• Prologue

    I should warn you now; if you are one of those people who feel compelled to obey the law's every bidding, this story is not for you. This story consists of individuals rising against the law and breaking it in many aspects. If this offends you, please close the window and carry on with your daily life.

    The drones of car’s engines are the sounds of nature inside Pixel City. Children are scared to cross the street and parents are tempted to home school their kids. Why you ask? Its simple, a two worded phrase that young teenagers seem to love, cops hate, and parents fear; Street Racers. Pixel City used to be the epitome of good economy and the choice place to live, but now its run by the likes of ruthless motorists, and not the everyday run-of-the-mill ones either. These were street racers forged from the depths of the underground, those who made names for themselves not with million dollar corporations or multi-platinum CD’s; these were the men and women behind the silence destroying machines.

    Blacklist drivers, the most notorious racers in Pixel City ran both the underground world and the streets all while evading the police and their significant other’s in-laws. The middle racers were virtually the warriors of the streets, all battling their way to the top, being ensnared by the police and often laced with bounties. However, the rookies have it worse. Now-a-days, it’s even harder for rookies to begin their illegal careers, often being stripped of their pride before they begin and end up in jail. The few who manage to get by the police face the veterans and many don’t make it through them.

    This is my story, the life of a middle class street racer, in the midst of Pixel City’s War.

    Actions

    “Daze, where you at?”
    “South Bridge, posted half a mile from the docks.”
    “Roger, Target is on his way. ETA is about five minutes if he maintains his speed.”
    “Got it.”

    My headlights died out with the flick of a switch, concealing me in the dark and narrow alleyway. My stereo played music in the back, loud enough for me to hear, but quiet enough not to distract me. The target was a young street racer, most likely a high school drop out wanting some free thrills. He had made a bit of a name for himself these past few weeks, causing quite a hype and stirring some embers among the veteran racers. He was the type of driver who had no concern for those around him, often causing many accidents and police chases due to his daytime circus act. His actions couldn’t go on any longer.

    There were a few teams out to recruit him and make this reckless teenager an asset to them, but I was not one of those recruiters. I was what the industry would call a hit-man. My goal wasn’t to kill him even though if that’s what happened the result would be the same. My intention was to destroy his pride and put him back in his place.

    My clock changed time, from 11:59PM to 12:00AM and the driver’s headlights soon appeared on the road in front of me. He turned off to my right and I crept out behind him. It was just my luck that tonight; all the street lights on the empty dock’s road were out. With my headlights off, I stayed a fair distance behind him, just out of range of his brake light’s reach; I was currently invisible to him. We came around the bend into the empty road ahead. He stopped his car, noticing the miniature road block set up by a few of my contacts. He pulled into reverse and I resurrected my headlights halting him where he rested.

    As I opened my door, the night’s cold air swept into my heated car, my jacket taking most the chill. His car had a low purr to it. The suspension drop carried the car within two inches of the deck, resting on 17” five-spoke rims. His windows were tinted, preventing me seeing inside. I knocked on the window.

    “Hey kid, open up.”

    The window rolled down. His car was a green Acura Integra, which visually, looked pretty stock but everyone knew that if he was still around, it wasn’t. Inside were glowing green, red and blue lights, coming from both the HUD and the Radio Deck. The driver looked to be about 18, maybe a little older. His hat was tilted off to the side and his hood covered most his features.

    “Hi, Officer.” The kid answered sarcastically.

    “You’re funny kid. Listen. You’re causing a bit of a ruckus on these streets lately, and the higher-ups don’t like it.”

    “Is that so, what are they going to do, ground me?”

    I smiled.

    “No…no. They won’t ground you.” The smile escaped my face. “They’ll kill you.”

    He became silent.

    “I’ll give you one chance, the final test if you will, to prove your skill. In this test it’s an all or nothing situation. If you win, I will personally take you to meet one of these higher-ups and put in a word for you. If not…you return to wherever you came from, and stay off these streets.”

    "How do I know that's for real? For all I know, you're just some punk gang that wanted to play a prank on someone."

    “Haha, that’s just something you’ll have to figure out for yourself. I just hope you don’t…die…before you figure it out.” I made the motion to walk away and he reached out and grabbed my arm.

    “So, you’re interested?”

    “All I have to do is beat you, right.”

    Smirking, I replied. “Correct. All you have to do, is beat me.”

    I walked back to my car and signaled for my buddies to meet us at the end. One stayed behind to wave us off.

    His Acura revved a little more, my Midnight Black Subaru WRX STI almost seemed like it was looming over it. Moving up next to him I decided that I would make this kill quick, the less commotion I caused the better for everyone. Flashing my lights, my connection signaled us to begin. We started at a slow 30MPH roll, hitting the next telephone pole would be our starting line. I watched his driving style as I cruised next to him, he was comfortable in his car, but he seemed to almost put too much faith in it, revving once every 30 seconds or so. Hitting the line, he miss-shifted and stressed the engine. I couldn’t wait. I took off from beside him and ran down the straightaway. I couldn’t just leave him though, its not enough punishment for my satisfaction. I slowed down around the first turn and purposely let him by. It was time for the plan to take action. At the end of the dock’s road is a narrow one way lane. Beside that is a big empty meadow with about a 7 foot drop; enough of a drop to kill a car’s suspension for good if taken wrong. That was the plan. I waited until we were within visual distance, and I had blocked his way to begin messing with him. I could tell he had never raced the dock before because his driving style showed it, not taking into account anything in front of him. The end of the road came quick and he noticed it all too late, flying off the side and into the meadow below it.

    The rest of the night was mind numbing. With nothing really happening anymore, the streets grew quick. There were many ‘Hidden Devils’ inside Pixel City now. They were hired street racers working under the police supervision. Their goal was to become ‘one of us’ and catch us off guard. They were able to snag Trap-Head, a once famous blacklist racer, by ensnaring him in a garage of someone he thought was a friend. Fear was struck into the hearts and minds of every racer that day and even now nobody trusts anyone.

    The flicker of the street lights flying by my canopy no longer had any affect on my eyes. After my seemingly long three year career, many things that would seem to be distractions were nothing but mere objects now. The black leather of my racing seat warmed up in the cold night, my music turned up quite loudly to keep me awake. The clock turned once more and let out a slight beep, as if telling me that it was now two in the morning. The long night had stayed that way and as usual, I was once more unable to sleep. The highway was empty as it usually was, passing up the occasional car going back to his apartment after a long night of overtime. With things the way they were, it seemed like Pixel City was in a constant state of night, and would only get darker from here.

    Red and blue lights flashed behind me, moving faster until they came up on my tail, it was the police. I made a motion to pull over but that wasn’t my plan. I kicked the gear into fourth, yanked the emergency brake and pulled a full one-eighty, my car now facing the police. Putting the car into reverse I drove backwards on the empty road a few hundred feet, and then activated the brakes. My car slid to a halting stop, both police cruisers were now facing me. Neither officer left their car, an unusual move. Revving my engine, the cops inched closer trying to block me in. The gear slipped into first, and then second, my tires smoked behind me. Releasing the brake my car careened towards them. Pulling the emergency brake once again I executed another one eighty and took off once more. The police followed me as expected. It was time to make a move they wouldn’t soon forget. Up ahead there was an off-ramp, followed by a quick sweeper that lead into a full hairpin, the catch was the lake on the other side of the sweeper. Sixty, sixty-five, seventy-five, ninety, one-ten; my car shot through the off ramp, the cops close behind. The sweeper came closer with every second. I hit the brakes, down-shifted and hit the gas, the all wheel drive propelling me through the sweeper at ninety plus. The police didn’t see it and slammed the brakes to their cruisers, coming to an abrupt halt at the end of the straight. My escape was made.

    The music still played, the GPS still clicked, and my mind was still busy. This routine with the cops was becoming old. That had been my eighth chase this week and they seemed to become increasingly difficult every time. My original plan consisted of heading back to my apartment where both room-mates were probably sleeping, and finish my college report. But with the actions of tonight playing in my head, that seemed unlikely. Many of my nights had been filled with similar occurrences; I would be called halfway through a decent night with someone wanting a driver gone and since its how I make my money, I don’t have much choice. My pay was better than most desk jobs, making anywhere from $3,000 to $50,000 a hit, my friends would always ask where I would get my money and I would do nothing but smile and change the subject; knowing them they probably think I’m hustlin’ weed or something.

    Last night’s hit brought me a grand total of $6,000, nothing big. Many of my actions hadn’t gone unnoticed either, there were a few teams who had approached me asking me to join them and I even started my own at one point. Not much farther into the future I had resigned from my position in my team and went back to this job. There’s something about being on a team that makes you feel vulnerable to the rest of the world, but when your on your own, there’s no strings attached. That had been the downfall of a few of my former comrades who become caught up in this idea of team-ship, one for all and all for one. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for being united, but in a time like this, it’s everyman for himself. Not only were the cops after you, but other racers were as well trying to work their way to the top; just as I am.

    But I’m not that self-centered; I did have a team I loved once. The Rising Suns was a place I called home. Darren, the Leader, had pretty much drafted me into the team without much choice. From there I moved my way up from a no name recruit, to the Co-Leader of the legendary team that once ruled Pixel City. The team had done a lot for me, giving me people to count on and a way to survive amongst the cruel world. But it was short-lived. Soon after Operation Blue Skies had begun, The Rising Suns began to diminish. A few of the team members left when the heat began to rise on the team; one died in a horrific cop pursuit. We couldn’t take much more; we had to go our separate ways. It was this sense of sticking up for each other that got him killed.

    Kirby

    Kirby was the glue that held TRS together. There was a certain personality about him that everyone seemed to enjoy. He was always positive no matter how dire the situation. When he was busy, he would do his best to help with anything he could, he was a team player. He was about sixteen years of age when he joined our ranks, joining not much longer after I did. Due to his schooling and extracurricular activities, he wasn’t the most active person on the team.

    The way he went out though, I don’t think it suited him. He might have thought it was the way he was meant to die but now that I think back on that day, it feels so wrong. It was raining over Pixel City as it had so much then. The dark clouds overhead almost gave the city an unreal feeling of oppression that we were so desperately fighting against. It couldn’t have been any later than eleven o’clock, the moon was hidden behind the black clouds, the only light being provided was the artificial lights coming from the headlights of our cars and the sirens of the cops behind us.

    There were four of us; we had been taking part in a race earlier that evening. Someone must have tipped off the police because not thirty minutes after we had all gathered, they showed up in numbers much greater than ours, numbers so vast they seemed like an army of hunters and we were the deer waiting to be taken out. But us four, no, we couldn’t go out so easily. We put up a fight. Taking off down the highway in the middle of the pouring rain, our tires weren’t able to get full traction, but somehow the police seemed to stick to our tails. Things were looking bleak as we could feel they’re noses being push against our bumpers in an attempt to pit us. Something had to be done and Kirby was the one who chose to do it.

    He dropped his speed dramatically, swerving out behind our three vehicles, placing a barrier between us and the dogs. It was quiet when the radio chatter came on. His voice came over the speaker.

    “Guys! Go! I’ll hold them off! Hahaha!”

    His laughter was cut off as his signal died. I can remember looking in my rear view as we got farther away from him. The police had boxed him in, one behind, and one on either side. I heard the whine of his engine as he gunned it for the last time, flying out of the cage and into the off ramp, the police close behind. He shot out on the other side of the highway not much farther ahead, traveling the opposite direction. But it was too late, a cruiser clipped his rear end pitting him around, his car nailed the wall and the last thing I saw before the final bend was the devastating wreckage of what once was his Nissan Silvia, now was just a pile of parts.

    We had no idea how bad the crash really was. When we arrived back at the ship Darren was waiting for us in the lobby. His face was in pure awe, the TV flickering light in his face. The carnage was incredible, but costly. All four pursuit vehicles that had been after us were immobile; Kirby’s Silvia laid in pieces on the far side of the road. I couldn’t help but think to myself, “Get out Kirb. You can do it, you’re alright!” But there was no movement from inside the cockpit. We watched from the sky-cam as backup arrived as well as ambulances, taking the injured officers and our friend with them.

    “The injured are being transported to Central Hospital as we speak.”
    Immediately, the team was on the move. Occupying our civilian vehicles, we made our way to the hospital as fast as possible. As we arrived, the rain came down harder almost as if the sky was crying. The visit to the room went quick. Darren went inside first to see the damage. He spent about five minutes inside and came out with a blank look on his face. Then I went in. His body was covered from head to toe. A nurse stood on the opposite side of the bed with a hand grasping the blanket. She uncovered the face. It was indeed my friend, Kirby. He didn’t look like the street racer we all knew anymore. He was just a kid now, a young sixteen year old adrenaline junkie who went out in a way so unfitting.



    A Very Rainy Day

    It had been a week since Kirby’s death. The team was quiet, each one of us doing our own things off in our own worlds. The city was still covered in rain and darkness making it hard to distinguish night from day. My STi laid motionless in the empty parking lot across the street from the mall. I needed an escape from the world and that escape was the Arcade housed in the mall. I played my anger into Wangan Midnight and Initial D, going through three or four cards, burning a couple hundred dollars a day. But my anger was gone today. I received a call, requesting once again another hit. I agreed and my next stop was the local Starbucks Coffee shop, where my client was enjoying his mocha. The roads were unusually busy, my guess was that everyone was tired of being cramped inside their stuffy houses and decided to deal with the rain instead.

    My client was a fairly wealthy looking man sitting in the back corner of the café. He stood about 6’2” maybe 180 pounds or more. His dark sunglasses shielded his eyes of any suspicions he may have had of me. I put my hands in my jacket pockets and sat down at his table. He took another sip of his coffee and my guess is that he was staring me down, mistaking me for a dumb kid just sittin’ down for the hell of it.

    “Whose the target?” I leaned back in my chair, keeping my eyes on him and my ears open.
    “He goes by ***********, you know him.”
    “I do. He’s an old high-school rival of mine.”
    “Good, than this should be fun for you.” He grinned, if I had seen his eyes I’m sure I would have seen an evil look.
    “Why do you want him gone? From my understanding he’s been quite the racer and could be a valuable asset to your team, Mr. Hawkins.”
    “He is a threat.”
    “Sorry, that’s not good enough.”
    “If you want to get paid, that’s all you need to know.”

    I stood up from the chair. He looked up at me and placed his coffee on the table.

    “I’ll give you one last chance. Why do you want him gone?”
    “I’m sticking with what I’ve said.”

    I turned around and began to make my way to the door.

    “I want him gone by tomorrow.”

    I stopped and looked back at him.

    “Do it yourself. I decline.”

    I sat inside my car which was resting in the café parking lot. The rain clicked and bounced off the roof and ran in tiny rivers down the tinted windows of my car. The music played quietly, ‘Breathe’ by Breaking Benjamin played in the background…

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