They weren't bad people, and Rosco knew it. Ever since he'd been voted out of his pension and had sold his soul to Boss Hogg, he always knew that the Dukes were good people. Sure he chased Bo and Luke when they'd mess up a little, but it was never anything personal. He'd known the three young Dukes since they were children. He remembered those days trying to get something done at his office, only to have Luke ask him for help with his homework, or to have Daisy ask him if he liked her drawing, or to have Bo trying to steal his hat.

He remembered throughout the years the many times when he was there for the Duke children. When their parents died in a car crash, when Lavinia died, and when they'd tried to fight Walkmen. He'd been there for them while Jesse ran shine so he could pay the bills. Rosco was an honest sheriff, for twenty blasted years, he was one of the most honest lawmen that side of the Mason-Dixon. And all of it was for nothing.

He knew there was more to life than this, but he loved his job. He loved his dogs, he loved Hazzard. What he didn't like, however, was the fact that now everything was back to normal, including Boss Hogg's attitude towards him and his dogs. It disturbed him that after all he'd been through, he was back to being nothing.

It was a guilty three o'clock in the morning, and Cooter found himself awake once again. He rolled over, and reached over to the nightstand, opening the top drawer. Grabbing the nine-millimeter pistol that he kept stashed inside, he walked to the kitchen. As he ran a cup under the water faucet, ugly thoughts pushed themselves out of the recesses of his mind. He cringed, running a hand through his hair, trying to get rid of them.

Just then, the front door opened, and Cooter quickly spun, firing his gun. He heard a howl of fear as the bullet flew into the doorframe. As the cowering figure stepped forward, Cooter lowered his gun.

"Jesus, Rosco, what in tarnation's wrong with you?" Cooter asked angrily.

Rosco straightened himself. "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? I got half a mind to arrest ya for shootin' at an officer of the law!"

"It's three in the mornin'! You come in here, unannounced, and what d'you expect, a handshake?"

"You left the door unlocked."

"That ain't no excuse, you coulda at least knocked first!"

"I didn't know if you were awake or not."

Cooter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What d'you want?"

Rosco held up a piece of paper. "I did what you asked me to."

Cooter took the paper from him. "You didn't read it, did ya?"

"Ye-yeah, I did, actually."

"So now you see why I want him dead."

"Well, to be fair, he never really got the chance to-"

"That's beside the point. It's the route of his intentions that bothers me the most. I wanna make sure that he won't hurt anybody ever again."

"But he's goin' to prison, ain't that good enough?"

"Not for me it ain't. Who else knows about his conviction?"

"None of our people, just the folks in Osage."

"Okay, good. Knowin' Osage, word of this oughta spread slow, that oughta buy her enough time."

"Buy who enough time?"

"Just wait and see. Jackson'll be gone by mornin' at the rate we're goin'. I know just who to talk to."

"Who though?"

"I can't tell you, that wouldn't be fair."

"Tell me, or I'mma arrest ya for conspirin' to kill."

Cooter sighed, hesitant with his answer. "It's… it's Christine."

"Why her? She don't seem to be any more bloodthirsty than the other cars."

Cooter smiled. "Well, she sure fooled you."

He walked to the other side of the kitchen, turning on his CB, and talking into the mic.

"Christine, you up?" He asked.

Miles away, inside the Dukes' barn with the other cars, Christine woke to the sound of her name. She quietly started her engine, driving herself out of the barn.

I'm here, Cooter, what do you want? She rumbled.

"I'd like to follow up on a little agreement that we made." Cooter replied.

Now?

"Yeah, now. Listen closely, I need you to do that job for me as soon as possible. Don't let anyone, especially General, know about it, got that?"

Christine yawned. Is that all?

"Yeah, that's it."

Easy-peasy, but you owe me.

"Of course."

And you still owe Herbie for saving your neck.

"I'll treat all six of ya, just get it done, please."

Ten-four.

With that, Christine silenced her radio and drove off into the night. As she drove from one county to the next, she could sense herself giving in to the carnage once again. She suddenly longed for her next kill. Christine shook herself, refusing to repeat here in Georgia what she'd done in California.

It was around three-thirty when she pulled into a parking garage. Her bright headlights flickered around, watching for an ambush. When none came, she proceeded with caution.

What do you think a pretty little thing like you is doing in a place like this? An engine hissed.

Christine turned to see a rusted, old pick-up truck rolling towards her. I'm here on business. I assume you're the one they call Stallion.

The truck raised a sun visor skeptically. Who are you?

The name's Christine, and I'm on a very tight schedule so if you would be so kind as to provide me with some information, I'll just be on my way.

Stallion growled. Boys, it looks like we've got ourselves a little Nosy-Nancy here.

At that, Christine suddenly found herself surrounded by cars. She rolled her headlights, unamused. Oh please, you think your tough little gangster routine's going to work on me? Sorry, honey, but it looks to me that you're not playing with a full deck.

The cars around her revved their engines, doing burnouts and flashing their lights.

I think you need to be taught a lesson. You've got Ghost written all over you.

Oh, I see how it is now. Christine rumbled.

Stallion looked taken aback. You do?

Yeah, you think I'm some kind of spy from a rival gang? Well, let me tell you, the only group I'm associated with is General Lee's Army.

Never heard of them.

Well you should, I mean, we killed three humans just last week.

You're with them cars up in Hazzard, aren't you?

That's right. Now, if I were to say that one of those humans we tried to kill happened to slip away from us, what's it to you to provide me with his whereabouts, maybe some information about him?

Boys, back down, all of you. Stallion ordered.

The cars surrounding Christine all receded and Stallion came forward.

Let's talk business. Who's this human you're looking for? He asked her.

His name's Jackson. He drives a '70 Chevelle, dark green with double, white racing stripes. He wears a black leather jacket, black hair, mid-twenties.

I know who you're talking about, but he's held up in Ghost's territory.

And where might that be?

Other side of town, where the sun don't shine.

Thank you, Mister Stallion, we'll be in touch.

Christine turned to leave, but Stallion called out to her. Hey, what do you think you're doing?

Going after my guy.

Alone? Without protection?

Christine whipped around to face him, insides glowing green, headlights flickering. I can handle myself, thank you.

Distorted voices echoed around them like radio static. Stallion backed away from her slowly, frightened by her demonic appearance.

As Christine converted back to normal, exiting the garage she growled at him. I was never here.

R-right. Stallion replied shakily.

One of his minions rolled up. That chick's creepy, huh?

Yeah. For the first time ever, I actually feel sorry for Ghost.

Christine continued on, to the other side of town, just as Stallion had said. She came upon a shady motel. Rumor had it that ever since Jackson had gotten out on bail, he spent much of his time keeping his head down, waiting for his court hearing. Smart choice. Either way, this seemed like as good of a place as any to keep one's head down.

She sat in the shadows, watching Jackson's car in the parking lot. After an hour or so, she watched him walk out of a room on the second story. She watched as he skipped joyously down the stairs, and went to his car. The weak engine started, and Jackson rolled out of the parking lot. Christine followed him, keeping her headlights off. The chase was on, and she shook with anticipation. Her engine growled, and the droning of her tires over the blacktop was musical.

The chase went on into an uninhabited area, shrouded by trees. Christine figured that this was a good of a place as any, no witnesses. With a mighty roar of her engine, she powered her headlights on and sped up to match Jackson's pace. The Chevelle swerved and Jackson honked the horn. Christine ignored him and began to push him off the road. Jackson sped up to avoid ditching his car, which only resulted in him being rear-ended by Christine. She rear-ended him again, harder this time. Jackson swerved some more, nearly losing control of his car. With Jackson struggling to regain his control over the Chevelle, Christine sped up beside him, slamming into his side. Jackson hit the ditch, his Chevelle rolling over. Christine stopped, sitting nearly ten feet from the crash. As Jackson crawled out of the ditch, face bloodied and covered in mud, she revved her engine. Louder and louder she revved, her headlights shining a blinding, white glow.

Judgment day is nigh. Christine growled.

With that, she charged forward, her tires screeching across the blacktop. Jackson quickly turned to run. As he ran faster, so did she. Just before he went under, Christine laughed maniacally. Jackson screamed in agony. There was a sickening crunch as Jackson's lower half was trapped underneath Christine, while his upper half remained caught on her hood due to the spikes on her fenders, one having dug into Jackson's shoulder.

Wonderful. Christine rumbled sarcastically.

She drove back to the wrecked Chevelle, Jackson's entrails dragging across the ground. She pushed his lower half into the ditch, throwing the top half in after it. His blood blended in wonderfully with her scarlet paint. Christine switched her CB back on, sending out a call to Cooter.

It's done. She rumbled.

Cooter's voice broke over the CB. "How well?"

Well, it's going to take a lot more than spit and duct tape to put him back together.

"Christine."

Christine sighed. I expertly separated his top half from his bottom half.

"You make it look like an accident?"

Of course I did, you know me better than that.

"Alright, that's it. Thank you, Christine."

About my payment… you did say that you were going to treat all of us. How soon will that be exactly?

"Tomorrow afternoon."

Fair enough. Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Davenport.

"The pleasure's all mine, Ms. Christine."

Christine pulled into a clearing in the woods which had become a popular meeting place for General Lee's Army. It was small but convenient. They often held meetings here, seeing as how there was a large, slanted rock in the middle, large enough for a car to drive on. Due to the last rainfall, the shallow pit beneath the rock had filled with water. As Christine eased herself into the large puddle, she let the murky waters lap against her tires. She sank on her suspension, throwing water onto herself with her hood. Most of Jackson's blood washed away in the mud.

Just then, a rumbling engine caught Christine's attention. She froze, a blotch of blood on her hood still visible.

Who are you, a beautiful rose, to be sitting in the mud? General asked.

What do you want, General? Christine growled.

General was taken aback. Jesus, no need for that tone of voice. I was just checking up on you. I saw that you were gone, so I worried.

Yeah, well, I can take care of myself just fine, I don't need your protection.

That's not what I- oh, how do I say this… I put up… no… ah-

Come on, spit it out.

I… set us up for a date.

Christine sighed. When?

Now.

Give me a few minutes, alright?

General drove around to face her. Oh come on, Christine, I don't want to waste this perfect night, and-

Christine could sense General's disappointment when he saw the blood on her hood.

Who's blood is that? He asked.

Christine didn't answer him.

Christine, who's blood is that?

It's Jackson's.

You didn't-

I did.

General backed away from her slowly. Why?

Me and Cooter had a deal. If he got the right information on Jackson, it would be my job to kill him.

General was silent for a moment before he spoke. Jackson did some pretty messed up things, I get that, but when push comes to shove I don't think he deserved to be killed.

So what, he deserved a slap on the wrist?

No.

And what about Russel, he did bad things too, yet you still tried to kill him. You weren't going to give him a second chance.

That's different, he was given a second chance.

So was Jackson. Listen, I don't know much about what he did in the past, all I know is that Cooter wanted him dead. Given the things I witnessed him do, that was a good enough reason for me.

So that's it, you just kill whoever Cooter tells you to?

No, it's not like that, this was a one-time thing.

And what about the little 'slip-ups' that Stripes made? Bet you thought I didn't notice those.

Alright, I admit, I haven't been completely honest with you.

General sighed, and drove forward, helping Christine out of the mud. Then start being honest with me. Let's drive and talk.

They began to drive across the countryside, covered in a shroud of darkness. The moon and the stars in the sky brightened their route as they exited the woods. As they did so, Christine began to explain herself.

Back in California, I was in a relationship with a certain car you may know as the Striped Tomato. She started.

Less bullcrapping your way through this, please. General rumbled, mimicking her tone.

He… wasn't the nicest to me seeing as how he was a cop… and I… I was a serial killer. He would always accuse me of trying to get him out of the job. You see, he would purposely let me get away, which always got him into trouble. Eventually, he was sold for his constant malfunctions, and before he left, I broke things off with him, knowing that I very well might never see him again. Anyways, I got over him, and I moved from one state to the next and so-on. That's when Cooter found me in his junkyard, thought I'd been abandoned, but really, I was just trying to escape myself.

And here I thought Thunder was sketchy.

Don't push your luck with him.

Yeah, I… learned that out the hard way.

General turned, revealing a burn on his door. Christine laughed.

I'm sorry for not telling you the truth. To be honest, I thought you'd hate me, and I wanted to be with you. So… we cool?

Always.