Hey everyone who's been following. First of all:
Big thank you for sticking around if you did so. I've been currently working on fixing up my daily driver as it keeps breaking down on me, and I've allotted time to get it completed. Secondly, my high school education is getting WAY in the way, but I'm trying to pass through it while continuing the story.
Now this chapter may seem a bit lame as a flashback, and reading back through it I thought it was well before publishing. But, I'm deciding to let you all read through and provide me with feedback.
As well, the training session with Nikki, I haven't seen covered in depth before; and for good reason. You can't really implement detail into such a scripted and emotionless gameplay mechanic. But I tried a bit.
I'm sorry for the wait, and hopefully you aren't disappointed by the 4th installment of Debts Left Unpaid. First person Need For Speed really is tricky, considering the protagonist doesn't speak at all.
Enjoy!
The first year of Texas 2K; The strip down at Baytown, Texas saw cars of all varieties turn up. The tuning and import scene phenomenon had died down, and the revitalization of muscle cars on fat slicks and wheelie bars started to trickle back in. One car in particular wasn't modified like all the rest, and seemed totally disadvantageous to even race. It was a '69 Camaro SS. Matte black exterior finish with some subtle ghostly camo adorning the sides. Lowenhart LDR rims were not chromed, but forged from magnesium and finished in the same coat the chassis was. Fender flares housed the meaty 325/40/18 wheels taking refuge on each side. Topping it all off was the screamin' eagle V8 up front; but this was no ordinary V8. 926hp and ass-loads of torque from the 6,400 RPM redline propel the beast to a 3.8 second 0-60 time. I saw the domestic roll behind the gradually increasing line of cars, and snuck behind the guards keeping spectators off the strip. I was spotted by the guy driving the Camaro, and he ushered me over through the window. I ducked, dived, and weaved around track officials and team members scattered behind and around the burnout box. He motioned me around to the passenger side door, and without hesitation I threw it open and slammed it shut. Taking a look around the cockpit, the dash and wheel were flocked in Alcantara, the non-necessities were stripped out and replaced with 2 buckets and a HANS device atop the drivers side headrest.
He must've caught my gaze, as he handed me a plain white helmet, already tying his neck strap and preparing to send it down the ¼ mile. I followed suit and giddily waited for what was to come. My teenage self couldn't contain my ecstatisicity and joy being able to properly experience a fully-built road machine. Something about its tough face and commanding stance was what entranced me over all the others. Sure, stuffing Mickey Thompson drag slicks on the rear axle and jerryrigging a parachute to the trunk was effective and slapped down some solid passes, but that style of creation was all too common ever since the inception of drag racing began. Seeing a car of the same assembly line run an entirely different and bizarre setup compared to the masses was fascinating in my eyes. Having only a 1.8 1st gen Miata, the experience was bound to blow me away.
Accelerating up to 5mph onto the burnout box foreshadowed the kind of raw power and driver focus I were to witness. The faint whine of the supercharger was transferred through the decommissioned ventilation cavities. Clutch depressed, tachometer needle hitting redline, and balancing out the gas and brake didn't pave way; it took the pavement AWAY. Due to the high levels of friction from the speed of the back wheels, a ⅜ inch indent in the asphalt was the Camaro's parting gift to the track clean-up crew and spectators. The tree dividing both lanes had the 4 pairs of red lights illuminated as the front facia of both the Camaro and his competitor lined up at the mark.
Revving. The tree stood a blood red.
Maintaining launch RPM. In less than a second the tree was now yellow.
All hell broke loose. The back end of each car broke traction, 1st gear catapulting each of the contenders off the starting block as the tree turned green. Inertia tossed my head to the back of the headrest with some minor whiplash. The torque was blistering! Off the block the opponent gathered an early lead, about 2 cars ahead of my driver. 2nd gear saw him catching up ever so slightly. He then shifted into 3rd, triggering his 150 dry fog shot of NOS and blazing by the opponent and still climbing in speed on the way towards the end. 140. 160. 170. 175. And finally crossing the line at an even 180 with a clocked in time of 8.9.
I was stunned beyond the English vocabulary would allow me to express. My jaw was agape with the shock and awe of such a thrill, and from a piece of metal from 50 years ago no less.
Yep. My mind was definitely made up. Big block Chevy with a big bad attitude was mine to domesticate, and I'm gonna have one hell of a time doing it. The coil packs provided the ignition spark sent to the spark plugs as soon as I turned the key. All 396 cubic inches of throaty patriotism flooded my ears and I was ready to conquer Palmont a 2nd time over. This was the night of redemption.
Nikki seemed to be as thrilled as I was; but more than likely for the sake of me getting the hell out of that parking lot. I pulled out onto the street, but Nikki didn't seem to follow me. I stuck out the nose of my American broad into the street and see 3 cars lined up, with a 4th spot with my name on it. I pulled up parallel to an RX-8, a Brera and another Camaro and redlined my tachometer, letting them know I was their 4th.
Oh yeah. This was gonna be fun.
My phone on the passenger seat vibrated, and flipping it open was a text message. Guess this is my outlet of communication with Nikki from here on. It's probably for the better she doesn't take out my jugular with those damn heels. I'm pretty happy with my skin, thank you.
FROM : Nikki
SUBJECT: Let's make this interesting.
MESSAGE TEXT:
↑ "Let's make this a bit more interesting. I've called in a couple of my Friends who are going to race around the track with you. Please, don't embarrass yourself."
Just the kind of confidence boost I needed today. Glad to know she still cares.
A screen within my console lit up with a countdown timer. Counting down from 3-2-1, and I was off. Not having my RPM's in the green zone, I over-revved the motor and spun the back wheels off the start, while my opponents got off at a fair better initial pace than I. Finally regaining traction after keeping the pedal down through gears 1 & 2, I now had to keep up and pass the pack of 3. The first lap consisted of me running each corner wide and overcompensating on the oversteer. Learning the course we'll call it.
2nd lap comes around and I downshift and fishtail accordingly to nail the apex on corner 1. Using the weight of the car I break traction lightly rolling through a long left sweeper, my foot never once letting off the gas. These maneuvers were enough to move me back up behind the opposition halfway through lap 2. I spot an opening between the housing and a fountain; archived information for lap 3. Using the brawny and burly torque and power on the straightaways saw me approaching and passing both the RX-8 and the Brera before the beginning of lap 3.
The Camaro in front of me definitely knew his ride, and how to tame that beast of a machine underneath his seat. Mimicking the techniques and approaches of lap 2, I inch ever so closer to the Camaro in front until I'm directly centered behind his rear bumper. A pedestrian car moves into the oncoming lane from one of the shopping districts and runs through my line into the next corner. , instead of the handbrake, I shift the weight of the car forward, making sure all the weight is off the back tires. Depressing the clutch pedal and swinging the steering wheel to the right has my back end face the opposite way as I glide around the vehicle on the left side. Now came the handbrake and I swing my car back around, losing a fair bit of momentum, but still keeping pace behind the leader.
Coming up was the shortcut through the fountain I scoped out a lap prior, and took that opening to pass the other Camaro as the final stretch of asphalt came between me and the finish line. Foot to the floor, I passed the 2 parallel signal flares in 1st place, and man did my first race back feel good.
Rounding back to the dealership lot I see Nikki and the big looking guy lined up outside, her GT, and his decked out Chrysler 300 doing donuts in front of her. I pull up on the far left and wait for the big guy's little charade to end so I can get going on my next 'mission'. So I got the impression my win didn't woo her, and honestly thinking back neither did it to me.
Once again I was the bolt-on wonder boy looking to get smoked.
"Neville, c'mon I don't got time for this"
So Neville. Fitting name I suppose. No time to dwell on it, as he finished one more donut and reversed parallel to me and Nikki. He rolled down his window and looked at me.
"Look, Nikki's good just….listen to her. And I'll stick around and I'll help out and make sure she's not too hard on you."
He finished it off with a childishly smug grin and looked dead ahead. About a minute went by and Nikki called my phone. I didn't want to push anymore buttons, so I picked up, and remained stoic and silent. This seemed to please her, as she bolted off the makeshift starting block and said.
"Ok, c'mon let's just get this over with" She said with such exasperation, I thought the level of melancholy mood might just make the weight of my car sink down on its shocks.
"So, crews are a big part of building a rep in this city-" As if I forgot. I always ran solo, never really having the technique nor talent to shift my way into a big named crew. "-You can bring a wingman into a lot of the races and believe me, you're gonna want to."
This piece of info was news to me. I had initially assumed a single representative from each crew would be elected in to race. So I can race alongside somebody I know? Tough luck, seeing as I'm a dead and barren newcomer to the scene, and I'm straight in doubting that nobody is going to pick me up, or vice versa.
"There's basically 3 different skills you're gonna see. Some drivers are Blockers, others are Drafters and there's scouts. Right now I'll be your wingman just to show ya. Neville's gonna help out, be your competition for a few laps."
I guess practice makes perfect, so none of this really can hurt. Embarrass myself; definitely a possibility, but I'll just wing it from here.
"First, you need to know how to tell your wingman know when it's time to work. They'll just race until you tell them to do more. Try it now."
As if on cue, that LCD display lit up with a green pulsating diamond with a ring around it. I tapped it, and it illuminated further, supposing it was activated and I did the job correctly.
"That's it, you got it! Remember, it works the same for Blockers and Drafters, but Scouts are working for you pretty much all the time."
Enthusiasm that I did it correctly, or enthusiasm spawned by her lack of having to teach me more than required. Either way, I was decently pleased so far with the whole 'crew racing' aspect of town.
"Ok. Blockers are like cruise missiles on the road. They don't mind to smash their rides to knock your competition off the track. Let me show you."
I waited for Nikki to take action as we progressed further down the makeshift circuit. However, she informed me I had to command her to go after Neville with a pretty blunt, "Lemme know when you want me to block Neville."
I gave the command shortly afterwards. Sparing no hesitation, Nikki hit the NOS and sped up quickly behind Neville, before P.I. him in the left rear quarter panel, causing a spinout.
Neville didn't seem to bothered by this action, as he just exclaimed, "Hey, mind my paint!" and sat there with a toothy grin on his mug. I had the sneaking suspicion he too acted as a blocker, and could potentially be my wingman on my way up to the top. More information to store for a later date; If I'm going to piece together 3 years of absence in a town that more than likely denounces my arrival, I'll need help.
"That's it! See how that block worked?"
My long etched silence seemed to be the answer Nikki was looking for, so without wasting time she moved me on to Drafting.
"Drafters? They're speed demons. 2 cars travelling in a line are faster than 1. So you gotta get behind them and stay there for a few seconds. You'll get a boost of speed and when you pull out of the draft, you'll slingshot up ahead."
This wasn't any new info to me. My time in Rockport had me drafting countless times for the last second finishes or the early lap 1 leads. The only difference here is having someone willing to draft you, whereas beforehand if anyone caught a glimpse of your headlights in the rearview, the back end would swivel and slide to prevent drafting.
Okay! Just say when and we'll draft."
Once again the marker on my LCD lit up on queue. I tapped it and it turned gray again as it had initially. In doing so, Nikki seemed to have gotten my message, and slowed down and had me trail her. I visualized her car within a wind tunnel; air moving around the flowing shape of the GT and behind me for me to slice through. Blue wisps of standing air particles guided my line behind Nikki to be near picture perfect. I could definitely feel a sagging weight lift itself as the drag coefficient had been reduced and I could easily pick up more speed.
I'm going out on a limb and saying the first chance I come upon a drafter; I'm taking it. This is too beneficial a crew stat to pass up.
"Thats it!" "Now the last of the 3 types are Scouts, and Scouts are like having eyes everywhere. As soon as the race starts, they will find every back alley, side street, or any kind of route that saves you time. Let's give it a try, see if you can keep up."
I already deciphered that Scouts would be lowest priority in shaping a crew. Having someone scope out shortcuts for me allows my opponents to mimic my line and negate whatever increase in distance I would've made otherwise. Not only that, but I find myself handy in the vision department as is, not really needing a 2nd pair of eyes to watch for me. Regardless, I archived the info for a later date. (Although I doubt I'll need it.)
Just as I suspected upon activating Nikki's Scout perk, she herself didn't even know where a shortcut was, and had me slow down with her in order to find one. Driving at full speed you aren't allowed time to breath, same application for shortcuts. I knew immediately in addition to my previous notes, Scouts would become more of a hindrance than a hero, and I'd more than likely axe one out of a list of potentials later on. After what seemed like forever Nikki found a shortcut, although given the amount of time it took we'd probably be a lap down if this was a recurring circuit race.
Once we exited the 'shortcut' I narrowly avoided Neville just sitting duck in the same spot he spun out in earlier. Heart attack and insurance issues avoided I pursued after Nikki once more so the call connection wouldn't static out.
"You wanna keep in mind that your wingman will only work for a limited time. Once they're drained, they'll stop helping out but they will stay with you and build back up until they're ready to do their thing again….And wingmen are like NOS. Use them too early in the race they won' be ready for when you need it the most."
As if to prove a point, Nikki toggled the NOS for a brief moment.
I found myself rather confused at the whole 'limited time' detail. I get that street racing as a whole is a taxing sport. Perception, flawless car control, a peeled eye for cops; it does a lot to a body. But in addition to all this, would finding a shortcut or having someone draft off you be that much of a leech to their driving abilities? I didn't dwell on it, and would practice the ins-and-outs at a later time.
"Ok, now you got the basics, time to take it out on the street."
It was about. Fuckin. Time. I guess in hindsight the experience wasn't terrible. As much as I hate to possess ignorance I had learned a few tidbits of both useful and useless information. No matter though, I felt I did well with it, and Nikki didn't seem to want to tear me a new asshole in this ghetto training exercise. With nobody else around. At all.
"There! That's all you need to get started" And just when I felt I was doing some form of good…..
"I'm done wasting my time on you. Later, Neville." With that she pulls a J-turn, keeping wheelspin rolling until she peels off Southbound out towards Downtown.
And there goes my minimally self inflated ego, reduced to nothing more than a broken fragment I tried holding in place. Her cynicism was so unlike her old character. 3 years ago Nikki wouldn't so much as approach anyone with a hint of malice. Now she looks as though war has been etched into her cerebrum and controlling her entire body. I'd put down cash on the notion she'd whip out a piece and hit be square between the eyes if I so much as pranked her. I slumped down a bit and sighed the heaviest I had in days. Not just from physical exhausting; but mentally as well.
My crown jewel BMW wrecked in evading Cross. Darius bailing me out of a jam for a second time, tacking onto an already sky-high bill to pay. Then Nikki comes along and tries to dismantle me and my arrogance, and ontop of that proving her dominance and independence. I just wanted to roll up my windows and take a snooze in my car right then and there. I was so exhausted and done with these past hours.
But fate being a total bitch today, before morning hit and the sun rose I seemed to have more of a laundry list to do before I slack off.
Neville rolled up close to my window and was so anxious about something. He was a jittery mess, and I couldn't decline an offer to a guy willing to back up my 1-man crusade in redemption. Besides, he did seem friendly enough.
"Well. I guess it's just you and me. Let's go find some trouble."