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The Great Automation Run | Chapter 16 and final results!


The Thunderbolt progressively roared louder and louder between gear changes as the road straightened out. Cindy used this as an opportunity to throw in a new tape, as the icy roads meant she couldn’t change it without “slipping up” (Slipped, Ice, get it? Hahahaha…I’ll show myself out now).

She was still distracted by thoughts about that helicopter. Chatter from the other drivers speculates that it might be a repeat of the mess with the Spanish Civil Guard. “All the more reason to keep going. If I’m already being pursued by the law here, I might as well see it through to the end and chance that prize money.”

As time went on, the sun peeked out where the helicopter used to be. And the race came to another highway, which meant back to the usual shenanigans. Cindy quickly finished off another cup of coffee before downshifting for the upcoming straight.


Marcus drove hard through the straightening twisties, the XR-3 bellowing as he did so, weaving around corners violently. Locked in a duel with the Invader, he resorted to hurling insults and garbage at the car around every corner, until he eventually ran out of garbage, empty drink cans, and piss bottles to throw. Then he just hurled insults and drove aggressively, making passing difficult.

He knew he was pushing his luck, and that this duel with another driver was costing him time, but for once it felt good to be back to an old-fashioned street race, and not concerning himself with the cops, or the military police, or…

“That fucking helicopter is still up there. Fucking crash already, you rat prick.” Marcus cursed, though found enough time to switch the lighting mode toggle from ‘Steady On’ to ‘Dance Fucker Dance,’ causing the neon lights to pulse, flash, and glow in time with his late 80’s techno.

As the group hurtled down the A-9 highway, Marcus let the XR-3 stretch its legs, the big triple winding out with a thunderous roar. This lasted until they closed in on Sète, where even Marcus flipped the lighting mode toggle to ‘Off’ to remain only slightly less obvious.


still top 10. suprised!


Chapter 6:

Francesca sat straddled on-top of Kyle’s lap ,arms crossed over pulling off of her off white top, her dark brown hair falling out of the neck hole dropping over her shoulders. She lent forward coming close to his ear and whispered “WAKE UP KYLE”. Kyle awoke startled “stop drooling you idiot” he heard from his right. Through his blurred vision he saw that Francesca was looking at him with quite the expression.

“Kyle you remember that helicopter that we saw earlier it’s here again”
“Where’s no point trying to blend in Fran we’re in a bright purple '65 V8 Friala just drive as fast as you can”
“Well if you insist”
Francesca smirks and produces huge rooster tails of snow from the rear tires
“You child” laughs Kyle
“Oh you love me really”

As the snow flurry built in strength the screen began to ice over reducing visibility and the inside and the heater was turned on full blast.
“We need to get this ice off the screen I can’t see the signs” “Fran!”
“I’m not stopping Kyle, lean out the window, the scraper’s in the glove box”
“It’s below zero out there!”
“For gods sake i’ll do it then”

Kyle leans out the window, his lengthy dirty blonde hair filling with fine flakes of snow as he scraped the icy windscreen like a mad man clearing both sides at a stretch
He bent back through the window with a red face
“Is it cold out there? It looks it”
“My hand is stuck in a claw LOOK AT IT”
“Put it by the heater blower it’ll be fine”

Chapter 7:

Francesca turned tightly into the corner planting her foot on exit screeching the rear tyres and laughing to herself.
“God I miss having a radio you’re alright you can drive to take your mind off things”
“Make conversation then”
“Okay do you like Supergrass?”
“They’re alright I remember you played them for me in the GT-Turbo when we ate at that kebab place and you raced that Astra afterwards”
“I remember that yeah, the Astra kerbed its wheel going past the BP station”

The Friala approached the town of Fontpedrouse snarling and whistling through the buildings, Kyle noticed the T-25 came into view Francesca drew along side the cattle dog stuck its head out the window barking at the loud side exit exhausts.
“Jesus christ look at the size of that truck its massive” shouted Kyle over the sound of the 10.5 litre V12 and Lotus V8
“Why doesn’t that redneck piss off look at his hat for gods sake”
“He’s not backing down Fran”
Francesca kept her foot in it as the street narrowed further forcing the pickup truck to back out for now
“Bloody hell your driving is brilliant, brilliant but scary”

Passing through the sunlit trees and tight road they admired the scenery for once the car regained some grip. Speeding through the aqueduct and the car raced in and out of Ria, finally leaving the moutains. They joined the A-9 and gunned it towards Sète in a purple blur and a sea noise.

“Keep it quieter this time as we go into Sète, we need to keep lower profile … well as low as we can”


GAR Part 3
Since something significant happened this chapter, we’ll pick up the story here

“Damn, looks like the mountain road’s opening up a bit” said Elliot

"Yeah, means you can put down the pedal more…"Johnny replied.

“Yeah yeah, besides, do we really need to, no way that fatass muscle car could have caught…”

It was at that moment the Bushranger overtook the Chevalier in the same manner they were over taken back in Spain…


“Werent going to catch us eh? WELL THEY JUST FUCKING DID!!” yelled Johnny

“Well Ill catch them, its simple”

“THEN PUT THE FUCKING PEDAL DOWN THEN YOU JACKASS! God, it would be a pain in the arse to see their smug faces for more than a bloody minute”

“Alright, the map says that we take a little detour into the next town.”

"What town is it John?

“Setee? Seete? Look, I dont fucking know French. All I know is that its French and its where we’re heading”

“Sète?..Wait a second…isn’t that where old Ray lives?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Ya think he’s still with the Mafia?”

“Nah, I hear, they havent talked to him, you know hes blind right. Aint no way they’ll still be talking to him.”

“Well, I guess we’ll be seeing him then…”


The weather improved as the Scagliati made its way down from the high mountain pass, the snow giving way to a light drizzle once again. With the route ahead, Christoforo took the opportunity to try and get a bit of sleep; even with a set of earplugs drowning out most of the V12’s music, and even with a pair of dark aviators on, the lack of space in the 330 Turismo made any attempt at sleep to be fitful at best. Still, it was better than nothing, and Christoforo awoke an hour or so later as Pasquale pulled into the services just outside Narbonne.

“Hey Christopez, guess what? We’re in Athens and we won the race!” Pasquale said, barely containing himself, as his co-driver roused from his nap. Not really sure what to believe, Christoforo gave his head a bit of a shake and looked around, seeing Renaults and Peugeots everywhere.

“Funny, I didn’t know they spoke French in Greece…” Christoforo said groggily as he stretched out as best he could in the cramped cabin.

“Hey, it’s the new Europe, man…anything is possible now!” Pasquale retorted as he shut the engine off at the pump. Both men got out of the car, with Christoforo heading inside to get coffee and something to eat, while Pasquale brimmed both of the 330’s tanks, quelling the car’s prodigious appetite for premium unleaded, at least for now. Christoforo returned with a couple of sandwiches and tossed one to Pasquale as he checked the fluids in the 330’s engine bay.

“I was thinking, Zocca,” Christoforo said as he opened his sandwich on the roof of the car, “it’s Sunday afternoon, a nice day, and we’re heading into the Riviera - traffic is going to be pretty bad for the next few hours. We might want to re-think our planned route a little bit, to try and detour around the jams…and the cops…”

“Alright, let’s see what we can come up with…” Pasquale said as he reached into the map pocket in the driver’s door…


Having reached a more open, but still narrow, section of road, Walter felt like he could once again cut loose by sliding through the turns. And as he drove through the town, he gazed intently at the landscape around him, knowing that it would provide some new challenges. With the snow mostly gone, he was also relieved to not have to deal with unexpected traction issues. But the first few miles in France would also be a challenge - it was his first visit, and he wanted to make it a memorable one for all the right reasons.

The road to the French Riviera was not quite as difficult as it seemed; it was mostly wide-open freeway with plenty of room to overtake. It was here that Walter caught sight of the Barracuda. As he approached it, he defiantly exclaimed, “It’s payback time!” Seizing his chance, he drafted him and easily shot past, regaining a place in the process.

A few minutes later, he told himself, “If that move was for the lead, I would have had a tough time getting past that Barracuda!” and slowed to a more conservative pace, just in case the local police tried to intervene. But while the overtake was a small step towards reclaiming lost ground, getting to the front of the field would be a nightmare with so little power on tap. Still, Walter reassured himself with the fact that a battle for the lead might be too hectic for him, given his original intention for entering the race. And thanks to his superior economy, he was also able to skip the refueling stop that many of the other racers had to make. “If only I had more power to go with that economy and handling, then I would be much higher up the order”, he sighed.


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.