"Street racers."

When they had enough of the world and all its bullshit, they got into their cars and never turned back. Just kept going and going, never slowing down for anyone or anything. It was a dangerous form of escapism, for only the most hardcore adrenaline-junkies. A religion that every one of them devoted themselves to, passed onto only the most devout disciples so that their practices could be etched into every nook and cranny of the road. Trust these words. These are people who had long since ran out of every last flying fuck to give. But what happens when all of it, everything they live for, is snatched away in just one night?

=Year 2004=

[=Bayview, City Center | 1:27am=]
Every night, deep in the concrete jungle of the underground, street racers fulfilled the streets' desires with their personas of speeding steel. Crackling timbre from modded out engines echoed under the umbrella of the Bayview highway, shielding the crowd of eager spectators from misty drizzle. A green 350Z and a periwinkle Civic Si, belonging to Rachel and Samantha respectively, was the center of attraction. Playing third and forth fiddle was their opponent's cars - an orange R34 with a samurai and rising sun livery, paired with a turquoise Supra that sported flames.

Most of the attention went to Rachel, who was regarded as the queen of street racing in Bayview, which itself boasted the largest import tuner scene on Earth. You could say that Rachel was inherently the queen of street racing throughout the world. And each night that she raced was always a treat, made even more entertaining by Samantha, her ride or die/best friend, and accessory to Rachel's five-star show.

It was comical the amount of money that would be gambled to predict which night would finally sever Rachel's win streak. That moment never came, and as fans crowded around the four cars in the middle of the street, everyone wondered whether tonight would be that mythical night.

Lounging in her driver seat, Rachel confidently spoke into the speaker of her walkie, not a blip of hesitation in her voice. "Whaddya say, Sam? Crowd seems a bit quiet tonight. Ready to wake em' up?"

A staticy chuckle crackled out in response. "I'm feelin' it. Let's send everyone home with a show they'll never forget."/

=Two Minutes in to the Race=

Winning was the easy part. It always was. So it was no surprise that by the second lap, Samantha and Rachel already put a substantial gap between their opponents.

The hard part? That was the issue of finding a way to finish off with a bang!

Samantha thumbed over the button on her walkie and shouted into the receiver, loud enough to compensate for her high-revving VTEC engine that rattled through the cabin. "Woo! Those slow pokes feel like quittin' yet? How 'bout we wrap this up extra special for 'em?"

"We got this race locked, Sam, no need for an encore."

"Aww c'mooon, you're no fun! If I see a rad photo op, y'know I'm gonna go for it. Hope the crowd catches my good side!"

"...Sam…" Rachel's big sis energy was bursting through the portable radio.

"No promises!" Came Samantha's playful response. And when she spotted an upcoming gap in a busy intersection, she knew she found the encore she was looking for. Everybody seemed to love it when their favorite drivers got as close to danger as possible. "Perfect! Watch me thread this needle!" Dropping the walkie, both hands found themselves on the steering wheel. Samantha sucked herself as far as she could go in her seat, and stomped on the pedal. A busy intersection meant nothing if she rocketed through fast enough. This wasn't new to her.

As for Rachel, however, she couldn't help but let her breathing stop for a second or two whenever Samantha got the urge to play stuntwoman in the middle of a race. Even if it was for a cool photo that no one else would have the guts to shoot for.

"Ahp, ahp! Sam! That intersection's a little tight, huh? Ease up a bit. Just in case!"

Rule number one? Never tell Samantha to slow down. Rachel should've known better than that, and it made her roll her eyes when she noticed the Civic wasn't giving heed to her advice.

Samantha thumbed the NOS button under her radio, only for the exact opposite of what she wanted to happen...

...A loss of speed.

Her speedometer started dropping by the numbers, yet with the car coasting dangerously close to the mouth of the intersection.

She pressed the button again. Three times now. A fourth for safe measure.

Nothing.

The fifth was when her breath caught in her throat. "Oh, shit!"

Again and again, Samantha stomped on uncooperative brakes. The electronics in her car glitched on and off like lights from the rave from where the race began.

"Sam, either speed up or slow down! What are you doing?!" When Rachel's plea went unanswered, she panicked even more, amplified twofold now that Samantha was just a block away from the crosslight. "Samantha what's wrong?!"

There was no time to answer.

She was too busy fumbling to throw on her seat belt on for the inevitable crash.

Now in the eye of the crowded intersection, her heartbeat was louder in her ears than the blaring horns. Blinding lights splashed her from both sides, forcing her to shield her eyes.

That was until her eyes snapped back open when she felt a sharp jolt on her rear fender.

An explosion of shattering glass and crunching metal was the last thing she heard before all went to black./

Rachel flung her car to a stop in the middle of the intersection. Not a care in the world was given to the backed up traffic that was honking at the obstacle she made with her Nissan. Samantha was her number one priority, and Rachel committed herself to that priority, running as fast as she could in her heels while clumsily dodging traffic on the oncoming side; that's where the wrecked Honda sat in smoke.

Through the cracked windows, Rachel could see her worst fear - Samantha lying unconscious, her head limp against the B-pillar of the car. The dent in the driver door was so deep, it resembled an acute angle, and it was a miracle that the door didn't impale the woman inside.

"Sam!"

Rachel screamed for her best friend as she yanked on the door that wouldn't budge for anything. When the door handle wouldn't work, Rachel trailed her fingers up to the outer lip of the door, trying to pry it apart with sheer force as she buried her high heel into its side for leverage.

"Samantha!"

By now, more and more people were stepping out of their cars, rushing over to assist Rachel. It all became white noise - tunnel vision from the anxiety ravaging her mind. Samantha had to be okay.

She just had to be.*