[center][h3]>://OVER_DRIVER[/h3][/center]

[center][sub]Interacting with: [@Opposition] and [@Prizrak][/sub][/center]

Twin-linked hybrid engines extracted every ounce of horsepower that they could at maximum efficiency, guzzling up both ethyl and electricity in a gluttonous roar of fury and passion, the need for more. Monica was simply an extension of his mind now. His teeth was the front grill, his mind the steering wheel, his heart the engine, his drive the gear stick and his soul the rapid heart-beat ticking of the speedometer. He inhaled the aroma of fresh oxygen in, feeling it being devoured within the internal combustion chambers of his lungs and breathed back out.

Only to discover that he couldn’t. His sight was beginning to splinter. His throat was cast iron, his arteries numb with His vision was beginning to contort into a frenzing blur of colours. Red, white, blue, drowning in the outer mazes of the Labyrinth, wheels squealing, engine running - 

>://DEACTIVATING NEURAL LINK CLIENT

>://DAEDALUS MOTOWORKS VICTORY ULTRA RESUMING FACTORY SETTINGS

The euphoric high from the out-of-body experience sublimated into a burning forehead as Mack disabled the wireless connection. It took him a good minute or two to stumble up on his two feet, his dizzying motions betraying the nausea hidden by his faceless Prismo. The razor-docs said to take it easy lest he permanently mutate his hypothalmussy or something along those lines. Augs usually left irreversible scars on a person’s psyche - neuralware being the worst offender of all. The sound of sugar cravings pounded in his head as the nestled Tele-Path in his skull slowly deactivated its subroutines and shut down. He hadn’t gotten the need to become addicted to Neurosynth. Yet. It was lucky that his body had decided to manifest the consequences of cyberware abuse through such delicious addiction. 
There was currently a distant echo in his helmet, his mind struggling to piece his senses back together like a broken vase. His trembling fingers, remnants of neural shock still bouncing around within his body, unpeeled away the food bar - apple flavoured. Amano’s voice seemed world’s away now as he bit into and gorged on his self-destructive cycle. 

"I— uh... There's a set of three vehicles in transit, predicted to be following a tracking chip inside whatever vehicle is nearest to Monica... That's—"

After a few hearty swallows, Mack looked around to process the scene, making sure that there were no guns pointing at him. His face immediately blanched at the gruesome sight. Years of effort of perfecting his car’s paint job had been ruined by the dings and scratches. Magnetized dye didn’t come cheap on the Under-Zone. He strode past the crushed form of Rott’s knight without a second glance, his baby’s blood-slicked hood becoming an eyesore the longer he stared at it. Nothing the pressure guns and a little sealant couldn’t handle. 

The rumble of an large engine caught his attention as he looked up. The rest of the Knight, or rather, a single one, was climbing onto the back of a eight-wheeler. Mack tried to quiet the fervent autophile in him, ignoring the ramshackle condition and focusing on what the driver was doing. The shock of Monica’s entry still pervaded the atmosphere, some of the remaining Knights slowly retreating their way back to the truck. The worn wheels screeched, the bulk of the truck’s weight scraping against the walls of the time-tested train station as it reversed out, halted and then, drove out towards an unseen passage. An escape route. Mack swore as he jogged towards his car in a sweaty gimp, dialing up Amano’s while he was at it. 

" Hey, Amano. Can I get a bead on where that vehicle’s going while I’m driving?” 

He leapt into the driver’s seat, door already to welcome him into the helm. Automatic seat-belt shooting out to secure his chest, Mack pressed his palms onto the steering wheel, biometric scanners within the grip confirming access. He adjusted the rear view mirror as he did a fast check on Monica’s sub-systems. The truck was perhaps slower than Monica, a turtle to his hare, but anything with wheels and a working engine was fast enough to gain a distance on them. How far away was it now? Hundreds of meters? Kilometers? He didn’t have time to waste or wait for Amano to respond. It didn’t matter. The truck was perhaps lost from sight but not lost from speed. 

“ Matrix surfers. Can’t rely on them when you want to.” He murmured as his door window slowly lowered down. He looked out at Weaver's prone form, motioning for her to get inside Monica whilst slapping the outside of her door for emphasis. He would have immediately proceeded to leaving the engineer behind, given that she had her own vehicle that was more or less capable of barely keeping up with Monica, but her wounded leg reminded him that a hospital was only a detour in the chase ahead. 

Once Weaver entered the car, Mack’s left hand shifted the lever forward into high gear, Monica jostling herself forwards under his control.  The dart pills flew out of his front boot, death rattles that enticed him. He caught it in mid-air and stared at it, thinking of the chances. The possibilities that lay ahead. His grasp grew tighter on his last resort, closing into a fist that might have bent the carbo-polymer casing before it threw it outside of Monica's open window. Like hell he was going to sink and die like that. If he was going to go out, he was going to go out in a blaze of glory on the transits of the Reclaim Zone. The OverDriver took command over the piddling form of Mackwell Fordwell, taxi driver, adrenaline-honed concentration as sharp as a mono-blade's edge surging him and Monica forward toward victory. 

Mack would have been able to get out of the station a second earlier if he didn’t manage to see Cantos’s lick of neon pink hair in the headlights. Right. Guess leaving Campbell’s campaign operator in the middle of the Outer Zone with no transport would give him an awful ear-nagging later on. If Campbell won the election, that was. Mack pressed down on the brake, wheels screeching pitifully as the flow of velocity was stopped. He turned the steering wheel to the right and flicked the gear low, nearing the edge of tumbling onto his side. Instead, in one fluid motion, Monica’s front twirled to the back in a 180 degree turn, braking to a stop one meter away from Cantos The window rolled down to reveal Mack’s helmeted face peering forward, passenger door clicking open and unfolding like a pair of angel wings. He didn’t look at Cantos as he spoke. The invitation was clear in his electronically distorted voice. 

" C’mon. Let’s ride.” 

[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dv13gl0a-FA[/youtube][/center]