"Street racers."

When it came to their limits, they pushed past them. Further and further through physical and mental barriers, to the point where "limit" was no longer in their vocabulary. No limits.

Pedestrians? Just pretend that family of four is just another crack in the concrete. Rules? They weren't just made to be broken. They were destined to be shattered. Death? This breed of criminal craved the thought of Death killing itself to catch up to them.

The only thing that could possibly hold these people back were themselves. And maybe just one more thing...

Cops.

=One Week Later, Bayview Police Department=

"Many residents of Bayview are concerned over the spike of street racing in the recent year. Bayview has always been seen as a hotspot for illegal vehicular activity, but recent reports of violent crimes linked to street racing has the city on edge. To make matters even more critical, the current fatality rate in 2004 compared to the year prior, is now at a staggering 5.5 road deaths per 100,000 citizens. The Bayview Police Department is scrambling to come up with a solution, while others are accusing the department of internal corruption. For now, the city requests that people stay inside during late night hours unless absolutely necessary. Please, be safe out there."

The TV went silent...

An eerie quietness swept through the BPD conference room. All the officers, stiff in their seats, looked up in anticipation to the mystery man that stood on the podium. His back was faced away, his hands behind his back. Everyone had heard legends, rumors, and whispers of this mythical policeman that was said to be taking over their department. Truth be told, most of the officers were fatigued and weary from their multiple unsuccessful attempts at trying to end street racing in Bayview, only to come up empty handed.

Calling it a "war" would be putting it lightly. At the end of almost every pursuit, at least one member from either party was always injured. The BPD had enough of it, and all the officers were counting on this "savior", if you will, to live up to his hype. When he finally turned around, his face set the mood. A smile or anything close to it was absent from him. Only years of fatigue and disdain for street racers accompanied his face in the form of an intimidating frown. The nameplate on his shirt did the introduction, "Sergeant Cross."

"You heard what the reporter said. Didn't you?" Cross skipped the formalities of giving his name or anything of the such, and hopped right in. "She said a rate of 5.5.." He cleared his throat and spoke directly into the microphone. "Five… point… five… Now, that's the highest in North America, you see."

Cross paused, and let everyone take in the statement before he reached for a remote that lowered the projector. He wasted no time pointing toward the images on his screen, and began naming off criminals like ABCs.

"Edson 'Eddy' Colt. Rachel Teller. Booke Teems. Caleb Reece. Dominic 'Dom' Toretto. Brian O'Conner. These are a bunch of clowns that each and everyone of you should be familiar with. If you aren't, you have no place in my division. Go home, and study up on your local terrorists. Then, maybe we'll talk about work."

Cross opened his mouth to speak again before a loudmouth cut him off. "Hold on. You said 'terrorists'?!"

Cross blinked once. Nobody usually called him out or questioned any of his words. "That's what I said."

"Listen here, I don't know why everyone is freakin' about all this street racing bullshit, but we should be worried about putting real terrorists in their place, not some kids taking their dad's Camaro out for a-"

"-Now, uh, hold on." Cross interrupted, his tone clearly offended. Cross licked his lips and pierced his brows. "Now, maybe you and I got off on the wrong foot. See, that's my bad. I wanna properly introduce myself, by doing so with my ex-partner." He paused to take out a leather wallet, and pull out a picture of a female officer. "Officer Simmons," Cross nodded, pointing to the picture. When everyone wondered where Cross was going with this, he deadpanned, "She's dead."

He let the photo rest on the podium top, and stared at it as he continued, "Passed away serving her country. By putting street racers, yes terrorists, to justice." He looked directly into the officer that challenged him. "You wanna know how she died? Head-on collision. She suffocated to death. I was the first to get to the accident. And I never knew that the human body could look so… broken, when a punk with no regards for himself or others, crashes into you at a buck-forty."

All was silent again. No one dared to speak.

"Now, I don't know how you folks do it down here in Bayview. But from where I come from, we don't play around. Your department called me in to shape you up to where you need to be in order to fight back. But the first and only thing you should know about me… is that I am done playing games."

=Evening, Olympic City=

Olympic City was always a home away from home for Rachel. Even though it was quite far from Bayview, the distance never stopped Rachel from driving up there whenever her and Samantha graduated, and the latter moved away. Samantha had family that no longer needed the empty garage, so whenever Rachel came by, both women made good use of the space. Now, in the moment, Rachel felt like an alien in her own second home. She stared at the wrecked Honda Civic that sat under a tarp, thinking back to the accident a few months ago.

"C'mon, Rach, how long you gonna stare at my old wheels?"

Rachel took a breath, snapped herself out of her thoughts, and put her eyes on her best friend that idled in the doorway of the garage. Now, it was Samantha's turn to get stared at by Rachel. And no matter how many times she kicked herself and told herself that this wasn't a nightmare, Rachel still could not believe that Samantha was confined to a wheelchair…*

Even though it had been months since the doctor told them that Samantha could never walk again, Rachel still could never look at her best friend the same way. Even so, she did the best she could, lest she piss Samantha off. She hated Rachel looking at her like a different person, and made clear that she didn't need pity - that what happened that night was partly her responsibility.

A part of Rachel begged to differ. She believed there was more to the story, and that there was another party involved that could've contributed to the "accident." For now, Rachel kept her theories to herself, and shifted against Samantha's side. Both of them were on the sofa, wrapped under a blanket together, while Samantha scanned through the photos in Rachel's camcorder. The photos were of her, Brian of course, and the rest of her team that all accumulated since the start of her "Project Underground."

"You guys are called… the 'Nightburners?'" Samantha looked over to Rachel and cringed. "Rachel, I ain't gonna front… that name is a bust."

Rachel smacked her teeth, "Look, I like the name, alright? Suki came up with it."

"Suki's the girl with the Barbie car, right?"

"She hates people callin' it that."

Samantha giggled, and looked at the photos of Suki as a follow up. "She seems fun. You got yourself a nice little posse, Rach. No wonder you don't wanna stay down here in Olympic with lil' ol' me. All the fun is down in Bayview!"

It was meant to be a joke, but Rachel felt the undertones of those words. She could only imagine if Samantha came out of the wreck unscathed…. how much better she'd feel about her crew if Samantha was a part of it. Samantha narrowed her eyes at Rachel and read her like a book. She didn't say anything, just went back to scanning through the photos when one of Brian came up - a picture of them in Rachel's garage. Brian was the tall blonde next to Rachel, with his arm around her waist.

"Oooh la la, girl, he ain't just cute, he's a whole stud! Forget your car, have you taken him for a ride yet?!"

"Oh my God, Sam, we are not about to have this conversation about guys again!"

"Aww, but c'mon, when's the last time you let yourself go and fool around with someone?"

With a chuckle and roll of her shoulders, Rachel brushed Sam's words aside. "Y'know I'm not lookin' to-"

"-Yeah, yeah, you're not lookin' to date, but you've been sayin' that since we graduated. And that was, like, eight years ago!"

"Brian is… *sigh* he's got a lot goin' on. I don't think it would work out."

"You say that about every guy!"

"Damn, then, what else do you want me to say?"

"Say no more, save a slice of him for me!"

Rachel paused and studied the way Samantha stared at the photos of the Nightburners. In all of them, they seemed to be so happy. So at peace. So right for each other. And as Rachel's best friend, it was only natural for Samantha to feel left out. Rachel turned her eyes away and put them onto the wheelchair that sat by the bedroom door.

She sat up, tossed the covers off of her and shook her head. "Sam, I gotta be straight with you for a sec."

"Hm? What's up?"

Rachel bit the inside of her lip and thought about the confession she was about to make - something she hadn't spoken to anybody about. "Things… ain't been the same since the accident."

"What do you mean?"

"..."

"C'mooon, just spit it out. Don't get all cryptic on me."

"...Truth is, I'm scared to get behind the wheel. I haven't even been in a race since I recruited Brian."

"What?! That was months ago! What have you been doin' all this time?"

Rachel shook her head and shrugged. "I guess I've just been distractin' myself with the behind the scenes stuff. Using paperwork as an excuse to stay away."

Samantha sat all the way up and narrowed her eyes at the ground, trying to grasp the weight of what Rachel was really confessing to. "But Rachel… I'm not puttin' two and two' together. You love to race, more than anyone I know."

"And I still do, Sam, it's just that… for some reason, I can't make it past the accident. Whenever I get in my car, I blink, and all of a sudden, I'm in yours instead. And I'm not behind the wheel, instead, I'm right next to you in the passenger seat. And then there's this bright light, then a loud screech and then…-"

"..."

A pause was taken between the two to gauge each other. The both of them seemed at the tipping point of their emotions, but for the sake of each other's cool, kept their emotions from spilling over.

Rachel sucked her teeth and confessed to the rest. "It took everything in me to beat Brian. And even 'til now, it still feels like I'm catching up to myself, if that makes any sense."

Samantha let her mouth curl up in thought. "Liiike…?"

"-Like, I feel like I won't ever be as fast as I was that night," Rachel elaborated. "The last time I tried to put myself out there, it was our last race as a crew. That race I was tellin' you about with that Toretto fellow."

"The drag race with the Urban Maulers?"

"Yeah. I saw Brian shaken up, so I thought I'd do him a solid, throw myself out into the fire, and see what happens. Brian wouldn't let me…" Rachel paused and looked up to the ceiling, "...and every time I think about what could've happened that night, I thank God that Brian stopped me. 'Cause I'm not sure I would be here to talk about it."

"What?"

"I told Brian I was worried about his safety because of how on edge he was. But the truth is, it was the other way around."

Deep in thought, Samantha nodded her head. "Damn… does Brian know?"

"No. None of them do. I lie to em' all the time and tell em' I'm out runnin' errands. They think I'm some amazing leader with this flawless reputation, but I can't even jump into the action like them. I feel like such a fraud, Sam."

Samantha heaved a sigh and shared in Rachel's pain. "Looks like the crash messed us both up, huh?"

Rachel could only stare at some random spot on the wall, nod, and repeat her friend's words. "...Looks like it. But who am I to talk? It ain't right to lump what I'm goin' through in the same category as yours."

Placing the camcorder on the table in front of them, Samantha let a bit of frustration lace her words. "See, this is why we need to stick together. You're losin' your swagger out there, Rachel. I've never heard you sound like this before. Y'know what? Screw it. As soon as I can, I'm gonna find a way to stay down in Bayview for a bit."

"No, no, that's not the answer we're-"

"-Look, I ain't gonna let a bad accident stop me from being a part of the world I love."

"This wasn't just some 'bad accident.' You can't use your le-"

"-You think I don't know that, Rachel?! I'm the one that has to wake up in the morning and stare at an entire half of my body I can't even feel anymore!"

"..."

"My bad, I-"

"-Nah, don't be sorry. I'm the one that's out of line."

"Look, I ain't goin' anywhere. I want to be there for you, and see this thing through with you. Rachel, you're my family. Takin' over Bayview has been our vision for years now. And I'm gonna figure out a way to get back in action. Even if it costs me all that I got…"

Rachel narrowed her eyes at Samantha. "What do you mean by that?"

Samantha took a breath through her nose and gathered her words for a second. "Listen, I didn't want to tell you this until I knew for sure. But there's this… program, right?"

Rachel nodded her head. "Right. Go on…"

"It's… experimental. Voluntary, but still, experimental. There's a chance I could get my legs back."

"What?!" Rachel nearly shot up out of her night gown.

"Wait!" Samantha held up her hand, and let out a frustrated groan through her teeth. "There's a catch. And I'm talkin' a big catch."

Shaking her head, Rachel scooted closer, too curious about the good news to get discouraged. "A 'catch?' So what? Whatever it is, if there's even a SHOT you can walk again, we gotta-"

"-It costs money, Rachel."

Pausing, Rachel searched Samantha's eyes, and saw that there was no hint of positivity in them. "C'mon, Sam, everything costs money. We know that."

"Rachel… It costs money."

Rachel placed her elbows on her thighs, and tossed her head into her palm. "How much?"*