Thanks to everybody who's sticking with this story through my spaced out and sporadic updates. Still some minor real world issues I'm taking care of at the moment that prevents me from pumping this out faster. 2nd Longest chapter I've written thus far and I'll be honest; It's not that great in my opinion.
Now I have a few questions to improve the content of the story. Do you guys prefer more focus on racing, character interaction, or detailed flashbacks-or all 3 if you really are into that. Longer or shorter chapters? Branching out from the main game lore and improvising? Let me know! I had someone ask me when the Nikki romance comes in. I can either do that the same way EA did with the game, or I can expand upon that too: choice is yours.
And there will be an authors note partway down asking for your input for the crew. I want my audience to be the driving force behind the story.
Regardless though here's the 5th chapter to the story.
"Well. I guess it's just you and me. Let's go find some trouble."
A millisecond after 'trouble' left his lips, he got on the gas and brake and started a burnout to heat up the tires before launching off. I'd swear at this point the nylon beads under that vulcanized rubber were wearing WAY thin, and those tires have reached their punishment maximum. But who was I to judge anything, right? Big boy can handle his horsepower.
I followed him out of the tiny little pocket of San Juan in Silverton onto the main crew territory. Neville took the nearest on-ramp to the expressway and I followed right behind him. As I merged onto the barren highway once I got up to speed, a wave of memories and emotions came flooding back as I cruised along.
I glanced to my right, and saw a visualization of the Supra I drove heading in the opposite direction out of town 3 years back, pretty sure I'm developing dementia from lack of sleep. I glanced behind me in my sideview mirror and it was gone. Just as abruptly as I left everything here the first time around. I tried so desperately hard to come back and be with my family. With my friends.
With Nikki.
Nikki. She was-no, IS the embodiment of perfection. A heaven-sent angel with the dimensions to rival catwalk models. Her face was so perfectly sculpted. Nose with a fine point that curved back inwards at the very tip. Blemish-free canvas of a face with a healthy tan skin tone and the mouth that was never seen within an ounce of a sad place. Always smiling.
I cast my eyes downward to see the most gorgeous hourglass figure on any female to date. Of course it wasn't my main reason for attraction, but it moved the process along a bit moreso. And what's a guy without mentioning a girl's ass? Call me a material infatuate, but that little detail makes it all the more worthwile. Especially when you get teased a bit with it. All-in-all, I couldn't ask for anything more. She was perfect, and I felt perfect with her.
Apart from physical lust, I had a thing for her mechanical side. She was the girl growing up in middle school to chase me down to the garage after school to see who got the dirtiest underneath a car first. Somehow she came out with a greasy white t-shirt everytime, in record time may I add. Her attitude was so carefree, so 'fuck-off-if-you-don't-like-it'. There wasn't any guy who could take her down, or take her out. She was mine, and I was loving every moment of it.
She was my balance. My Porsche, with everything in just the right spot. Then the crew battle happened, and I lost her. All because of a set-up. Everything came crashing down like a Mustang with a live rear end leaving a car meet.
It was too quick, no time to pass judgement or make a call. It was eat or be eaten, and to my misfortune, Nikki was eaten by the pavement, with a cop ontop to add insult to injury. I was in tears the entire way out, knowing I had to leave her behind. At the time I wasn't aware I couldn't go back, but just the separation anxiety in a sting operation like that sent me and my emotional state over the redline and threw a rod. When Darius had told me I wasn't able to just go to the safe house and I had to skip town, I was devastated. He said to break off all communication so the cops didn't come sniffing around for another reason to land an innocent in jail. I was so reluctant to do anything at that point , I reached my internal limit where I put the Supra in neutral and coasted with idling revs as my speedometer gradually decreased from 150 down to 0. Once I stopped, in a fit of rage I hollered at the top of my lungs, punching a hole through the left side of my T-top roof, denting the surrounding crater along with it. The sheer frustration radiated off me in waves, I felt passing traffic could sense my disdain and resentment towards the world. I sat there in the same spot on the shoulder for what felt like years, trying to figure out a way to go back and not raise the heat. In the end I was left empty, every idea I had brainstormed fell through the floorboards, since I kicked those out as well.
I kept trying to decipher the message the cops were relaying through the CB radio I had in the car. I knew from a glance in my sideview that EMP was to blame for the sting when I crossed the line. Of course I find the EMP's that stopped them didn't stop me and somehow I got away. I'm never lucky to begin with, and we're gonna start now; Darwinism the key deciding factor on who flies and who falls? All of the sudden my CB signal cuts short and I'm left with radio static; sabotage? Or if not the case it was dumb luck I couldn't make out the relay of information. Who would've set up a hit on the crew leaders? Why did I get out but nobody else? Who's going to take the fall for the entire thing? Where was Nikki? Darius? Can I have at least ONE question not left open-ended? All that time on the highway shoulder sent me insane. I hung my head low, and glanced back up at the reflection of headlights coming the opposite direction.
I glance over to the Northbound side of the highway and notice a Chrysler 300 and an old Camaro side by side. It felt like deja vu. It seemed too familiar. Suddenly, all I see is white, and I feel myself shifting from the confines of my Supra into the Camaro's front seat….
….And returned back to reality, Neville on my right side as we exit Silverton and take the expressway through whichever part of town was next. It had been so long, my sense of navigation may as well be as useful as dry-rot tires during a blizzard. For how long that flashback had seemed to drone on for, Neville and I had only covered about 2 miles in total nonstop, not even cresting the edge of Downtown. Mile marker 422 whizzed by in a blink of an eye.
"So you've been gone awhile….you out in Rockport huh?" Neville sparked.
He knew about me before I left? I hardly doubt Nikki gave him a debrief on me, seeing as she straight up treats him like a disposable paper towel half the time. I can't imagine the rumors circling my name are any good if Neville asking is any indication. He seemed almost hesitant to bring up the topic in the first place, as if I would snap at him for intruding on my past. Can't wait for the entirety of the town to pick up on my return and ignite a rumor mill. Another variable that I don't need getting in the way. But this is how the river flows.
"-Man a LOT has changed since you took off. There are tons of crews in this town man, it's crazy!"
And as soon as he mentioned the word 'crazy', we both rounded a right-hander parallel to each other. As soon as there was a split in the highway, 1 sleazy roaming cop in the opposite direction spotted us. He flipped on the sirens, crossed the invisible barrier separating the 2 lanes, and a pursuit was birthed. It's amazing how much information a sideview mirror can provide.
"Look out, cops!"
Thanks genius, actually I was considering turning myself in and calling it a night after seeing the black and whites. I was already foot to the floor with the throttle anyway, 4th gear as my overdrive gear controlling the needle, keeping a steady distance just below the redline on the tachometer, signalling I've reached V-max. The Camaro kept chugging along beautifully, and the Civic Cruiser on my ass end was doing the same; not exactly a desirable position to find yourself in.
And just when I thought it couldn't get worse, another cop running radar in a construction alley joined in and gave me an extra pain in the ass to take care off. Unfortunately, the Camaro isn't exactly what you'd call nimble, and that's both a blessing and a curse. Can't exactly evade a P.I.T maneuver, but can't exactly BE P. either. All of the sudden I find 5 cops centered in my rearview, wondering how the fuck they pop out of nowhere in such a concentrated area. Any other day I'd run them down, wear them out, but I'd injure myself first before that came about.
"Watch this."
Might as well tack that sentence onto the ever expanding list of phrases that scare the living shit out of me. Neville definitely seemed reckless. A 'watch this' from him and the way I saw him earlier, left much to be desired. But to my surprised he took down 2 cops. The first round saw him hitting the brakes and swerving up to the accelerating cruiser, bashing him into the guardrail causing a mid-air flip; nothing more than a crumpled up beer can sailing in the wind. Second car was just a simple, but effective P.I.T maneuver, causing the space behind us to empty out as the backup rolled behind the 3 Cruisers making the total 5 again.
"Yeah!, Who's the coffee grinder baby?"
Oh. I get it now. He was definitely practicing that.
We took separate forks, he took the offramp into what looked like Downtown, whilst I continued on the expressway towards Kempton and the Industrial District. 3 cops followed his route, while the remaining 2 followed mine. I was SO not in the mood for this right now. I drive more erratic as my anger and irritation builds, and the end result isn't looking so great.
"I got your back, I'll lose the heat, stay on the pedal!"
Gee, thanks Neville. Glad to know someone of such a high caliber of skill is watching my back. I knew my top speed wouldn't cut it on the highways, and Downtown was too congested and too tight knit to make evasive maneuvers. I could identify a pursuit breaker in any one of the 4 major areas, but frame damage and paint scratches were not on the list tonight; or this morning, I've lost track.
Kempton was the best option, and if I remember correctly, the river outflow had some weeds and dense shrubbery and blocked off an unseen tunnel unless I ran through - I've got my plan.
I led the cops down the off ramp and let off the accelerator. They caught right up to me before the corner approached, and as such I drifted through the turn, leaving the officers in pursuit either understeering and plowing the guardrail, or scraping their sideview mirrors and doors on the concrete barriers parallel to the edges of the asphalt. This left me with only 2 more cops left before I finally made it into Kempton. Utilizing the industrial playground and its choppy road surface, my low profile tires glided over potholes and superficial imperfections while my pursuers are seen swerving in and out of the lane in order not to bust a flat.
I found myself gliding along the boardwalk, keeping my engine noise loud so the pedestrians could hear my approach. My 50 year old tires began losing precious traction on the slick boardwalk, and I had to run my lines to the very outside, almost clipping a side store or tumbling into the bay. Once the exit to the boardwalk had been reached, I scoped out a tire shop in the distance, and set my sites on the pillars supporting its mascot. Paintjob be damned at this point, I was growing anxious. Seconds flew by, as did the distance. My pursuers were trailing behind, but they'd stop for the copious amounts of damage anyway. For good measure I downshifted, maximizing the amount of kinetic force the car had, and plowed into the erected steel columns, causing the entire platform behind me to collapse, as well as the big tire, which was now just rolling down the road behind me.
As the Doppler effect and epileptic series of lights diminished in the wake of my destruction, I pulled over and finally relaxed. My shit-eating grin never once leaving my giddy face. It felt good to cause trouble again, just like in Rockport. Sure, Olympic City and Bayview were filled with traffic, but cops down there didn't care, or didn't exist.
Law enforcement suffering by my hand was where I felt at home.
My tiny parade of celebration was interrupted by Neville again, somehow. I'm not sure how he knows I'm free and clear, or maybe he doesn't and just sent me a message incase. Nevertheless, I flipped open the Sidekick and opened his text.
FROM : Neville
SUBJECT : Meet me at the Safe House.
MESSAGE TEXT :
"Hey, we need to meet up. I've given you coordinates to a Safe House."
Most serious line of speech I've gotten from him all night. I was so tired of running around and confining myself to a driver's seat; I had been driving nonstop for 3 days from the edge of Rockport County to the very tip of Carbon County and now I'm already stirring up heat from a car I just got. It appeared his coordinates were centered in on an abandoned machine shop off the side of the expressway in the opposite direction. From my position on the sidewalk, I interrupted the choppy idle from the big burly cams in the Camaro and spun the ass end into a 180 as soon as I hit the gas. Chunks of rubber pasted themselves onto the rear fascia and onto the chrome of the car as I sped off towards what I hoped to be my final destination. The only evidence of me being there was a curved 11.
I weaved in and out of early morning commuter traffic effortlessly on my way to the destination. Up ahead I could've sworn I had seen what looked like a red and black Audi parked across the road. I was a V10 from a Gallardo, that I gathered from the engine idle and revs. For a new car, the design was slick. I ignored the anomaly and ventured into the concrete drive dividing the shop from the road. I put it in park and waited for Neville. You would think having enough time to send me that text he'd have been here by now.
20 minutes rolled by and I was ready to book it. He rolls up in a tattered and bruised 300C with his front bumper barely hanging on by a thread. Dents in every conceivable area, and paint chips and streaks adorning every hinged body panel, it looked like an ancient dug up relic the way it sat. But Neville being Neville, probably payed zero attention to this.
"Darius gave you this safe house. You can use it to fix your car, or chill out when the heat's on. You need a wingman, and it looks like I'm it. Let me show you inside." And with that punctuation he eagerly whipped around and entered the garage first.
As soon as I park under the spotlight, I open the door to seeing him do some tough guy pose and spin in circles, holding a sign above his head that says "Fixer"
Oh yeah. Just the kind of character I needed. Fixing races sounds pretty good, not like I wanted fair play to be a factor anyway.
Once his charade was over, he motioned me over to a document folder with a bunch of photos in them. Apparently I needed a crew name and a crew photo. After sifting through a bunch of tacky photos of icons….. A/N: This is the portion of the story where I allow the readers to choose. Anyone who reviews and gives me ideas for names and crew tags I will use within the next chapter of the story. I'll update this section of the story once a decision has been made.
Once I had a crew name and photo together, I would've hoped that be it for the night; or morning, at this point my concept of time is skewed more than the vinyl wrap on Neville's Chrysler.
But no, Nikki wanted to witness my suffering for longer. She sent me a voicemail the instant I got finished. I reluctantly wheeled through my total of 2 messages and found hers waiting. I opened it and listened in.
"This whole city is a battleground; all the crews are always fighting over territories. Just check with your map if you wanna see what's going on." With that, I hopped in the driver's seat of the Camaro and lit up the center LCD to look at the map of Carbon County. It looks like crew territory was divided in about the same way as I had originally left. However, more and more small named crews are trying to sideswipe their way in and up the ranks and claim an entire part of the city.
"The minor crews push and pull. You'll see that most of the city is divided up by Kenji's 'Bushido', Wolf's 'TFK', and Angie's '21st Street' crews."
"Your rep...Ok you have no rep…." Well that's enlightening. I guess nobody remembers me. Probably for better than for worse, but the tug at my ego keeps on getting stronger. "...But you win a few races, you'll end up owning an area; and THAT'S what'll build up your rep. Once the crew bosses see you as a threat, They'll probably come looking for you."
"If they challenge you, you got a shot at taking over their turf." And with that, end message.
I waited 5 more minutes for anything else to pop out the shadow and drag me into activity, when nothing came about, I wandered around the shop looking for a place to crash and get some sleep. After 10 MORE minutes of looking I found a couch in the back corner. At this point I'm not picky, so I jumped on and planked mid-air, landing on my stomach and layed there. Black shades in the corners of my vision threatened to move closer together and block my eyesight. I finally gave in to the intangible demand and found myself asleep, hoping tomorrow would see better days.
But we all know there never really exists a "good day"