Home | Wiki | Live Chat | Dev Stream | YouTube | Archived Forums | Contact

The Great Automation Run | Chapter 16 and final results!


“What even IS that thing?” Ken asked. His friend, a fellow Tuuklandian named Mosse Mikronak, had just pulled up to the parking lot in a black five door hatchback of forgettable styling. It was a sad looking little car, the kind that was advertised on TV with promises of upholding family values while easy listening music played.

“I mean, I know it’s a 4th gen Potatismos but are you seriously suggesting I use that?” he continued.
“Hey, it’s the best I could get with your money and so little time”, replied Mosse.
“Besides, it’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad? Don’t they have like really shit engines too?” Ken asked, frowning. He knew Mosse was good with cars, but he was starting to have doubts whether Mosse understood the concept of racing. He would have liked to reach Athens before the next millennium.
“They’re not shit. For a tractor… heh. They pull enough and they’re reliable. Ish.” Mosse said while lighting a cigarette.
“Anyway, it’s not stock you know. I, uh, acquired a fifth gen two litre turbo engine. Drops right in. And it’s four wheel drive. They didn’t make many of those.”

Ken orbited the car, eyeing it up and down. He had questions:
“So it’s, what? 200 horsepower?”
Mosse took a drag from his cigarette.
“Two two eight with my extra tweaks.”
“Any lightening?”
Another drag and a puff of smoke, then:
“I threw the back seat and radio out.”
“Radio? Fuck. You know I need to sit in that thing for thousands of kilometers.”
“You don’t even understand any of the languages of the countries you’re gonna drive through.”
“You have heard of this thing called music, haven’t you?”
“Please. They don’t even play disco anymore. What’s the point?”
Mosse seemed to genuinely mean that.

“I give up”, said Ken. “Does it at least handle nice?”
“Dude, I just drove it to Ronda and back yesterday. It’s a real driver’s car. You’ll learn to love it. And it’s safe, you got anti lock brakes, traction control, airbag and everything. Hey man, could you give me a ride to the airport?”
“Huh? You’re leaving already?”
“Yeah, I wanna visit home before going to Monaco. Kid’s been asking for one of those play station thingies for his birthday.”
“You mean you won’t be available if I need help before Monaco?”
“Relax, the car’s not gonna break down. Probably. And if it does, you’re a big boy. You can handle it on your own. These things are easy to fix.”

They hopped in the car. The seat was not very comfortable and it made creaky noises when Ken shifted his weight while strapping himself in. Only the radio was missing from the gray dashboard, but there were mysterious drill holes everywhere. A vanilla Wunderbaum dangled from the rear view mirror. Ken turned the ignition.

Reassuringly, the car started with ease. Its three inch tail pipe and single straight muffler let a satisfying amount of that four banger noise through. Not quite the scream of a V6 turbo that he had once gotten used to commandeering a very different kind of car, but a cammy drone that still told you there was a lot of tiny explosions happening in quick succession, ready to move you from here to the next town over in… who knows what kind of time? At least this should be an interesting experience.




Just before we start this jaunt, are we missing anyone? 40+ entrants multiplies the extent of my failure , so I’m going to watch the supercars do 161 laps of Mount Panorama.


8.10.2017, Suzuka, Japan

3:00 AM. A Maesima van pulls up to the Motornation Japan’s HQ and two teenagers are getting out of it, one of them with keys.
Suddenly, a conversation begins:

  • Aki, do you think it’s a good idea? Your dad will probably be very pissed that we’re breaking with his keys that you stole.
  • Don’t worry, he will forgive us… I think - Aki replied being a little unsure just to calm his friend, Kenta down.

Two youths are breaking into the warehouse and bringing their flashlights on instead of turning light to not cause attention. As they’re slowly walking past the vehicles left, Kenta, Aki’s friend stands and says:

  • Holy shit… Aki, maybe we should take this bad boy for a ride? - pointed at Revera XR Ultima.
  • Nah, it’s only a rented car. Plus, I guess we’ve accepted only on watching, eventually getting inside, not taking any of those vehicles out - Aki said this with slight annoyance in his voice. - I’m actually screwed up with lessons in college alone, let alone my dad go nuts.
  • Ok, ok… - Kenta was disappointed here, but walked through the warehouse. When he had found a secret door, he shouted:
  • Aki! Go here, there’s a door, you have keys!
  • Okay… - Aki walked to Kenta and tried to open the door with one of the keys, successfully opened. - But… I don’t think we should go in there. - He lighted up the room, showing glimpse of many road tickets, a slightly burned hunter’s letter with crossed out face and name and a covered car. - But, what do we have to do? Dad will kill both of us anyway.

As the youths went to the room, Aki picked the letter up and put it in the shelf not even reading it due to fact that he couldn’t understand the language on it (Greek). Meanwhile, Kenta was browsing through the collection of speeding and reckless driving tickets and collected the most interesting entries, showing them to Aki.

  • Look - He said, laughing - Your dad must be a badass and road maniac!
  • What the… I know he was racing on touges, but, show me that… - young Shimura, with a very surprised face expression browsed through the most interesting 40 tickets.

Some of them took his attention and said:

  • Katowice, Poland, 230 km/h in 50 km/h zone.
  • Pyrenees, France, caused a fatal crash.
  • Germany, totalled three police interceptors.
  • Greece, broke through isolated ancient temple’s area with a car.

Aki, when he had stopped reading the most interesting ones, told Kenta:

  • Holy fu… I mean, freaking. Holy freaking madness, uh.
  • Can’t you swear? You’re always extremely polite, it even hurts sometimes. - Kenta had replied.
  • Since we’re here, let’s take the cover from this car.

As the boys took out the cover fully they’ve seen a black Maesima NRZ-986 tuned to it’s limits. Custom bodykit, stripped out interior with old german license plates on it’s humongous spoiler (plates saying: DD-GW 791) and in the place of a license plates japanese ones: Suzuka, vehicle indicator 36 with numbers 34-680. Without much thinking, and Kenta’s noticing the keys are inside and his begging for a drive, Aki eventually took the car for a trip after cleaning it up from license plates and other trash, fired it up, took out, closed the warehouse and left alone due to Kenta going to sleep.

As of 4:30 AM, as Kenji was waking up to do a daily morning drive on some mountain roads, he saw his Maesima in the distance and said:

  • What the…

Then he instantly dressed up in a casual suit, grabbed keys to his Altrea and went for a pursuit of the Executor from Spain.

With Aki moving towards Hakone, Kenji had followed him from the distance and when they were reaching the pass, the older Shimura pressed his pedal to the floor and instantly sat on the bumper of NRZ-986, scaring his scared son even further. After some turns, he had passed him and directed to the nearest parking spot.

On the parking spot, he had angrily walked out of the car and walked to the driver’s window of a Maesima and knocked on the window. When Aki pulled the window down, his father said:

  • Get out of this car, moron.

Then, after walking out of the car, Aki had received a solid hit on his head and his father saying:

  • What were you even thinking? How the hell did you find this car?!
  • Umm… dad… It was an accident…
  • You could come out of an accident! Tell me where have you found it! Tell me all the truth or I’ll publish those compromiting New Year’s Eve party photos of you on Facebook!
  • Okay, okay, just stop! We’ve broke into MNJ HQ this night…
  • You did what?! - Kenji hit Aki once again on his head.
  • Just stop, dad! It was Kenta’s idea!
  • Kenta… This semi-evil disrespective wannabe bad boy from your class?
  • Yes, exactly him. He had heard you’re storing some good cars and he wanted to drive one, but had backed out in last moment after breaking in your secret room.
  • Uhh… - Kenji grabs his sinus. - I’ll just tell you one of my biggest secrets once we get to the warehouse. But for now, maybe just try to give me a nice challenge on this mountain pass? - the old man looks at Hakone pass and smiles ironically.
  • I’m accepting. - Aki said - But don’t expect me going your route, dad.
  • No problem.

Then both men got into the cars: Kenji in his Altrea Newman R and Aki in his found Maesima NRZ-986. After the close battle resulted in Kenji winning over his son and arriving to the warehouse, the old man had started:

Well, in 1995, so that is almost exactly 22 years ago from the start, I’ve competed in a cross-Europe race… (here actual story of Computah begins as one huge retrospective of Kenji)


“So, what do we do now?” Asks a woman in black.
“We find where to start. Find the source. Find them.” Replies a man dressed in grey.

“Tech, have got SV running yet? we need it loaded onto the trailer As soon as fucking possible.”
“Yeah, yeah. Give me a fucking second, you rukker.” Techno fires up the V8 at the heart of the car, and begins the task of loading the car onto the trailer hitched to a 1973 Mercial Verona. This would be the start of their journey down to Malaga from Amsterdam.

Techno and Nighthawk don’t actually know each others names. They know each other as Nighthawk and Techno. Nighthawk is from The Czech Republic. He left Czechosolovakia as it was breaking up, moving to Amsterdam, but he says he’s from the Republic. Techno, on the other hand, is born and raised in the Netherlands. She’s been working on cars her entire life, and the Verona being used to transport the Monster is hers.

“Brand in de hell!”
“Police.” They slowly rolled up to the checkpoint. They both realised that neither of them spoke Spanish. Techno rolled down her window, and showed her license.
“Yes, officer?” She snapped in English. The officer muttered something in Spanish, and another officer came walking over.
“What’s in the Trailer, woman.”
“Car for a friend, is all.” Nighthawk was nervous. Nothing on that car was legal.
“We heard news of something. A race. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”
“No. We’ve heard nothing of it. We’ll steer clear of the night life, then” Techno smiled at the officer, as they waved them through.
“Zkurvysyn, that was close.” Nighthawk was shocked. “You nearly cost us the race before it had even begun!” Techno merely laughed as she drove to the hotel where they would stay the night, preparing for the next day.


Walter had been preparing for this outlaw road race for the past few weeks. He had started by spending some time with the stock Guardsman to get a feel for it. After a brief test drive, he remarked: “It’s already powerful enough for me as it is. However, if I don’t need more power, maybe I should lower its weight instead… And the top brass at WMD might just take notice of these modifications sooner or later.”

After a few days’ worth of tinkering, the Guardsman emerged from Walter’s garage without its rear seat (plus a new, lighter pair of front seats), and with a much larger adjustable rear wing in place of the stock item. He’d also swapped the wheels for lighter forged items, added more cooling vents up front, and fitted a straight-pipe exhaust system. Finally, the suspension had been recalibrated for more precise handling while retaining some compliance for uneven surfaces.

Immediately he felt the effects of the modifications he had carried out. The Guardsman wasn’t just louder, it was also nimbler - and quicker too. Not by much, but he reckoned it would be enough to make it a more focused and rewarding driver’s car than it once was.

And so Walter continued his preparations until the night before the start of the run. Having examined the whole route in detail, he whispered to himself, “There should be no reason why me or my car can’t take it”, before he drifted off into light sleep.


GAR Part 0

A black Volga pulls up to the border and two men in black suits step out

“Dammit! Where the hell did those bastards go!”

“Dunno boss, we lost them in the city”

“How hard is it to find these dumb Americans in Europe! They’ve got a big stupid American police car for God’s Sake!”

…meanwhile in a large, blue, inconspicuous American police car…

“You think we lost them?” asked Johnny, looking behind them

“I hope we did because if we didn’t we’re in big trouble” replied Elliot as he hurtled the car into the freeway.

“So where we off to?”

“I already told you, I’ve heard of this race circulating in the underworld. Spain to Greece, fastest wins 5 mil”

“Wait so we’re going back towards Albania?!”

“Not, not yet, but by the time we reach it, we should be about 5 million dollars richer. Besides how hard could the competition be, I doubt they would have any 1000hp cars there anyways”

“I guess but still…”

“You’ve been my co driver for years, you know I’m…we’re the best”

Right…I guess there’s literally no way that anybody would be crazy enough to put a massive 1033hp 7.3L V12 in a car or even a 950hp V8 in a wagon”

“Nah that’s completely impossible” laughed Elliot “noone would do that.”

Little did they know, thats exactly what some people did…


Bob: “Ready Dave?”

Dave: “Yup!”

Dave touched his “lucky” 2nd placed medal he got for the Kessel Race back when he was a pilot.

D: “I still can’t believe I lost to that piece of junk!”


Prologue: A pickup truck pulling a trailer parks in front of a suburban home. The occupant gets out, walks to the front door, and knocks. A woman in a robe opens the door.

Blake: Maria! So good to see you, your beauty has always surpassed my pay grade!

Maria: What do you want?

Blake: Is Luigi here?

Maria: Oh God, is this about that stupid Europe trip? I thought you were joking.

Blake: Not at all.

Maria: So you’re serious about participating in an illegal race across Europe? Why would you do that?

Blake: For the money, for the glory, and for the fun… mostly for the money.

Maria: You’re crazy, you know that?

Blake: Mwa ha ha ha!

Maria: Luigi! Get your ass in here!

(An unshaven Luigi enters the room yawning)

Luigi: It’s too early to be shouting.

Blake: It’s time.

Luigi: For what?

Blake: The thrill of a lifetime.

Luigi: Oh yeah? (YAWN) What are we gonna do? Kidnap the pope?

Blake: How’d you guess? No, the rally!

Luigi: Oh, right! So, you got the car?

Blake: Yup, right outside.

Luigi: Let’s take a look.

Blake: Hold on, shouldn’t you put some pants on first?

Luigi: Right, back in a moment.

Maria: You know what I wish?

Blake: That he didn’t go commando?

Maria: Yup.

Luigi: Okay, let’s take a look.

Luigi: Well, it doesn’t look fast, but I guess we could simply plow through traffic.

Blake: On the trailer you ass! (lifts the cover)

Luigi: Whoa! That’s more like it. Don’t hold out on me, what am I looking at?

Blake: You remember Marc?

Luigi: That crazy jew cop? Yeah.

Blake: He directed me to a police auction where this number was up for sale. A brand new 1995 Petoskey Montauk.

Luigi: 301 TriForce?

Blake: Of course, but this sucker has been modified…

Luigi: Let’s fire her up!

Blake: Alright. (The Montauk starts with a roar)

Luigi: Hmm, it’s a little loud.

Blake: Well, the stock exhaust is designed with noise reduction and emissions in mind. On this car, we’ve got our priorities straightened out.

Luigi: Meaning what? Straightpiped?

Blake: Oh yeah! (Revs the engine)

Luigi: First tunnel we see, the foot will be on the floor with the windows down. When do we leave?

Blake: Two weeks, you got the time off?

Luigi: Of course. It’ll be nice to see the old country again, even if we’re not visiting my home town.

Blake: Sorry, maybe afterwards we can stop by, as long as we don’t get arrested. Just as well, I want to see about a trip to Ireland as well. I figure if I’m on that side of the pond, I might as well make the most of it.

Luigi: Just two weeks away.

Blake: Look out Europe, here we come!


Marx: Huh? where am I?

Lenin: I don’t know either.

Marx. All I know is, I was writing a book then i suddenly appeared here.

Lenin: and for me, I was about to declare Communism.

Marx: so wait, you know about that book I was writing?

Lenin: would appear so.

Marx. Regardless, why don’t we try to figure out where we are, and why we suddenly learned english?

at that moment, they turn around and see a Galt Communitasia

Lenin: well that thing liiks like junk

Marx: i’m not sure what it is, but i’ll agree.


Marx: throws middle finger to sky

Lenin: The thing is a crap four cylinder too, we’re better off walking.


at that moment, the car instantly poofs back to brand new condition, and now has a GVTS Quadcam V8 under the hood

Marx: hey, there’s a piece of paper on it now. something about a race

Lenin: hm, should we get involved?


Lenin: okay Mom, you made your point. Marx, I think I should drive it, i think you lack any knowledge on the automobile.

Voice of God: OH UH, LET ME FIX THAT.

at that moment, Marx learns how to fix everything on the car if it were to break, and Lenin becomes a professional racing driver

Lenin: I guess we can thank you for at least one thing now.

Marx. well anyway, the starting line is just up the road over there according to the paper.

Lenin: Yeah, we should get going then.

Marx: almost forgot, Hey God, while you’re here, tell us why we’re here in what appears to be 1995 according to this paper


Lenin: well, God abandoned us now…

Marx: who cares, we don’t need a sky man to run in this race

Lenin, Good point, we’ll run it and show him.

They now sit in a parking lot near the starting line


Part 0: Preparing

Cindy has just finished wiring the Thunderbolt’s 3.3 liter V8, and fires it up for the first time. It roars to life, and rumbles quite loudly, setting off the alarm on her dad’s Crown Vic. “Shit, I’m gonna have to explain this to him, aren’t I?” Her dad stumbles outside, growing increasingly annoyed with her loud tinkering.

“For god’s sake Cindy, couldn’t you have picked a quieter hobby? And where’d this thing come from?” “I’m helping a friend prepare for a car show,” she spouted off the top of her head. “It has to be perfect.” “Then why is it so loud?” “Sports car, duh.”

He sighed. “How much longer will this take? If this keeps up, the neighbors are gonna file a noise complaint, assuming they haven’t already.”

She begrudgingly moved the car to a parking lot about 4 miles away, near an industrial area, so she could work in peace. The new V8 eagerly revved all the way to it’s 8500 rpm redline, and the car itself pulled strongly from a stop. “I hope it’s enough. If it’s anything like I’ve heard, they’ll all have stripped down, thousand horsepower monsters. I need to see just what this thing will do.” She grabs a stopwatch and practices launching for about 10 minutes. Her average is 3.8 seconds to 60. She’s seen and read enough automotive stats to know that that’s quicker than a Ferrari F40, and she’s absolutely flabbergasted by this realization.

“Damn, maybe I should pay those Mustang guys a visit and avenge the 7…” She almost gives in before she remembers that she still has to get the car to Europe. She speeds off to the docks to secure a spot on a freighter bound for Portugal. “Okay, so I’ll fly in and drive to the start. I’ll need some time to adjust to the car anyway.”

She heads back home and prepares her passport and double checks her funds for the trip. The next week, she buys her plane ticket. In only one more week, she’ll be in Spain, starting the most challenging race she’s ever entered. And this time, she (hopefully) won’t be outpaced.




Apparently Otis wasn’t the only one who thought to arrive early. From the back of the truck he had already counted ten likely entrants mixed in with the seven or eight local tuners that were drawn to the noise, and 40-50 wanabees. There were even a couple of potential sleepers that only an experienced eye can pick out. But the definite ones were the ones like his with American plates, or way out of country plates.

Listening to the handheld police scanner he brought along gave him a heads up that a car was on its way to check him out.

Officer 1: Looking in the cab (in Spanish) Sir what are you doing?

Otis: (in English) Scuse me?

Officer 1: (in English) What are you doing?

Otis: Havin a soak.

Officer 2: (in English) How much have you had to drink?

Otis: Bout seven or eight cans.

Officer 1: (in English) Your dog needs to be on a leash.

Jake glares at the officer.

Officer 2: (in English) What brings you to Spain?

Otis: Ok, Vacation.

Officer 2: (in English) Why did you bring your own car all the way from America?

Otis: Yall don’t have any trucks as rentals, I like my truck.

Officer 2: (in Spanish) He’s lying, he has to be one of the racers.

Officer 1: (in English) Sir you need to clean up this (points at the parts of the hot tub Otis had made), I’m just going to give you a warning but if its still here when I come back I will write you citations.

Otis: Sure thing.

As the officers walk away Otis turns the scanner back on.

Officer 1: (in Spanish on the radio) We need to keep an eye on this one he’s involved.

Otis: (curses in Spanish)

The start of the race was going to be tricky thats for sure.


(Knocks on the door)

Jorma: Hey! What brings you here?

Teuvo: The race. Remember?

Jorma: Yeah… Why do you have that helmet?

Teuvo: It’s for you. A good driver takes care of their co-driver too.

Jorma: It’s an illegal road race, I think that many won’t be wearing helmets.

Teuvo: Do I need to remind you about a certain truck?

Jorma: No, I’ve heard about it too many times. (Grabs helmet) When are we leaving?

Teuvo: Now. The ship’s waiting and the race starts in 2 days. We need to get some rest while we are in Spain so we’ll be ready to start in the morning.

Jorma: Ok. (Starts walking towards the car) Have you got a feeling of the car’s handling yet?

Teuvo: Yeah, it drives like a dream and it’s powerful… And the noise makes me nostalgic about those races we watched.

Jorma: (chuckles) It’s supposed to. Anyways, shall we go?

Teuvo: I was thinking about the same thing.

The V6 starts and lets out a small flame from the exhaust pipe. Teuvo steps on the gas and the car vanishes to the horizon.


Marcus kept his head on a swivel, watching out for both cops and other racers as he tried driving quietly around the city. His thoughts, though, were running in circles about certain vehicles he’d seen.

“A big American truck. And he had a pool in the back, and a dog. Looked like he was doing similar to me, laying low but keeping an eye out. No doubt he saw this thing. Then there’s that big blue police sedan that I saw going the other way. Looked like they were more or less already runnin’ from somethin’. Saw a few others, too, looked quick.” he thought, reaching over for the soda can in the cupholder.

Absentmindedly, he picked it up, then cracked the top open.

“Fucking shit!” Marcus yelled, hurrying to wind down the driver’s side window, then throwing the fizzing can out of the car. “God-damn fuckin’ paint shaker!” he cursed, kicking the firewall. The fizzy missile burst on the road, leaving a sticky stain of cola behind, while Marcus reached for the box of shop towels. “If I get fuckin’ bugs in my car because of that shit, I’m gonna be pissed.”

The inline 3 continued to shudder away, making all the plastic trim in the interior vibrate and rattle. As Marcus signaled his turn around another corner, he took his anger out on the rear tires, kicking the gas pedal into the firewall again and causing the back end of the car to kick out, the engine banging on the 6000 RPM rev limiter. The noise was ear-splitting, echoing around several buildings as Mark hurried away, realizing the cops would surely know where the car was if he kept that up.

Marcus knew that he was at a bit of a disadvantage against some of the rumors he was hearing from the local street racers. While he didn’t necessarily believe the rumors of thousand-horsepower cars, he did keep in mind that it was technically possible. But even he knew the XR-3 was built as an example of power-to-weight ratio and not raw power. He’d had it weighed before bringing it over here to Spain, and it tipped the scales at 1178.4 kilograms. And it threw down 267 horsepower at the rear wheels. While he knew it wasn’t powerful, nor overly fast, he had confidence that a blend of light weight, reasonable power, and high fuel efficiency would at least keep him out of last place, and might get him close to the front. But that light weight came at a terrible cost. The fiberglass body of the XR-3, a brilliant move in the 90’s by Dynamite to offer a highly-fuel-efficient car, was unfortunately rather fragile.

Marcus, however, wasn’t as concerned about the car’s exterior durability. His concerns were about winning, and what it would take to win.


After spending a couple of days in Freddys garage in Bonn, ripping out unnecessary junk from the interior and getting the engine up to (more) speed and going through the ecu to get the last measure of power out of the beast, the trip to Malaga started of nice and easy, like.

Having traversed almost all of France and most of Spain without too many run-ins with the boys in blue, getting close to Málaga upped the cop-to-car ratio significally… Luckily, the Comet could pass as just another EDM fan car, and not putting the pedal to the metal kept the sound coming out of the straight pipes just below the radar.

Cruising along the backroads and alleys of the city looking for some place to lay low for a couple of days before the race, we spotted some potential competition, and some of them looked positively horrifying. The Pink BM just screamed for attention and the limecolored Dynamite skulking around seemed out of place, so probably a racer. A couple of souped up musclecars seemed more then eager to compete, and the eurosports weren’t here to play.

The bartender at the hole-in-the-wall passing as a hotel also mentioned having seen a couple american policecars, and if you can belive it, a Big Effing Truck with a pool (wtf?)… There’s probably more potential racers out there keeping a low profile, so it’ll be intresting to see what the Comet will be up against come raceday :slight_smile:


THE GREAT AUTOMATION RUN: Chapter 0 (Prologue).

Malaga, 8th of October, 1995. 3:15 AM, two hours before the start of the race.

The city was completely quiet, appart from the people returning home after a night out, drinking, dancing, or doing whatever. Traffic was starting to clear out, and the streets would soon be empty again.

The drivers were told to be ready at Merced Square at 5:00AM, as the race would start before traffic built up again. As usual, there were a couple of police patrols around, but nothing too alarming. At most, a patrol or two per neighbourhood.

The racers arrived just in time for the race to start, at the agreed place. There was a wide variety of cars entering the race: from supercars, to pickup trucks, wagons, extremely tuned hatchbacks and sedans and econoboxes.

The square was completely quiet, except for the sound of wrenches working on the engines and the occasional wiper trike going through. The drivers looked at each other, trying to analyze their opponents; trying to guess their styles and strategies. The machines were not exempt from the scrutiny of the racers either; the bolder ones even approached their opponents and asked what was under the hood or what kind of springs their suspension used.

The hour approached swiftly. The race would start soon.

To be continued.

(Music suggestion by @thecarlover!)


Pulling in to the parking lot after a nights rest George was scoping out the competition. Having checked his car on the ferry from Morocco he didn’t need to pop his hood in front of everyone else. Many supercars, muscle cars, and tuning contraptions sat in the parking lot. There was even some redneck and his dog talking to some cops not far from him. Seeing the cops he checked his gun to make sure it was loaded. He slowly creeped into the parking lot and waited, staying in his car and blending in with the local ricers.

Fuel tank full, entire car checked, and gun loaded George is ready to start this race.


Damien was slowly driving his Visios around Malaga. In the same time he looked at the buildings and street names.
-Cops, cops everywhere… It seems that they suspect something - he said.
-Well, of course, you’d be suspicious too if about two or three dozens of fast looking cars apeared in your city out of nowhere in a few days. You think they noticed us? - asked Paolo.
-Paolo, please, man… In a minivan? I know it’s bright yellow, has a wing, quad exhaust and all, but that’s still a minivan, looking as it came out of factory. Not every minivan has to be in a boring colour and you see wings even on slow shitboxes nowadays, factory installed. Better remind me what was the name of that shitty hotel you’ve reserved for us.
-Umm, let me check, I had it written down somewhere… Got it. Casa Al Sur Terraza. Wait… it should be on the next street.

Later, after getting to the hotel, some lunch and wandering through the city streets…
-Damien, have you seen that bright green Bonham?
-Chaucer it was? That estate?
-Yeah. It’s got a V8 I think - it didn’t sound like their usual I6…
-So what? We’ve got one too, turbocharged even. Don’t worry 'bout them.
-Well, we have more competitors. You sure that stopping at 450 hp was a good idea?
-That bunch of coupes and riced compacts?
-I’ve seen an Assoluto too. And some other super-like cars.
-You mean a Tsukuba? Heh. That one will struggle to even keep up with us.
-Ehh… We’ll see.
-Oh don’t be so pesimistic. I bet we’ll only have to worry about these supercars - after all our rear engine layout has it advantages for performance… And with our skill we should be good.

That night both speed freaks fell asleep with very different thoughts…


Francesca and Kyle pull into the square after a motorway test drive

The V8 snarl died away and the exhaust started plinking due to the heat of the metal.

Francesca - All good?
Kyle - Good as it can be.
Francesca - It better because we’re not only taking on rednecks in pick-up trucks , we’re battling with an Erin Scarlet and an Assoluto!
Kyle - Look we have a twin turbo charged 3.5 litre V8 engine and massive tyres don’t worry. And the police shouldn’t be a problem.
Francesca - It is still a Friala, it has the aerodynamics of a barn.
Kyle - Look don’t fret get some rest.
Francesca - I’m not! (obviously worried) go read the map. I’ll go and clean the car.

The Friala sat in the square with its purple paint shinning. Kyle and Francesca had added additional heat shielding to the bonnet as the exhaust system had got extremely hot in test runs.