"I'd like to point out that this is a bad idea."
Pulling up behind an Archer Quartz fully wrapped in chrome and a shiny wax job to the point I'm having quite of trouble seeing through the glare, I can see his point. The armed Riffer gangers guarding the area and cars pretty much hammers it in.
"Your opinion is heard, considered, and promptly discarded," doesn't mean I have to give him ammunition to push his point.
"Drake we can still back up outta here and head to Pietro's, he's already offering a guaranteed payday so why are you trying to get us killed here!" He argues as the Archer pulls away from the group of gangers and down the road to the rest of the racers.
I press on the gas, "Cause I can feel like I can make it here Marv, trust me on this. If I do good here, we can get more eddies in a night than we do in a month working."
Marvin doesn't get a chance to respond as one of the guards covered in the Riffers signature neon tattoos, and what looks like a chrome jaw, leans down to their open window, "Well lookie what we have here, a couple rats trying their luck in a coffin," he laughs at my face.
It takes a lot to not have my face contort in disgust at the whiff of his breath I catch. He doesn't seem bothered by my silence as he glances around the interior and huffing out a chuckle at the yellowed windows and stained seats.
"Alright brats, hundred eddies to get in," Marvin lets out a strained whine at that but we both ignore him, "only top three get eddies, rest of you chucklefucks get jack."
Nodding I slip him the sole bill I keep on myself, "Rules?"
"Only one person in the car so one of you can fuck off. Also, don't try anything with the Rangers, the show is what makes them not give a shit about us, so you mess with them? We'll have you in chains and on the way to a labor prison before they even ask," he says with hard look, one he keeps until I nod.
"Other than that? Nothing. Though go ahead and bet if you want, we'll love taking your hard-earned eddies."
"You aren't worried about drivers fixing the race?" I ask with a raised eyebrow, one that he responds to with a manic smile, along with a hint of something I don't want to identify.
"Oh ho~ if you decide to fix it, then our boys will have some fun taking the price from your body, in absolutely every way possible~," he says his piece as he steps back.
Looking back ahead I edge my car forwards towards the rest of the racers, passing between the rowdy crowd that start jeering as we drive by.
"Look at these gonks! Their gonna get flatlined in a minute!"
"I'm putting fifty that it breaks down in a minute!"
"Don't be going back crying to mamma!"
I try my best to push the disquiet I fell to the side as we pull into position, though considering our car looks the worst compared to the others with neon lights and wraps, I can see where they're coming from.
Glancing to Marvin I can tell he's unsettled by the attention we're getting, "Alright Marv you can head on out, I'll pick you up once the race is over."
He lets out a sigh of relief but sends me a worried look, "Fine. But remember we don't need this, pull out if it's too much, we'll still get a payday at the end of the day," he waits until I nod in acceptance before he steps out, giving me one last look at me before slipping into the crowd.
Over to the side sitting on… monster truck? A lanky ganger with chromed arms stands up and brings an old school mic around.
"Alright you cowboys, cowgirls and whatever the fuck else you are! The bets are all in and it's time to race!" He blasts out and the crowd responds with gusto.
Looking down the two columns the cars are organized in, it looks like there's an even 14 racing with most of them looking like supped up economy cars. The Archer is probably one of the few that's actually built for a race though, and given I can see it right at the front, I guess that's where the real show is going to happen.
While observing my competition, I see what looks like a joytoy strutting to the middle with a flag in hand.
"Drivers! Start! Your! Engines!"
An orchestra of roaring engines plays out echoing off the apartment buildings surrounding us, my own rattling roar drowned out by the car beside mine.
Looking over, I see the ganger staring right at me with his mono-eye and a sharp grin on his faces, raising a hand and showing off- aww shit that's a Nue.
"3!"
I press a button and lower my windows.
"2!"
Dropping a hand down to the side of my seat, I grab the handle there.
"1!"
He swings his arm out his window.
"GO!" I pre-empt the starting gun and throw myself back -Bang- in my seat, the back following down with me, and slam my foot on the pedal.
Bang bang bang
Lead whizzes by over my body before I pull ahead blindly and push myself back up straight against the force of my car accelerating.
"Oh shit!" I jerk my wheel to the side and just miss the joytoy who keeps waving the flag with a smile on her face even if I just missed her by a hair.
Sweat already dripping down my forehead I grip my steering wheel tightly and take the chance to get my bearings. I jumped two positions ahead with the ganger that tried taking a shot at me lagging behind and apparently trading shots with another car. Ahead I see I'm not too far behind as everyone else decides to deal with their competition on the straight and I know this is my best shot at making some ground cause my car won't be able to keep up with the others once they run out of distractions to shoot at.
I slow down a bit as I pull up behind a trio of cars trading shots, well, before the one stuck in the middle decides to bring out her SMG with a comically extended drum and lay down a veritable storm of bullets onto her opponents.
The one on the left decides to cut his losses, slamming his breaks to dodge the worst of it and letting me speed past but the other decides to take more direct action and slams into the side of the car. I let out a grin as I see the cars swerve around as they fight with muzzle flashes popping off whenever either get a chance. This is the best shot I got.
Letting them slam into each other one more time, I throttle my engine and slowly start creeping past them. Taking a quick glance, I see that it's going to take a while for the two to dislodge given the little Mexican standoff happening in there.
Neither bother their eyes off each other as I clear by them and that's completely fine with me as I see the cars ahead start turning, the road blocked off by some Riffers.
Most of the cars decide to take it easy and slow down for the turn, but others don't bother as they tightly drift around the corner and disappear from sight. But one understeers and they keep going forward as their tires struggle for grip and slam right into a railing, the car nearly tipping onto its side from the force of it as the gangers near it cheer.
I've only seen this done in movies but what the hell. Whispering a little prayer under my breath, I tightly turn the wheel to the side and immediately feel the axles beneath my feet struggle to keep the tires moving and withstand the force I'm putting it under as I start turning sideways.
In some adrenaline filled haze I get a feeling in the back of my head, a little nudge to do something as my front tires start to screech, and I decide to follow my instincts. Quickly turning it the other way, towards the direction I'm skidding, I pull off the pedal a bit and I can tell it was a good choice as the back of my car levels out with the front out of the oversteer I put it in.
At the end of my drift, I floor it easily picking up the small amount of speed that I lost and quickly pass a lagging car that decided to take the corner the boring way.
Bang
I flip the bird behind myself as I'm pretty sure I got a new hole in my trunk, hopefully missing anything important. Up ahead I see a car spin out of control, everyone else quickly dodging the hazard except for one unlucky driver that gets clipped in the back, forcing them to slam the brakes less he spins into a barrier.
That's the ninth one I pass. Wait! How the hell am I fifth already?
I might have spoken too soon as up ahead, I can see the other four ahead of me, way too far for me to catch up and getting even further, merge onto 7th street. Well, merge is generous, more like cutting off everyone they see and forcing all of them to screech to a stop right at the intersection.
I flit my eyes around the clogged-up traffic, desperately trying to find an opening to pass through before all the road-raging drivers decide to bring out their guns. No one is giving anyone room to pass, all stuck yelling at each other in Spanish, English, and whatever Texan curses they can dredge up.
"This is gonna be bad," gritting my teeth, I thank the previous owner to not bother paying an airbag subscription, before I turn my wheel at the last second and barely scrape through a small gap between a pair of cars.
The owners shout in surprise as my station wagon forces the gap between them to enlarge, the plastic aluminum frame of our cars giving out but giving me just enough room to get through.
I wince at the whine my engine makes as I try picking up speed, one that thankfully peters out. Up ahead, the drivers are tearing up the street rather than shooting at one another now and are weaving between honking commuters, picking up speed as they focus on the road and I'm not sure that I can make up the gap between us.
I can distantly feel my hear pound but ignore it and focus on my surroundings as I come up behind the first truck speed past it. Flickering my eyes back and forth, I start weaving between traffic, slowly getting into a rhythm and as I pass by more cars, being able to predict where they're going to move and how to react to them.
I keep going for at least half a minute, although not making ground between me and the leading four it's enough for me to at least keep pace with them.
My heart skips a beat as I see flashing blue and red lights up ahead on the side of the road, but rather than slow down, the four take the turn the cops are waiting at back-to-back with the Archer I first saw in the lead.
Apprehensive but not wanting to lose the lead I've gained I follow along, as I get closer though I see three Austin Ranger cars blocking two lanes of traffic, presumably for us, and the cops themselves whooping from the cars drifting past.
Repeating what I did earlier I turn into a drift, one much cleaner than my first time and into a curved tight street, one barely enough to fit two cars side-by-side which the others decide to take advantage of and start gunning for the car ahead of them, literally and figuratively as shots start up again. But rather than the Archer taking the lead, a 640 muscles its way past the smaller car and into the lead. The others don't bother to try and take the lead less the powerful car decides to crush them against a building.
I brace myself as I start closing distance to the action but a glare in my rearview mirror gives me half a second of warning before the solid hood of a Thrax slams into my rear. I jerk forward with a grunt at the force of the hit as my trunk crunches to absorb some of the force.
The Thrax takes the chance to pull up around to my side as I try to get the car back in control and I only get a glance at the driver before she decides to slam into me again. With the full weight of the armoured car behind her, mines doesn't stand a chance as it starts spinning out of control, the wheels catching nothing as I swing around and around.
Thankfully I don't get dizzy while I fight against the spinout and try to bring the car back in control but ultimately I'm forced to hit the brakes less I completely crash out.
I end up facing the wrong way and with a curse I spin around in my seat and back up, spinning the car around once I'm in place before pushing it again. The wheel jerks around my hand as I feel a tire rattle around in place, slowing me down and letting the rest pull ahead far enough for them to disappear around the curve.
"Goddamnit!" I slam a hand on the wheel in anger, but I keep going. It takes half a minute before the road widens again and into another straight, but far ahead I can already see the end with the crowd cheering for the winners.
I let out a disappointed sigh and let up on the pedal, giving my car some reprieve after putting it through so much it wasn't built for and in a few seconds, the rest of the racers catch up and leave me in the dust. By the time I get to the end I've ended up tenth, the other four not even finishing by virtue of crashing out.
"Let's hear it for the winner!" The announcers belts out, the poser from what it looks like the Hellies wearing their signature vest, lets out a roar over the crowds cheer while standing on his Quadra.
Sighing in disappointment I pull over out of the way, letting the beat-up car roll to a stop. Leaning back in my seat I close my eyes for a moment as I take my failure in. I was sure that I could get something out of this, even third place would've been enough for this race to be worth it, but I couldn't even get that.
"Hey rato!" I flinch in surprise at the angry yell, opening my eyes I see the Thrax pulled up by my side with the woman, early twenties at worst but I can only tell by her accented voice given all that chrome she has replacing her face that's twisted in a snarl, "Next time you try passing me puto I'll flatten you into paste you hear me!"
I can see she's got two more friends in her car, both even more chromed out than her and looking much scarier given how they glower at me- and what the hell? Who replaces their mouth with a shredder!?
Taking care not to look directly at the psycho revving his bladed teeth, I rapidly nod but thankfully before she can keep going, a Riffer puts himself between us.
"Calhua's, you've had your race. Delta," he orders with a rumble, his very large frame betraying the enhancements he's likely taken, the massive Carnage in his hands further showing off his strength given he brings it down from his shoulder as easy as breathing.
The trio in the car hesitate for a moment before the driver gives a tight nod and speeds off, though not before giving me one last glare.
Once they leave though, he doesn't do the same and I wilt slightly at his glare down at me.
"Come," he doesn't bother waiting before turning and walking off.
I sit dumbfounded for a moment before scrambling to get out and follow him. I can't be blamed for following his orders! He's nearly seven feet of pure muscle and testosterone, I'm not going to say no to his face! His frame easily splits the departing crowd in two as they get out his path to the monster truck.
As we step close, the lanky announcer looks over at my escort, and then down to me when he steps aside.
"Ahh, there's my young driver! That was some driving you were doing there in that ol' fossil," he greets with gusto, with a tinge of Italian in his accent.
The man slips off the truck and lands from the eight-foot fall with barely a grunt of exertion, definitely some sort of reinforced legs then.
"You put on quite a show for me young'in! You had folks on the net clambering in their seats when you came out of nowhere, and quite a few people poorer with the moves you pulled when they didn't expect it, though it made me even richer! So, what do you call yourself?"
"It's Drake and what's that about the net?" I question, I didn't see anyone following us the whole time but given the look he gives me at that question, I feel like it's a question that has quite an obvious answer.
"Not too bright… welp can't have them all!"
Patting my shoulder enthusiastically, he puts it around my shoulder and brings me to his side as he starts walking, "Well young'in, if I'm setting this race up, of course imma milk it for all its worth! Especially for those deckheads on the net having more money than sense."
"We got a few drivers streaming their view for us for a couple eddies, got a killer shot of you taking that drift if you wanna take a look. But enough of that! I bet you're wondering why I'm talking to you," he spins me around to face him again as we stop beside the monster truck, "Like I said you got some attention, especially from me and I gotta say, you have some talent. Was that your first-time racing?"
"Second time driving actually."
"Oh second time driving, that makes sen-" he pauses as he registers my words.
"Second time driving!?" He questions incredulously, it not diminishing as I nod.
"…you pulling my leg young'in? Cause I'm going to be quite cross if I find out you're lying to me. And people don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying, swear! Didn't have a car till I klepped it!" I belt out quickly, not wanting to get on the bad side of someone obviously big in the Riffers.
"…Okay first, never incriminate yourself like that, even if klepping a ride ain't worth a Ranger's time pushing the paperwork through for it, its best if you just don't say stuff like that," he says flatly, continuing after seeing my wince, "Now you're just a kid and you're probably telling the truth but either way, you did good as a rookie on the racing scene. But this race was probably too much for a debut, especially with you in that box on wheels you brought with you."
Turning his back on me, he lightly bends his knees and takes a small leap, and by small I mean clearing six feet easy to the steps leading to the door. As he steps in, I feel my agent vibrate in my pocket though I know enough sense not to bring out it right now and wait for him to get settled and turn back to me.
"Flicked you the detes but some of my boys put together races for rookies and those desperate for eddies, your both so go there. Small prize pool and even smaller bet payouts to keep it for rookies but if you're as skilled as I think you are, it'll be enough to mod your rig and then you can get back in my circle and start making some real eddies for the both of us."
He ignites the engine which starts up with a roar of combusting gas and rumbling pistons, "Well Drake it's been a pleasure, I eagerly wait for your next race!"
He lets out a whoop before accelerating away, forcing the remaining crowd out the road along with the few cars there less they get crushed under the massive wheels, the rest of the Riffers following its wake with their own pickups.
I just blink as I try to register what just happened before a pair of hands grab onto my shoulders and Marvin shoves his face in front of me.
"Drake! What the hell was that!? Why were you talking to Lorenzo of all people!?" He questions in concern.
"Calm down Marv, he was just telling me I should go to the rookie races they run, says I'd do better there and actually have a chance at making some eddies," I respond as I slowly pull his hands off my shoulders.
"Really? And he invited you personally?"
"Yeah, he did. Wait, how do you know his name? How big of a deal is he?" I question with some dread, wanting to know who exactly I have the attention of and at the same time not wanting to deal with knowing that.
"Um, yeah Lorenzo. Was talking around and got some detes on these guys. Choom, Lorenzo is the boss of the Riffers in Austin, he's one of their biggest earners with these races so he's got a big say in the Riffers nationally so yeah, he's a big deal."
I stare at him in shock at that, trying to exactly process how I got the attention of basically a gang boss that's part of the biggest gang stretching across Texas, "He says he'll be watching my races," I say in a whisper.
Marvin pales as we stand there, staring at each other.
I don't know when but we eventually both get back in the car and I limp it back home, the tire stubbornly sticking to the axle even as it wobbles all over the place. Eventually I pull into the underground garage of our apartment building, the parking space included in my parent's contract but never used given we don't have a car, a similar situation with the rest of the tenets leaving mines as the only car down here.
Given the lot itself has never been maintained in my 16 years of living here, it's just enough to be legal and likely some convoluted tax break so I can see why Petrochem decided to be generous and gift it to its employees living here. Though the paycheck can never cover for them to buy a ride.
We stew in the silence of the garage for a bit before I decide to break it, "I'm going to race."
He turns to look at me and he doesn't look surprised. I had him quickly look over the prizes for the rookie race for me on the way, Lorenzo somehow getting my number, and getting third in just one race is enough to cover what we would've gotten for a share of this car, even with the smaller prize
"Even if I don't win, I'll pay you back for your share of the car, you know I'm good for it."
"Don't," he says after a moment, "I don't like this, it's really dangerous and you can never be sure of getting a payday, hell, even sure of getting out alive. But that's me. As your choom though? I know you're going to do this anyway and I'm damn sure going to be there for you all the way."
It's the first time I've heard him say anything like this before, and not going to lie, it's quite touching. I can feel the grin spreading across my face at his words which he copies, if a little weaker.
"Though that doesn't mean you can go psycho or start scaving, do that and I'll be the first in line to flatline you," he playfully threatens.
I laugh as we banter back and forth, leaving him at his apartment a floor below mine with a smile on my face as I unlock my own door.
My smile dims somewhat as soon as I step in, feeling the fatigue that the room somehow emanates. Though we try to keep it clean, the floor finds a way to somehow get dirty again from some unknown substance that we stopped questioning years ago. Over by the side, I can see what my parents like to call the master bedroom having its shutter shut, really, it's just an opening in the wall with a beat-up queen mattress shoved in there.
Sighing, I slip off the beat-up leather jacket Dad got me for my last birthday that I've worn every day since I got it, loving the light blue neon highlights it has which he knew I would like.
I don't bother to turn on the lights, half of them are broken anyways, and grab a can of TinBeef™ from the stack we keep.
Open it and soak it in the classic synth-BBQ sauce also from TinBeef™ that we bought separately, somehow also cooking the meat anywhere from rare to verywell done. We tried using NiCola once so we could save some money… poor Remy the rat melted on the spot. Shake it up and after you hear some sizzling you got your family staple, steak in a can.
I inhale the beef as fast as I can, after so long of eating the same dinner with very few different variations, it eventually gets bland enough that you don't care.
Going through familiar motions, I pull the shutter to my own bedroom/shelf close, cutting me off from any sound and light from the rest of the house.
Staring at the ceiling, I contemplate how different my day went, broken from the monotone life that I've been stuck in for years now and how soon it might be changing permanently…
…
Zzzz