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The Great Automation Run | Chapter 16 and final results!


Kenji, as he was getting more and more tired due to lack of sleep and brutality of his Maesima was in the 20th-ish places now. As the mountain pass, especially the snow part had begun he had used the opportunity of all-wheel-drive and turbocharging and eventually got to 21st place, facing a blue Shromet Interval. Seeing that it’s driver had noticed him already and started to sway from side to side just to distract the Japanese.

As Kenji had noticed that, he said:
Not this time. Don’t sway, because you won’t trick me. You will trick yourself.

Then he had gently bumped the Interval, which was still changing lanes and caused it to wild oversteer due to it’s rear biased weight balance, from which the woman, as Kenji has noticed and took a quick look on her face had survived and was still going.

What a beautiful lady. - he thought. - Modern Aphrodite.

From now, Kenji’s attitude to Interval was not to just knock it down, but to gently trick the woman out. As the Japanese noticed, she tried to manipulate his senses and cause him to the fatal mistake, which of course did not bring much effect - Kenji Shimura is actually a person that doesn’t get impressed and manipulated that easily. After some turns of dogfight he actually had seen his chance in Interval leaving a massive gap on the inside of profiled high speed turn.

Go time. - Kenji thought and turned off his headlights.
Uh? - Theodora in meanwhile thought when looking at the rear mirrors and noticing the disappearance of Anikatian monster, still hearing it’s turbocharged engine.

At the beginning of the turn, Kenji used a grass sidewalk to keep his car partially on the road, cutting the turn a bit and having full control thanks to the AWD system installed in his car. When he was just behind the Interval Kenji blasted all possible lighting, so long lights combined with humongous rally foglights. This blinding combination had distracted Theodora enough to panicly swerve to the outside of the turn and let Kenji pass her and gain the position.

What the hell was that, in the name of God?! - Theodora shouted in panic, while she was trying to regain sight in mirrors and in front of her and once she got the sight and stable situation she had smiled, looking at the black tuned car getting away from her and thought: Nice one.

Back to Kenji, he was pressing the NRZ as hard as he can to get to next racer who was, from what he had heard the best racer at the region of Shibukawa in the 80s.

Year 2017
Kenji is still explaining the history behind the NRZ-986 to his son, Aki, who’s listening and looking at the monstrous tuner asks his dad:

  • Father, what did actually happen to the Interval and this woman?
  • Actually, don’t know about her, but my, hm, Kenji grins under his nose “Business Contact” had spotted the blue Shromet Interval 540 on the same license plates as then and his owner is supposedly named Nicholas Justinian.
  • Father… The business contact… Isn’t it just this strange Osaka girl who is stupidly quick on touges? How was her name… Matsusaka?
  • Yeah. Aki, I’m not a fool, don’t trick me with supposed lack of knowledge. You seem to be Mado-san’s fan. You shouldn’t lie not because I’m a wise person, but due to fact that I’ve already noticed that you are posting love reactions to her every Facebook posts and have her under friends list.
  • Aki blushed here and was very confused Dad, what the hell?!
  • Kenji grins and laughs under his nose Okay, enough with shaming you. I think she’ll visit Japan in Christmas, so maybe, you’ll meet… your idol. Kenji laughs there Sorry, I just love to mock people. But, about the Interval: it is much more different from 1995. Actually, as it was a sleeper back then, now it’s sticked all around with Ebay parts, tuned well and it’s extremely quick. Quick enough to dominate all recent racers and their times on Haruna mountain road.
  • Woah… Aki sit for a minute in silence, looking at the NRZ - Okay, continue.

@DoctorNarfy Don’t be mad at me because I did some Theodora dialogue lines, plz :smiley: Needed them for the text.


(Nothing of note happened during this chapter for our Intrepid duo in the Montauk, so here is some dialogue)

Blake: What made you want to come to the United States?

Luigi: I was fearful of a Soviet invasion. There was always that lingering threat. Remember, this was before the wall came down.

Blake: You didn’t think the other European nations would’ve stood a chance?

Luigi: Perhaps, but I was more concerned whether I would stand a chance. The Italian military was more known for quantity, not quality during the war.

Blake: Would’ve been ironic if you escaped to America only to find yourself drafted.

Luigi: If that was the case, then I figure I’d at least have a better chance for survival.

Blake: Did you ever think of moving back?

Luigi: Sure I did. I mean, I didn’t predict that two years later the Cold War would end. Part of me thought about heading back right then.

Blake: What stopped you?

Luigi: I made some friends, hit my stride working at the dealership. Things were going great for me. I’d have been stupid to throw that away. The fact that I met Maria not long after was just a bonus.

Blake: Bet you never thought you’d be coming back this soon.

Luigi: No, but this is a blast.

Blake: Hm, the roads are starting to get wider.

Luigi: Punch it!


Otis pulls in for one of his many fuel stops

While Otis starts filling the truck “Jake grab our lunch out of the cooler, 2 waters and a beer”

Jake claws open the coller in the back of the truck, grabs a bag drops it into the cab, followed by 2 waters, he holds onto the beer until Otis takes it from him.

Otis pours a bottle of water into one side of the dogs dish, and a little bit of the beer into the other and Jake starts drinking. He then starts wolfing down a couple of sandwithces followed by a bottle of water before opening a package of lunchmeat and sets that down in the now empty (beer) side of the dish. The fueling done they tear out of the gas sation with a roar and the sound of protesting tires.

A couple of cars had passed during the refueling, but the two were not worried. Taking an occasional sip of beer Otis would look out the windows at the scenery, taking in as much as he could as it went by in a blur. The police scanner appeared to only have routine traffic on it… as much as Otis could tell as he didn’t understand French.

The Friala was slowly catching up, Jake doing his usual barking back and fourth. The purple sedan pulled up on the right and it was an all out drag race, Jake stepped on the power window switch causing the window to go down, so he stuck his head out to make sure they could hear him better over all of the noise. The road narrowed, fearing that the other driver would rather crash both vehicles Otis eased off just a bit, and pulled in behind them a mere inches off of their bumper. The gaping maw of broken grill smeared with chocolate the only thing they can see out the back, and stayed there as long as he could.


Team Angus - Chapter Seven

Team Angus - Chapter Six
GAR - Chapter 7

8th of October, 2:30pm, somewhere in the south of France…

Having had to abandon the highway to ensure we took the nearest mountain pass, I found that trying to reel in the Chevalier meant that the roads were much too narrow and blind cornered for my taste as well as the handling ability of the Bushranger! This meant that I ended up powersliding through turns due to my inability to see the exits clearly. I only felt out of control when we blasted through Fontpedrouse as I nearly hit a little old lady attempting to cross the street. Valerie was not amused, judging from the force behind her slapping of my shoulder, and made it very clear I was to be more careful next time.

As we came out of Fontpedrouse, the road opened up so I piled on as much speed as I dared and kept my eyes on the road scanning for that Chev; Ben and Valerie got to look at the scenery though and they both felt awe at the stark majesty of alpine scenery in the springtime. Upon making it through the mountain pass the road straightened and entered Ria. We encountered no police resistance, or little old ladies, so my shoulder remained unscathed for a little while longer…

My luck finally turned on the N-116. We were just motoring along, minding our own business when we spotted a familiar shape; The Chev had backed off a bit and we’d caught up!!! Praying that the Bushranger would hold together I downshifted and redlined third so that I could maximise speed and the Bushranger bolted forward like a cheetah attempting to catch it’s prey. Still praying under my breath, I willed that the Chev driver wouldn’t notice as I caught up with them. A hush fell upon the cabin, the blood pumping in my ears, as no-one dared speak in case we drew attention to ourselves. We crept closer and closer and just as we crested a slight rise, Sooty hissed loudly at the Chev, GO NOW!!! I floored the throttle, we slewed sideways then forward, then sideways again. My move forced the Chev to balk which meant I had the momentum AND the initiative!

The Chev stuck close to us, even as we took the turn-off towards Sete, but we lost visuals with them from that point forward. Upon entering the outskirts of Sete I backed off a bit, trying to maintain a lower profile, so that we wouldn’t draw the cops onto us too soon. Nice place, Sete, too bad we can’t stay here and check things out…



Update on the GAR.

Basically, the challenge is NOT dead. Why am I taking so long to upload the next episode then? Well, up until now I’ve been doing all of the calculations manually. I got burned out by this, so what I’ve been doing these last few days has been working on a more automatized spreadsheet so you guys can get the episodes faster, and so I have more time to write better stories to them. Sorry for the delay and thank you guys for your patience.


The new spreadsheet is working 100%, so we should be able to resume the challenge in a matter of a day or so :grin:


Chapter 8: coups de feu.

13 december 2017, 21:30PM. Brooklyn Heights, NY, USA.

Typing sounds were heard from outside of the room; the room was working inside was dimly lit, the only light it received coming in the shape of the moonlight, the laptop brightness and, ocassionally, a cell phone. A man, whose face was not visible from the chin up searched information using the Tor browser, when suddenly his phone vibrated. He grabbed the phone, unlocking it. Message from Janet. “When are you coming back home, honey? We’re waiting for you to have dinner. Your son wants to prepare that pasta you love so much. Kisses.”

The man started typing a reply on his phone. “I won’t be coming back home today. Too much work. Go have pizza with the kids, love you.” He pressed send, and the message was indeed sent. The man then highlighted a name he found in a web site in the deep web. The web site was about illegal racing, and this particular one talked about the Great Automation Run of 1995.

He lighted a cigarette. The sparks that came off the lighter lighted their surroundings, revealing a middle aged man, maybe in his late 40s. He started dialing a number in his phone, and then placed it next to his ear, as he held the cigarette with his free hand.

“Moshi moshi, rejidensu Nakahara?” - A manly voice picked the phone up; it sounded like they were in their early 50s.

“Been a long time, huh?” - Asked the mysterious man, as he raised a slight smile.

“Aaron? Is that you? What do you need?” - Replied the voice.

“I think you owe me a few answers, Kuro…” - Said the man.

Sétè, France, 15:30. 8th of October 1995. 4240km to Athens.
The google maps route can be seen here.

The cars entered the city keeping a low profile. The single lane road made overtaking impossible for the time being, and the police could be on the lookout. As the group entered the outskirts of the city, a bunch of Erin Berloses joined the group. The racers looked at the mysterious cars; they decided to keep a low profile, in case they were undercover cops. But so many? This was certainly strange.

As the lane separation dissappeared, the black cars started maneuvering between the racers, as if they were looking for someone. One of the Erins approached the Chevallier, lowering their co driver window…and sticking a submachine gun out, pointing at the drivers of the police car. Both drivers lowered their heads just in time, as the short burst of fire that’d follow missed its target. With the sound of the gunshots, all of the racers floored it again to try and run away from the shooters.

(Musical suggestion by @MrChips!)

All of the cars crossed the bridge tightly, sharing paint with each other. As the black cars were unable to take out their objective at the first attempt, they started shooting at everyone who was in their way to the Chevallier. Some of the bullets sparkled on the bonnet of the Chaucer, piercing it; soon, the driver of the lime green wagon found himself losing power and having to stop to change a broken injector, which had been hit. The Chupacabra got in front and the EVO RC passed the Bonham as well, but the driver of the latter managed to repair the injector fast enough to catch up and claim back the second place.

The Streets got narrower. In an attempt to avoid the gunshots, the Kanata had to hold back, an opportunity the Bohrs took more advantage of, taking the grand tourer’s former place. One of the Erins pressed the Kiito against one of the guardrails. The Kiito decided to slow down, to avoid what could end up in a fatal crash, but gave its place to the Friala, which swayed past the Erin. The streets got wider and the racers could finally floor it again. This did not leave the black cars behind, though, which either growled or spooled their freshly installed turbos to keep up.

One of the shooters tried to shoot at the barking dog inside the truck. The driver avoided this by simply doing the PIT maneuver on the car, forcing it to spin out. The 350 Turbo, NRZ, Interval and Roadcat avoided the gunshots by swaying their cars violently, forcing them into drifts that turned them into harder targets. The Holyzon, however, was hit on one of the wheels, forcing the driver to drive with a punctured tyre until it was safe to stop and change the tyre.

The driver of the Tsukuba tried to avoid the gunshot while her brother tried to return fire; while they were engaged in a gunfight with one of the shooters, another one of them approached them and pointed their gun at the driver of the white car. Another shot was heard.

The driver of the Dynamite had shot that shooter down.

The racers soon rejoined the highway. Passing just next to the discount supermarket, civilians ran away in panic as they heard the gunshots, their yelling more than audible despite the loud engines. The road got narrower again, and this time falling out of the pavement would have severe consecuences: the roads were surrounded by water in each side; falling out would mean ending sinking in the sea.

As the Erins approached the head of the group, the Potatismos decided to stop to refuel, as the fuel low indicator had already turned on. As the D114 divided itself in two lanes again, the drivers lined up to go through as fast as they could, as well as the shooting cars. The highway could be their salvation…or where they are hunted down.

To be continued.

Times spreadsheet:


Marcus eyed the approaching fleet of Erins with heavy suspicion. That many black cars could only mean two things, and neither were good. Either they were undercover cops, which would be bad because, well, they’re cops against street racers, or worse, they were…

As gunshots rang out, Marcus dropped down two gears and punched it. The XR-3 howled, the big triple picking up sharply as the lime green rear-wheel-drive sedan hurtled away. The bridge was nearly his undoing as they were forced to drive in a pack, mirror-to-mirror and sometimes not even that much. He heard the crunch of steel meeting fiberglass as the car next to him, thankfully not one of the Erins, got a bit closer than desired. No major damage was done, other than leaving a scuff of traded paint on each other’s mirrors.

Once the streets widened, Marcus let the XR-3 have it. “Remember, Marcus, focus. Shift at 5800 RPM, maximum power.” he said out loud to himself, the engine roaring and clapping as loud as some of the gunshots between gears.

He grabbed the handle and wound the driver’s window down, seeing the fleet of Erins bullying the Tsukuba. As one of them pointed their gun at the driver, Marcus stuck his hand out of the window, the little Makarov pistol in his grip. “Thank God I’m left handed.” he said, squeezing the trigger. The pistol clapped once, and the Erin backed off, the shooter and driver dropping their gun on the pavement. He rolled his window up part-way, his gun back in the shoulder holster as they hurried away.

Back on the highway, Marcus opened up the XR-3 again, engine screaming through straight pipes as he raced for more than just position, but also to keep away from the Erins.

“If I find out who dragged the Mafia into this, I’ll kill him myself.” Marcus cursed, glaring at the gas gauge on his car. “Quarter-fucking-tank of gas too.”


GAR Part 4

Elliot pulls the Chevalier up to old music shop

“Hey Ray, you old bastard, you in?” yelled Elliot

“Eh, he aint in, forget it.” replied Johnny

“Who the hell’s there? Quit ya banging…wait”

Ray pull out a gun and shoots in the general direction of Elliot

“Hey you nearly hit me with that!”

“If I werent blind, you’d be dead. What is it you want?”

“Ya still in the mafia right?” Asked Johnny

“Yeah and you lot still owe me 20,000”

“About that” interjected Elliot. " Look we’re in a race called the Great Run. Across Europe, going from Spain to Greece. First to cross the line gets 5 million."

“Well with that much money you’d be able to pay off your debt to the Mafia…but what about me? Where’s my cut?”

“Look 'ere Ray, we’ll give ya a cut, IF ya tell the boss that we’re gonna get him the money.”

“Thats nice and all Johnny, but what if you don’t win? They ain’t gonna be happy, and neither will I”

“Come on Ray, you know Elliot and I are the fastest getaway drivers in town. Noone’s faster than us.”

“Alright. Ill call em, but dont blame me if you find them breathing down the back of your neck. And again, you owe me 20,000. Dont forget that.”

“Alright Ray, thanks a lot. Me and Johnny better get going, dont wanna end up at the back of the pack.”

Johnny and Elliot leave and a man clad in a black suit appears from behind Ray

“So they’re in this race afterall”

“Looks like it boss.”

“Well done Ray. Greece was the end point correct? Looks like I’ll have to greet the winners personally.”

“And I get my share of 30,000?”

“With pleasure Ray…”

The man in the suit pulls out a gun and points it at Ray…

“Well that went well” said Elliot zigzagging across the freeway.

“Sure hope it did. Looks like we could trust Ray afterall”

“Hmm, those black cars have been following us for quite a bit now.”

“What cars? You mean those black Erins…OH SHIT DUCK

Elliot and Johnny duck as the black Erins open fire on the Chevalier



Elliot pushed the Chevalier as it became riddled with bullet holes

“Dammit, I sure as hell hope that the internals arent fucked”

“Goddammit Elliot. I told ya we can’t trust ANYONE. You think Ray would have just let us off that easily?”

“Look, I knew Ray was still with them, but I thought that he would at least be nicer to us. I mean we did do some odd jobs for him everynow and then. DUCK!”

Another burst of gunfire narrowly misses them

“Bloody hell! They are after us.”


“Whaddya think Im doing?”

“This thing still have the shotgun?”

“Under the seat. Load it with HE”

“Got it” replied Johnny as he grabs the gun, “EAT THIS YOU BASTARDS” unloading 4 HE rounds at the black Berlose.

“Alright, thats enough of that, we’re getting outta here!”


Otis pulls into Sete easing off the throttle, everyone seemed to be trying to go in subtle, the narrow road prevented Otis from doing differently. The loud exhaust popping its symphony of cylenders. As the group eased through town groups of matching black cars began intermingling themselves with the racers.
Otis, “Jake this doesn’t look good” as he slides the pump shot gun from its hiding place between the seats.

A burst of gunfire erupted from somewhere behind and Otis floored it. Jake was barking at the black cars, one of whom aparently took offense to the dog, and popped off a couple of rounds at him. Of course Otis took an extreeme offense to that. He hit the brakes causing the car to pass, steered into the rear corner and floored it again. The masive truck hardly noticing the extra drag from the other car as it spun completely around from the passenger side to the drivers side at a high rate of speed. Otis clicked the safety off on the shotgun and let off one blast of steel buckshot under the rear of the offending car as it slammed into a pole. The steel pellets bouncing off of the pavement puncturing anthing they impact on the underside of the car. Otis curses the pain of shooting it one handed as he jacks the slide on the inside of his elbow and the still smoking shell lands on the dash.

“We need to find gas now”, yelled Otis, looking for a place to duck out of sight to fill the almost empty tank.


The Scagliati lads roared off down the highway, preparing to fight their way though the weekend traffic along the riviera, the only saving grace being that everyone else would be in the same boat. Christoforo eased the car off the A9, aiming the car for the coastal road that they decided to take a gamble on. Pasquale was taking a quick nap, full on gas station sandwiches. Just as the car set off into Sete, Pasquale was awakened as the radio crackled to life with frantic shouting…and it wasn’t good news at all.

“Zocca, what’s going on…more polizziotti?” Christoforo asked as he dodged around an Espace, the kids in the back staring agog at the noisy, red roadster.

“Too much chatter right now…wait…” Pasquale paused, the handset pressed to his ear to try and hear better, “black cars…scattering…machine guns…Santa Maria, this is not good Christopez!” Pasquale added, turning the same colour as his suit.

“Wait, what are you talking about…machine guns?!” Christoforo replied, almost in shock. “Who is doing this? The local cops? The gendarmes?” Flipping to the police band, Pasquale was greated by more frantic reports of automatic weapons fire from cars, and an arguably even greater level of confusion.

“No Christopez, the locals have no idea it seems, they’re just as confused as our competitors.” Pasquale paused, for a moment.

“This could only be one thing, Zocca,” Christoforo said, slowing the car way down, to blend with the traffic, “One of the borgate…” he added, quietly.

“I don’t know, Christopez…not even those Napoletano bastards are this brazen,” Pasquale added, “il Russi, maybe?”

“Either way, I’m not going to draw any unwanted attention to us!” Christoforo said, driving as inconspicuously as possible.

“In a bright red roadster with your name on it?!” Pasquale said as he shook his head, slinking down in the seat.


One of two things. Either somebody in the mob REAAAAAALY hates street racers… or really hates SOME of the street racers


still, surprisingly, doing well.


Chapter Five (or, for those who prefer, Capítulo Cinco)
Here, have a flashback

Sumgit was coming to realise he’d never catch the leaders of this race, but that made him decide to do his best not to fall any further back. Around a bend, up a hill, down shift, floor it, up shift, rinse, repeat. The freeway part was fun enough, but his concern was with the potential of local law enforcement being able to catch his 300hp POS. When he had departed from, what was that sign? “Chocolateria Valor”, that green thing wasn’t even in his mirror.

Through the run, he managed to lose a spot to the Tsukuba (and wasn’t surprised), but had succeded in passing the… red… this thing fff, but it was still close enough to be a worry.

And now for Chapitre 6
With no idea who Francois Arago was, Sumgit rushed past houses that seemed too close to the road for his comfort. A hard left at the roundabout, then through the centre of Mont-Louis, he assumed the Tsu was somewhere not t far ahead, but couldn’t be too sure. After pressing a random combination of buttons on his GPS, he found out that he’d covered around 1138KM (pretty dangerous doing that while driving, I know from experience) at an average of 145Km/h. Flying past the entrance to the Sauto Train station, he glanced in his mirror for the twenty thousandth time, and there… about 7 seconds back, still, was that neon Kermit-mobile.


“Who drives these cars? What do they want?” Teuvo pondered and mumbled to himself as Kiito crept through the streets. “I don’t like them one bit. They seem threatening,” Jorma said and unintentionally stopped Teuvo’s train of thought. Teuvo agreed and decided to keep a low profile, although the race-tuned engine made it difficult. Suddenly he said: “You know what? Take this.” He reached into his jacket’s inner pocket and pulled out an old Mauser C96 and gave it to Teuvo. “Why do you have this? And how did you get it?” Jorma asked as he grabbed the gun. “It’s my great-grandfather’s. He fought with it in the civil war. Handle it with care, it’s loaded,” Teuvo explained as he kept an eye on the black cars. “I hope that you actually don’t have to use it.”

Soon after hell broke loose as one of the racers got attacked by one of the black cars. Teuvo saw this and shouted to Jorma: “Fuck this low profile shit! GUN IT!” Teuvo shoved the accelerator to the floor and the V6 growled like an angry cat, spitting out a flame when Teuvo shifted up. “Don’t use the gun yet, Jorma. It’s a last resort,” he said and Jorma nodded. The Erins were mostly concentrating on the other racers, but one stuck behind the Kiito. Soon enough the Erin tried to grind the blue coupe against a railing, which sparked Teuvo to hit the brakes and shout in fury: “BASTARDS! MY PAINTWORK! Jorma, now’s the time to use that gun and shoot that car!” Teuvo accelerated in front of the Erin and Jorma started to shoot the car’s critical parts. Two bullets pierced the radiator and one hit it’s tire. The Erin was forced to stop and the Kiito got away to a safe distance.

The road started to get wider so Teuvo kept his right foot glued down. The Erins were still giving chase, but none of them gave the Kiito too much trouble. Both men were extremely tense. Fear of death was pounding at the back of their skulls. They didn’t care about the racing itself anymore. This was a struggle for survival, where rivals had become allies.


Cath and Julia’s Slightly Illegal Grand Tour of Europe - Part 5!

Two middle aged women, a boot full of booze and an Erin Scarlet!

Original Post - Previous Post

The driving had been hard all day, but the Scarlet hadn’t fretted for a moment. The French Riviera was in sight now, a place where this car was truly at home. Not that they’d have time to visit it before turning north and heading towards central Europe.

“Crouton?” said Cath, offering Julia, who was in the drivers seat.

“Ooh yes please, and if you have any more of those dips and the melba toast. And the breadsticks” she replied. Typically, this was their idea of chcoclate bars and crisps.

Just then, a black Erin Berlose flew past going in the other direction. Another one overtook them shortly afterwards. “Odd” said Julia. “Has Marco sent us a present?”

“Pah, present?” replied Cath, sarcastically. “This is the man who’s bought be a Dolly Parton CD for Christmas 3 years in a row”. They both chuckled.

But something wasn’t right. Cars were driving more slowly up ahead, there were emergency vehicles driving about, and a couple of other racers were at the roadside making repairs.

“Is this in your guidebook?” joked Cath. Julia laughed, but it was a nervous one. They passed one of the crashed Berloses. “Geez” she said.

“I don’t like this” said Julia. She tensed up as they approached sea crossing of the D114. It was time to get serious.



Is it the Dacia Sandero?


Walter had been making steady, if slow progress, throughout the course of the run thus far. Up to now, he had rarely encountered anything out of the ordinary, with his slipstream pass on the Barracuda being the highlight. But what happened next would leave him utterly shocked, horrified and stunned. And he was totally unprepared for it.

Within minutes, he came across the scene of a failed mob hit that quickly turned into a brutal massacre. None of the other racers were injured in the shootout, but some of their cars had been damaged and subsequently repaired. As he drove past the carnage, he screamed loudly, “What is this, Die Hard with a Vengeance? Those bloodthirsty, idiotic maniacs must really have a grudge against someone - or something to commit an atrocity on this scale! They have no right to wreak wanton destruction in any car race, legal or not! I hope they ALL get what they deserve sooner or later!” Seething with rage, he immediately upped his pace and set off into the distance to close the gap on those ahead of him - and escape from any assassins.

It wouldn’t be easy, though. These narrow roads tested his concentration, especially on the coastal section where a crash could potentially be deadly. The wider freeway that followed, meanwhile, was a test of guts, but he relished this section: it was the ideal place for him to stretch his car’s legs. And so, he defiantly uttered the words that he hoped would strike fear into the assassins: “If anyone ever tries to destroy this car or take my life, then it will be over my dead body!”


Chapter 8

The Friala cruised which kept the sound at bay but the abundance of crazy cars in a pack didn’t do much for the lower profile despite the efforts of the racers.

“That pick-up truck is still behind us and that blue Kiito is just ahead of us aswell” said Francesca turning to Kyle and throwing a glance through the rear window at the other racers.

“There’s a Berlose between the Kiito and us it’s all blacked out. Didn’t see it at the start of the race” replied Kyle who also was looking out of the rear window of the car.

As soon as the words left Kyle’s lips the unmistakable sound of gunfire ricocheted through the air and in an instant the three racers stepped on it, the snarling V8, growling V6 and roaring V12 resonated and filled the air but as they racers accelerated the sound of a spooling turbo and straight six engine became audible.

“Holy shit!” yelled Kyle turning to Francesca with his mouth open, his cry was almost completely drowned out by the sound of engines.

The blacked-out Berlose began squeezing the Kiito into the guardrail but cannily the driver of the blue car slowed to avoid a crash and Francesca swerved around the Berlose not managing to catch a glimpse of the driver due to the heavily tinted windows.

“Bloody hell they’re going to kill someone” shouted Francesca as the Berlose driver began to open fire on the barking dog that was hanging out of the window of the pick-up truck. “Oh no you don’t, Kyle get that brick from the glovebox”

“Brick! what brick?!” replied Kyle in a panic whilst rummaging through the glovebox. “Got it never mind.”

Kyle leans out the window brick in hand and just at the moment when the driver of Redneck Express executed a rather skillful pit manouver on the Berlose, Kyle launched the brick into side of the spinning Berlose. Kyle gave the thumbs up to the pick-up driver and crawled back into the car. Francesca changed up a gear, the car whistled and spat and shrieks of civilians were heard.

The road division forced the pack of racers into two sides the Friala piled in with other racers close behind, despite the speed the two inside the car were anxious if they could outrun the tuned Erin’s on the highway.


Cindy nervously rowed through the gears, with the roar of the Thunderbolt’s V8 being the only thing calming her nerves after that ominous helicopter kept watch of the pack. That and the 4 cups of coffee didn’t help either. But just as she looked down from the sky, she saw an even more ominous lone of black cars. As th rolled down their windows, her first instinct was to chuck her (scalding hot) 6th cup at one of them. She then retreated as she heard gunfire.

She had overheard some mob related plans that she probably shouldn’t have, but she didn’t think the race would be targeted by anyone but the cops. She began to brake sharply to avoid incoming fire, using the Thunderbolt’s agility to her advantage.

Even so, she’s shaking from the thought of getting in over her head (that and she threw her last cup of coffee out the window)


#Team Marx

Lenin: oh dear, are those gunshots?

Marx: Sounds like it, but much faster than i ever heard before

Lenin: what kind of gun do you think it is?

Marx: one of the Maxim guns from the American civil war?

Lenin: no, sounds faster than that.

Marx: well i don’t know, i’m not from 1995

Lenin: oh, right.

Marx: then you better keep driving before we’re shot to death!

Lenin: on it.