-Sh1Ft- Earning a Name



Original poster
-Sh1Ft- Earning a Name

Theres a big difference between Hoons and Street Racers, Hoons usually prefer the large cars combined with a mixture of raw adrenalin, noise and inexperience. As for Street Racers it usually comes down to class, your skills and your car. The rules are simple, no Automatics, First is Final, and if you lose, you lose everything.

Everything as in your car.

Sometimes, its better to loose everything and then realise you have everything to gain, because as always there will always be a faster opponent. There will always be one ahead of the game, so losing is a lesson one thats hard to get and understand.

I remember how I lost everything.
Against All Bets.
How I earned everything back.

The racing strip was glossy in the dim moonlight, in the early hours of a cool summers morning after the Hoons had long since either gone home, lost their liscences or had grown bored. The real racers took to the night, ideally, everything was set up. The racing strip was a 50Km strip, usually reaching close to 80 and then 90km on a normal standard day. However, tonnight no one was on the road.

A small group to the side, a simple combi-van to the kerb, a few antennai here and there tuned into police channels, Robi a man who had come a long way to challenge one of the few kings of the streets had arrived early. His opponent a man in his mid twenties, so far the best in his class hoping to earn himself a right in the big leagues. Or to take on the role of one of the street kings.

The cars were both custom in design no real set brands, ideally one resembled a similar design to that of a car with a auto-sculpt desigh, from the front intercooler, you could tell that it was a frontal intake for the turbo.
You could tell the cars were differently specced out, then again one was made from careful savings, the other winnings from previous successful races.

As a single figure moved between the cars, her hands caressing the metal sides of the car, moving to the front and taking up a silver flag, raising it high, and in a swift movement the race had begun. Engines roared to life tearing through the night life, the turbos began their compressive whine with the explosive flutter or hiss as the racers fluently moved between gear changes neck and neck.

Robi's foot was upon the floor the engine already reaching the threshold of red, upon the RPM counter on the tachometer, slowly his car had began to gain a edge over the street king, as they rounded the first bend and hooked into the straight, still in first, even though the race was young he denied himself the feeling of cockiness or arrogance.

Into the second corner, hugging the curves of this easy stretch the racer behind him seemed to make no move to pass him, simply waiting for an oppourtunity to pass him. After comming out from the second curve, Robi downshifted to fourth from fith, increasing his acceleration at the cost of the top speed.

As the second last straight, came around, the world outside blurring it wasnt long before his opponents car decided to show its true colours. Punching up a notch, moving closer to Robis car, using the closeness to enable a wind dissipation effect to reduce drag it wasnt long until something bumped the car, from the rear left of the vehicle, six seconds later, Robi was in hospital, pulled from the twisted wreckage of his car by the jaws of life.

Coming last had cost him. His car was wrecked and no longer a worthy prize, sadly having to be sold to the wreckers due to the fact that it was too costly to repair than what he had originally paid for. In the end, it was the rehab, after that back on the streets with a decent paid job. Like all habits.

Racing died hard. Somehow he had to get back into it. First however he needed a car, secondly he needed enough income to get him somewhere in the racing to gather enough winning to make it real.

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