A lack of motivation during the holiday and a little less of reviews than I would've hoped for had me leave this story for a little bit. With a creative barrier and writer's block fogging my mind, I essentially re-did Chapter 2 or 3; can't remember which. Anyway, here's the 8th installment.

I sat up frozen with a panic-stricken face at seeing her here, and in my predicament. I was more than positive she was here to chew me out and insult my piss poor driving technique. Same outfit, same stoic face as before- but something seemed off. Her facial expression wasn't vindictive, nor was it one of 'I told you so'. Instead, her eyebrows furrowed and her face fell as she took in all of what was left of me.

"Why…" she whispered. "Back in the day you used to be an unstoppable force. Now all of the sudden you waltz back in town with all of your past experience erased from the slate. She increases the octave in her voice, "John I don't get it! It seems like your state of being just disintegrated as soon as you left Palmont!"

I sat there in silence as she examined the situation. She tried masking the fact she did care; that much was obvious, but it didn't exactly put me at ease. I was walking, or rather leaning into a barrage of questions about my level of skill and how I could be as 'careless' as to let this happen.

"John, I know you have a voice in there somewhere. I could tell you've been suppressing your vocals ever since you left the moment I saw you." She smirked. "Choking on all the words you wanted to say, but in remembering you had a facade to put up you swallowed it all. Just know I can keep secrets. I still have mine from the 3 years you left I haven't shared."

I contemplated it. Was it finally time to open up again? Was I safe the never-ending streak of betrayal and injury? As far as I could predict, the future I would have here in Palmont seemed grim, with those who knew of my name before siding with those who want me gone, and those like Nikki who just want to understand, but mask their concern with resentment and placing guilt. The acknowledgement of my situation brought her satisfaction, which I suppose is substitution for genuine care

"Look. For what it's worth, I did hate you initially. You upped and left and never said a word for 3 years. Now all of the sudden you come back without warning; I'm not going to be the same person I used to be before. I'm still wary in trusting you again, and I will be until I hear the full story, from you or someone else. When you're ready, tell me. Just know, that my interactions with you wont be any more airy and heartfelt.

And with that she clicks her heels on the linoleum in the opposite direction leaving me alone.

I gather she'll still give me the hardcore resting bitch treatment once I recover, and the only reason she said all that was to inspire my ass with hope. But I had more pressing issues now.

Who was the other person with Nikki?

What will I do for a car?

Am I even able to DRIVE?

I pushed a red button on the side of my bed to motion in a nurse or a doctor, letting them know I'm awake and stable. Within moments a flowing white scrub uniform with a stethoscope enter before the doctor does. Your standard, run-of-the-mill 50 year old with bald spots from stress.

"Mr. Tanner, while I don't know the extent of your accident, I do know the condition of your injuries. Might I say young man, you've got to be the luckiest son of a bitch resting in a hospital bed in this very time. The impact on your back stunned your nervous system with temporary paralysis, which you'll rest to recover from. Of course we'll keep you here until then."

He must've seen my downcast expression and wanted words of comfort. I put my hand up as a sign of surrender, not needing to hear a lecture. But he continued on anyway.

The doctor sighed, "Look Mr. Tanner. I'll give it you straight; You can't walk for a solid 2 weeks. Fractured femur bone on both legs and a sprain to your left wrist don't even come close to half your injuries. Bottom line is you're lucky to be alive, but this will be a costly fix for you. We're talking 6 figures maximum for the amount of treatment and surgery you'll be requiring. Good luck young man. I wish there was more I could offer." And with that he ushered himself out in quite the hurry.

I sat there in stunned silence, absorbing all that information. Not only is Darius on my accounts payable checkbook, but now I have haunting hospital bills as an added bonus. Not to mention I can't move for a solid while. Now crews out there are tackling territory whilst I sit here pondering my next move, or rather movement. Dawn turned to dusk, turned to midnight and the cycle repeated for days on end. I felt like an asylum patient, held captive away from forms of life as punishment for my actions. Sure there was a TV but you can only watch current events and shitty daytime TV shows before you become a REAL insane patient.

1 week later…

Journal entry #6

Day 6 of physiotherapy and I'm finally regaining use of my legs. The arms and shoulders were no issue, but I have a cast surrounding both legs. They have me using my upper arms to hold balance over a set of 2 beams as I lower my legs onto the floor. Once they made contact, I felt the blood sporadically moving within the tendons of my feet and was able to begin walking again. Albeit at a crawling pace, this life beats one with a wheelchair as my vehicle with 4 wheels. Keeping these logs of my progress is regressive at best. My own thoughts are the only things reading these until I turn them over on my final day of treatment, I may as well give myself a lethal lithium dosage to remain sane…

Journal entry #9

Day 9 of my treatment plan finds me using both my legs again. Of course with a lovely amount of support from handrails and my walking cane to maneuver, it would seem as though my recovery is going better than expected. I was informed I'll be desensitized to certain amounts of pain, since the nervous system receptors were damage and need time to recover themselves. Susceptible to a weakened immune system in areas with dense congestion of air particles. Other than that, I'm going to live.

These entries I've grown fond of, as it's a way to express whatever intelligence I think I have with no shots back or it's just a waiting game, needing to bide my time and think about how I'm going to get out of here and back on the road. The police report on the news suggested thieves in a carjacking of the Camaro, so at the very least I'll get a check in compensation, lucky me.

1 more week goes by…

"Mr. Tanner you seem well enough to find yourself discharged today. 2 weeks of physio seems to have done you a positive. Nonetheless we're ecstatic to see you leave." This came from the now peachy-keen doctor.

Ecstatic to see my wallet I'm sure. Only problem was I needed a massive loan in order for them to allow me to leave. After a ring from the bank, I used the check from the Camaro wreck as a down payment so I could get the hell out.

And once I signed an assload of papers and stepped outside into the blinding mid-morning sun. My slightly more pale complexion greeting the sun with giddiness as I absorbed the UV rays and the heat that came with it. Nobody was around to pick me up at this point; but I did have my phone. I held my cell signal up and triangulated car dealerships in Palmont. Nearest one was conveniently half a mile down the road. I trekked along, my now worn steel-toed boots wavering with every footstep. My torn jeans getting caught on the concrete slabs beneath me. And the wind piercing my skin through the vast amount of holes in my jacket and shirt.

Passerbys gave me their glares for being a bad influence to impressionable children, and those who wavered their glances from disgust to empathy.

I don't do empathy.

Now there was a problem. I didn't have cash, period.

From the ballsy and impulsive decisions I've made recently, I made another brilliant decision and walked through the doors empty handed. The hospital took whatever savings I had left from my time across country, plus the down payment I made and now I was left seemingly broke. I glanced around my surroundings and was a bit taken aback by the stock they had up. On a rotating platform stood a Mitsubishi Mirage. The desk secretary seems elated that someone stepped inside the dealership today, and launched up from her spot to greet me. I could tell she was laid back and needed something to do.

"Hey welcome! I can tell you've been through a rough time….Fight?" I nodded in acknowledgement. I wasn't going to tell her of my hospital discharge minutes earlier. I don't do pity when I can help it.

"Anyhow, I can tell that cash is an issue for you. No disrespect there, but assuming you walked into a decently high-end dealership in torn rags…...let's just say one can assume such things. I'm not supposed to be doing this…..But…..Let me just show you what I mean." She stands firmly and motions for me to follow her to a docking yard outside. When the garage door opens out back I see a barrage of what looks like a ton of abandoned cars here. I guess nobody here felt the need to pay their bills. But the large quantity here is surreal at most. Tuners, Muscles, even some Exotics lined the parking lot.

"Welcome to the graveyard. That's what I call it anyway. Everything you see out here was either not paid for or not picked up. With nobody to take them away, and the immense cost on us it would be to scrap them left the dealer in a tight spot. So here they sit. I can see from your wandering eyes you'll want to have a field day out here. Just come back 'round the front of the store when you've found what you're looking for. I'll take care of the rest." She winked at me as she went back inside.

For the first time in a long time I felt excited. The assortment was crazy. Almost as packed from a bird's eye perspective as a Copart auction lot. As I strolled up and down the complex I came across all kinds of cars. Nissan 240's and 350's, older model Evo's and STi's, SN95 Mustangs and 5th gen SS Camaros. There was a Lotus Evora 400, a bizarre Lamborghini Jalpa, and even crazier than that was an Ascari KZ1R missing a wing and 2 full sized wheels. From an un-assuming looking pedestrian car dealership, I was pleasantly surprised. But now this opened up an avenue for me to do work on my cars, if they had an alignment rack and a lift I could do essentially everything. I narrowed down my search to a Tuner, Muscle, and Exotic and decided to strategize accordingly if I want Kempton under my control, same as before back when Nikki brought me back into the scene.

On the Tuner Spectrum, I picked out a Mitsubishi 3000GT VR-4. While a heavyweight and a slug compared to its competitors, with a bit of weight stripping and beefing of the bulletproof V6, it should prove to be formidable against the major crews. Bulk up the twin turbo set-up would suffer from lag, but the delivery in power would prove useful for the last second saves. It would more than likely suffer from the AWD setup in corners, but for the highway runs and straights it would truck along without issue. Active aero on this car can only provide so much under intense cornering and braking, so fixed aero will save weight and save my turning circle as well. All-in -all, extensive modification would have to happen straight away.

The Muscle side of the board gave me a Pontiac GTO ; A decommissioned undercover cop car with the widebody and wheel set-up applied as standard. The LS2 motor within this car provides ample power and torque instantly on the punch of the throttle, making it ideal for drifting and drag events. Once again weight becomes an issue, so savings there would allow cornering to come easier if circuits and sprints become more commonplace. Keeping the motor N/A would give me instant power delivery at no cost to the motor, or I could supercharge it and extract even bigger gains, but sacrifice the life left in the motor. Only coming in an automatic transmission would mean either working around it, or swapping it out for something like a Tremec T50. This time the Muscle class would serve as a middle ground.

Finally, the Exotic comes around. A ratty, rusty RUF CTR Yellowbird sat tucked away rotting underneath a tattered and torn thin canvas. The bodywork was pitted and deteriorating, and the same for better or worse can be said for the interior. I popped the rear hatch to find the aircooled flat 6 still in one piece, albeit not functional by any stretch of the imagination. Alternator and the belts were ripped to shreds, the radiator fans were bent in about 4 different directions; and worst of all the transaxle planted below the motor was snapped in 2. If I were to get this car, I couldn't race immediately, and would have to source parts anonymously from Rockport. Rog wouldn't allow me access into AutoZone for not winning a race yet, and I'm still owed backroom favors from the One-Stop Shops back in Rockport.

Time for a second decision to be made. Which class do I dominate with in Kempton?