Chapter 20 - Tainted Memories

Ryousuke held tightly onto the grab handles of the door of a Roadster RS that was not his. He trembled at the powerful aura the girl drivign beared as they began to rocket down the downhill of Hakone, the beautiful blue eyes of the girl behind the wheel almost glowing with rage and desire, the car phasing into complete assult mode. The MX-5's 1.8 liter engine shrieked with anger as she snapped the gearshift from second to third to fourth.

Hiroki Tagawa was more than pleased to see the glimmer of the Roadster's headlights in his rear-view. Pressing the gas slowly to the floor, he grinned. This would be an interesting battle indeed. "Come and have at me already, hot shoes. I'm waiting for you." The boxer-four rumbled with a one-of-a-kind sound, pushing the egg-shaped vehicle to speed in a way the car's original flat-six couldn't. He carefully balanced the car around each corner, featheirng the gas lightly... although he was constantly fighting oversteer.

The driver of the Roadster, however, knew her car down to the core, despite having owned it for but a few months. She lightly mumbled to herself as she edged in on the car ahead. While the leader showed an acceleration edge, the Roadster was carrying an overall higher speed than the car in front. The nose of the red sportster ducked down slightly at each braking point, the driver's eyes locked onto the chrome rear bumper of the leader.

Tagawa's lips curved upward in a slight grin as the MX-5 completely closed the gap between itself and his car. He could feel the aura of its driver challenging him, the enraged woman behind the wheel revealing her colors as a driver. She was good, and he knew it. If she wasn't, he would have long vanished from her view. "You've finally come. Now, let's see if you're anything decent." The Porsche-like car quickly upped its pace, though not by much, as the Roadster driver soon found herself struggling to keep up.

"That little bastard was holding back", she growled. Upon the next corner's entry, she heel-toed on entry, shifting with precision as the Roadster's tail swung obediently out and she tailed the leader with a slight-angle drift, dialing in nearly zero countersteer. Ryousuke watched fixately on her driving ability, no longer nervous of the thought of her driving; it was clear now how skilled she was, and with each breathtaking moment, she notched herself higher and higher on Takahashi's radar.

The wheelwoman of the Roadster didn't back off or even consider dialing down as "Shimatta... the new winter tires offer a lot more feedback and give me a much better picture of what my car is doing, but at the expense of losing grip so easily... why can't there be a tire that does both!?" Ryousuke smirked slightly, listening to the woman think aloud in her seat. In his mind, he thought, actually, there is... but they're expensive and wear fast.

The RS driver crept slowly to the back of the car in front of her, and promptly aligned her target in her sights. It was time for some poetic justice to be served. "Menemenemenemene-moe-joe", she growled slightly, making a move to delay her braking point for the next corner's enterance. "I've got your mojo right here, motherfukker." She tapped the back-end of the lead car, not enough to damage her own ride, but enough to send the rear-engined classic into a frantic spin.

Hiroki Tagawa soon found himself at the car's whim as the rear tires' grip on the road was stolen right from them, the car throwin into an uncontrollable slide. He did everything within his power to try to keep from crashing, but it seemed futile; the car was on a one-way course off the road. Stability was zero as he continued to wrestle with the car's course, and as his uncontrollable car produced a split-second opening, the driver of the Roadster RS was able to pick a hole and shoot right through it with her convertible, narrowly missing making contact as she grinned slightly at her vengance being served; She didn't think of the possible consequences of having a price put on her head, but then again, she always was a bit... naive.

"Guess that will teach him not to run his mouth at something that he knows nothing about", the driver said, with a light smile. A few minutes later, they were at a telephone, the girl having hung up on the driver that was to come tow Takahashi's NB8C.

Ryousuke had finished his analysis of the woman. She was very young, and when not flat-out enraged, she was definately calm, quiet, and radiant of sheer innocense. Ryousuke definately thought Fujiwara in all of this, down to the way she seemed to not walk, but almost mechanically move forward, as if her only goal per step was merely to take the next pace forward. But now, in this calm, grey period between the 'battle' and the two, it was time, for the two to introduce. Ryousuke would be the ice-breaker here, too interested not to not ask her name.

"Say, ma'am, just what is your name, anyways?"

The girl looked at Ryousuke oddly for a second, as if she didn't quite hear him, before blinking and giggling a bit, letting the syllables of her American name roll off her tongue. It sounded quite American, too, the way she said it. "Why, it's Isolinear Rage. I could have swore I mentioned it before, though." Head canted slightly offset from center, the girl looked just downright adorable like this.

"Unfortunately, no", Ryousuke replied. "I would have easily remembered. You're quite the driver; did you grow up on the early Eunos Roadster model?"

Iso shook her head slightly to the left, then slightly to the right. "Well, sometimes I forget. And, no. This is actually my first car. I used to drive my father's a lot, though... it's a different drive-bus, so it handles a lot different."

"Drive-train, you mean?", Ryousuke asked back, calmly.

"Oh, yeah! That's it. Drivetrain. I think it's an AWD, since the sticker on the rear quarter-windows say 'Symmetrical AWD'. It doesn't slide as easily, either... it's quicker, but not nearly as fun as the Roadster RS. She's really light on her feet!"

"Symmetrical AWD... that's Subaru then", Ryousuke noted.

"Yeah", Iso nodded back, "My Dad's Impreza is a Subaru by all means. Says so just about everywhere."

For a second, Ryousuke thought he was in a slight time paradox. He knew damn well Takumi's father drove a blue WRX-STi Type R, but the thought of meeting someone who acted, sounded, and drove, like Takumi, who also had a father who drove the same car as Fujiwara's... was slightly painful to think about. The similarities were just overwhelming. To add to the irony, her name included 'linear' in it... suggesting to him that she may indeed be a parallel to Fujiwara, though that could all just be one giant coincidence.

"An Impreza. Switching from an AWD to a FR Roadster is quite a feat, especially since you seemed to have aced many of the car's driving fundamentals without much sweat.", Ryousuke replied, slowly taking it all in.

"The Roadster just listens to me better, and tells me more. I guess you can say me and the Impreza are mutal acquaintances and me and the Roadster are best friends", she replied, giggling.

Twenty five minutes afterward, the tow truck finally appeared, Ryousuke's white Roadster positioned bottoms-up on the back of the truck, the front wheels rolling freely. The truck itself appeared to be nothing like anything Ryousuke had witnessed before; engine protruding frontward in the cab, it was like a pickup truck... only much larger. A chrome front bumper was paired to a pair of rectangular headlights, an egg-crate grille, and a bowtie badge. Takahashi had no idea what kind of make it was.

It was also quite loud. Definately louder than a moving van; its diesel V8 producing a mechanical symphony on par with only Japan's toughest transport vehicles. Eight-lug wheels kept the chasis moving, all of them chrome, the truck detailed, and a "3500" badge was placed on the frontward lower door panel. Ryousuke canted his head to the side as the truck stopped, noting a badge written in English placed on the A-pillar; 'Cheyenne'. The truck was Corvette red, and unmarked.

The truck was definately American, and so was the driver. Wearing a large-brim hat that was a size or two larger than his head required, part of his face was kept secret. Dangling from the back of his head was a mohogany ponytail neatly braided that reached halfway down his back.

"Alrighty, Iso. I've got your bud's Roadster RS right here, and reset the engine code. Car should drive just fine as long as he does-" The boy-ish man had his attention on Iso for the time being, but when he spotted the car's driver, his attitude completely changed. "I mean, ahem, as long as you sir Ryousuke Takahashi, do not spool up. Damage is minimal,and I already swapped out that hideous steering wheel for a nice Momo one, free of charge. Call it the Good Taste discount."

"You dork; just get his car fired up already, eh?" The tow truck driver gave Iso a dumb grin. "Maybe I'll fire it down, instead", he snorted, before beginning to unhook it. Ryousuke watched the event unfold with half a smrik, amused by the driver's blissfully silly attitude. He tossed the elder Takahashi his key, before throwing a new phone Iso's way. "These things aren't cheap. Be careful with 'em, eh?"

The young Rage nodded, supressing a giggle before waving the boy off. The driver was in his truck and gone before Ryousuke could catch his name; the tow truck pulled off an impressively smoky burnout, black exhaust smoke pluming out from the truck's smoke stacks, the truck clearly dialed in for high boost and running super-rich. He turned to face Iso, blinking slightly.

"Who is that guy?", Ryousuke asked - for one of the few moments in his life, actually showing a decent amount of emotion in his voice.

"Oh, don't worry about him. He's just a good friend of mine. He's a good person."

"I'll take your word for it, Isolinear-san." After another exchange of words, the two Roadsters began driving back torwards Akina.

-

Nagisa didn't quite know what to make of this situation before him; On one hand, he didn't want to come close to touching the car that he was standing in front of. He didn't know its make, model, or year. He thought it was owned by some person named Jiro, but for all he knew, that flashback could have been a hallucination played as a mischevious little mind trick on Karie's part. But he already double-verified nobody was around, so that wasn't it one bit.

He did know the car had a fantastically 70's brown paint job and tan interior, and the car itself just seemed to radiate 70's in its nature and form. The body shape, the liftback design, and- Oh, look! There's one identifying badge right there!

"So it's a Toyota Celica Supra..." Looking carefully at the hood emblem, he knew he'd seen it before; in a parts catalogue, though. It was a US-spec badge that the Japanese Celica XX didn't recieve.

"A '79-81 Celica Supra. Sold to the American market as Toyota's first mass-produced car to sport electronic fuel injection in its 4M-E engine. Not a very memorable Supra by any means, but the one that paved the way for the next three generations of Supra to the one produced today. 4M-E, though... heh."

Kaworu slowly began pacing around the body of the Supra, taking in every dimension of the vehicle. In his eyes, it did seem a bit odd; although the car appeared stock, was it him, or did the car seem to be unusually wide? Overall, it looked proper... but the car just seemed to bear the track of something American. Maybe it was him, though... the dimly-lit garage didn't do much to help his senses. Peering into the interior, he couldn't make too much of it, other than the fact it seemed completely stock.

He hesitantly placed his hand on the driver's door handle, unsure of whether or not to enter the car. Something just seemed to be... not right with the vehicle as a whole. He stepped back for a moment, looking at the wheels. They also appeared to be the factory-stock four-lugs. Although, the tires seemed a bit... wide.. for such an old car. Kaworu didn't know what it was, but something seemed slightly unnerving about this machine. He wasn't sure whether or not to just leave it be or investigate further. His body trembled slightly.

"I guess... I guess it's worth a look." His five outstretched fingers slowly curled around the chrome door handle and grasped its ice-cold metal, Kaworu feeling a shiver as he made first contact with the car itself. Its crosshair grille seemed to shine just a little as a fine shiver was sent up the boy's spine, Kaworu shuddering under the coldness. "This feels... so strange...", he blurted under his breath. But not to Kaworu's knowledge, things were about to get a bit stranger. He continued to tug at the door handle until the car finally obeyed his commands and the door popped open, a suggestion that the weather stripping dryrotted itself to the door lining - Kaworu disproved that with his own visual inspection; the seals were perfect. The car very faintly even gave off that new-car smell.

Biting his lip, Kaworu slowly slid himself into the ho-hum cockpit of the Supra, feeling the supportive embrace that the seats that didn't look the part provided. He felt snug, in his driver's seat, with the door open. Kaworu felt slightly dizzy sitting in the driver's compartment. Gravity seemed to be very light at the moment in time, and he felt slightly out-of-touch with the world. He was unaware of the fact that despite the car having sat there for perhaps 10 years unmaintainenced, down to the battery, its dome light faithfully cast a "welcoming" white glow throughout the cockpit... an unusually pure white, too.

His heart skipped a beat as his tender white hands grasped the tan steering wheel of the Supra. He felt the equivelant of a katana being sliced through his neck, an electric surge that was on par with something his car's ignition coil could dish out. His neck spasmed backward, and Kaworu's body uncontrollably threw him back in the seat, Kaworu's heart now frantically pacing at a mile a minute. The mental strain and emotional stress in this situation were amazing, and it was only because he could feel so many sensations, and also... the presence of another, within him.

He glanced at the door handle. At this point in time, Kaworu wanted out, and nothing more to do with this car. It didn't seem to be for him, or so Kaworu thought... But his heart pulled in another direction. He could feel... very vaugely... emotion, throughout the car. Hungry desire. Loneliness. Anxiety. And slight fear. He felt as if he was sitting across from someone he cared for who was suffering from hard times, or perhaps, is just climbing out of them. Half-consciously, Kaworu slammed the Supra's door shut. And then, Hell truly broke loose.

For a second, he was blinded by a bluish-white flash with brightness that made a camera bulb seem like an instrument panel display. His eyes were 'stunned', Kaworu seeing spots for a few seconds - and also feeling like a slight piece of sanity was swiped right from his mind. As he could make shapes out, it was daytime. He heard a crowd and an announcer through the windshield. Eyes darted down, and he realized he was sitting in the cockpit of a race car - or so it seemed.

In famous Petty Blue sheetmetal, Kaworu eyed the bold white lettering on the trunklid of the car before him; "Plymouth" was neatly printed on the lacquer paint. Where the American passenger's-side taillight would be, "43" was written. It took a few seconds for him to make out the car model; it was a Plymouth Road Runner Super Bird. His awareness spiked as his ears spontaneously picked up on the constant loudspeaker chatter, all in very Southern-sounding English.

And finally, taking the end of the field today is one of the few Chevy drivers in the field, the #47 of Bob Burcham. This is only the second motor car race held here at Alabama International Motor Speedway and already the track has proven to easily be the fastest on the NASCAR Grand National Circuit. The new arrival of two spoiler-fitted cars by the names of Daytona and Superbird lead to an easy qualifying dominance, drivers Bobby Issac and Richard Petty, who abandoned Ford quickly upon hearing of the Superbird design, was accompanied by a lot of noise from Ford Motor Company, especially from the Wood Brothers Mercury team. It only got worse when Issac and Petty aced the rest of the field by fifteen overall miles per hour on the qualifying runs...

Kaworu' s mind blurred again as he gripped what now felt like the rubber surface of a racing wheel. The cockpit was simplistic, sporting only a water temperature gauge, an oil pressure gauge, a tachometer, a fuel pressure gauge, and a few switches. The only thing that seemed out of place was the presence of an ignition key. His mind returned to focus when he heard the words 'national anthem' be blurted out over the loudspeaker. This strange reality was moving faster than he could follow, and before he knew it, he heard a young girl's lovely voice hitting soprano tones over the microphone.

Oh, say, can you see,
by the dawn's early light,
what so proudly we hail,
by the twilight's last gleaming

Who's brought stripes and bright stars,
through the perilous fight ,
o'er the ramparts we watched,
were so galantly streaming

And the rocket's red glare,
the bombs bursting in air,
gave proof through the night,
that our flag was still there

Oh, saa-y does that star spangled
ba-a-nner yet wa-a-ave...
O'er the land of the free..
and the home of the brave

Kaworu felt himself overcome by a sudden fighting, driving urge. He was focused, eyes sharp ahead. He felt the racing instinct pour back into his veins, all confusion cleared from his mind. His heart spoke in many tones, and he couldn't help fight off the anxiety that he was now also controlled by. He wanted the damn leader to move already, for the green light to flash and the cars all take off from a dead start, much to the contrary to how a Grand National race was actually initiated - by means of a pace car and the flagman waving off the green flag and the field that was previously holding a steady 60 MPH accelerate to full speed, of course.

He also caught a quick glimpse through his windshield of a World War II-style bomber with four engines flying over the speedway, apparently just slightly off-cue to the girl's finale. The announcer began speaking again, mentioning a few sponsors to the race, and some last-minute details before calling fourth another important figure to the race; the man or woman who, at least in America, spoke the four magic words to the beginning of any race.

And within a moment's time, she spoke them; Gentlemen... START YOUR ENGINES!

From mostly behind him, Kaworu heard the sounds of so many muscular V8's igniting to life and breathing healthily through straight pipes, announcing their awakening with a window-rattling roar. The image was beginning to become blurry, and Kaworu made a small declaration to himself that all of this would fade away and sanity would return by simply tweaking the small ignition key - conveniently left in its place - and listening to the sound of nothingness, assured the ill-maintained battery had zero life in it. He slowly reached for the key, and, with a twitch just before the action, twisted it to the right.

It shouldn't have happened. It couldn't have happened. It was theoretically impossible, but, behold; with only a handful of cranks with assistance from an old and noisy, grunty starter motor - much the contrary to the nearly whisper-quiet one on his garage prize - the engine announced its life with an annoyed growl, the tremendous rumble echoing off of the garage walls. Kaworu was back in the Supra, but he remained paused, in shock, and wide-eyed for a good minute as he stared at the tachometer, which was the stock Toyota unit, but reading a healthy, if slightly high, 1,500 RPM... and then slowly dying down to 1,200 as the engine's warm-up cycle neared completion.

"Son of a... bttch... this is no Supra", he shivered, as he felt like a million pounds were lifted from him, Kaworu actually 'freed' again from some kind of spiritual mind game. His first action was to grab the hood release, and so he did, suprised at the fact the move was instinctual and more suprised at the fact his hands seemed to grow eyes of their own in finding such a handle or lever in an entirely unfamiliar machine to him. He didn't hear the "pop" over the grumble of whatever alien engine had been shoehorned into the car in place of the 2.6 liter 4M-E inline-six.

Walking around the car, Kaworu again felt his hands subconsciously find the hood latch with pinpoint accuracy, and as he lifted the brown painted hood of the Celica up, he could only push it up to the point the springs held the hood on their own, and stare there in awe for a few minutes, his gaze on the twin-carburaeted engine of glory that was perhaps once from a Challenger that now found its place under this Celica Supra's hood; in proper attire with long-runner headers and a very beefy ignition coil and distributor amongst other goodies, there sat an engine Mopar-heads would die for.

A real piece of history, a 7.0 liter pushrod V8 that changed the American muscle car scene back in its heyday and was sought after by so many. A genuine 426 Race Hemi.