Author's Note: There are a lot of other things I should be updating (cough OFF: The Unflattering Rewrite and hack The War Against Giygas cough), but I enjoy writing chapters for this.
3: Street Race
A police blockade held up a horde of cars from entering the greater part of the city, to the frustration of many. At the very back, in an old car, humming to herself was Puzzle. Next to her, a nervous Survival Horror wrung his hands.
"W...what do you think the b-blockade is for?" Survival Horror asked.
"I'm not quite sure." Puzzle answered back.
"Do... do you think that some eldritch horror broke out? Or some... zombie apocalypse is happening?"
"Hopefully it's neither."
"Excuse me." they turned their heads toward the driver's window to see a police officer NPC there. The cop held up a poster with a face familiar to them. "Have you seen this man?"
"Him?" Puzzle said, looking a bit surprised.
"Yes. He was found to be an accompli- put your weapon down, sir."
Horror slowly put his Beretta away, looking a bit bashful. "Sorry..." he mumbled. "But... that guy? Are you sure? Surely, he was framed..."
"We're unsure of that ourselves, but, at the very least, we're bringing him in for questioning." the policeman said.
"I'm sure that your violent methods will frighten him away." the female genre said.
It appeared that the law enforcement officer didn't hear her. "There's too much to be dealing with right now... Trying to catch the robbery suspects, trying to stop the street race going on..."
"Street race?"
Speak of the devil, a great rumbling like a pack of animals was heard in the distance. Then, the cars appeared, driving down the road, which was devoid of anything but police cars. They went through the blockade, a few of the illegal racers colliding into the cop vehicles and getting stuck. Some of the officers, pulling out handcuffs and weapons, proceeded to arrest the trapped unfortunates, while a few others started after the racers.
"...Ah. I see."
Racing sweated in his helmet, turning a corner, narrowly avoiding a street lamp. The police blockade back there managed to hold up a few people that were ahead of him, easily bumping him up to fourth; it wasn't over yet, though. The race was only two-thirds done, and anything could happen.
However, despite the anxiety gripping him, Racing smiled. The thrill and adrenaline that he so loves was filling him. The rush he gets from a race always gives him satisfaction. It was quite addicting; in fact, he wouldn't be doing something so illegal if it weren't so fun and compelling.
The cars (hand-chosen by the group of criminals running the race) sped down the road, howling sirens close behind. The race entered a residential part of the city, with ordinary civilian cars driving around. Yet another obstacle to be dealing with.
Racing weaved through the cars of surprised civilians skillfully. He caught up to the third place racer, who was unaware of his presence, being too concerned with the other cars. Racing drove alongside him, and it was only then did his competitor notice him. "Sorry about this." the genre said, half-genuinely. With a twist of the steering wheel, Racing gave the other racer a bump. The formerly third place racer spun and crashed into some garbage cans on the curb. He was likely to get caught by the police before he recovered.
The race continued, with Racing now in third place. Though the position was good, he desired first place. The glory of being in first always appealed to him. However, as he day-dreamed ramming the guy in first place and surpassing him, he failed to notice somebody walking across the street.
A tall, blonde, short haired man wearing a plain t-shirt and sweatpants walked aimlessly into the middle of the street, directly in front of Racing.
You are standing in THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. RACING is heading toward you, and you are likely to GET HIT BY HIM.
The man furrowed his eyebrow in response to the Voice only he could hear.. "What..?"
Both genres were surprised by the collision. "I-Interactive Fiction?" Racing said in surprise as the other genre sprawled across his car hood.
"Aaaaargh what's happening!" Interactive Fiction screamed, stuck to the windshield.
Racing sweatdropped. He treated this as if a Blooper's spray of ink hit him, trying to look over the blind man while driving. Despite the new handicap, Racing was still holding up well, with the second place driver in sight.
Then, Racing saw somebody else coming out of nowhere. From the sky, a man jumped down and landed on the racer ahead - he then used it as a springboard up to a building. Gunshots rang out, not aiming at the racers but rather, at the man. The sudden intervention and the gunshots disoriented the racer.
Now's my chance, Racing thought. "Hold on, Fiction!" he announced to the screaming guy on his windshield.
"WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?"
You are STUCK ON A CAR traveling at 40 MPH and INCREASING.
"YOU'RE NO HELP!"
The Voice was accurate in his description, as Racing was hot on the other racer's heels, trying to take advantage of this situation. The runner-up racer was so confused by what happened that he was unaware of Racing ramming into and passing him. As Racer cheered to himself in triumph, Interactive Fiction flew off his vehicle, screaming his head off.
He picked a really bad day to go outside.
The race was at its last stretch, heading into the city's Pier. Racing heard less cop cars following him; they were likely caught up in the residential district, or, they got caught up with chasing the man that unknowingly helped him. He soon managed to catch up to the person in first place.
The driver stuck his head out the window and saw Racing behind him. "Oh geez!" His car sped up, trying to get away from the man behind him.
However, there was no way he was going to win. After all, Racing always won. The genre caught up with his enemy, while still stuck behind him. Then came the last turn before the finish line. They both twisted their steering wheels...
However, the man in first place turned too much and crashed into the front of a seafood restaurant.
Racing pretty much won. He drove down the last parts of road, the ocean at his right side with the sun shining over it. He admired the pretty sight as he directed his car toward a storage warehouse near the docks.
Many people, mostly criminals, were within the warehouse, and they cheered as Racing crossed the finish line that was messily spray-painted on the floor. The doors closed, hiding them from the watchful eyes of the police. The NPCs crowded around the car, awaiting the winner to come out.
The door opened and Racing came out, allowing them to get a proper look at him. He was wearing a red racing jumpsuit, with various game company logos stamped on it. A helmet covered his head, hiding his face. "Leave it on." he said to a man that tried to take it off.
"Congratulations man." the apparent leader, a punk-ish looking guy, said as he walked up to him.
As the guy fished something from his pockets, Racing held out his hand. "I don't need your money." Everybody gasped. Racing coolly left them, heading to the warehouse's backdoor. "The glory of winning is enough for me." he said somewhat cheerfully as he left, a victorious feeling instilled in him.
Epilogue
You are STUCK in a TRASH CAN. Also in the TRASH CAN is a ROTTEN APPLE and a PERFECTLY OKAY HAMBURGER.
"You are useless right now..." Interactive Fiction moaned in pain. Then, he heard something pull up alongside the sidewalk.
PUZZLE and SURVIVAL HORROR have driven up NEXT TO YOU. They are offering a RIDE.
He felt somebody take his hand. "C..come on, Fiction. This place is sort of... dangerous at the moment."
"We're going to play Dance Dance Revolution. Do you want to play with us?" he heard Puzzle offer.
"...How can I even see the steps?" Interactive Fiction said.
"...Okay, let's go get ice cream then. Everybody enjoys ice cream."
"Y..yes. That sounds nice." Survival Horror said, nodding.
"As long as I don't get hit by any cars on the way there." Interactive Fiction said plainly.
Author's Note: This story's going to take a break for awhile, so I could catch up with all my other stuff. Thank you for reading!