--------- LA Ross chuckled, greeting Sarah and hugging so much it almost hurt his ribs, glad to see her again. It felt strange, not being as connected to his family back of home, to be here and enjoying it with Kimberly's. It gave him some sense of hope, and the last few years, looking after Mia and Monica, as well as being right there for Kimberly gave him some sense of direction. It had been good, but of course, driving fast was still on his mind. Always. Ross listened in, hearing the conversation about Kimberly's crash. He sometimes had flashbacks to it, to that crash. He had cold sweats and woke up in the night. It seemed odd that killing people in cold blood had been easier to accept than seeing what had happened to Kimberly replay in his head, and then what he did himself at the wheel. There was no denying it had been hard to talk about it, and he didn't bring it up. Instead, he focused his energy on the bettering the lives of the people he loved, rather than just being so selfish, so naive to think it would all just work with all the risks they had taken once. But going out for a quick blast? Well...he couldn't turn that down. "We'll watch out, Sarah. Thanks you for this. We'll try and be back before their bed-time!" Ross added, chuckling as he grabbed a grey hoodie, flinging it on alongside a black beanie, covering his receding short hair. The Scotsman was getting even more bald, he couldn't hide that as easily as he once could. Walking over past the table, he grabbed the keys to his updated toy, something newer since the last bout of insanity he'd been driving around LA. The RX7 had been sold on, it was too insane even by Ross's own standards, it just didn't fit him. It was too hardcore, too attuned, and so he had gone back to something actually a little more up his street. Something a little more vintage, a project car but more down his streets for being able to really enjoy pure, Deutchland-driven performance. It sure as hell beat driving the family car, with the kids in the back, the BMW keys in his hands as he headed to the garage following Kimberly. Opening the door for his side of the opening, the 2002 M3 E46 CSL sat there, one of 1,500 worldwide. It was hard to find, and needed a total rework, as it had actually been a former insurance Cat D write-off. But it was left hand drive, and in a sapphire black, fresh from factory. Original seats, original everything. Some light mods, such as an overhaul of the 3.2L in-line six cylinder engine meant that thins thing now chucked out 400bhp, and at an instant with a NOS tank behind the handbrake would chuck out a lot more on demand. Not that it was really needed given how fun this thing was with this amount of power, but it was there alright. Oh, and removing the pesky limiter. This was not as fast as Kimberly's Skyline, that was a machine to rule all others on the mean streets. This was a machine that was the ultimate M3, the best E46, bar the V8-powered monster that was the unicorn-rare M3 GTR. And to a trained eye, an eclectic taste. With nice alloys, smooth leather and something of a feeling that this was his machine from every nut and bolt he'd put back together, and making it go fast was always a pleasure. Rear-wheel drive, old-school anarchy that his driving skill thrived on. Opening the door, he clambered in, sighing as he reclined in the seat, turning the ignition, sparking the upgraded coils. The car had been tinkered exactly how he wanted it to be, and everything that could be easily upgraded had been, bar a few things that needed no work. The Bavarian engine roared into life, as he wound the electric window down, looking out at Kimberly, her Skyline roaring. "Come on then, show me what she's got!" Ross replied to Kimberly with a wry smirk, revving the six cylinder of his M3, the doors fully opened as he let her take the lead. ------ Tahoe Into the void they went, as Seb let her lead, pushing off gently and keeping everything open, head pointed as for a brief second, nothing happened. The suit began to suddenly take form, take pressure as the sight of the cliffs below begun to become a faster blur. The Austrian focused right on Ellie, keeping out of her burble, or the area of dirty air that she'd be creating behind her suit, the wake in a nutshell. In the snowy and rocky backdrop of the mountains, it was a sight to behold as the white and gold of Ellie's suit, and Seb's black and blue roared like fighter-jets turned down in volume from the sheer speed they weer flying at along the terrain, coming close then far, then close again. The line was long and required a lot of concentration, but there was no doubt in that moment of time, total focus was something the two of them could really pull off. Coming in closer, Seb approached the left, and flew right above, capturing a hell of a shot of Ellie, before flying right along Ellie's right, following her through a turn at a butte-face. The lake in the distance shimmered, as Seb dropped back a little, taking a cinematic angle of the shot. It was hard as hell to film, and he'd learned a lot about using cameras in the past few years- depth of field, aperture and so on, so getting this right before they even left the ground was something he wasn't going to mess up. That and the other cameras, always providing another perspective, another view. But in this moment, there was nothing but pure focus. Joy was subdued by the sheer concentration, but this was how life for the two of them went. It was living at the very extremes. And right here, Seb couldn't be anywhere else but following his partner tight into a deep rock crevasse, the altitude burning as they flew through the mountainside, down towards the lake below. Anyone else would have thought it was surreal, but against the realms of sanity, Seb and Ellie were flying, or at least falling a lot less slowly through the backdrop of a mountainside, and paid or not, he wanted to be nowhere else. ----- Sonoma Ryan chuckled, shaking his head. "Riight. It'll just be me treating it like that then." He added, shaking his head as he took his helmet, the noise of cars roaring past the paddock audible as he sighed, looking in. "Just get me set, Lucas." And like that, he was out. Going through turn 1 was terrifying but the aero package was awesome, the car just stuck unlike the R8. Despite not having as much power, it felt so responsive and refined through the bends, it felt good to drive and well, this was going to be a hotlap. Taking Turn 2 neatly, he had a clear route through, no traffic ahead and was going to cane it. The switchback at Turn 4, following the Sports Car layout rather than the NASCAR route made it more interesting for the cars to really cane it on corners rather than speed, the high speed bends terrifying compared to the low-speeds that some courses these days presented. Sonoma was raw, harsh and undulating in the terrain, as he roared out of Turn 6, onto the part-drag strip section. A hard section at 7, and back into the complex section through Turns 8 to 10 kept the car on its toes, dancing from kerb to kerb. Down to Turn 11 and the car was feeling dialled in, the rubber beginning to gel, everything coming good as he floored it through 12 and over the start-stop line, feeling like this was good.... "The car's fucking awe...." Ryan spoke, before being rudely interrupted. BANG! It was a puncture wound and a half to hear the noise of what sounded like an engine deciding to shit itself, as the car almost instantly lost power, billowing black exhaust smoke and the gears janking entirely. Catastrophic engine failure was not good, and coasting over Turn 1, he put it into the gravel before the uphill climb. Coming to a stop, Ryan only swore, before sighing. "Ryan, what's going on?" Lucas asked over the comms, as he shook his head. "Car's fucked. I'm all good." Ryan was stark, just annoyed more than anything, annoyed how this had been going so well and yet here he was, at the mercy of bad luck. Hopefully the power unit wasn't going to stake like this, or this was going to be a long season. Lucas was swearing in the garage as he ran out, heading to the pit wall. He could literally see the stricken NSX sitting in the gravel, dead and lifeless. This was why they did pre-season after all. The car was dead, but it wasn't in a race at least. And Ryan's time up until then had been strongly competitive. Ah well. ----- Somewhere in Zurich, Switzerland Mark looked over his shoulder, entering the cafe as he set up his laptop. Looking around, he took out his own bottle of water, gently sipping away as he sighed, looking over his emails, contacts, everything. He'd left no trace, nothing in fact. The Crime Syndicate was getting investigated harder, but leads were harder to follow. The evidence case built up, and for every head that they found, another two sprouted up. And at times, he had done his part. Being this deep undercover for years, almost half a decade now felt insane. He felt like he was losing touch, becoming more criminal than cop. After all, it all started because of his criminality and his mindset, but now here it was, coming full circle. Calculating, calm, ready. He had a few things to sort, and a meeting to attend. They were narrowing in on a few more people, but he couldn't do this one alone. And an old acquaintance came to mind. Someone who would be able to be the other rock that could hit the other bird that needed to be struck off the list. It had to be simultaneous, and well, Mark was always one for a plan. He knew Athena still had her position in the NYPD, and well, could actually do something. Nobody else at this point was anyone that Mark trusted. Athena was clean, because she had no idea of any of it all. Even Mark knew his higher ups, anyone could be corrupt, filthy as pigshit and only keeping him there to keep the het. Hence why being an undercover Interpol cop in an organisation filled to the teeth with raging psychopaths was something that well, required a cool head and a distinct lack of fucks. As well as total suspicion of pretty much anyone. Meaning Athena was perhaps in this situation, all he could count on for this particular scumbag. One very big hydra head, who had stopped looking over his shoulders. Taking his phone, he looked over his shoulder, before looking back at the messenger screen. He flicked through, finding the old number of the person he really hoped he'd never have to contact. Somehow, he hated the fact he was doing this, but it was needed to do. [i] " There's two senior detectives in the NYPD that have strong links to a Moldovan individual named Vladimir Sobotka. He's on every Interpol list as a high priority target, with several European arrest warrants. He is one of the key members in a drugs distribution network linked to a global syndicate. He's a nasty piece of shit who authorized several "disappearances" in Moldova and Romania of police officers investigating drugs-related crime, alongside heading up a significant portion of the syndicate's finances. And he's going to meet them tomorrow, at Hunter's Point, at 2000 hours sharp. GPS Co-ordinates are here: ----(link)---- Nobody will do a thing, and he'll walk out of America with the best police force in the States under his thumb after the meeting. Protection at the meeting is light, four Glocks. So act how you will. Do not reply to this message. Don't ask where this comes from. Trust me. " [/i] The phone's encryption was strong, and no doubt that Athena was going to be shocked. But somehow, he knew she'd know exactly who sent it. Be unable to place it accurately, but would do the thing he had in mind. After all, how do you touch those who can't be found? When you're a ghost, you stop looking over your shoulder...Mark intended to give them a subtle reminder that they very much could.