The Great Automation Run | Chapter 16 and final results!

GAR Part 2
Since nothing particularly interesting happened in chapter 1 and 2 the story’s skipped to chapter 3…


“Damn that fat-ass muscle car” screamed Johnny, while fiddling with the cigarette lighter, “get past the damn thing already”

“Ya know, Im trying but there aint no way im gonna pass it in the mountains the damn car’s too wide”

"Well try and get past them on the highway. We’ve got 440 ci they wont stand a chance "

“Well whaddya think Im doing?” replied Elliot, flooring the accelerator.

Drafting behind the Bushmaster they eventually overtake it…

“Ha SUCK IT” laughed Johnny putting his middle fingers against the window.

“Johnny, watch it. We dont know who they are, besides, where running low on gas we’ll need to fill her up asap”


A while later in the city…

"…And its Matt Sierra in the lead! He overtakes the Escort on the inside in his more nimble Vitesse. What an exciting day of racing in Eurocircuito de Lousada…

“Johnny change the radio to the cop frequency. Im getting sick and tired of this rallycross crap”

“Sure thing”

The radio crackles until Johnny gets the right frequency

“Hey, Johnny what did it say…Johnny, you know Spanish right?” asked Elliot while peeking at the fuel reading.

“Fuuuck” muttered Johnny “FUUCK. The city is full of cops”

… TO BE CONTINUED

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“Boooring,” Teuvo said on the highway, his foot firmly planted on the accelerator. “You call this boring?” Jorma asked. "We’re blasting down the highway at over 200km/h and you call it boring? " “Well, the other racers are driving much faster cars,” Teuvo answered while waving his hand to a competitor who was zooming past them. “The heat’s off for now, the road’s straight and our car is tuned for acceleration - not a very exciting mix, is it?” “Well, when you put it like that, I kinda see your point,” Jorma said. A moment of silence entered the car, save for the engine and road noises. Time passed. Then the men noticed something: the road got twistier and more interesting. “A hairpin!” Teuvo exclaimed. “Finally, it gets interesting again.” He started to slide around the corners and get into the zone again.

As they neared the city, Jorma warned: “I heard that the city’s being locked down by the police. The chatter’s going wild.” Teuvo silently acknowledged this with a nod. He was too concentrated on the road to actually worry about the cops, and with the city just around the corner, he was worried about the traffic and weaving around it more than anything else.

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The first stint after the winding mountainroads were a long stretch of highway where i really had the possibility to stretch the V6 to it’s limits, reaching 300+ km/h in some places and passing some of the competition in the process. I got the Dingos draft first thing after the pass and passed it pretty early on, and passed the Blood Eagle while it was filling up at a stop.
After a long stint of highway we got into smaller, and thus tigher and more twisty roads along the mediterranean and just as i started to enjoy myself (maybe a little too much slippin and sliding) the fuelgauge started blinking, prompting my to stop at the nearest gas-station. While it didn’t really take that long, i saw both the 333 GT3 and the Conquista running past at the splash and dash… Time to get the hunt on again

After running the last stint of straight up awesome “driving” roads with a beautiful view to boot, we headed for Alicante and as we got near the outskirts, the police-frequencies buzzed to life and an even bigger smile came to my lips… Let the fun-time begin.

And some swedish post-punk from the era:

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The Lone Wolf: GAR Part 3

James Carhard, 26. Modified '68 AEA Barracuda GT

Of Fuel and Fury

With no cops in sight, James realized his tank was nearly empty, so he stopped in a gas station. He needed to make a call anyway.

“You got a telephone that makes international calls?” he asked the attendant. The attendant just pointed to a payphone booth. Uncle Jack wanted to hear how James was doing in Europe.

Jack - “Hello?”
James - “Uncle Jack. How’s it going?”
Jack - “Oh, good it’s you James. How’s Europe and the race treating you?”
James - “I’m doing just fine Jack, now what’s this all about? You wanted me to call you.”
Jack - “Yes. I need you to run some err-”
James - “Fucking, Jack! I’m in the middle of a cross-country race, just getting gas, and you have some errands for me to run!?!?”
Jack - “This-”
James - “No Jack, you can take car of your own fucking business. Why the hell did you need me to run your errands while I’m in the middle of a fucking race!”

Jack, stern and cool - “This is the next big break, you fucktard! I have a series of deliveries set up along what you said was the path of the race in our last call. Now you need to meet an associate I have in Alicante, Spain. Goes by the name of ‘Jet’. DON’T DISAPPOINT ME.”

And with that, Jack hung up. James stood their, growing furious at his uncle for meddling with HIS RACE! What right did he have? All Jack ever did for James was give him some work, and occasionally bail his butt out of jail! Jack even trashed James’ old car right after he finished building the Barracuda!

And with that, James got into the Barracuda, slamming the door in the process, fired up the trusty old big block, and absolutely lit the fuck out of the rear tires. Even holding the brakes slightly to smoke out the gas station as he got back onto the A-341.

Driving with rage, James found himself fighting a Montauk on the strait. He was not having any of it. Back and forth, between cars, they fought, until James got the edge and pulled ahead flicking off the Montauk as he passed.

“Fuck you too,” He said to himself as he got ahead. He knew the cops in Alacante would not be very happy with this parade of cars racing in, so James double checked under his seat for his primary heat. It was still there. He might need that, as getting this ‘Jet’ fellow and also topping off the gas tank would be his primary objectives in this city.

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With the screech of tires and the roar of a small block, the Montauk weaves around the twists and bends.

Blake: YEE HAW!!!

Luigi: YEE HAW!!!

Luigi: Looks like it’s straightening out!

Blake: Then it’s time to floor it!

(The 301 TriForce revs up as the Montauk gains speed.)

Luigi: I think that’s one of the other racers.

Blake: Looks like a '68 Barracuda GT if I’m not mistaken.

Luigi: Smoke him!

(A duel of classic vs. modern American Muscle takes place as both cars fight for the lead in a drafting duel)

Blake: Shit, he’s pulling away!

Luigi: Stay on his ass!

Blake: He’s flipping us off! The prick!

Luigi: I’ll remember that.

(Time passes)

Luigi: Why are you pulling off here?

Blake: Topping off the gas tank.

Luigi: What the hell for? We still have a fair amount.

Blake: (points) That’s why. That’s Alicante.

Luigi: A city, so what?

Blake: A city that will be full of smokies. Smokies who will be more than happy to seal off a city to trap illegal street racers. I’d rather not have to worry about running out of gas while we figure our way past.

Luigi: Logical.

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(First of all, sorry for the delay of this chapter).

Chapter 4: Last chance.

Alicante, 8th of October 1995. 7:50 AM. 5156km to Athens.

The google maps route can be found here.

The fears of the drivers would soon be confirmed. From many of the streets of the city, law enforcement Cavallera Moias, Merciel Veronas and Conte Ataques started swarming the race. And this time, it wasn’t the local police; not even the national police. It was the Civil Guard.

“Stop your vehicles now! This is your last chance, racers!” - Yelled the chief. “You’re hopeless; we’re locking the city down as we speak.”

Music suggestion by @ramthecowy!

The driver of the Kanata held his breath as the brake was pressed, taking a corner while avoiding the oncoming traffic and the attempts to PIT maneuver his car. His soon gripped the door handle, tense, as he watched the Chupacabra swiftly approach.

-Dad, he’s trying to overtake us!
-Not risking it.
-What?
-Not risking crashing into nobody! If we crash, our hopes of scaping this city will be gone. Do you wanna end up in jail!?

Both the Kanata and the Chupacabra cleared the corner. More police cars were approaching on the horizon; in a split second, all of the racers opted to head towards the beach streets instead. At the front of the pack, the Chaucer was dangerously approaching the Evo RC, as both cars drifted into the beach street, the passengers of the tramway watched the cars interchange drafts. They were closely followed by the Fatalita and the Hummingbird, which was surprisingly fast in the urban environment. The Hummingbird, gripping and drifting the roundabouts with skill, managed to dummy-overtake the Fatalita.

The yellow Conquista ran out of fuel, forced to pull over to a discrete side street. As its driver refueled the car, the Dolphine, which was overtaking the Chupacabra at the moment, the Chupacabra itself, and a few more cars, passed it. Once the driver was done refueling, which was luckily not interrupted by the police, he started the car up just in time to place itself in front of the Interval and the NRZ-986, which were having a paint scrapping battle side by side at that moment.

As the Maesima and the Shromet shared paint, the driver of the Interval decided to take advantage of the Conquista in front of them, by placing herself behind it; slowly, but steadily, the car started pulling away from the NRZ, as the drag was reduced.

Meanwhile, as the racers approached the onramp to the coastal road, the monstruous F219 approached the 330 Turismo swiftly. However, the driver of the latter car blocked the attempts of the pink hypercar by tracing neat lines around the roundabouts, and by drifting when it was necessary as well.

The racers finally arrived at the N-332 road, a coastal road wide at first, that was getting narrower as it went on however. One of the police cars tried to force the Friala to spin out, failing at it; the driver was quick to react and countersteered violently, holding the car in a drift, smoking the rear tyres tad as the driver recovered complete control of the machine.

Further down the pack, the Bushranger Veloce was back at trying to reach the Chevallier, trying to get its revenge for the overtake that had taken place earlier at the highways. A fight broke between the two, with the Chevallier ultimately winning it; other fight that took place was between the Visios XCT, the Bandito and the Montauk. The Montauk decided to hold back, a clever move, as when they were ready to overtake both vans, their drivers weren’t expecting it. The muscle car climbed the two places almost inmediately.

The last fight broke out between the Barracuda GT and the Scarlet S; the Scarlet however, managed to keep its place by keeping up at the corners, gripping them surprisingly fast. The driver of the Barracuda gritted his teeth, but he decided to hold back just so he could catch the Scarlet off guard later.

The racers, however, suddenly found more police cars arriving on the horizon. Forced to steer back to the city outskirts, The Evo GAR spun its way towards the city outskirts, only to find more police. Were the racers finally trapped…?

In a split second, the leading racers realized the chocolate factory’s cargo entrance was opened, deciding to sneak in there. As the cars entered violently into the factory, the workers jumped left and right, getting out of the way of the racers. The RC and the Guivre bumped into equipment, completely breaking their front lips and puncturing their tyres. They managed to get out of the factory, but they had to stop, with the police strangely nowhere to be seen. The Hummingbird and the Brooklands took advantage of this, dissappearing into the horizon.

The police cars were started to leave, without even bothering to enter the factory.

-Chief, why are we letting them escape?
-You are not getting it, right? We can’t intercept them, and they won’t hesitate to go through a factory.
-So? We could just block them wherever they go!
-They were heading northbound. If our predictions are correct…yeah, we better inform these guys so they can collaborate with us. They’re gonna regret wasting their last chance to stop.

To be continued.


Times spreadsheet:


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I was about to think “what happened to that Automation run” and BAM! NICE ONE, good on you for keeping it up…

Now to read it and figure out how badly I’d done

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Ever since he had let the tiny Galt overtake him, Thompson had been driving at his usual fast pace, trying to keep up with faster traffic. He did it anyway even though it seemed (almost) impossible in practice; to him, this race was a proving ground for his car. And with the Civil Guard joining the pursuit, he had to be more alert than ever.

The coastal scenery he had been driving through for the past few hours was incredibly picturesque; he now had an idea that WMD should use at least some of the roads traveled on during the run as a test route in the future, and was hoping to tell his colleagues about it if he lived to tell the tale. He had heard that some of the racers had hidden their cars in a chocolate factory, of all things, before resuming the race. He wondered whether this really was a viable means of escape for them, before continuing onward on his journey.

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Marx: Well that was a lot more interesting than the previous round

Lenin: yeah, the Civil guard got involved in trying to stop us now.

Marx: damn, we definitely do not want them catching us.

Lenin: that’s for sure.

Marx: Anyway, at least going through that chocolate factory smelled good

Lenin: indeed, even snatched a few pieces for us.

Marx: nice

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Cindy’s little gamble appears to have paid off. And other racers started taking notice, scrambling in all directions except towards the main road.

“Now they brought out the big guns,” she noted as she overheard their broadcast. “Too bad they’re too late.” She sped towards more side streets, avoiding almost all the roadblocks altogether. “This is turning from a battle of wits into a war of attrition. I got way too hyped for this.”

She speeds off to hear reports of racers busting through a factory. “Some of these people really are desperate to win. And the cops are only making it worse. But I can’t deny that they have guts. I just need to keep up my A-game, hopefully without breaking this thing,” she remarked as she casually munched on part of her food cache.

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It was a good thing they got gas… even painted flat black the big truck stuck out like a sore thumb, and could be heard over a mile away. There were cops everywhere, and their version of the National Guard.
Otis thought to himself, “This was supposed to be a long distance run with long highways, not tearing through every road of every city! And these darn narrow European streets”

Jake thought this was great fun, kind of like playing with other dogs and chasing each other back and forth in the field. Every time a cop came close he would bark at them “Woof Woof Woof Woof” Dad doesn’t look like he is having as much fun… “oh look another one Woof Woof Woof Woof”

At least the N-332 was semi straight and with the speed they were able to get there kept them ahead of most of the cops, most of them. The few remaining cops managed a road block forcing Otis and Jake to detour through a chocolate factory… and that’s where things got messy. Unable to take the turn sharp enough Otis plowed through a palate of boxes full of chocolate. Hopefully they didn’t mess up anything important up front.

After the chocolate factory the police gave up for now. Which was a good sign because the engine temperature was climbing on the truck. After pulling over Otis found the grill was full of now melted chocolate. Otis frantically pulled pieces of box, wrappers and hot molten chocolate out of the radiator… just in time to see the Comunistista fly by and throw the last wad of chocolate mess in their direction.

Not quite country but

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Marcus floored it and the engine bellowed, roaring as he weaved the XR-3 through streets, around cop cars, and between the traffic. Every gear change was punctuated by a backfire, the unrestricted exhaust letting the inline three’s note tear the air as Marcus weaved around more slow moving traffic.

The radio squawked about roadblocks and closing the city, and Marcus gave the gas a bit more shove in the corners, bringing the back end around to help with cornering.

“Trapped. Fuckin’ hell.” Marcus spat, spinning the car back into the city outskirts. However, with a stroke of luck, someone had seen the cargo entrance for a chocolate factory was open, up near the front of the group.

Despite being quite a way back, Marcus planned a course through the factory with the rest of them, the big triple roaring as he headed for the factory.

The XR-3 hit the rev limiter hard going through the factory, banging and clapping and popping as Marcus struggled to maintain speed on the floor covered in skid-marks and mangled chocolates, making a great show of fire behind the obnoxious green car with the horrid green lights. However, grip was soon found, and so was an exit. Marcus belted the XR-3 toward the other cargo door, and out onto a northbound road. He hit the windshield wipers to remove a chocolate chunk the size of a small turd from the window, as well as the washer fluid system to clear the streaks.

“Gonna need gas soon. That triple may not have many cylinders to chug with, but it’s thirsty.”

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Team Angus - Chapter Four

Team Angus - Chapter Three

GAR - Chapter 4

Upon entering the city of Alicante the local law enforcement closed the jaws of their trap. Out of every side-street and on-ramp swarmed a fleet of police cars of various makes and models. It was clear that the Police had pulled out every stop to ensure the race would be shut down in the rats nest that was the streets of Alicante. Despite the lack of fuel, Ben kept right into the accelerator, rightly guessing that only high speed and good fortune was the only way out of this mess.

I filmed as much as I was able to, but the tight streets and constant police interference meant there was no good way of getting much in the way of decent footage. At least the Chevallier would prove useful once again. Ben ducked and weaved and feinted for all he was worth which provided for the majority of what footage I could get . But it wasn’t enough to out-smart the Chevallier driver and ultimately the Chev pulled ahead, undefeated and taunting us with their frustrating ability to stay out in front!

As we headed northward out of the city I asked Ben why he’d backed off. Surely we could at least taken him at the on-ramp? Ben just looked at me, gave me a condescending look then pointed to the garish orange glow on the dash; we were driving literally on empty!!! I grabbed the map and frantically searched for somewhere the big thirsty Bushranger could stop for fuel. Hopefully we were clear of the cops but we, quite frankly, had no choice. We needed to stop for a full tank of gas, STAT!!!

TO BE CONTINUED

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Maybe I’m over-nerding here, but I’m running my own spreadsheet so I can see who I’m passing/being passed by, and the “Blood Eagle” seems to have scored a free minute. My calcs show it to be 2:50:39.01, if I’m wrong, that’s fine, but If I’m right…:thinking:

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Cath and Julia’s Slightly Illegal Grand Tour of Europe - Part 3!

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

Original Post - Previous Post

The approach into Alicante was messy. The chaos caused by the drivers further up ahead was evident everywhere - police cars were circling constantly, a helicopter whirred overhead. It was less Costa Del Sol and more ‘the shootout scene from Heat’.

“Hold tight Julia, it’s about to get a little frisky” said Cath, switching from her Dolce and Gabana sunglasses to a slick pair of fully-relfective Aviators. The Scarlet shot its way through the streets, while Cath nimbly thread it through the morning traffic.

“Who is that on our tail? Looks like some bloody muscle car or something” remarked Julia - she’d spotted the Baracuda GT of James Carhard.

James beared down on the the ladies. It couldn’t quite match the Scarlet in the corners, but on the straights, it was a monster.
“What an utter yob” remakred Julia.

The two cars burst out onto the beach road, just about managing slide across the junction. “Where in god’s name did you learn to do that?” questioned Julia.
“The test drivers” replied Cath, with a proud tone. “Obviously it doesn’t quite count as work for them, but none of the bosses need to know, right?”. She smirked.
Julia smirked back. “Good on ya girl”.

The Barracuda was suddenly by their side. “Right that’s it” said Julia, a burst of anger suddenly coming over her. She rolled down the window.
“Listen here you pompous yank, I will climb into that car and drive it into a tree myself if you don’t get off our arse!” - James heard none of it. His engine was too loud.

Julia was now leaning out of the window. “Julia” said Cath, sternly - a roundabout was coming up - “JULIA” she shouted, but nothing.

Too late - she yanked the wheel to the left. Julia came flying back in, while James slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting them. Cath swung it back round, hit the brakes hard and nailed the roundabout swiftly, clipping the curb perfectly. The Barracuda fell behind.

Julia looked round to Cath. Cath kept her eyes on the road. Julia fell back in her seat and smiled. “How many more miles to Athens?” asked Cath, with a smile on her face, and they blasted up the coast.

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You were right! I just corrected the post with the correct time. Thank you for pointing the mistake out!

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God damnit, that’s what I get for plowing into the factory in the lead huh :joy:

curse you RNG gods!

If I get time I must write a response. In the meanwhile, time to break out the hammer and the tape!

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A racer darted past the Friala which was stopped in side turning as Kyle was relieving himself. “Come on” shouted Francesca as Kyle leapt into the car, she turned on the engine and hurtled the car backwards swinging the front around out of the backstreet, performing a perfect J-turn and flooring it down the road. “Head for the N-332 we need to shake these bastards”. “Roundabouts up ahead Fran” the car flew around the first leaving the police for dead but the Friala squirmed under braking coming up to the second, a Cavallera Moias approached surprisingly quickly in the rear view mirror.

On the onramp the wheel arches rubbed on the sidewall of the tires creating the smell of burning rubber, coming onto the N-332 the Moias came up the inside of the Kyle and Francesca pushing the Friala further into the outside line of the corner she held the car into a well executed slide and the smell of burning rubber filled the air again. Kyle threw his can of Pepsi out of the window straight into the front of the police car, Francesca stuck her middle finger out of the window and accelerated down the road.
F: “Dickheads whats their issue. They nearly made me spin out”
K: “We are racing through their cities … illegally”
F: “Don’t bring up technicalities!”

The Friala snarled down the CV-770 driving around crawling cars swerving sharply around SEAT Toledo.
K: “Fancy some lunch eh Fran?”
F: “What are you on about?”
K: “Head into the Valor factory the cargo entrance is open”
F: “You bloody genious Kyle”
Francesca slid around the roundabout and shot into the cargo entrance she avoided the equipment and ran over a box of chocolate. The wheels span over the mashed chocolate and cardboard.

To be continued…

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The Lone Wolf: Gar Part 4

James Carhard, 26. Midified '68 AEA Barracuda GT

Peculiar Package

Without having the luxury of being able to even take a look at the map he lifted from the gas station, James took a detour from the pack and headed towards the beach-side of the Santa Barbara castle. Apparently there was a train station over there where he would meet up with “Jet”. He was flying down the main road, barely dodging the traffic. James took a left onto the N-332, flying past a marina.

Just then, an explosion rocketed the ground ahead. James could just make it out ahead of him in some parking lot.

“Shit! That’s gotta be my cue.”

As he got closer he could see a car had exploded in the parking lot. With this new turn of events, he raced over, jumping the median to get over to the parking lot. A young woman with long dark hair started running to his car, carrying what appeared to be two briefcases, one in each hand.

“Shit, get going!” The woman yelled, tossing the briefcases behind the seats while frantically trying to get into the Barracuda and close the door as fast as she could.
“Jet?” James asked, hesitating to pop the clutch and get going.
“Jet is dead! I’m her… assistant- Get us the Fuck out of here!” frantically yelled the Woman.

James roared out of the parking lot and onto the N-332 once again.
“And, who are you?” James asked.
The woman replied, “Jess. Name’s Jess Torres. ‘Jet’ was my mother, or at least one name she went by…” Tears started rolling down here eyes as Jess choked up. Her accent got stronger the more her emotions leaked out.

“Shit,” said James, still trying to understand what just happened. “What happened?”
“I… I don’t know!” Stammered Jess, “I… It was the first time I… I got to work with her, …with my mum.” Jess started sobbing.
“Shit. Here, roll up you window,” James replied, pointing at the window crank.

They both rolled up their windows, the darker-than-legal window tint concealing their faces.

“This is not your typical pickup-job, Jack!” James muttered to himself as he came upon a blue sports coupe. James had it on the straights, but in the corners the blue car eagerly had him, especially in the roundabouts.

That’s a Scarlet, he thought to himself as he kept inching up to its bumper.
“So, this is a race across Europe?” asked Jess, timidly.
“Hold on,” James muttered as he took a fast turn onto the beach road. “Yes, you happened to join me with over 5,000 Kilometers to go.”

James got the Barracuda side-by-side with the Scarlet. Jess kept timid, still in shock at what had happened. Some middle-aged lady in the Scarlet was leaned out of the window, wait, was she yelling at him? James let off the gas briefly, surprised at the middle-aged lady screaming at him. It was just enough to let the Scarlet get ahead, as they both braked hard to get around another stupid roundabout. Gritting his teeth, James backed off slightly, not wanting to make a dumb high-speed mistake, as now this race wasn’t only about him.

In fact, he was beginning to care less about the race, a race that his Uncle Jack stole from him.

The pack ahead had taken a detour through a factory, and the police were retreating. This mess James was now in was starting to get crazy… and that only kept boosting his adrenaline.

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Our intrepid racers in the Montauk are locked in a duel with two vans for position.

Luigi: God damn, look at those things weave about!

Blake: Never saw anything like it, we’re never gonna pass em like this.

Luigi: What the hell are you doing?

Blake: Trust me.

Luigi: Slowing down isn’t gonna get us ahead.

Blake: Just watch.

(Blake eyes the two vans fighting for position while he pulls back.)

Luigi: Great, they’re pulling away.

Blake: The hell they are! There’s my opening!

(Blake slams down on the gas pedal and the Montauk lurches forward in a bellowing roar!)

Luigi: Whoo!

Blake: Bye bye baby!

Luigi: Okay, now what?

Blake: We move on and hope to catch the next guy.

(Time passes)

Blake: Shit!

Luigi: Oh no!

(Blake slams on the brakes, then weaves the Montauk over to the side to duck through an alley. The two police cars that appeared following.)


*Actual Simulation

Blake: Those smokies looked different.

Luigi: They’re not local cops, they’re the Civil Guard.

Blake: So you do know something about other European countries.

Luigi: My friends and I spent a summer in Spain back in '87. We may have partied a little too hard.

Blake: For them to send the Civil Guard after you?

Luigi: No, they were locals, but we did learn a bit about the different levels of law enforcement.

(The Montauk jinked and weaved through traffic. The two police cars behind them were out of sight.)

Luigi: I can’t see them, maybe we lost em.

Blake: This is damn peculiar. I was expecting a roadblock or something. Shouldn’t they be coordinating by radio trapping us in?

Luigi: Maybe they went after one of the others.

Blake: Perhaps, whatever it is I don’t like it.

Luigi: Look at that!

Blake: That’s some kind of factory, with tire marks and debris scattered about.

Luigi: Some maniac drove through a chocolate factory. Think it was one of the other racers?

Blake: Seems like too much of a coincidence for a crazy Spaniard to go on a joy ride through a factory the same time as an illegal street race plows through.

Luigi: Let’s get out of here, someone’s likely to respond.

Blake: Yeah.

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