Star Fox:

Ballad of the Phoenix

Act 1

Chapter 1

"Enter The Phoenix"

~::::~

The cool June night enveloped the city of Detroit, the wind howling through the Motor City as if to signal a brewing storm. The bright lights of the downtown district bathed even the darkest corner of the hollowed-out factories and worn-down homes, juxtaposed with the glass skyscrapers just out of reach. The traffic slowly died out from the heart of the city to the dead industrial zone, a constant reminder of the golden years that would never see a comeback.

Despite the dead streets on the outskirts of the city's industrial district, one lone car crept along the chipped tarmac, looking for something buried somewhere in the endless sea of brick-and-mortar factories. A matte black finish cloaked the car in the shroud of night, the low rumble tracing it as the dated headlights slowly illuminated every shuttered store it passed.

The restomodded 1968 Pontiac GTO slowly rolled down the street for a few more meters, before pulling into an abandoned parking lot and coming to a full stop. The door squeaked open as the engine died out with an abrupt burble. It revealed a bald driver, sporting a seventies-era mustache along with form-fitting jeans and a tank top, letting a cigarette hang loosely from his lips as he breathed in the Detroit sky. His GTO bore the scars of many races from the past but maintained a healthy glow to it. His eyes were locked into a mean stare as a custom early 2000's Saleen Mustang quickly came up behind him and parked as well.

The Mustang was dressed in a similar shade of matte black, the two cars distinct only in the color of their respective blue or red brake calipers.

"Uncle, you ready?!" The shout came from the driver as he stepped out of his Mustang with a wide smirk. He was wearing a backward baseball cap and a blue denim jacket with sagging jeans, making him contrast with his uncle.

"Simmer down there, Dave. Wait 'till your pops arrives, then blow yer lid. For now, you best prepare. I hear these punks ain't none t'trifle with, so watch it," a thick Georgian accent poured out from the older man's throat like a frothy beer as he picked the cigarette out of his mouth and flicked it into the darkness of the night. In response, Dave scoffed and leaned back on his hood as he adjusted his cap.

"Loosen up, unk. We've crushed every yankee here. It'll be a cakewalk!" The younger driver boasted, making his uncle chuckle.

"Fair. It's always fun watchin' these city boys cry when we trash their little tuner toys. Tonight ain't gonna be differ'nt."

After a few minutes of waiting, a heavily modified 1970 Chevelle SS rumbled up to the two muscle cars and their drivers, which looked as intimidating as it sounded. The car looked clean as could be, with the matte grey body wrapped in a wide white stripe along the side, the model of the car proudly displayed over the rear quarter panel. As the grumbling car came to a stop thanks to its flashy green brake calipers, the driver stepped out of the car with a scowl imprinted on his face. He was clad in a long wool coat, grey dress slacks, and loafers. He seemed more ready to attend a ball in the winter than to race. His short grey hair billowed in the wind as he faced his two family members, who seemed to be quite relaxed.

"Alright, these guys are gonna be here any second. I wanna teach these city-slickers what happens when you challenge Donovan O'Neil and his family to a race. We're gonna stomp 'em, trash their rides, and make 'em tuck their tails behind their rears!" The inspired speech drew whoops and cheers from his fellow drivers.

The sounds of tires squealing suddenly echoed through the howling projects, reverberating through the hollow buildings. Two pairs of bright blue headlights suddenly shone through the darkness, accompanied by gold underglow. The Southerners could hear bass-filled trap music blasting from the bed of the pearlescent-painted white Dodge Magnum as it rolled down the street. It sat on massive twenty-three-inch gold rims, with the trim of the sedan matching the color of the rims. The squealing of the tires signaled that the Magnum finally came to a stop as it turned into the parking lot, the stereo-on-wheels staring down the classic muscle cars as the music continued to shake the car before the engine was cut.

After the song currently pouring out of the subwoofers ceased, the noise of two more engines took its place. The sound of the turbos blowing off along with a high-pitched whine could only come from one car: A modified Nissan Skyline R32 with a custom body kit, except this one was clothed in a healthy royal purple sheen. Despite the tell-tale rear bumper lights of the R32 model, the front bumper had been replaced with one belonging to the R34 model. To the left of the classic tuner was a car that looked more at home on the tracks than the streets. The small frame and no-nonsense British racing green paint job with dual yellow stripes flowing over the top of the car gave this second-generation Lotus Elise a presence on the streets that the bigger cars failed to match.

The two cars lined up with the Magnum and let loose a few more revs before shutting off, staring down the troupe of muscle cars. The doors of all three unique vehicles opened at the same time before the drivers stepped out and approached their rivals. The Southerners reacted with different levels of shock upon seeing their opponents. While Donovan and the Uncle scoffed, the youngest driver was in tears with laughter. "Pops! Pops, look at this! It's a buncha freakin' kids! They ain't even older than me! They look like they're still in high school!" he howled, prompting glares from his opponents.

"So, Phoenix. This is really your crew? You makin' a mockery of me, boy?" Donovan asked the kid standing in front of the Skyline. He was built from a slightly skinny pale frame wearing a purple short-sleeve graphic t-shirt to accompany his car, along with ribbed jeans, hi-tops, black leather driving gloves, and an analog watch. His auburn hair was of medium length with a messy flipped part.

Phoenix scoffed as he looked the middle-aged man up and down, before looking at the Mustang behind him. "Well, you already did the heavy liftin'." The kid smiled as he watched the elder man's face contort in a grimace that hid a tint of rage behind his eyes, causing him to scoff. "You and your whole hick family made the wrong choice by screwin' with our city. Tonight, you get the pleasure of bein' run outta town and back to peach-land with you an' the rest of your white-trash buddies, Hayseed."

The Uncle looked the driver of the Magnum up and down, eying the youth like a predator. The younger driver wore a tweed fedora and a white tank top, leaving his dark and toned arms exposed to the night. Below the belt was a pair of joggers and orange hi-tops. Around his neck was a gold chain that swung ever so lightly in the breeze. "I don't know if you realized, boy, but this is a street race. We ain't in some tacky ride-pimpin' contest. So take that eyesore of a toy back to whatever circus you dragged it outta."

The driver scoffed in response. "Yo, 'least my ride's got some personality. Where'd you get that whip from, Midlife-Crisis-R-Us? Man, getcho' ass back to hittin' on waitresses at Hooter's with that thang," he snarled, prompting his opponent to mockingly put his hands up by his head only to wave the younger driver off.

Dave had to deal with the driver of the Elise, attempting to ignore him. She was wearing a dark green racing suit along with a white racing helmet. Her long dirty blonde hair flowed down her back as she took a seat on her Elise's hood before glaring at Dave from behind her golden-tinted visor. "Yeah, mate? What're you lookin' at?" She asked in a thick Australian accent.

Dave snickered as he looked back at the girl, before patting the hood of his Mustang. "A girl driver? What, that tiny car there got a little kitchen in it? Maybe you can make me a sandwich when the race is done," he chuckled. The girl rolled her eyes before looking back down at her Lotus.

"It doesn't have a kitchen, but I'd rather show than tell what I'm runnin' under the hood. Since that pea-brain of yours doesn't know the meaning of the word 'technicality', I think I'll have enough time to make myself a three-course meal before you even see the finish line, wanker," She taunted, leaving Dave dumbstruck as she opened her Elise's door and took her seat, ready to race.

Noticing his friend retreat to her Elise, the ringleader of the locals flashed a cocky smile at Donovan, putting his hands in his pockets as he sat on his hood. "Well old man, ready to go?"

Donovan nodded. "I'll teach you to respect your elders, squirt!" Not waiting for a response, he walked back to his Chevelle and fired the old engine up. The rest of the muscle car drivers did the same, leaving the tuners to line up behind them. Phoenix chuckled as he walked over to his Skyline. He opened the door and sat down in the custom Sparco racing seat that hugged his frame. Looking upon the dashboard, he plugged a burner cellphone into a USB port, before tapping on the aftermarket touch screen and calling up the other members of his crew. As his icon was a fiery phoenix, he saw an s-curve of a racetrack pop up followed by a gilded and stylized 'D'. Now that Apex and Showoff were in the call, they all dropped their tough street facades as Showoff began to cough over the line.

"Yo, yo! Man, what the hell was that guy smokin'?! Shit's stinkin' up my whip! Ugh, it's on my tank!" Showoff exclaimed with disgust, addressing Phoenix.

"I don't know, but I can smell it from here," Phoenix replied with a giggle, letting a wide grin seep across his face.

"It's like all we're racing against is bogans who've only read their car's brochures, when are we gonna get some real drivers up here? I thought this was the Motor City?" Apex lamented as her Elise's engine howled to life.

"I mean, if we're bein' fair, you'd need a Bugatti to stop us!" More laughter came from Showoff's line as he turned his engine over, giving off a few revs as his speaker system began to blare his music to the world again.

"Well let's hope they've read enough of their brochures then, 'cause it's showtime," Phoenix announced as turned the key, letting the inline six roar like an untamed lion in the jungle. The whooshing of the turbos, the growl from the exhaust, and the whine of the transmission filled the cockpit as the driver's brow knit in smug satisfaction.

Leading his friends, Phoenix lined up behind the trio of muscle cars waiting at the red light. Each member was anxious to get going. Their feet lightly feathered their clutches and gas. Phoenix's fingers lightly rapped against his steering wheel. Apex took a deep breath. Showoff leaned forward in his leather seat. Although they looked nervous, the crew loved this moment. That calm before the storm. Putting it all on the line and just flooring it. As the light continued to blaze a bright red, the sound of six roaring engines ripped through the air. Each car's body shook and warbled from the sheer power. Flames were shot out from the exhaust. Turbos were whooshing. Superchargers were whining. Tires were spinning, raring to go. Then, it happened. The light turned green, and one word fell into each racer's mind.

Go.

~::::~

(Nine Black Alps - Not Everyone)

Everyone shoved their feet into their gas pedals, leaving a huge cloud of smoke as each car rocketed off the line. The tires chirped as the sound of a combined four thousand horsepower tore the night sky asunder. While the away team's cars were fishtailing, the all-wheel drive system in Phoenix's Skyline gave him an early lead. Apex was able to follow right behind him with her Elise's lightweight and engine placement, and Showoff eeked ahead of the muscle cars with his own all-wheel-drive system. With the race underway and the home team in the lead at the start, the race began to tear through the industrial district.

Because of the death of American manufacturing in the city, the large industrial buildings were hollowed out and all surrounding areas were abandoned. This meant near clear roads to really put the power down. This benefited the away team, allowing their big-block muscle to close the gap and draft off of the locals, especially behind Showoff. As Phoenix noticed Dave coming up in his rearview, he did his best to play blocker. Whatever move the Mustang made, the Skyline copied. No matter how much Phoenix tried to block the Mustang, it was still stronger. This point was proven when Dave rammed Phoenix in the rear, causing his Skyline to swerve to the side of the road. It looked like the Skyline was about to spin out, but Phoenix steadied his hand and steeled his nerve, keeping calm and reigning his car back under his control.

Now Phoenix was in last and saw his fellow crew members struggling as well. The challengers were not in it to play fair. Just as a wide curve was coming up, the Uncle shunted Showoff, throwing him to the side. Showoff however went along with it and let his car break out into a drift as his speakers bumped and popped to his trap music. Although the Uncle made the pass, Showoff kept his line with his signature style and flair. His tire smoke trailed his car as he kept the wide drift going before he whipped his car back into shape and in a straight line. He hit the gas and was determined to keep pace with the GTO. He smiled a bit when he could feel an aura of disbelief coming from the Uncle's car.

Apex had to deal with the patriarch, who was bullying her little Elise. With a strong shunt, the muscle car smashed the tiny British sports car off the road. Apex saw that she was now heading towards an abandoned side road. Her brain routed out a million types of routes, before racing through the tiny road with the one she knew would lead out. Her little car twitched and jerked around the thin road, keeping a near-impossible line perfectly. Her car kept storming through the small curvy road, before it busted through a gate now behind the Chevelle, back in the fray.

"Are you kidding me?!" Donovan's voice carried a tone of rage mixed with disbelief. He planned to make sure that each rival driver didn't make it to the city leg of the race. To his shock, the cars were still on their tails, and closing in as the roads got less open and curvier. The kids had a skill and dedication to their driving that blew the patriarch away, but he was not impressed. Calling up his family, he put his phone on speaker as a rage built up in his throat.

"Ricky, Dave! Take these kids down! Break their stupid little cars now!" His command nearly cracked the glass on his phone before he hung up and got ready to ram Apex's car again. He began to drop his speed, baiting the Elise into getting close as another corner was coming up. Donovan let a wicked smile cross his lips as he saw Apex had the outside line, and should not have a chance to evade his attack. Now at the turn, Donovan swerved to the side, attempting to hit the Elise.

What he didn't expect was the Elise's true power, as the second he tried to go for the ram, the Elise suddenly braked, slipped behind and across the rear of the Chevelle, and took the inside line as she didn't even lose a modicum of traction. Donovan meanwhile had to hit the brakes, hard. His Chevelle drifted off-road a bit before lagging behind, being passed by Showoff and Ricky while cutting off Phoenix.

Phoenix was pissed now. He expected a fair race but was forced to endure a war. Tapping his touch screen, he got the final member of his crew on the line. The picture of a classical demon with red skin and a wicked smile told him he was ready. "Devil, these hicks ain't playin' fair! Wanna get some more tally marks on your bumper?" A rough, edgy chuckle came over his speakers.

"Get in the city, and I'll take 'em down," the voice replied with a slight Canadian accent. Phoenix only grunted in response as he knew his objective now. The race had been long abandoned. Now, there was a little surprise in store. All they had to do was survive.

The battle continued, and as the industry became more city-like, the challengers got more aggressive. While Phoenix and Showoff were getting their paint chipped, Dave couldn't land a single shunt on the slippery Elise. Throwing caution to the wind, Dave decided to retire the girl with a final shunt into a parked SUV coming up. The horses roared beneath his monstrous V8 as he caught up to the little British sports car in no time. Measuring his distance, Dave decided that now was the time to strike. There would be no room for her to escape, and her car's wreckage should put the other two out of commission.

Just as he turned in, the Elise suddenly turned first, shocking the kid. To his surprise, the twitchy Lotus hopped the low curb he failed to notice and drove right past the SUV, squeezing by a lamp post and a mailbox with ease. Dave however realized that he was now on a collision course with the SUV, and tried to turn away. At the speed he was going, his car's tires slipped out from under him, sending the rear of the Mustang hurling into the SUV.

Dave wiped out spectacularly, his car twisting mid-air as his family members were right behind him. The two did their best to avoid the Mustang, but the evasion cost them valuable time. Phoenix and Showoff, however, didn't flinch. With a whoop and speakers at maximum, Apex effortlessly drifted through the accident just as two of the three cars began to move again in a show of style and skill. Donovan and Ricky tried to block Phoenix but soon learned there was no chaining him. Phoenix dodged each block within the length of a millimeter of each other, somehow slipping through what seemed like an impenetrable barricade.

Donovan mainly couldn't believe that all three got by without a scratch, while Dave was out of the race now. Their driving was too precise. It didn't make any sense. It was like they were robots with millisecond reactions. It only angered the elder more as he floored it, using the raw power of his monstrous V8 to catch up to the locals while leaving his son to crawl out of his wrecked car.

The city was more technical than the dead factories, and as such put the ball in the home team's court with their zippy tuners. Traffic had begun to slow the big blocks down, with the less maneuverable muscle cars getting stuck in the slog of downtown. The locals however were able to dodge traffic and whip through corners, even with Showoff's boat of a Magnum. Whenever a member of the away team thought they had cornered them, they slipped by through another turn.

As Phoenix's Skyline kept slipping by Donovan and into the heart of the city, the patriarch had enough of being shown up by three brats with fast toys. Reaching into his glove box, Donovan pulled out a semi-automatic pistol with his family's name engraved on the slide and aimed it at Phoenix's driver's seat. A smile crossed the holder's lips as he closed one eye and prepared to fire.

An ear-splitting bang filled the air, and a grin flashed for just a second on Phoenix's lips. The Chevelle was suddenly t-boned by a defaced and demented Police Interceptor Dodge Charger with push bars thicker than tank plating, lighting up the whole road with sparks and twisting metal. The Chevelle was tossed around the road like it was in a tornado, rolling and crumpling with each roll-over. The wheels flew off, glass shattered, and bodywork absolutely destroyed. The once pristine and restored muscle car was now a wreck, courtesy of a battering ram from automotive hell.

Phoenix couldn't contain an excited and shocked giggle as Devil slung the Chevelle into a nearby construction van with a bone-rattling honk of the custom train horn, completely totaling the patriarch's ride and leaving him out of commission. Despite being the car of choice for the Detroit Police Department, this Charger was no cop car. The car was noticeably missing the front and rear bumpers, replaced with push bars, and lifted a few inches for extra ground clearance with the chunkiest tires possible. While it carried the white and blue paint scheme, it was littered with anti-cop graffiti containing phrases such as "enslave and obey", "9-1-None", and "Anarchy Frees The People" tagged over the beat-up cruiser. Words like "STOP THINKING" and "DON'T QUESTION" written in the style of road signs on the windows mocked the law and order as multiple garbage cans and roadside objects were rammed into the night sky. There were at least seventy-three mini red tally marks on the side of the driver's side door, and it seemed like he just added another.

The attack was the last thing that happened before the police finally became aware of their presence. "Calling all units. We've got a five-ten in progress going through downtown. Multiple drivers are being reported, all have profiles as known street racers. Be advised, suspects are a known flight risk, and force is authorized. Suspects have been reported as having police scanners in their vehicles, so make any call-outs on a secure channel if necessary. Good hunting."

The call echoed through each of the tuner's police scanners, with a fray of cops responding. A few seconds later, police lights and sirens were visible and audible. Multiple modified Dodge Chargers were now in pursuit, closing the gap between them and the drivers as fast as they could. The heat was on, and the Devil was on the prowl. Through the now unsecured channels, Phoenix, Showoff, and Apex could hear the cops' fears as Devil went to work.

"Hey, it's those tuner guys from last time, and they've got that psycho with the stolen cruiser again! Stay back and wait for an opening or he'll target you!" Came the cry of one cop. Heading his word, the other cops kept a distance, with Devil acting as a buffer between the cops and the racers. His interference kept the cops at bay, giving the tuners a massive lead. The cops that did get close were easily dealt with by the home team, with the zippy tuners outmaneuvering the tanky Chargers and the massive Magnum reacting to the cops as one would react to swatting away a mosquito.

The writing was on the wall, and it spelled victory for the home team. No matter what Ricky tried to do, he couldn't gain the lead. As Devil was holding the cops at bay, the race was in the home stretch as the city faded to the suburbs. Showoff worked to keep Ricky behind him while Phoenix chuckled and hit the NOS, taking the lead in the home stretch as Apex held onto his draft like glue.

~::::~

Phoenix crossed the finish first with a celebratory whoop, followed quickly by Apex and a few seconds later by Showoff. They had won by a massive margin, leaving the challengers out two members. As Ricky's GTO rumbled across the finish, Phoenix parked up and stepped out of his car with Apex and Showoff, all three already wearing wide grins. Just as the GTO's engine faded out, Ricky stepped out of his car, visibly angry and holding something.

Phoenix's smirk quickly faded when he saw that Ricky suddenly pulled out a semi-automatic pistol, waving the gun around before aiming at the drivers. His face read anger and malice. The three kept their hands by their heads as the driver slowly approached them, ready to go all the way. "You think you little shits are gonna embarrass my family?" He angrily asked.

"Hey man, chill. What's with the piece?" Phoenix asked. Ricky wasn't having any of it, as he pulled the hammer back on his pistol and aimed it at his heart with intent to kill.

"Shut it! I don't need to get talked down to by some kids with some stupid toys!" The angered driver shouted, before glaring deeper at the leader of the group. Phoenix kept a calm visage as he stared down the barrel of a gun. "You really think we were just gonna let some city slickers like you three win? Well here's a little reality check, kiddo." Ricky warned before aiming the gun point-blank at Phoenix's chest.

Before he could fire, a train horn blew through the air. All heads turned to see it was Devil, who was on a collision course with the GTO. Ricky let out a fearful yell as the war machine slammed right into the side of the muscle car. It was completely destroyed. There was barely anything to salvage from the car, as the GTO crashed spectacularly. It rolled an unknown amount of times, with bits flying off on each rotation before it began sliding towards Ricky on its roof. The shock of seeing his GTO destroyed froze him, and by the time he came to his senses, it was too late. The speeding hunk of metal struck its owner, sending him rolling over the underbody before landing face-first on the cold pavement. A final crash sounded, signifying that the GTO had come to a nasty stop.

Ricky shook the pain from his mind as he slowly stood up, his eyes going wide as he realized that he did not have his pistol, launched from the impact as he began to scramble for his weapon. As his eyes turned skyward, he noticed Phoenix pointing the weapon at him, the gleaming brass of his own bullet staring him down from inside the barrel. A look of fear turned into one of contempt as the older man narrowed his eyes. "You don't got the balls," Ricky growled. Phoenix chuckled and made sure the hammer was cocked. As Ricky squinted his eyes, Phoenix instead released the magazine, pulled the slide back to pop the bullet in the chamber, and threw both the magazine and the gun as far as he could into some nearby bushes.

"I do, I just don't wanna get slapped with a twenty-to-life bid. Though, twenty would already be a life sentence for you." Phoenix said with a smirk and a middle finger raised, making the grounded driver growl.

A siren suddenly pierced the air, sending everyone into an instant scramble. A lone cop was able to trace the cars to the finish, and it was not the cop they wanted to see. The blacked-out undercover 2018 Camaro ZL1 made them drop their cool demeanor, each one scrambling like rats back to their cars.

"Freeze, punks! Don't move a muscle!" The cop's shout followed his dead sprint from his car, breaking past the downed Ricky and running to the drivers. It was thankfully too dark for the cop to see their faces, allowing them to turn tail and run. As Showoff and Apex slipped past his gaze, the cop bolted towards Phoenix's Skyline, just barely missing the driver as he sat in his car and slammed the door shut. The officer pounded on the tinted window, before Phoenix pulled away, leaving him coughing in a cloud of smoke and dust left as each member followed suit.

Now alone, the cop composed himself. He took a quick look down at his polo shirt, police badge hanging from his neck, and grey dress pants with suede shoes. Frustrated, he ran his ebony hands through his slicked-back hair before looking back and noticing Ricky trying to hobble away. If he wasn't catching those tuners again, he was going to get their opponents. Breaking into a lightning-fast sprint, he caught the driver in no time, tackling him to the ground and slapping cuffs on his wrists. He hauled the Southerner to his Camaro and slammed him on the hood before hoisting him up by his tank top straps.

"Did you see what they looked like!?" The cop shouted in his face. Out of fear, Ricky sputtered his words out, not making any sense to him. "What did they look like?!" He once more shouted.

"I-I-I don't kn-know, sir!" Ricky fearfully responded.

Another slam on the hood dazed the driver before the cop got up in his face once again. "Are you bullshitting me?! Either you've got the brain of a goldfish or you're not telling me the full story! Names, appearances, everything! Now!" The cop shouted his lungs out with the ferocity of a tiger, taking some cathartic rage out on the driver.

"Okay, okay! Y-yeah. They were dressed pretty plainly. The...um...African-American gentleman was wearin' a fedora though. Oh! They was kids! Couldn't've been older than high-schoolers!" The admission came through a fearful expression, only increasing when the cop slowly began to smile.

"Kids, huh? Just some kids?" The cop was now chuckling as Ricky nodded, the older driver feeling slightly unnerved. The cop suddenly slammed the driver back onto the hood as he grew his angered visage back. He seemed even more ferocious than last time, as he visibly clenched his teeth.

"Do I look like I was born yesterday?! You wanna spin a tale about a bunch of children with those skills to me right now?! If you won't tell me what I wanna hear, I guess a nice little vacation behind bars for street racing, reckless driving, and obstruction of justice will jog your memory!" The cop shoved the cuffed driver to the ground just as a squad car pulled up to haul him away. As Ricky got placed in the back of the car, the officer began to stare in the direction of the road the tuner cars drove down to escape. With a sigh, he walked back to his Camaro and sat down, before clicking his radio and relaying the information. "Command, this is Sergeant Jackson of the SRU. Driver of the Pontiac is in custody. The other three got away. Requesting that we set up a quadrant west of my current location with minimal time delay."

After a few seconds, a female voice came over the radio with news that the officer did not want to hear. "Negative, Sergeant. Command is requesting that all units go mobile, pursuit is over."

Jackson sighed as he tapped his forehead with his fist, keeping himself calm as he put the radio up to his mouth once more. "Ten-four dispatch, breaking off pursuit."

They had gotten away again. Who were they?

~::::~

"Whooooo! Yeah!" Phoenix shouted in celebration as he drifted through one of the old abandoned factories in Detroit's now-dead industrial district, with the other drivers close behind. Nestled between an industrial warehouse and old railroad tracks was the crew's hideout, named the Factory due to it being built out of an old Plymouth production facility from years past. Over the years, the gang turned it from a decrepit asbestos-laden safety hazard to the ultimate home away from home. They used a small portion of the factory, leaving most of it untouched to keep appearances up so that the cops wouldn't take an interest. Nestled in the corner was where they kept their cars and hung out, usually for days at a time when the heat was on. There were four hydraulic lifts set up for working on the cars, as well as an assortment of tools and other equipment necessary to keep the cars running at their very best. Gas reserves were built up in the corner as well, making sure that they always had fresh gas whenever they were close to running out. Of course, they would constantly be buying more fuel, as each car was major gas guzzlers. Next to the lifts were four cars covered in sheets, unknown to the world as they sat concealed and quiet.

Above the corner was a large square-shaped control room previously used to overlook the assembly, and was the lifeblood of the Factory. It was stocked with all the amenities that a gang of thrill-seeking teens would need, including a seventy-inch flat-screen with multiple gaming consoles, refrigerators stocked full of refreshments, comfy sofas, thick velvet carpeting, and even a retro jukebox with wireless connectivity. Apex and Showoff pulled into the Factory next, while Devil quickly brought up the rear. The sounds from the engines echoed throughout the Factory before cutting out, as Showoff whooped in victory while stepping out of his Magnum and gave Phoenix a fist bump.

"Yeah-hea! Number one, baby! We're unstoppable!" Showoff exclaimed through the echo of the old building, before jumping in excitement. With exaggerated movements, the two teens engaged in a complicated handshake, ending with the two jumping up and bumping the backs of their fists together.

"You said it, bro! Man, that was tight!"

"Yeah, looks like that baby powder came in handy, huh?" Showoff's laughter filled the air as Phoenix gave him a playful shove before the driver of the Skyline fired back with one of his own shoves.

"Man, those three are gonna be spending quite some time in lockup, huh?" Apex asked Devil, who shrugged as the two fell behind the celebrating drivers while stepping out of their respective cars.

"Hope so. I wanna see what ol' Jackie's got in plan for 'em in his little dungeon." Devil smirked back as he hopped out of his car, the Charger dwarfing the Lotus. The other three chuckled at the enforcer's statement before a barely audible engine note.

A deep gray and brand new Alfa Romeo Giulia pulled next to the roster of tuner cars, before parking and shutting down. The car looked more at home in the business district of Detroit rather than a street racer's hangout, sporting no modifications. The driver door was flung open, revealing a man in his mid-thirties with jet black hair, slicked back with a little grey on the sides, wearing a white Italian button-down shirt and black dress slacks. Over his shoulders was a long grey wool coat, hiding his arms as he placed his hands in his pockets. With a frown, he pulled his aviators off his eyes and folded them over his shirt, looking straight at the four drivers as if he was ready to chew them out.

Phoenix chuckled amid the silence and looked at his watch before looking back at the silent man. "Really, Royce? It's damn near midnight, why're you wearin' sunglasses? Do we really shine that bright when we kick ass?"

Royce looked down at his watch before rolling his sleeve over it as young voices piped down. "Buon dolore. Voi quattro non riuscite a smettere di correre per una notte?"

Showoff gave him a confused glare, before tapping his ears. "Yo man, we don't speak pasta. Can ya put that in English?" He asked with a smirk. Royce huffed.

"You four have got to slow down on your racing. Those cars have too much heat, and I can only give you so much of a pass before people start to put two and two together. I've already got to work on keeping those Southerners quiet. Give it a rest," Royce ordered, his heavy Italian accent filling the air.

"Aw, c'mon Royce. We're not in the military, give us a break," Phoenix moaned, making his way up the stairs to their hangout room lazily.

"Maybe you need a week or two with my old unit, ragazzino. Fix up that attitude of yours while you're there," Royce sneered with folded arms. Phoenix chuckled as he jumped back down the stairs before standing upright, too upright, and clasping his arms behind his back.

"My attitu~de is most adequate, sire," He responded with a dramatized posh accent. Royce slapped his hand over his eyes before running it down his face.

"Are you ever not a sarcastic child, Tyler?"

Phoenix chuckled, dropping his posh accent. "Eh, only on Tuesdays and Sundays," he smugly replied. Royce shook his head before he looked back at the young driver, leaning on his Skyline.

"Your snarkiness knows no bounds, does it?"

"Nope!"

Royce cracked his neck, before letting out a deep sigh. "I do not have the strength to deal with your shit right now, so let's just focus on what's important. You four have been contracted for another job," he explained.

"Really? That fast? You sure we can't wait a bit and let the heat die down? Cause the cops are lookin' for blood now," Showoff questioned, to which Royce sighed again.

"No, it can't wait, Maxwell. That's why I told you to slow down on the racing, or else Broken Mask will have to go into effect." Royce's warning caused the Factory to fall silent, as all four remembered what that contingency plan entailed.

"Back on topic, the client is paying massive amounts of cash for this job," Royce revealed as he steered the conversation, making Devil lick his lips as he sat on the steps of the metallic stairs leading to the control room.

"How much cash?" Was Devil's question.

"How does a four-way million-dollar reward sound? Of course, after my eighty percent cut." The four kids quickly did the math in their heads, before Apex's eyes widened.

"Fifty grand?! Each?!" She exclaimed as the other three followed suit. Royce, for once in a long time, smiled.

"Absolutely. So, you guys game?" He asked. Everyone emphatically nodded, each one salivating at a payday of that size. "In that case, let's plan this out. Avanti." With that, Royce led the outlaws into the control room, cleared off the table full of miscellaneous junk, and laid out the plan. Pulling out a rolled-up map from inside his coat pocket, the older man rolled the paper out onto the glass table. The map was of downtown Detroit, covered in red circles and illustrations, as well as pinned photos of police cruisers and buildings. Pointing towards the left side of the map, Royce directed the crew's attention towards a picture of a car transporter labeled "Sternfuchs Technologies" in bold white paint on the side of it.

"Alright, here's the job. The client wants us to steal a car. More specifically, the 2000 Dodge Viper GTS R Concept. It's currently being moved out of Detroit, and our client wants us to steal it for him while it's in transit. I'm sure you all know it's the only one in the whole world, so that means no scratching the paint, Tyler. Maxwell, Kylie, and Victor will cover you with the Blockers."

While the driver of the Skyline let his eyes grow wide in excitement, his friends raised their brows. Max was the first to speak up, adjusting his fedora with a pout. "Ayyo, hol' up. Why's TJ get the Viper?"

Royce narrowed his eyes, leaning on the table to face Max. "Because you throw that mobile boom-box of yours around like the roads are made of ice, Kylie is used to the set-up of the Elise so a Viper would affect her driving style, and you must be insane to think Victor is driving a car that must remain clean."

With the dissent silenced, Royce continued. "The plan is simple. We know the route the transport truck will take, you guys will catch it with a spike strip right as it arrives at Willow Run Airport. Tires go pop, you guys surround with the Blockers. They're all fixed up from the last job, so no worries there. Security should be lax, and the transport will be taken off-guard by a hijacking so close to the airport. But you have to be quick about it, closer to the airport means a faster response time. The car should be gassed up and the driver has the keys according to my source."

Running his finger across the map, Royce tapped his fingers over the U.S Route Twelve, which had been highlighted. "Take the Twelve on the way back, I'll be in a truck near a tunnel for you guys to drive into. Should fool la polizia as long as none of them are on your tail, so make sure you're far ahead of them before you reach the tunnel. The Blockers and that Viper should leave them choking on your dust," Royce explained, before asking the room if they had any questions.

TJ raised his hand. "This much cash for a Viper? There's gotta be a catch. "

"Whoever owns the car did some serious work to it. That car's been tinkered with by a bunch of eggheads for some project, but that's all I've been told," Royce answered.

"Who's the client?" Came Max's question.

"Sconosciuto, but they're professional. They operate completely off the grid, somehow more than I." Kylie's question came next.

"What about the cops? We still don't have a way to beat this new task force, and the heat's turned all the way up on us."

"Again, this is why I told you not to race. Poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part, capisce? The job moves forward."

"So, let me get this straight. We're taking a job right after a team race to steal a one-off concept car, for some guys that we know nothing about, later tonight?" Vic asked.

Royce glared at the driver of the Charger, before turning his gaze to the others. "Si."

There was a thick silence hanging over the air before Victor smacked the table with a grunt.

"Well, this is just wonderful. I'll be working on my car while we wait." With his hands in his pockets, Victor sauntered down the stairs and made a beeline towards the monster sitting idle.

"Yeah, I'm gonna head back home for a bit before I head back here. Let my mom know I won't be home tomorrow night, and to 'call in sick' for me at school." TJ said, twirling a different set of keys around his finger as Kylie, Max, and Royce kept on planning for the job. TJ ran his eyes over a 2007 Nissan Altima that he slowly approached when a queasy feeling about the job suddenly caused a pit in his stomach. Something felt off. No way fifty grand would be that easy to get.

Before he let the feeling overtake him as he opened the driver-side door, he looked back at his friends and shouted "If I find out you guys touched my baby when I get back, I'm slashing all your tires!" The sea of middle fingers he got back calmed the kid down a bit, but the feeling came back as soon as he slowly drove out of the opposite end of the Factory. He hoped that the job would go right, but something just felt wrong about this one. Maybe it's just the nerves talking...

Author's note: Here we go, the rewrite's in full swing! I hope you all enjoy this more thought-out and put-together version of the story!

-DeltaERB