[u][h3][center]INTERLUDE: A SUDDEN DETOUR[/center][/h3] [/u] l0cati0n: The_Detroit_Stacks y3ar: 2050 [center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VOgQELceBFA&list=PLMEZyDHJojxP7K91JTv-DtPyRz9C3KFXo&index=22[/youtube][/center] “ Nice ride, tailgater. Where’cha get it? From some corpo expo?” The windows slowly rolled up, the jeers and laughs of mockery outside quickly deafening to mute mumbles. He signed, keeping one eye on the digital homing display on his helm and on the cramped road. Hopefully. he's not too late. [i] Don’t stop moving, Keah. Never look back. [/i] Maybe, he should have stopped moving now. He felt like a mouse walking along the feet of giants. The recyc-centres in Seattle were mere puddles in the water compared to the roiling sea of scrap that towered, enclosed on him on every side. The Detroit Stacks lived up to their name after all, poking through the foggy clouds as if they were supporting the sky itself. As soon as he turned the wheel around a corner down past a jammed overpass, flashlights turn on, illuminating the silhouettes of a dozen barrels pointed at him. A heavily armored figure steps towards his car, his lower jaw replaced with an affixed respirator. He taps twice. Keah lowers down his window. His glowing blue pupils stare him, not lost in thought, but analyzing, communicating through the invisible web of the Labyrinth. After what seems like eternity, he nods. “ Go through and meet with your pit crew. Race is in ten.” Keah gives a short nod. The gate opens and he drives through, the crowd of guards parting ways. It wasn’t the prim or proper assembly areas of the Death Derby. It was impromptu, unofficial and ramshackle. He had to bash his wheel several times to horn idling passerbys out of the way. There was a jolt as his wheels transitioned from smooth syn-crete to granulated plastic. The pit assembly area was a collection of tents, smoke streaming out of them. He turned left into a checkboxed tent, sparsely occupied compared to the others next to it. Hanging by one string from the rafters was a sign “ THE SEATTLE STREET SURFERS.” There's clear signs of an argument happening as he rolls into the center of the tent, grimy ashen-faced gear jockeys being scolded at by a person more metal than man. The exo-suit he was using to support his ematicated body screamed Scrapteam. " WHERE THE FUCK IS OUR REPLACEMENT DRIVER? I SWEAR TO GOD, I'LL FUCKING RIP HIS - " He paused in the middle of his rant, looking straight at Keah's car with a stare that makes his insides squirm. The other members of the crew look at him with a mixture of relief and revulsion just as his dingy little car halts, chassis lurching back and forth. He hits the handbrake into neutral and lowers down the polarized window. " I'm here." Keah coughs awkwardly. " I heard that there's a Cranks I'm supposed to meet?" “ Shit, dude." One member of the pit-crew, chomping down a elec-cig, examines his vehicle closely with a scrutinizing scowl. " We’ve got an EngiTech Downstreamer? Doubt it even has a V8 - “ “ V10, actually.” He pipes out. “ Nitro-charged. Made it myself - ” "That would be me." Cranks stomps over, hydraulic whining issuing from his exo-suit with every step and shooes the pit-crew member away. “ I've heard from the Car Czar that he’s a devil on the turns. This is the guy that beat him in the Stateboard." Whispers of disbelief begin to spread before a single glare shuts down the gossiping. " Doesn’t matter ‘bout the car. What matters is the driver." Cranks looks pointedly You can handle this. Right?” “ Y-yeah,” Keah stammers. He’s got this. He reviewed the course twenty times last night. Of course, he’s got this. “ Yeah. Let’s get this show on the road.” “ Remember, you’ve got 20 minutes to make it back here. And no bumping, got it? This ain’t the Death Derby.” He pats the hood. " All right, we've got 7 minutes. Let's do a final check up before we get him out there." Keah sighs. He finds it all unnecessary as the pit-crew goes into formation, checking the vitals of his car. Knowing the insides and outs of his car was a job every racer except him seem to take fore granted. As soon as they're done, he drives out onto the gravel road towards the start line. There were twenty cars, all of various shapes and sizes, besides him. He can feel them all gazing on him. The lonely newcomer. Sizing him up. He takes pole at his starting position, stuck in between two ginormous FuryTech Skyskippers. A broken down traffic light, repurposed as a timer, lights up. [i]Don’t stop. [/i] 3. Foot on the throttle. [i]Won’t stop.[/i] 2. Shift to first gear. [i]Can’t stop. [/i] 1. Breathe. [i]To stop is to surrender. [/i] 0. The air boils with the sound of cheers, keys turns, engine roar, tires spin, combustion chambers popping and electric motors whirring in a cacophany of chrome and all Keah can do is drown himself in the thrill of eternity, slamming down the pedal to chase down the horizon.