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There was a touch of snow on the ground, with the estimates for the weather being a nice, round -10 degrees. Wearing a set of driving gloves, breath visibly condensing in the air, the two racers flashed each other a quick glance. The spectators were all bundled up nice and warm, and considering how fast they had appeared out of practically nowhere, he was surprised at how organised they had been. Banknotes were waved about, last minute bets going through, before a man walked onto the road, the pedestrian crossing he had been standing on beeping loudly.

He held up a makeshift checkerboard flag and raised his arms up, hyping the crowd up. It was too cold for scantily clad women- a shame, but what could you do- and then he shouted the four magic words. "Racers! Start! Those! Engines!" The words had barely left his mouth before engines began to rev. He made a last minute adjustment to his wing mirrors, taking the opportunity to see if the fact that some dipshits had keyed his ride was obvious. Thankfully, it was not, the silver streak barely visible. The rest of the car was painted a rich red, with a single black stripe running through the middle of it, looping around neatly.

The car he was racing in was his baby. Ostentatiously a 2017 Dodge Challenger, inside it had been torn up and redone almost entirely. Everything that hadn't been needed had been chucked, the engine had been souped up, and a few more personal touches had been added besides the paint job. The supercharger for one- the intake whirring away beneath him. Then, as the countdown began, his finger hovered over a switch. "FIVE!" "FOUR!" "THREE!" "TWO!" "ONE!" He revved his engine and flicked the switch at the same time. Nitrous oxide was pumped in, and perfectly timed too- the roar of the extra fuel almost drowning out the "GO!"

Bring it bitch.