How about whatever their clever heart desires? That way, the winner shall always be victorious."

The man turned, and lept onto his bike.

"I will deliver. And you can expect for I also to assume a position in the constest."

"Excellent."

"You owe me more than you will ever know."

And that was that. The man hauled off into the night, and Calypso returned to his limosine. Touched by the man's words, yet excited about the coming events, he too, sped off into the black. Twisted Metal was underway. In the nights to come, TWISTED METAL began. The contest began in an Arena, then to the streets, and eventually the suburbs and the rooftops. The winner faced a most challenging opponent, the tank, named MINION.The contest was full to the brim of flame and explosions, and Calypso loved it all. But he still dreamt of the man on the motorcycle, the grim reaper himself, Mr. Grimm.

Does anyone feel like mailing me the epic to part two?