Aaron's Journal - Part 1

June 9th, 2026

I wake up today to the first day of my junior year of high school. (Little did I know, it'd actually be my only day.) As I get out of my bed, I knock over my backpack and rifle, making a resounding clatter in the morning silence.

"I hope nobody heard that." I think, frozen in place.

I pick up the AR-15 that made the noise. It is my standard rifle, with a rectangular handguard and suppressor on the front. The gun boasts a Trijicon scope, a canted red dot sight (RDS), a carbon-fiber skeletonized frame, textured magazines, textured grips, a flared magwell, a custom charge handle, a front-mounted laser/light, an angled grip, a carbon fiber stock and barrel, and the name "The Razor." The weapon fires a bullet categorized as 7.62x39mm NATO. Capable of killing a man in one or two shots, depending on where I am aiming.

I take the gun and strap it to my backpack. I then get dressed and look ing the mirror. I'm wearing a carbon gray shirt, a black leather jacket, military-grade fingerless combat gloves, gray cargo jeans, a utility belt, and a pair of bulletproof kneepads. On my jacket is a name.

"Aaron J. Keyes."

While I look in the mirror I mess around with my black hair, which is always a mess. I try my best to style it, but steel wool would be easier to comb. I give up and open the door to my room, ready to get some breakfast, my black eyes sparkling with the thought of food.

The pleasing aroma of James' cooking greets me like an old friend. Just from the smell, I can tell what he's cooking in the kitchen. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, and his famous "minigun sausage," which he makes by sending some sausage links down the eight super-hot barrels of his M2014 minigun.

James Magnus is our heavy support specialist. He uses some pretty high-tech armor that is almost impossible to put a dent in, much less break. James can take a lot of punishment and dish out just as much. When his minigun runs empty, though, he has a trust sidearm - The Glock 18 he inherited from his late father. He is 18 years old, 6'5" tall, and weighs 150 Lbs of pure muscle. Although, for the record, he is plenty smart.

As I head towards the kitchen, I hear a mighty roar from the garage.

"Sounds like Rex is awake." James shouts.

Rex Magnus is James' little brother, and one of my best friends and teammates. He is the best at recon, since he is very fast and agile. He and I really like cars, making us both the mechanics of the team. He is 17 years old, 5'11" tall, and weighs 100 Lbs. He has brown hair and blue eyes, and is built for speed.

The roar wakes up everyone in the house, which means that I can do roll call a little bit more easily. I call everyone to the garage so I can have everyone in one place.

The garage is more like an auto shop, since it has seven car bays, each including a car lift, a work table, and an engine lift.

The twins - Kate and Katie Keyes - storm into the garage and begin shouting at Rex, who was sitting in the driver's seat of our most powerful car. Kate and Katie are not my siblings, despite us sharing the last name "Keyes." In fact, Kate and Katie are basically me from another dimension, since they are. More on that later. They're both 5'11" but they are always trying to see who's taller. They both weigh 120 Lbs, but are both saying they're only 110. One unique fact about them is that they both dyed their hair red, and keep it that way. I don't know their real hair color.

"Rex!" Kate shouted.

"Yeah? What is it, Katie?" He says, mistaking Kate for her younger twin. Kate is 16, and Katie is 16. A mere 45 seconds separates the two.

"First of all, I'm Kate. Second of all, why the heck are you revving the engine for? Is it to wake us all up?"

"No! I was testing the brake system to see if it had enough pressure! I just hit the wrong pedal! I'm sorry!"

I look at the car Rex is in. It's my car - The XR-09 Revolution. The car is powered by two 8.9L V10's, which are bolted together - one on top of the other - and married to the same drivetrain. Each V10 is turbocharged and supercharged, which means that the complete engine is a 17.8L twin-turbo, twin-supercharged V20. It's top speed is an ungodly 429 Mph.

It shows no mercy.

Kate and Katie retreat back to their room and get dressed. Meanwhile, one by one, the rest of the team rushes to the garage, inquiring about the source of the noise. Tanake Sakura - who is 17 years old, with blizzard-white hair and azure-blue eyes, is 6' tall, and weighs about 115 Lbs - storms in and gives Rex what for.

When all is said and done, we all gather around the breakfst table. Isabelle is clearly enjoying her meal. Isabelle Keyes is 16 years old, with brown hair and green eyes, standing 6' tall, and weighing in at 109 Lbs. She's my adopted sister, since when she was about 11 she got in a trin wreck and lost her memory. She tends to stay in her room, since she is dangerously good at hacking with anything from a laptop to a smartphone. She drives one of our fastest cars: The Aston Martin Vulcan. its got a 8.0L V12, and has twin-turbo installed for a higher top speed. The car has three power levels. Power level one gives about 600 horsepower. Power level two gives about 1000 horsepower. Power level three gives the car's maximum hp: 1500.

Tanake was nowhere to be seen - since she's the most shy and introverted person in our team - and she is our stealth and sniping expert. We don't often see her, but when we do, we always can notice her snow-white hair, and her outstandingly blue eyes.

Fun fact: if you manage to stare into her eyes for what feels like ten seconds, you actually stared into them for a whole minute. They are very captivatingly blue.

Through breakfast, we all conversed about what we thought school would be like. I thought it would be pretty monotonous.

This was our team. We call ourselves the Shadow Shrikes. Our history dates back many years, to when I was 12. My father and mother were government agents, and my entire family tree was composed of warlords, spies, assassins, mercenaries, warriors, spec ops, Navy SEALS, and even one man armies. My brother and sister didn't want to live like that, so they became regular civilians. I, however, was anything but. I enrolled in every branch of the U.S. military and was accepted instead into a secret branch of military research. I was part of a project for teleportation. It all went smoothly until a North Korean spy sabotaged the teleportation device, sending me to another world. I ended up traveling the multiverse as an interdimensional mercenary until I returned home. Now, I'm a traditional mercenary, with a team of operatives and friends I had met in my travels. Now to touch on the Katie and Kate and the 'other dimension thing.' In one of my travels in another dimension, Kate and Katie's home dimension was destroyed and they were the only survivors. They were living on the streets as rookie hitwomen and eventually were taken in by the Shadow Shrikes and I. Now, they're some of the best people we have.

When we finished breakfast, we piled into our vehicles and started off for school. I was driving my XR-09, and Kate and Katie were piloting a very unique vehicle - a W Motors Lykan HyperSport. Rex has modified it and put in a 7.8L twin-turbo F8 engine instead of the Lykan's traditional F6. It now has all sorts of additional modifications to reduce weight, improve handling, etc.

Rex had chosen his 2017 Camaro ZL1, which had a 7.0L turbocharged and supercharged V8. The rest, he keeps a secret.

When we arrived at school, we parked in the school parking lot and headed to our classes. Which meant I headed to English class with Kate and Katie.

Once in English class, we took our seats and got out our stuff. The teacher looked at me and spoke.

"Excuse me, sir, but are you Mr. Keyes?" She said.

"Yes, ma'am. Aaron Keyes, ma'am."

"The security desk would like to speak with you." She said, tipping the end of her glasses to get a better view of me.

That was strange. The security desk wanted to speak with a new student? Why would they do that? They must know about my mercenary lifestyle.

When I got to the security desk, a young man looked at me and led me into a white room with a desk and three chairs.

Interrogation.

I took my seat and asked why I was here. No answer. I asked if i could go back to class. No answer.

The security clerk just shut the door behind him. If this was just a security concern, I could be fine. But if this was an interrogation that included things like waterboarding, stun batons, and other torture weapons. I would have no problem escaping.

"Mr. Keyes, we have brought you here today to offer you a job."

"What kind of job do you have in mind?"

"Security officer."

"Wait, what?"

"Security officer. Our background check on you revealed you had enrolled in the military at 12 years old and supposedly passed all the tests with flying colors."

They had no clue about me! I am 17 years old and have killed about 12,000 hostiles! Do note that these were all criminals, corrupt government workers, corrupt military, terrorists, anarchists, serial killers, and sociopaths. But still, I have more experience than anyone who has ever existed in any universe!

I silently chuckled.

"Sure. I might need help though."

"You'll get your dream team."

"Don't bother. My team is already prepared for anything."

"What? What do you mean, 'Your team?'"

"Long story, don't ask."

And with that, I left the office.

When I returned to class, I made a stop to the bathroom to unload my gear from my backpack. I unfolded my AR-15 and dug out my three sidearms.

Sidearm the first; The Cytel Industries Mk.9 Smartpistol. The weapon was inspired by a weapon used in a video game, but modern technology made it a reality. the weapon uses a laser system that locks on to targets within the weapon's effective range. Most of the fancy gadgetry is actually in the bullet. Inside the bullet lies a tiny navigational system which modifies the bullet's flight path using small ramjets on the bullet, letting the bullet hit any target within a 45 degree cone (the cone spreads from the gun like a flashlight.)

My second and third sidearms are my dual Desert Eagles. Each one has a flared magwell, a match grade trigger and magazine, a red dot sight, an underbarrel laser/light, a skeletonized frame, and a textured grip. I call them "Soul Stealers."

I grab my weapons and put my Soul Stealers in quickdraw holsters on my thighs. My Cytel Mk. 9 is placed in a holster on my belt, along with magazines for it. I strap my AR-15 to my backpack, and grab a few grenades - yes, grenades - to put on my belt. I then clip on my kneepads and my GL-X5's.

My GL-X5s' are gauntlets made by GaunTech that are armored arm pieces that can house all sorts of nifty gadgets. My GL-X5's are equipped with a carbon-based piton cable/grappling hook - capable of lifting up to 1/2 ton - a pair of hidden blades mounted on the underside - meant for better hand-to-hand combat, or cutting things - and a small computer. The armor that protects all of this is a combination of graphene and titanium, making any bullet or blade stop dead in it's tracks.

Once I'm done gearing up, I head back to my seat in English class. When I sit down, I notice a brown-haired girl sitting next to my seat. She is evidently freaking out from the sight of an AR-15, three handguns, and a gouple of grenades.

I look around, Kate and Katie are looking at me and making hand gestures. I could barely make them out.

Katie waved her hands and did other gestures.

"You want me to slide for fun?" I guessed.

"NO, YOU DUMMY! I WANT YOU TO HIDE YOUR GUNS!" She shouts.

By now, everyone has taken notice. Including the teacher.

"Mr. Keyes, What are you wearing?" She inquires.

"Security uniform." I say, rather gleefully.

"Please take it off. And what is on your backpack?"

"A fully loaded AR-15. On safety for obvious reasons." I say. This'll be glorious.

"Did the Security team recruit you?" She asks. Finally the right question.

"Now you're asking the good questions. Yes, yes they did."

"Ah, I see. Carry on."

That was anticlimactic.

When we move into second period, Kate and Katie stop me outside my locker. They both slam their hands into the wall on either side of my head, denting the lockers behind me.

"You were recruited for security?" Kate asks.

"Yeah, I told them the entire team would do it, too."

They back off, letting me regain my personal space. I instantly notice that my heart was pounding at full throttle.

"Curious." I think, "Why is my heart beating so fast?"

For the moment, I shrug it off and proceed to my Chemistry class.

When I take my seat in Chemistry, I notice the brown-haired girl again sitting by my desk. I sit down in my seat.

"Hi." I say, trying to make a good impression despite having an assault rifle on my back.

She looks at me and then at my AR-15.

"What caliber is that?"

That caught me off guard.

"Huh? Oh! 7.62x39mm NATO."

"Interesting. Is that a carbon-fiber buttstock?"

"Indeed it is. I take it you're into firearms?"

"Yup. I'm especially into explosives and grenades."

"That explains something."

"What other things are you carrying?"

"Should I make that list in alphabetical order, or in order of largest caliber to smallest?"

She laughs at this, and I notice a pair of dog tags hanging from her neck. They are genuine dog tags, and the crest on them tells me that they belong to a U.S. marine. I strain my eyes a bit to read the name.

What I read is bone-chilling.

"Ashley Magnus."

I freeze, realizing that this girl I am currently sitting next to is related to two of my deadliest teammates - James and Rex.

The similarities are astounding. They all have the same body build, the same laugh, the same interests. It's scary how much she looks like a Magnus.

"Something wrong? You look scared." She says, her voice concerned.

"A little."

"What's wrong?"

"I s-saw your d-dog tags." I say, barely getting the words out. "Y-your name is As-Ashley Magnus, right?"

"Yeah. Do you know me from somewhere?"

"N-not exactly. I'm friends with your b-brothers."

She jumps at the words. She then grabs my shoulders and looks me in the face.

"Where are my brothers?" She asks, her face suddenly very serious.

"They're here. At school. I'll introduce you to them."

She gets up and bolts from the room, determined to meet her brothers again.

That was wierd, but understandable.

Next up, Gym class.

When I get into my Gym clothes, I make sure to keep my Cytel Mk. 9 on my belt. If there were an attack in the middle of Gym, I would otherwise be incapable of upholding my contract with the school security team (keep the school secure.)

In the Gym, Kate and Katie come up to me wearing their outfits, which are absolutely adorable on them. My only complaint is that the shorts are too short.

And Katie knows it.

The coach assigns me to run a lap around the gym. The only challenge - I need to beat a member of the track club.

I approach the starting line, expecting to see a full-blown jock, only to find a slender kid with the body build of a malnourished twig.

"Is this kid the one I'm supposed to beat?" The skinny little stick says

"Yup, now hop to it." The coach orders.

I look at the starting line. This little kid was smack talking about me? Jerk.

We line up at the starting line. I volunteer to be on the outside ring, the longest of them all. I knew almost nothing about track, but I did know some basic principles from a bunch of car races I've done. The basics that carry over is simple geometry. the inside of the track is the shortest part, and the outside of the track is the longest part. So, why would I give him the inside? To see what he's actually got. If he can beat me on the inside, then I can switch with him. If I win on the outside, then he can get a drinking straw and suck it up.

When the coach gives the "GO" signal, I bolt ahead, completing my lap before the kid can realize what happened.

The coach then tells me that I am perfectly fit and that I should go into competitive athletics, probably the olympics. Like that would be a good use of my talents.

When I get back to Kate and Katie, they're doing stretches. The goal of their current stretch is to touch their toes without bending their legs.

The view I currently have is more than enough.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" I ask, trying to avert my eyes. Katie just smiles and tilts her head.

"I'll take that as a yes. Please stop." I say, trying to keep my face from spontaneously combusting from it's own heat.

That dirty little girl.

When it's time for lunch, the security team lets me take a break. In our school, a lot of the students are able to temporarily leave the school campus to grab a bite to eat.

Most students also ditch school at this time. I'm one of them. I ask my friends if they want to come with me and I recieve mixed reactions.

"Ditching on your first day? Are you nuts?" exclaimed Kate.

"Count me in!!" Rex shouted.

Ashley - who was spying on her brothers from the sidelines - decided to come with me and Rex to join in the fun.

We started off down the halls, headed towards the garage. When we reached the stairs, I felt the most curious thing.

I felt a breeze, like something just flew through the air by my head - a few millimeters to be precise. I looked around and heard what it was.

A gunshot.

The resounding "bang!" filled everyone's ears, like a firecracker just went off in the middle of the halls. I looked to where the shot had come from, and I found it.

There, across the school, was a man dressed in a pair of jeans, a black hoodie, and a scarf. He was holding a Remington 700, which was a bolt-action sniper rifle chambered in .308 Remington.

He was an assassin, and he was also a rookie. He didn't have a suppressor - a device which makes gunshots more quiet - and he missed.

I bolted up the stairs, trying to catch the gunman. He was on the roof, which had only one entrance, and was about 100 feet above the ground. He had made a rookie mistake - not making sure that he had more than one exit.

I readied my AR-15 and pulled the carging handle, chambering a round. In total, I had 30 rounds in my current magazine.

I accidentally ran into a group of students, since I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. The biggest one looked at me and got very angry.

"What's the rush, man? What's up with your outfit?" He said, cracking his knuckles for intimidation.

"What's your name, buddy?" I said, ready for a fight.

"I'm your foe. Let's fight, right here, right now."

"YourFoe? That's an interesting name." I said, with as much snark as possible.

I lauged and put my rifle on it's sling. I wasn't about to kill him - just put him in the nurse's office.

He threw a puch. I caught his fist and chuckled. He should have the common sense to not mess with a man with a gun. I twisted his arm behind his back and jerked it. He fell to the ground, rubbing his shoulder in pain.

"You broke my arm!" He cried.

"Nope," I replied, "I only pulled your shoulder from it's socket."

With that, I ran to the roof. When I reached the door, I smashed it with my shoulder. The door swung open and a blast of air rushed inside. I walked out onto the roof and found the sniper. He looked at me and pulled out his sidearm - a Glock 23. The Glock 23 is a semi-auto handgun chambered in .40 S&W. Packs enough punch to hurt, but not enough to kill me. Not unless he hit me in the right spot.

I raised my rifle and aimed for his chest. If I hit in the center-of-mass, He would be begging for jailtime - especially when hit with a bullet of 7.62x39mm.

Suddenly, a blast of wind knocked me off my feet. I lost my grip on my rifle and saw it skitter off the edge of the building.

I look up and find a helicopter decending on the roof, It's propeller blades kicking up all sorts of dust and dirt.

The hostile marksman runs to the helicopter - evidently his getaway vehicle. I get up off the floor and make a beeline for the helicopter.

The assassin gets in the heicopter and turns around, raising his gun to shoot me.

I duck for cover behind an air vent. The bullets hit the cold metal and stop like foam darts. I wait for him to stop shooting and run for the helicopter.

The chopper begins to pull up, preparing to get away. I stop short of where it was and think fast. Then an idea popps into my mind.

I pull up my GL-X5s and fire the piton cable. It's sharp point pierces the hull of the chopper's underside, keeping it from getting any further from me.

But it can still leave the school.

I am soon lifted off the ground, flying almost 200 feet above street level. I look to my gauntlets and begin to pull myself up to the helicopter's skids.

I grab one and pull myself silently into the cabin, where I grab the shooter and grab his Glock. The pilot looks back and brings up his own Glock 23.

"If you fire," I negotiate over the shrieks of the chopper, "I will kill this man and I will kill you."

The pilot lowers his gun, recognizing that I not only have a hostage, but that if he fights me, nobody will pilot the helicopter.

I throw the Glock in my hands out the door, making sure that they are both disarmed. I then command him to land on the school's roof again.

Once back on the roof of the school, I take both of the would-be assassins to the security team. They take them in for questioning. I go and find my AR-15, which I found in the flowerbeds for the Tulips.

When I get back to Rex and Ashley, they both ask me about what happened. I tell them and say that I'm ready to eat some lunch.

Of course I never did, since the bell rang the minute I said that.

The rest of the school day goes smoothly, and I soon leave school to go enjoy my day.

I am racing down the roads of Atlanta, tearing up the asphalt of the long and unpopulated streets.

In recent events, multiple small but deadly hurricanes have made Atlanta a very unpopular place to visit. Today, there is no longer the gridlock of rush hour, and the capitol of Georgia is now a relic of when this city was still one of the most populated cities in the USA.

These days, Atlanta's abandoned roads and highways make it the best city for illegal street racers. With street racing being quite popular, racing gangs are now in the middle of gang wars for dominance over the Atlanta streets. Sometimes, the wars get ugly, and people get killed.

As I'm driving through the abandoned streets, my phone rings in my pocket. I pull it out and answer it.

"Hello?" I ask.

"Aaron! It's me, Rex! Where are you?"

"I'm on the corner of 45th and 12th."

"Okay, make a left and go strait for about 2 miles."

I saw my turn and hit the handbrake. My rear tires lost all grip and I turned my wheel into a countersteer. I drift onto 12th street and hit the gas. The XR-09 Revolution was built with two things in mind - power, and excellent handling.

I drive two miles down 12th street and came to a stop at a car show. When I pull in, I hear all sorts of engines revving, running, and making noise. I feel someone knock on my window. I roll it down and find Rex beside my car, a microphone in his hands.

"Ladies and gentleman, please welcome our guest of honor - Aaron Keyes!" He shouts into the mic. His voice is amplified through a loudspeaker system set up on the street lights.

I like the place. He chose the right spot for a car gathering. The whole place is a parking garage, with a very nice top floor. He has a burnout strip, a quarter mile track, a drift zone, and a map of a race route that runs throughout the city.

I rev my engine, and the twin V10's get everyone's attention. I ride up to the top floor, where I find Kate and Katie, dressed in matching hoodies. They're both enjoying the show, which makes me glad. To be completely honest, I kind of have a crush on the two of them.

That's both - as in two, plural, not just one.

I take my place in a spot next to the drift circle. When I get out, Kate and Katie greet me and tell me to follow them.

"What's up?" I ask, shouting over the roar of engines.

"We wanted to show you the current champion of the quarter mile." Katie says, walking backward to face me.

"What was his best time?"

"About 9.065 seconds."

I whistled. That was fast. A Lamborghini Huracan can do about 12 seconds with the right build.

"What car does he drive?"

"Dodge Challenger SRT Demon."

"Aha. He probably hasn't modified it. The SRT Demon can almost always make a time like that."

"But can you beat him?" Katie asked, concerned.

I looked at her, taking a bit to wonder if that concern in her voice was genuine, or from something else.

"By the way, Aaron, you better beat his time. I betted the driver that the winner would get my new car." Kate said, "I won a Pontiac Firebird Trans-Am from a guy who thought he could beat a W Motors Lykan."

I laughed. Anyone who thinks a naturally aspirated V8 would perform better than a twin-turbo F6 was counting their chickens before the eggs were laid. And that was with a normal Lykan. Kate's was harldy normal with Rex's modifications.

When we got to the starting line, the champion approached me and started trash talking about my car.

"Hey, buddy. How much did that cost you? I bet it'll sell for a lot when I sell it."

"Oh, are we racing for pink slips?"

"Last time I checked, we were."

"I accept."

I instantly had second thoughts. Pink slips? If I lost, I could lose my car. This car was a one-of-a-kind vehicle! There were no other XR-09s on the Earth! If I can't beat a time of 9.065 seconds, I could lose my car!

I swallowed hard.

"No." I thought, "Katie and Kate are counting on me. We won't just lose the XR-09, we could lose a valuable new car."

Katie stepped out onto the drag strip. She held the checkered flag in her hands. She looked at me and the look on her face told me everything she was thinking.

That concern in her voice was genuinely from her heart. She was afraid of me losing. She feared that I would lose my car, and with it, my skill.

The traffic lights all go red. I guess they will be our starting signal. My opponent starts his engine and begins revving it for a good start.

I turn on the XR-09 and look at the 'mode select' screen. I choose 'drag mode.'

The traffic lights turn yellow and Katie raises the flag. My dual V10s roar to the optimal RPM for the launch.

"Katie," I say aloud in the cabin of the car, "This is for you."

I feel time slow to a crawl. The feel of the racing seat against my back is hard, like a carved piece of stone from 'The Flinstones.'

I feel my hands begin to sweat against the cold carbon fiber of the steering wheel. I can suddenly feel every part of my car vibrating from the power of the 17.8L twin-turbo, twin-supercharged V20.

Then the light goes green.

Katie drops the checkered flag.

I'm off the line, and I quickly shift into second gear. The dual superchargers on the two V10's are whining like crazy, and the air forced into the cylinders makes the XR-09 accelerate from 0 - 60 in a mere second and a half.

The Dodge Demon is right on my tail, like a shadow I can't shake. I soon accelerate into third gear. Then to fourth. Then fifth.

I suddenly begin to pull away from the Demon as the turbochargers kick into action. All of the forced induction on the engine begins to make a squeal that is ear-splittingly loud.

Suddenly, the Demon is right next to me, matching my speed. His exhaust is burning like it's got something injected in it. Because he injected Nitrous Oxide, better known as nitro.

As he matches my speed, I can only hope to lose him in my next gearshift. I just need to time it perfectly.

The RPM on my dashboard climbs higher.

Higher.

Higher still.

Now.

I shift into sixth gear, and the Demon begins to fall behind again. And just in time, too.

I cross the quarter mile marker and hit the brakes as I begin to downshift back into first gear.

I head back to the start to find an anxiously waiting Katie and Kate. They couldn't tell who won, but the timing boards could.

The timing boards relay the time at which we did the quarter mile. Kate looks away, scared to know how fast the Demon completed the race.

I was nervous, too. I could lose the XR-09, and it was one of my first drag races with it.

"Johnathan Cole: 8.986 sec."

"Aaron Keyes: 8.903 sec."

I threw my hands up and shouted in victory. Kate looked at the board and punched me on the arm. Katie did something I didn't expect. She hugged me.

Suddenly, my voice got caught in my chest, and I couldn't speak. My heart was pounding at an astonishing rate. My face went red, and I felt like me and Katie had just gotten really close.

Then Katie let go of me, her face redder than her hair.

"T-that wasn't too a-a-awkward, was it?" she said, her voice shaking.

"N-n-no!" I said, my voice also quite hesitant to be heard, "Y-you're fine."

Rex handed me the keys to the Dodge SRT Demon, which had the 'Demon' logo on them. I hit the 'unlock' button and heard the red Dodge beep.

"Bwoop, Bwoop!"

Ahh, that iconic sound for a new car.

When the gathering was over, I took Katie and Kate home in the Pontiac Firebird. It was nice, with the comfortable leather seating, and the unique lack of armrests. It only had four gears, but it could go pretty fast.

Kate had already fallen asleep in the back seat of the Firebird by the time I made the turn out of the parking lot.

During the drive home, Katie was pretty quiet. It was a little bit uncomfortable, since Katie is normally really sweet and kind, as well as talkative. She is often identified as the one who is easy to be friends with.

As I pull the Firebird into the driveway, I look around. Kate and Katie were both asleep. I looked at Kate, who had her hoodie zipped up as a sort of blanket.

I open up my door and circle the car to the passenger-side door to get the two of them out of the car.

I open the door and Katie falls out like a ragdoll. She had been leaning against the door when she fell asleep.

I catch her by the shoulders, praying she doesn't wake up. Besides, she's really cute when she's asleep.

I gently lift her onto my back in a piggy-back ride. It's really strange to me, since I've never really done this kind of thing before. At least not with a girl that's my age. I've done it before with my younger brother, Jack, when he was about 7.

I carefully open the door to the house, making sure not to wake anybody.

I step into the kitchen and turn on the lights.

Rex jumps out from around the corner and prepares to pop a party popper.

"Congrats on winni-"

I quickly use my hand to cover his mouth. I guesture to the - thankfully - still asleep Katie, who was beginning to stir.

"REX!" I whispered as loudly as I dared, "Shut up and go bring Kate in from the Firebird."

He pulled my hand away from his mouth an gave a military salute. Then he went off to get Kate.

I find Katie's room and open the door, using my hand to feel the walls for the lightswitch.

As I feel around for the switch I trip on something on the floor and fall to the ground with a resounding 'thud.'

When I get up, I accidentally trip over the item again and land on something.

That 'something' made a very curious "Eeek!" when I landed.

I hear two claps and the lights turn on. I look around.

I had tripped on a small backpack, which I knew because it was the only item on the floor other than me and-

Katie.

I looked at Katie, who was lying on the floor, face-up. I had caught myself on my hands just mere centimeters before I would've made impact with Katie's head.

Her face went red, and mine did as well. I had never been this close to a girl before. Not even in my craziest fantasies. But holy crap, this feeling I had in my face and heart, it was like I had just taken a nonlethal overdose of drugs.

Katie was too scared to move, and so was I. So we just lied there, frozen in fear and anxiety.

Suddenly, Katie's eyes started to droop and shut. As she fell asleep, I also felt a tsunami of drowziness flood my body, since I had forgotten to breathe while I was frozen.

I was asleep before I even made contact with the floor.

June 10th, 2026

I woke up this morning to find myself on the ground.

In Katie's room.

With her sleeping.

And me holding her.

And her holding me.

I panicked

As I try to remember what happened last night, I realize that the blanket that now covers us is new, since I don't remember either of us getting it.

I freeze, too scared to move again.

I feel Katie's grip on me tighten. She has me by my shirt, and I can feel her hair against my face.

God, it's the softest thing I've ever felt. Some parts of her hair dye are missing from where her hair has grown since she last dyed it, and I can finally know that her natural hair color is brown, like Isabelle.

Katie's eyes fluttered open, and she realized the same thing I had only mere moments before.

We were both still too scared to move.

I eventually tried to get up to go to my own room, but Katie grabbed my shirt sleeve.

"Aaron," she said, "who do you like more? Me, or my sister?"

That was probably the last question I ever wanted to hear, since the answer was so complicated that a phsychologist couldn't figure it out. So, I went with the person that showed more mutual feelings.

"I'd choose you over Kate." I said, and the feeling of saying it made me inexplicably happy.

Her eyes went wide and she smiled. She got up and told me to shoo while she got dressed for her first ditch day.

"Wait, I thought you didn't like the thought of us ditching alone in the first week of school." I pointed out.

"Who said I'd be doing it alone?" she said.

When I got dressed andd geared up, Rex passed me the keys to the XR-09.

"Just gave it a bit of a tune-up. The brake discs are now made of silicon carbide." He said.

When he mentioned silicon carbide, I was blown away. He had made the world's hardest brake discs - from stuff they put in cutting-edge body armor!

The XR-09 just got a whole lot more awesome.

When it was time to go to school, I let Katie drive the XR-09. She's a really good driver, and I felt bad that she got to drive a Lamborghini Sesto Elemento - not a bad car, but it pales in comparison to the XR-09. She should get a car worthy of her talents.

As I sat in the shotgun seat, we pulled up to a red light. Just then, a car pulled up next to us - a Ferrari FXX K.

Katie and I looked at it. The Ferrari FXX K is a modified Ferrari LaFerrari with a V12 hybrid engine producing 1050 Bhp. It has active aerodynamics, and is not street legal. Cops hate it since they can't catch it.

The driver rolls down his window and reveals himself to be Johnathan Cole, the man I had raced just last night and won his Dodge Demon.

"Hey, kid," He said, smoking a cigarette in his mouth, "Nice car, you've got there, wanna race it?"

I look at Katie. She nods and gets out of the driver's seat. I exit and get in the driver's seat. Katie, knowing how I drive during races, fastens her seat belt and finds something to hold onto.

"Sure. I'll race you from here to the other side of town, and take the interstate back. The conventional cannonball run."

He gave me a thumbs up and rolled up his window.

We sat at the light, ready for it to go green. I fastened my seatbelt and set the XR-09 to go all-out to win this race.

Just like when we did the drag race, I begin to feel anxious. I can suddenly feel every part of the car, from the vibrations of the engine - to the stillness of the tires.

The light goes green.

I'm quickly off the line, and the FXX K is close to follow. First gear quickly passes, and I'm lready in third before I know it.

As we approach the first turn, The FXX K slows down, taking the turn at a measly 45 miles per hour.

Me? I swing the back end out and start drifting through the turn. The tires squeal, and my front end is pointed dangerously at the nose of the FXX K.

The superchargers have been kicking in from the start of the race, and as I exit the turn, I let the rear of my car fall back into line with the front.

As I hear the superchargers whine, I begin to pull away from the Ferrari, leaving a trail of burnt rubber in my wake.

In the straight across town, I end up having to weave in and out of oncoming traffic, leaving ample time for the FXX K to catch up. Soon, He passes me and heads into first place.

I swerve onto the clearest two lanes I can see, giving myself a clear path to let the V10's do what thet do best.

Feed power to the wheels.

It's not long before the turbochargers activate, and the forced-induction launches me forward, and my spedometer begins to skyrocket.

When the next curve comes up, the XR-09's handling really goes to work, and I drift through a 90-degree turn at an unreal 110 miles per hour. The new silicon carbide brake discs are definitely working, too, since I am currently hitting about 230 Mph on the longer straits, then slowing down rapidly to tackle the turns.

All this speed, however, attracts the attention of multiple police officers.

As I am pouring on the speed, a cop pulls out in front of me, causing me to steer a hard left and start to spin out.

In a very unexpected spin, Katie reaches over and jerks the steering wheel, which - god knows how - causes us to stop spinning and regain control.

By now, the FXX K is already on the interstate.

When I reach the onramp to get on the interstate, I find that the Ferrari is only 300 feet or so ahead of me.

"Hey, Aaron? What did Rex say the top speed of the XR-09 was?" I hear Kate shout over the screaming of two V10's, two turbochargers, and two superchargers.

"Just under 430 Mph. It's crazy."

"Well the cops on our tail are in regular old Ford Tauruses. Just floor it."

I put the pedal to the floor and the XR-09 does the rest. Katie turns on the radio and tunes into the police scanner.

"Copy, dispatch, suspect is pulling away, we need to contact state for air support."

Air support. Great. That meant that we would have a helicopter tailing us soon.

On the interstate, The XR-09 is the king of the road, since I can make turns that other cars can't make at the same speeds. It helps that the XR-09 has amazing capabilities, but the real skill is not the car...

It's the person in it.

So when I hit the interstate, I almost immeiately passed the Ferrari and took the lead. However, when I hit the interstate, I also found myself in the spotlight of a helicopter.

"Copy, I am over and above the suspected 10-94. All units, close in for the arrest."

I knew I couldn't accelerate any faster, since I already had the pedal to the floor, and I was currently hitting my current record of 280 Mph and still climbing quite fast.

"Copy, dispatch, we need a roadblock."

"Roger that, roadblock is in formation."

I smiled and began to think. The most likely place for a roadblock to be would be about two miles ahead of me, and that would be a bad idea to hit. However, I could use the offramps ahead to evade the roadblock, or I could just face it head-on and hope it isn't complete by the time I hit it.

I begin to turn onto the offramp when Katie reaches over again and takes control of the steering wheel. She directs the XR-09 forward, heading towards the roadblock formation.

The roadblock suddenly jumps into view, and my heart races. Katie begins to drift, and the XR-09 goes sideways. Out of fear, I slam on the brakes, and the inertia from all of our speeding causes us to roll off the ground, like a bouncing ball.

Inside the cabin of the rolling XR-09, all hell breaks loose, and everything not tied down - my backpack, my Soul Stealers, and Katie's Cytel Mk. 9. My head hits the side of the car, and I black out. The last thing I see is the FXX K collide with the side of a police cruiser.

Then darkness shuts my eyes.

When I wake up, I instantly look around for Katie.

"Is Katie okay? What happened after I blacked out? What happened to Johnathan? I hope He made it out, poor guy." I thought, a million questions racing through my mind.

I look around. I'm in the XR-09. Somehow, we landed upside right, but the side windows shattered. We slammed into the side of a police cruiser, and cops are currently closing in for the arrest.

I begin to think fast. I need to get the car on, and I nee to get in contact with the rest of my team.

I reach up to push the "Engine start" button. The dual V10's roar to life again.

I put my hands on the wheel and see that my hands have cuts all over them from where the broken glass cut them.

I look in the rearview mirror, which shows my cut-up face. There's a nasty cut on my right cheek that's bleeding, and a throbbing gash on my forehead.

I right the mirror and hold down the brakes and gas. I let the boost build up and release the brakes.

When the XR-09 launches, it scares the crap out of the first two cops closing in on the car. A persuit cop begins to follow, and I almost instantly outrun him.

The police scanner goes wild as cops all over the city are scrambling to catch the runaway car. I just hit the gas harder to get farther away from the cops.

I can't let them catch me. Not today, not ever.

As I am tearing up the interstate, I slow down and check my rearview. Nothing but the road behind me. I'm safe. I pull off the interstate and onto a sideroad. Nothing but abandoned urban buildings for the next few miles.

I look at Katie, who had apparently regained consciousness from the crash.

"You okay?" I ask, breathing heavily from all of the excitement.

"I'm okay, a few scratches, though." She says, pointing out a few cuts on her shoulder, arms, cheek, and hands. "I'm sorry I jerked the steering wheel."

I let out a deep sigh.

"Do you want me to drive?" Katie asks.

"Sure, go ahead. Just don't flip us." I say, jokingly.

I said the wrong thing.

Since Katie is about a year younger than me, she didn't quite catch on the fact I was joking.

"Are you mad at me for crashing the car?" She said, her eyes watering up.

"No! I'm not mad at you, Katie. I'm just joking. I know you pulled the wheel, but it's my fault we were even going that fast in the first place."

I guess I didn't do a good job at making things right, since she unbuckled her seat belt and bolted from the car. She ran down an alley and I quickly got out of the car to try and keep her safe.

As I round the corner of the alley, I hear a engine turn over. I look ahead and find Katie turning on a motorbike. The name on the side identifies it as a KTM 1290 Super Duke R. I know almost nothing about bikes, so I wasn't able to find out it's specifications.

Katie tries to speed off on it, but she ended up toppling over and scraping her leg on the concrete and the side of the bike.

I run over to see if she's alright. When I reach her, she's crying from a mixture of emotional and physical pain.

I can't stand to see her like this. I can't just stand back and let her suffer. I kneel down to her and move the KTM off her leg, which is now bleeding. The wound stretches from her ankle to the side of her knee, and the sight of it makes me nauseous.

I check my surroundings, there's nothing I can use to treat the wound, and the closest hospital is 12 miles away, in the direction of the cops and helicopters. They're searching for us.

If the cops find us, it'll all be over.

I think fast and decide to carry Katie to somewhere safe. Once I know she's safe, I can cause a diversion to keep the boys in blue off her scent.

I pick Katie and carry her to a place where she won't be seen.

"Katie, do you have your phone?" I ask, trying to make sure I can find her again once I distract the cops.

"Yeah, I have my phone." She says, talking between moans of pain. The wound on her leg is getting worse.

"Ok, good. I am going to go and keep the cops from finding you. If anyone comes - anyone who is not a Shadow Shrike - comes, I want you to either hide, or shoot them." I say, handing her my second Soul Stealer. I hand her a second magazine, making sure she has enough ammo to kill a small team of hostiles.

Katie takes the gun and nods. She does a quick ammo check and chambers a bullet.

I stand up and run to the XR-09. When I turn it on, it doesn't turn over. I try again to the same result. I then look at the dashboard and find that the XR-09 is out of gas. A 17.8L V20 does tend to empty it's tank.

Oh, god. This is bad. This is very bad. A thousand thoughts race through my mind. Each one is increasingly risky, increasingly dangerous.

I can hear the police sirens grow louder. I estimate they're about a mile off, but approaching fast.

I finally settle on having to take drastic measures. How drastic are these measures? Let me put it this way.

I think I can make each bullet count.

I push the XR-09 into the street, making an improvised barricade. I open up the door and fetch my weapons. I have enough ammo to kill a small 500-man army.

I ready my AR-15 and check the magazine. 30 rounds in the mag, 1 in the chamber. My Soul Stealer has 8 in the mag and 1 in the chamber.

Better make these count.

As the sirens grow louder, a police cruiser pulls up to the XR-09. I'm currently hidden behind the XR-09, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The cop walks up to the driver-side door, knocking on the window. He nods at the car, admiring it's aerodynamic yet animalistic looks.

I quietly tiptoe up behind him.

Now, I strike.

I grab the officer and throw him to the ground in a judo throw. Once he is down, I hit him with the buttstock of my AR-15, knocking him out.

I drag him to one side and check him for anything useful. He has a shotgun slung on his back - a Benelli M4. I look at it and decide to take it, as well as it's ammo.

He had a nice shotgun. It had a flashlight on the side, textured grips, a compact and light weight buttstock, and semi-automatic action.

I gather his ammo and ready myself for the next cruiser.

It was only a minute or so when the next cruiser arrived. They all came out at once, telling me to lay down my weapons and surrender.

I raised the shotgun and blew one away. The other three opened fire, and I took cover behind the XR-09 and switched to my AR-15.

When I came out to fire again, I dropped all three.

I quickly bolted to the cruiser - a Chevy Suburban - and got on the radio.

"Unit Delta, please respond, what's your 20?"

"Copy, this is Delta," I said, trying to get the cops off of me and Katie, "We have a view of multiple 10-94's going north on I-75, I am currently going 10-44. Show me as code 3, over."

I just told them that I had spotted street racers and was heading in to pursue them.

"Copy, that Delta, we are enroute to assist."

"No need, They're currently clocking in at 250 Mph right now, we won't catch them."

"Can you get their licenses, Delta?"

"Negative, I'm getting a negative on the plates, they must be using false ones."

They let me off the hook after that.

I ran over to where I left Katie, hoping she wasn't in too much pain.

She was startled by my sudden appearance and pointed the Soul Stealer at me. When she recognized me, she apologized for almost shooting me.

When I asked about her leg, she said it hurt like hell, but that she would live.

I picked her up and brought her back to the XR-09. I then got back on the police radio and tuned into the frequency that the Shadow Shrikes use for general communication.

"Hardline," I said, breathing heavily from all the action and racing, "Where are you?"

"Copy, this is Hardline, what's your handle?" Rex said, using his radio name and asking mine. My codename was Kalashnikov Actual, so that was what I'd go by.

"This is Kalashnikov Actual and I have a 10-00 (unit down, all units respond) on the side of the interstate. What's your ETA?"

"Copy, Kalashnikov, ETA in 45."

When Rex arrived in the Raptor - our Ford F-150 SVT Raptor - we piled Katie and I into the back seats and got a towing hook on the XR-09. We also ended up taking the KTM that Katie crashed on.

After loading the KTM, I can't recall much. It all went by so fast. It was all a huge blur, like a movie in fast-forward.

All I can remember after that was waking up the next day.

June 11th, 2026

I wake up the next day and I check on Katie, who is recovering from her wound in her room. Her wound had cut down to the muscle, and the impact of the bike on her leg broke her bone.

She was asleep when I came in to check on her, so I let her be. Rex stopped me outside her room and wanted to talk to me. Alone.

We walked into my room and began talking.

"So what's up, Rex?"

"For starters, we might not be able to repair the XR-09. The frame got mangled, the exhaust is now faulty, the brake fluid for the hydraulics is completely gone, there's bullet damage in the transmission, and one of your V10's was completely flattened. The cost of it would come up to about $5 million."

"Geez."

"That's not the worst of it. That guy you were racing?"

"Yeah?"

"His name is Johnathan Cole, and he wants revenge. He has just filed a lawsuit we can't win. When we lose, he gets ALL of our cars."

"Dang it. I really messed up in that race."

"No. Katie messed up. She's the one who jerked your wheel, She's the one who made you roll over and wreck the XR-09. SHE messed up."

I fell silent at this. He - for the most part - was right. She did take the wheel during the race. She made us roll over and wreck.

But he was also wrong. It wasn't Katie's fault. It was mine. During the drift, if I hadn't slammed on the brakes, we wouldn't have rolled over. Katie derserves none of the blame.

I silently reject Katies blame, pinning it on myself. I don't know why though. We humans are inexplicable.

I was going to get Katie a new car - she derserved that much for her skills -  but now we don't have any cars to give her, much less race.

Race.

That's it.

At that moment, a thought popped into my mind.

As Rex turned to leave, I grabbed his shirt sleeve.

"What?" He said, quite annoyed.

"What's your favorite muscle car?"

"Ford 2014 Mustang Boss 302. Why?"

"Get started on building a custom Mustang. I want it to be better than the XR-09."

"That's impossible. The XR-09 can hit 429 Miles per hour."

"Is that useful in a race?" I said, trying to make my point.

Rex paused, running through a series of calculations and mental simulations.

"I see where you're going." He said, grabbing a wrench from his cargo pocket.

My plan was this: every year, there is a cross-country race put on by this guy named Quan7um. The guy is a racer - one of the best ever - he lives in Detroit, but he runs a racing empire. Every year, there is a race that consists of hundreds of cars - import, domestic, JDM, muscle, hypercar, supercar, modded, stock, everything - and the winner gets to keep any of the cars that participate in the race. The winner gets to see the whole lineup of cars, and can handpick which ones he wants to keep. He also gets a grand prize of unknown amount. Last year, the prize was $20 million.

My goal is to get a car that I can win with.

So for the next few months, Rex and I worked on a Mustang. Our inspiration came from the Need for Speed movie, which depicted a mustang of the same type with a wide body kit, Forgiato rims, rearview cameras, and a 5.8L aluminum block V8 which gave out 900 hp and topped off at 234 Mph. That's faster than most Lamborghinis.

So Rex and I researched, tinkered, researched again, and then tested, tinkered, and then did more research.

When the day came around that our cars were taken, we ended up using the experimental Mustang as transportation.

When Katie recovered, she decided that she wanted revenge on Johnathan Cole.

Soon, after almost half a year's worth of testing, tinkering, tuning, and testing again, we had ourselves a Mustang. The process was grueling, and we worked all day, every day for about six months.

Here's how I met it.

November 18th, 2027

I woke up to Katie, who has been sleeping in my room for the past month. When we needed a room to research on the Mustang, she volunteered. She moved her stuff to my room, and we've been sharing a bed ever since. Due to our close proximity, we've started to really like each other for about two weeks now.

Katie shot up like a rocket from her side of the bed, which wasn't that big. She ran to the garage and started working on the Mustang, which was almost complete. All we needed was a form of forced-induction.

We were trying to choose between a turbocharger, or a supercharger. Rex claimed the supercharger was better, since it provided instant torque. Katie claimed the turbocharger was superior, since it was lighter and helped boost the top speed.

I got out of bed and changed into my shop clothes, which were a pair of black cargo jeans, and a black T-shirt.

I met the two in the garage and saw that they were still arguing over the forced-induction debate.

I just snuck past them and got in the Mustang. When I turned it on, it roared to life. We had placed a holographic heads-up display on the windshield, which displayed the RPM and which gear you were in. When the HUD blinked on, I put the Mustang in reverse and hit the gas, pulling the wheel in a turn that made our dirt driveway spin the car in a one-eighty.

The Mustang was beautiful, with the silicon-carbide brakes from the late XR-09, and a wide body kit to fit the enormous tires. The RTR-based muscle car also had a hybrid drivetrain, which allowed for instantaneous power off the starting line, allowing me to get a great start on the other cars. The whole thing was painted a carbon-fiber gray color, with two extra air intakes on the hood to keep a constant supply of air for the 7.0L V8 under the hood. The engine required so much air that the rally lights on the grill were gutted, making room for another pair of air intakes! We took a lesson from the incident with the XR-09 and put in a much larger gas tank, which actually took up the entire trunk!

Katie and Rex came up and knocked on my window. I rolled it down to talk with them.

"Aaron, which type of forced-induction do you want on the Mustang?" They asked simultaneously.

"You're just now asking me this? I say, both. Ever heard of the Zenvo ST1? It has both a turbo and a supercharger."

They both shrugged and told me to take a quick lap around the track.

That's right, we have a track.

Our track was a direct copy of the "Grand Tour"'s track that was called, "The Eboladrome." So named, because it looked like the Ebola virus when seen from the air.

I took the Boss 302 over to the starting line.

When Rex gave the "go," I started racing down the "Isn't straight," then I braced myself for the roundabout of "Spinout Circle." The tires didn't grip too much, and they didn't grip too little, sorta like a HOONIGAN drift car. It allowed me to make a drift around the roundabout and back up the "Isn't."

Next up, we had the "Car Meet Corners," which we had changed from "Old lady's house" to it's current name because there was once a car meet instead of an old lady's house. The zigzags were no match for the drifting capability of the Mustang.

Now came the tricky part. Two ninety-degree left turns known as "Sideswipe Shootout," since the inside of the two turns went just around our firing range. I started to drift into a sideways entry on the first corner, and made a clean exit from it.

On the second turn, I drifted through with enough speed to match a highway speed limit.

The ending time was about one minute. Naturally aspirated. That meant I didn't have any forced induction like turbos or superchargers.

When I returned to the garage, I was told that we had gotten a hold of a turbocharger and a supercharger, and both were going to be put on the Mustang.

When we got the parts on the Mustang, we let Katie drive it around our track. She beat my time, of course, but did it in just over half the time. She had drifted through both turns of "Car Meet Corners," as well as controlling a single drift through "Sideswipe Shootout."

Katie was an amazing driver. I need to get her a car that is worthy of her capabilities.

"Well," I thought to myself, "There's still some time before the Quan7um Bli7z. Maybe we could find something?"

I presented the idea to Rex, who was headed out to pick up the delivery of our new truck - the Ford 2017 SVT Raptor - which he would spend a bit of time modifying. We all agreed on what it would be in the end - a 7.0L V8 with a supercharger and turbo and off-road specs and selective drive wheels. The drivebox would be fitted to have all-wheel drive, reer-wheel, and even front-wheel! The truck would have rambars and a winch on the front, as well as a large light strip. The truck bed would carry a compact toolbox, which can basically bring the garage with us. It would have about 700 Hp, and a top speed of 210 Mph.

I, in the meantime, was looking up a car for Katie. She really enjoyed the XR-09, and she was definitely into the smoothness of its gear shifting.

I looked around online, and found a legend - right here in Atlanta.

W Motors was showing off their Fenyr SuperSport at the local speedway.

Let me explain why this car is legendary - it has a 4.0L F6 engine with twin-turbo and 900 Hp. It has an active spoiler and a top speed of over 245 Mph. It could just rival the XR-09 if Rex modded it right.

So I went into the kitchen and started talking to Ashley, who we had nicknamed "Ash." We nicknamed her this because she was quite the pyromaniac - always eager to blow something up and break things - bones, rules, public property. She was sitting at the table, cleaning her modified grenade launcher. It shot 20mm grenades from the barrel, and because the grenades are subsonic, they can be launched extremely quietly.

"So Ash, wanna help me on a job?"

"Sure, what do you need blown up?"

I laughed. ever since she joined the Shrikes, she was always ready to create havoc.

"No, Ash. We actually need to steal something, and I might need a diversion."

"I can do that. All I need is a pound or two of C4."

"That'll do. Let's get into the Mustang. I'll talk you through the plan on the way." I said, pointing to the Boss 302.

When we arrived at the speedway, a black truck with the W Motors logo on the back arrived an hour after we did.

Our plan was that Ash would sneak around and cause a diversion of some kind, as well as blast open a path for the Fenyr to drive through, and I would sneak into the truck and steal the Fenyr. We could try to buy it, but we are short on money, and a $1.8 million car is expensive.

So we waited until nightfall and Ash left the Mustang, getting into position for the heist. I snuck into the stands by climbing the fence that blocked the main gate.

I snuck down to the front row and ducked behind cover. There were guards.

I peeked over and sized up each opponent. Each guard had a standard ballistic vest on, and was armed with an H&K G36c, chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO.

"Why the heck are these guards so heavily armed? It's a simple car!" I thought to myself.

My train of thought was broken by a guard who leaned against the railing of the stands.

I covered the guard's mouth with my hand, stifling his shouts for help. I then dragged him over the wall and hit him on the head, knocking him out.

I then peeked over again and saw that my path to the truck was clear, so I ran for the truck, climbing in the side door.

The inside of the trailer was completely white, and there were boxes of cocaine littering the floor. I guess that was why the guards were so heavily armed. The truck was stolen by a drug smuggling group.

I kneeled down and picked up a box. It had a weird logo on it. It was a marijuana leaf that was mirrored into a four-leaf clover.

I proceeded to the back of the trailer, finding the Fenyr. I got in the driver's seat and started searching for the keys.

I looked in the seats and in the glove compartment, but they weren't there. I ended up finding them on the top of the dashboard.

I turned on the engine and put it in drive, holding down the brake. The technicians outside heard the noise and opened the rear door, coming to investigate.

I released the brake and flew out of the trailer, making my way to the track. I reached for my GL-X5's and tapped the radio.

"Copy, this is Kalashnikov actual. Let it loose, Skyburner."

At the moment I said those words, the lights in the stadium suddenly turned on and illuminated the entrance to the track from the stands. The gate there suddenly exploded, letting a thuderous "boom" bring the night alive.

I made my way to the exit, but was cut off by a driver who was driving a Bugatti Veyron. The man inside was one of the technicians I had tricked into opening the door.

He opened his window and showed me that he had a gun in his hand - probably stolen from a guard.

He aimed the gun at me and fired, the bullet smacking against the hard shell of the Fenyr's hood.

I threw the Fenyr into reverse and pulled a one-eighty. The Veyron gave chase, and the driver kept firing, his shots becoming more inaccurate and frantic.

I knew that I had an advantage - I had a car that was better at turning, as well as accelerating. The Veyron did have a higher top speed - topping off at about 256 - but the Veyron is bad at one thing - handling.

I also knew that his gun was a standard Glock 17, which held only 18 bullets. He would either crash his Bugatti, or run out of ammo.

So, we raced - lap after lap, gunshot after gunshot. It rapidly became boring, making one left turn, accelerating, making another left, then accelerating agian.

So I spiced things up.

"Hey, Skyburner, you've got your ears on!"

"Copy, this is Skyburner. What's up Kalashnikov?"

"How do you feel about wrecking a Bugatti Veyron."

"I'd love to send someone back by a few million dollars! I'm grabbing my launcher!"

I kept driving until the man in the Veyron ran out of ammo, then I grabbed my Soul Stealer from my holster and began firing back. I had slightly better results, and I managed to crack his windshield and cause him to experience much more drag.

I ran around to the exite that Ash had made, running the Fenyr out of the speedway.

The Veyron pursued, finding an awaiting Ash at the other side of the wall, pointing a grenade launcher at the hood.

The Veyron went up in flames, as Ash's custom-made thermite grenade started to melt the car's body and cabin.

When the flames met the gas tank, the gasoline ignited, and the car burst into flames. The driver still inside of it was burnt to a crisp.

Remind me not to mess with Ashley.

When we got home, Rex had already finished the Raptor, and Katie had gone to bed. It was about 4:00 AM, and the Quan7um Bli7z begins at 9:00.

I decided that my time was best spent doing some pre-race checks on the Boss 302.

I worked all night, changing the tires, refueling both gas tanks - the main one and the one in the trunk - changing the oil, changing the brake pads and rotors, changing the power steering fluid, and making sure everything was properly fastened down. I also placed a Cytel Mk. 9 in the glove compartment, since Johnathan Cole was competing and he might play dirty enough to get bloody.

I don't know when I fell asleep, but I was woken up by Katie. I was in the Mustang's cabin, and I had fallen asleep in the driver's seat.

Katie shook me and smiled.

"What is that!?!" She shouted, pointing at the W Motors Fenyr SuperSport.

"Huh? I muttered, still waking up. "Oh, that's your present. You can thank Ashley for helping me with the heist."

"Heist? What heist?" Katie asked, wanting to know more.

"You know what? I'll tell you about it later. In the meantime, get in it. You might like it." I said.

When Katie got in, I hopped in shotgun and gave her the keys. She took them and turned on the car. She backed out of the garage and took it to the track, where she tested it's performance.

I smiled. Every time she changed gears, drifted, cornered, redlined the techometer, and crossed the line, she smiled and laughed. I must say, she's an amazing girl. Her skills are incredible, and even a 900 horsepower beast like the Fenyr isn't worthy of a driver like her. She isn't just a good driver, though.

She's also my best friend.

I shouldn't friend zone her like that though.

When the Fenyr's tank ran low, and we brought it in from the track, Katie was stunned.

Rex - who was awoken by the scream of a twin-turbo F6 engine - begun work immediately after Katie described the changes she wanted done to it.

All she said was, "Make it a glass cannon made out of steel."

When it came time for the Quan7um Bli7z to begin, I raced down to Miami - finding the Mustang's top speed on the interstate - and found the starting line. There were 400 other racers, and I was placed in dead last.

Katie was riding shotgun and would be my right-seater. We had prepared for the last half year for this race - and it would be this Mustang's finest hour.

As the Mustang sat, parked next to hundreds of other racers, a certain man came up to the car and knocked on my window. It was Cole.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the man who gave me the world's fastest car. I am going to love that Mustang, and how it looks in my garage." He said, pointing at his car.

It was the XR-09. He had repaired it. He had also taken off the spoiler, which was designed for the sole purpose of providing downforce, and a lot of it.

The spoiler actully was what allowed the XR-09 to hit 400 Mph in the first place. It provided about 10 times the XR-09's weight in downforce, with it's active aerodynamics and shape. Without it, the XR-09 could only hit an average of 380 Mph. Still faster than the Mustang, but the XR-09 had almost too much torque, and the downforce of the spoiler was necessary to keep the excessive torque from causing wheelspin - and miles of it.

I smiled, if he was as good a tuner as Rex, he would've spent his time putting in something like a nitro system.

Johnathan went on to reveal most of the changes he made to the car, which all seemed bad to me, since I was the former owner of it and knew what could be done to improve it.

He had taken out the silicon-carbide brakes, saying that it wasn't conventional. He also revealed the stupidest thing of all - the fact that he took out one of the V10's.

When he said this, I laughed out loud. He asked my what was funny, and I smiled.

"You do realize the 'improvements' you made to that car have turned a Mona Lisa into a two-year-old's crayon scribble?"

He threw a fit and stormed off to the XR-09. What he didn't know was that the dual V10s were both working together. One of the two V10's could produce a whopping 2,500 horsepower. It also dropped the top speed to 350 Mph.

Suddenly, a series of signal flares went off on the streets, and a man in a black hoodie and face mask stepped out in front of all the cars. His hoodie had neon-green graffiti painted all over it. He held up a loudspeaker.

"My name," He said through the loudspeaker, "Is Quan7um. All of you who have gathered here today have a chance of winning a grand prize of 25 million dollars AND the chance to win all of the cars you are racing against. The race will begin here and cut through the entire USA. You will cut through Canada and make your way to Alaska. In the city of Anchorage, you will find the finish line. First man there wins. There are multiple checkpoints you will have to pass to qualify for the race. They are located in Dallas, Las Vegas, Billings, Seattle, and Anchorage. If you miss these checkpoints or ignore them, you will be disqualified."

I turned on the Mustang. The HUD flickered to life, and I checked all the systems using the center console. Everything was perfect and ready to race.

Quan7um walked down the lines of cars, handing a phone to each driver.

He passed mine out last, and the phone came on. It had a GPS system that showed the current race route that passed all the checkpoints. There was a single contact listed in the directory. It was Quan7um.

When Quan7um returned to the front, he held a flare gun. When he held it up, everyone began to prepare for him to fire, signaling the beginning of the race.

He fingered the trigger, toying with everyone's anticipation. every time he faked the shot, Katie winced, ready for the launch of the cars.

He fired, and I hit the throttle. Katie and I were shoved backwards into our racing seats. I soon had to let up on the gas, since I was almost touching the back bumper of the racer in front of me.

Up ahead, I could see the XR-09, how it was trying to cut through the crowd of racers. It's extremely wide girth made that difficult though.

I looked at the sidewalk, how abandoned it was, and steered the Mustang onto it. Once I did though, the XR-09 followed, trying to cut me off.

I quickly checked for any way around him and realized that I was boxed in.

Once the opportunity arose to pass him, he sped up and put distance between him and I. It wasn't too long until we were on the interstate, pouring on the speed.

When the road cleared, we both slammed the throttle, and the XR-09 lost it's lead, since - like I said - it had too much torque.

Not too long after, the XR-09 regained traction and passed me, leaving me to race against multiple other racers who were driving everything from a Subaru Impreza to a Koenigsegg Regera.

At one point, when we passed what used to be Ocala, the road became suddenly empty, and the havoc of the crowded streets became nothing but the challenge of pacing your car to maximize your MPG.

So for the first time in my racing career, I was going an average of 60 Mph. It was quite nice, actually, having the peace of an (almost) empty road. It made Katie fall asleep quite fast.

When we finally crossed the state line, making our way into Georgia, I got a phone call.

"Hello? This is Aaron Keyes."

"Hey, Aaron. Heard from Katie that you two were starting the Quan7um Bli7z. How are you doing?"

"We're doing good. You remember Johnathan Cole, right?"

"Yeah, is he racing?"

"Yup. He's using the XR-09. He completely wrecked your masterpiece though."

Rex sighed and said, "What'd he do to it?"

"He took off the spoiler, replaced the brakes with regular ones, and scrapped one of the V10s."

Rex went quiet. I heard a lot of commotion, including the sound of him punching a wall, kicking a chair, and setting fire to a desk.

Okay, maybe not that last one, but it sounded like it.

When he came back on the phone, I thought I had set it to speaker, he was shouting so loud.

"HE DESTROYED THE CAR!" He screamed.

"Yes, he did. Thank goodness, though. The Mustang we worked so hard on wouldn't be able to keep up if he didn't."

"The biggest thing working for you is that the XR-09 is a gallon gulper."

"A what?"

"A car that gets terrible MPG, so he has to stop often for gas."

"And the Mustang has a second gas tank." I said, now understanding what he meant.

"As well as air intakes in the rally lights." Rex added.

We talked for a while, then eventually stopped, since I had found a 1968 Chevrolet Chevelle I thought I would need to pass. It ended up not being a racer, but still a very nice car.

Slowly, the miles went on, and the road stretched forever longer. The peace and quiet taught me multiple things about driving, such as enjoying the ride, and taking the medium pace in life.

I still prefer to go fast, though. If there's a speed limit to break, I'll keep on trying to shatter it.

November 20th, 2027

I didn't get any sleep that night, since I was driving. When the sun came up, I reached up to flip the sun visor, since my eyes had long since used to darkness.

I looked in my mirror, spotting a small blue dot against the black asphalt of the road. I slowly saw it get bigger and bigger and realized it was a racer in a lawnmower.

I'm sorry, I meant Honda Civic. Granted it was the 'Type R' Civic, but a fast lawnmower is still a lawnmower.

It pulled up next to me and revved it's engine. The driver rolled down his window. As did I.

"What is that car?" The driver asked.

"Ford Mustang Boss 302, with some parts from RTR, Koenigsegg, and about 50 other companies. What's that mower?" I taunted. This guy was obviously in the Bli7z.

"Honda Civic Type R, baby! Whoo!" He said, trying to pull away as I put on the throttle to keep our speeds matched. I love toying with turbocharged weed-whackers.

Katie woke up from the lurch of the Mustang.

"What was that? Is something going on?"

"Yeah, a lawnmower is hitting 60 Mph." I said, joking.

Katie laughed and adjusted her seat. When she came into view, the Civic driver suddenly started to hit on her. I can see why, Katie is the perfect combination of 'hot' and 'cute.'

"Hey baby, wanna ride in a real car?" the civic driver said.

"No thanks, I don't really like tryhards in motorized trashcans."

She leaned over and told me to floor it. When I did, the Civic poured the throttle, trying to keep up.

Then I heard a bang from the civic.

His transmission had just fallen off.

When the Civic pulled over to inspect his car, I didn't wait for him. I just lowered my speed to 60 again and kept on driving.

"Hey Katie?" I asked. "Tell me, if he and I had each other's cars, would you have gotten in his car?"

"Oh heck no." She said without hesitating. "Even if he had this mustang, I would never be going out with a waste of mechanical knowledge like him. I just like you too much, Aaron."

My face suddenly went hot, and I took my foot off the gas.

"You finally said it." I said.

"Said what?" She asked, wondering why we were slowing down.

"You finally said you liked me." I told her, turning on the cruise control. "Ever since the drag race when I beat Johnathan, I always wondered if the concern you showed that day was out of affection for me, or something else I didn't understand."

"Aaron," Katie said, her own face going red now. "I always liked you. When you first got into racing and cars, I found that I had a ton of things in common with you. It was then that I began to wonder if you liked me. So for a long time, I tried to keep my feelings from getting out, but that drag race..."

She paused, and I looked at her.

"Eyes on the road!" I thought, when I almost ran off the side of the road.

I pull the car back into the right lane.

"That race got me concerned. It was your first race against someone outside of the team. I thought you might not win and never race again. I didn't want that. I love the way you drive, the way you win. I learn so much about how to race from you. I watch your movements, your throttle, your steering. I watched you every time I got in the car."

"Wait, if you learned from me, how'd you get to be such a better driver than me?"

"I learned different styles. I would try my best to learn things you didn't know, thinking you'd be impressed by what I was capable of."

I paused. She had learned from me? I never noticed. I never even thought I was good, but I guess I never opened my eyes.

Katie unbuckled her seat belt and reached into the place where her feet were. She pulled out a backpack and dug in it. When she got what she wanted, I saw it was a shotgun - the same one I took from the cop six months ago. She had modified it - she had made the frame out of skeletonized carbon fiber, and the grips were all textured. She had a tactical flashlight on it, as well as an adjustable stock.

She pulled a handfull of shotgun shells out of the backpack and began loading the shotgun.

"What're you doing?"

"There's a truck coming, coming in fast. I can see a man holding a gun out the window." She said, chambering a shell.

I checked my rearview. There was a truck, and the person in the shotgun seat was holding a gun.

They pulled up next to us. The person in the window had a Remington 870 - a shotgun. It was pointed straight at my head.

I need to move. Now.

I hit the brakes, pulling up behind the truck. The man with the gun fired at us, but none of the pellets hit the Mustang, thank god.

The Remington 870 has a tube capacity of about 8 rounds, including the chamber. If I waited long enough, I could run him out of ammo, then speed off.

He fired another shot, it impacted the asphalt just next to the front tire.

That was two.

He got angry and fired his next five - yes, five - shotgun shells with little time to aim.

Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

He had one left.

I look at Katie, she usually has a plan when I can't come up with anything.

"Hold it steady." She says, rolling down her window.

I know her plan. She's going to try and get a shot off at him, and probably kill him.

I keep the wheel straight.

When she fires, a body rolls out of the truck, and down onto the asphalt, dead as a doornail.

She pulls herself in, and racks the slide, ejecting the spent shell. She tosses it out the window.

Wow. Katie's a pretty good shot.

I pull out from behind the truck, smashing the throttle and hitting triple digits on the spedometer.

Soon, nightfall came, and we passed from mid-Mississipi to East Texas, approaching Dallas, the first checkpoint.

Katie had earlier revealed her arsenal - my AR-15, the Benelli M4 shotgun, a Chiappa Rhino revolver, and a Colt M1911 handgun.

When we approached Dallas, a call came in on the phone that Quan7um had given me.

"Hello? Am I speaking to Quan7um?"

"Yes, Keyes. You are speaking to Quan7um right now. The GPS on this phone has just notified me that you are in Dallas. Is this correct?"

"Yeah, I just arrived."

"Excellent. You have completed the first part of the Quan7um Bli7z. You have made excellent time, and reports say that you were with a certain racer when his Civic Type R broke down. Is this correct?"

"Yes. It is. He was trying to keep up with a 1,800 bhp Mustang."

"Then welcome to the top 150 of the Quan7um Bli7z. There is a hotle room waiting for you. Get some rest there. I'm sending you the address."

He hung up as the phone displayed the address of the hotel. It wasn't far.

I hit the throttle, triggering a traffic camera.

I looked at the spedometer.

157.

When we pulled up to the hotel, the clerk asked if we had any baggage, and Katie tightened her grip on the backpack, which held our weapons.

"No thanks. We should be fine." I said, politely.

When we got to our room, I collapsed on the single bed. It was so soft compared to the seats of the Boss 302. It made me want to just fall asleep.

So I did, with Katie by my side.

November 21st, 2027

I woke up in the soft bed and found Katie lying next to me, her chest - that I just noticed is rather flat - pressed against my arm.

I get up and head into the bathroom to get a shower. I really should've packed clothes for this race. It's pretty long.

When I was done showering, I got dressed again and went down to the cafteria for a hot breakfast.

I sit down at an empty spot and find that the person sitting across from me is Johnathan Cole.

"Hey, pal." I said, tauntingly. "How was your drive? Did you get here first in the world's fastest car?"

He glared at me. I knew the answer to all of the things I said, since I had placed in the top 150 and didn't see his car in the hotel parking lot when I arrived.

He jumped up from his chair and grabbed me by the collar of my shirt. This was going to be great.

He pinned me against the wall and started chewing me out about how the car he took from me was terrible, and how it didn't go past 400 like I said it would.

I smiled and said it's not about the car. It's about the person driving it.

He let me go after that. I'm such a jerk.

When Katie came down to join me, we enjoyed a nice breakfast together, alone.

Until someone came in as a surprise. And it wasn't Johnathan.

Katie and I heard a loud engine noise outside of the hotel, so we decided to check it out.

When we looked outside, it turned out to be a Ford SVT Raptor - the same one Rex had just bought.

The driver's side door opened up, and out dropped Rex, keys in his hand.

He had his phone in his hand and was texting me. He was so preoccupied with his phone that he accidentally bumped into me, and didn't look up as he said sorry.

"Rex, it's me."

"Who's me?" He said, still not looking up.

I grabbed his phone and darted to my contact in the directories. I zoomed in on my image.

"ME!" I said, holding up my image next to my face, in plain view of Rex's surprised face.

"Aaron!" He said, finally understanding who he was talking to.

He stood there, saying hello, as Katie gave the sickest roast of 2027.

"Aaaand we have comprehension, at last." She said.

Rex introduced us to the suped-up Raptor, which had a 7.0L V8, a pair of superchargers, and an off-road kit to it, as well as a bunch of toolboxes on the back for being a mobile garage.

It was pretty awesome.

When I asked Rex why he was here, he said how he knew that there were stretches on this race tht the mustang - even with it's double tanks - couldn't go without needing to refuel. He went on to explain that he had installed a gas pump and a fuel reservior on the Raptor so he could help refuel us on the go - as in, while we were still driving at high speed.

I patted him on the back and thanked him, since we had just taken a hell of a trip from Miami to Dallas on a single drive. We hadn't even stopped for snacks.

Soon, we got a message from Quan7um that the race was back on, and that our next location was Las Vegas.

Rex got in the Raptor and Katie and I piled into the Mustang. We were now in a race against the clock to leave Dallas. The sooner we were out, the sooner we were in Las Vegas.

As we exited Dallas, we soon made our way onto the highways, weaving in and out of the busy traffic. I had never seen this side of the country, not ever. I was amazed by how desolate some of the deserts were, and how long the straights of road could become.

It wasn't long before we found a competitor who challenged us to a race to the next checkpoint.

Our challenger pulled up next to us in a Lamborghini Aventador SuperVeloce (the LP750-4) and challenged us to get to Las Vegas before he did.

I accepted, knowing that if it came down to pure speed, the Mustang would triumph. It could produce a blistering 310 Mph.

The Aventador SV zipped off, trying to get a lead. I poured on the throttle and heard the V8 propel Katie and I forward. We soon stumbled across the national parks of New Mexico and Arizona.

When we first entered, the only way we knew was because of a toll booth that showed a sign outfront that said, "Welcome to (something) National Park." I couldn't read it all. I was burning up the asphalt at about 200 miles per hour, and I could still handle pretty well - better than the XR-09 could at the same speeds, in fact!

Katie was being thrust into her chair, and I was suddenly faced with a roundabout. I began to drift through it, not knowing which way I needed to go to get closer to Navada. I had Katie pull out my phone and consult the GPS.

Luckily, the Aventador SuperVeloce didn't know which way to go either, so we were still in first, if going around a roundabout was considered part of the track.

All of the drifting was attracting the attention of the park rangers, and they began to cordon of the exits, getting ready to take us in.

I tuned into the scanner.

"Dispatch this is Falcon three, I have eyes on the reported 10-94s and am ready to engage, over."

Katie suddenly told me to turn left at the sext exit, right into where a bunch of cops were.

"Are you sure? Right into the roadblock?"

"Here, let me take the wheel. Just floor the gas." She said, leaning over to grab the wheel.

"I hope you remember your track record with roadblocks!" I shouted, flooring the throttle.

Katie turned us towards the roadblock, drifting like a professional. She swung around the roadblock, drifting onto the dirt road beside the traffic cones and sirens. She even taps one of the rubber cones.

I suddenly regret having eggs this morning.

I swallow my urge to hurl, and I open my eyes, realizing I had been closing them when Katie took the wheel. She is handing control over to me again, now that we passed the roadblock.

My hands are shaking, and I relax my clenched jaw. I take the wheel, steering us out of Katie's drift and back onto the asphalt. I look in the rearview camera feed.

The Lamborghini Aventador is right on my tail. There might be only one way to shake it, and it will be very risky.

I pour on the throttle, accelerating towards the next turn.

"Aaron! I've got a shortcut on the map! Turn left on the dirt road upp ahead."

"What? Left? Why?"

"Do you know what park we're in right now?"

"No, I didn't read the welcome sign. What park?"

"Grand Canyon National Park. Make the turn before we miss it!"

I jerk the wheel to the left, propelling the mustang onto a dirt road. I look around, there's a sheer cliff on one side, and a steep drop on the other.

As we follow the dirt road, I am silently thanking god for the rally suspension we put on the mustang, since we are currently kicking up all kinds of dirt on it's sides. I hope the wide-body kit doesn't get damaged. It's my favorite body kit on any car, ever.

The road suddenly goes downhill, and the RTR leaps into the air. When it lands, I think I hear a rock bump into the bottom of the oil pan. I floor the throttle again, trying to get the Aventador off my tail. Luckily, the Lamborghini isn't meant for off-road use, so its not as good in a rally-style scenario such as this.

"There should be a bridge just ahead." Katie says.

I keep driving, and see the remains of an old wooden bridge that broke a long time ago. The colorado river must've washed it away.

Wait, the Colorado River?

I look around. Above us, there are tourists who are taking pictures of a Mustang and Lamborghini who are racing in the Grand Canyon. They're laughing, pointing, and taking pictures.

That dirt trail took us down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon? Who knew?

I focus on the race. The Mustang's rally suspension is holding up, thank god. I can hear the supercharger's whine that's been going on ever since I hit the gas.

I look to the bridge. If I'm lucky, I could use it to jump to the other side of the Canyon, jumping across the Colorado River.

I look to Katie, who is checking the map for more directions.

"Hang on!" I shout, shifting up into fifth gear, pushing the pedal to the floor.

Katie looks up just in time to see the wooden bridge disappear from view. I could feel my heart racing, as adrenaline is pumping through my veins.

I feel time slow to a crawl. The Mustang's front tires lift off the wooden bridge as the rear tires keep on spinning. The Mustang leaps into the air, a trail of dirt and dust following it's path.

The Mustang impacts the ground hard, all four wheels hitting the other side of the river at the same time.

I forgot the other challenge of the jump - avoiding the wall of rock that is the canyon on the other side. If I hit it, I'm stuck in the bottom of the Grand Canyon with police on my ass, having lost my ticket into a race that could change my life, and having the cops put me in the clink.

That can't happen. I won't let it. So I pull the E-brake, turn into a drift, and pray.

The Mustang swings by the side of the canyon, narrowly missing the sheer wall of rock and gravel.

I don't have time to be amazed by the two stunts I just did, though, because I can hear cops as they journey down the dirt road we took. So I quickly find where the dirt road continued its path and followed it.

When we get back onto the asphalt, we navigate to the nearest exit from the park and start heading that way.

The specifics of what happened are blurry, and I can't recall them all to write them down, but I can continue from where my memory starts to make more sense.

We were on the highways again when we saw it. It was the XR-09, and it blew by us. Johnathan stuck his hand out of the window and gave us the shaft.

"Aaron," Katie said, "I'm sure you won't need my help."

I couldn't hear all of what she said, though, since I was already flooring the pedal. The XR-09 was going at a pretty fast speed - 245 and counting.

I however, was already pouring on the speed, and it wasn't long before I caught up. It also wasn't long before the first turn came up.

The biggest difference between the XR-09 and the Mustang is that the Mustang had both wider tires, and significantly better handling. Because of this, I didn't need to slow down to take a slight curve in the road. The XR-09 however, did.

So the small, ten-degree curve in the road caused me to take the lead. I guess Johnathan shouldn't have put on normal ceramic brakes.

As I look in my rearview, I see Cole swerve back onto the pavement and begin to pick up speed, eventually catching up.

When he caught up, he swerved the XR-09 over, ramming me in the passenger-side door. If it weren't for the reinforced frame, Katie's door might've come off.

He brings his car around for another hit, aiming to knock me off the road.

I make an evasive maneuver by hitting the gas, propelling the Boss 302 forward and away from Cole's strike. His attack narrowly misses the rear fender of the Mustang.

When he corrects his error, he manages tooversteer slightly, and I hear his tires squal a bit, slowing him down enough for me to get away.

I left him to eat my exhaust.

As we crossed from Arizona to Nevada, night quickly came, and our only view of Las Vegas was where the horizon was shining, like a miniature sun.

As we entered Las Vegas, we passed the "Welcome to glorious Las Vegas," sing and Katie started humming the Elvis song, "Viva Las Vegas."

Quan7um called on the phone he gave me.

"Wow. I'm impressed, Aaron. You made it to Las Vegas in the top ten. That's some skill you have. I hope you win this race, Aaron. I would love to see you compete in other races as well. In the meantime, I'm sending you the address of the hotel you'll be staying at for tonight and tommorrow. I'll let you know when the race resumes. For now, enjoy the City of Sin." Is all he said.

The phone buzzed, and the address came up. I didn't type the address into my phone at first, though. I searched up the nearest car wash, since the Mustang was dirtier than my brother's mind at school.

And that is a hard record to beat.

Once we washed the car and arrived at the hotel, we got a message from Rex saying he'd arrive in Las Vegas in about a half hour.

Me and Katie began looking around Vegas for the hotel, and when we found it, we went inside, checked in, found our room, got washed, and went to sleep.

November 22nd, 2027

When I woke up today, Katie was sleeping aside me, her arm stretched across my torso, holding me in a great big bear hug. I was still a bit tired, so I just put my hand on her head and my head next to hers as I drifted back to sleep.

I woke up again to find that Katie had gotten her breakfast and was checking the guns she had packed in her backpack.

I got up and found that in my backpack was my combat gear, and it was all cleaned and maintained in peak condition.

I slipped into my combat gear and headed downstairs, leaving my AR-15 with the backpack. I doubt I'd need it for something as easy as getting breakfast.

When I get downstairs, I grab a simple bagel with some cream cheese and a cup of coffee. Coffee is the pure, unadulterated form of pure happiness. When I sat down, I notice a man sitting a few seats away from me. He looks familiar, but I con't tell where I've seen him from.

I keep on eating my bagel. I suddenly notice that almost everyone - I normally pay no attention to other people in places like these - is carrying a gun. But not only is everyone packing heat - they all have the same weapon - Colt M1911. A simple, .45 ACP gun that has been in service for years. Reliable and sturdy, the M1911 will usually take down the threat in one to two shots.

That makes me suspicious of everyone in the room. If everyone has the same gun, it means that either the local armory has a sale on M1911's and they're all free, or everyone's a member of a military group.

I nearly get a heart attack when Johnathan Cole sits down next to me.

"Hello, Aaron."

"Good morning, Cole. I am just going to assume you know something about this." I say, pointing out the multitude of guns.

"No, I don't." He says, his eyes wide in fear.

I stay calm. If they are hostile, any sudden movements can cause a massive shootout. If I wait too long, they will make an attempt on my life, causing a massive shootout.

The familiar man walks up to us. I've seen him before in the race - he drove the Aventador SuperVeloce I raced against in the grand canyon.

"Greetings, fellow racers." He says, grinning from ear to ear. He comes out with the information openly, like a monolouging villain. Amateur.

"I have hired many gunmen to assassinate you two. Why? You are my biggest threats. You are the two who have the best chance of beating me."

"Ok, and who the heck are you?" I ask, fingering my Soul Stealer. All it would take to kill this man is about 25 cents worth of .50 AE.

"My name is Howard Jones. I am the man who will win this race."

Johnathan jumps up from his chair and makes a run for the XR-09, shouting, "Win this race my foot!"

Everyone in the cafeteria draws their gun, but too late, since Johnathan is already out the door. When they can't shoot him, they turn on me, opening fire.

I quickly take cover behind a marble pillar as the sound of gunfire fills my ears. When they stop, I draw my gun, making sure it is loaded.

A man pokes his head around the pillar. I jump up and grab him in a judo head-lock. When we hit the ground, I quickly turn my body to face another assailant. I do not hesitate to pull the trigger, shooting him in the throat. The explosion from the gun and the recoil cause me to flinch.

I duck behind a table, hoping that there's a way out of this mess.

Suddenly, there's another burst of gunfire, which would be normal if it didn't sound like my own rifle. I never counted any rifles, much less did I spot my own.

I wait for the shooting to stop, then I peer over the table, looking to see if the shooter was friendly or not.

I spot Katie, holding my AR-15 in her hands. She quickly checks the magazine and reloads.

I get up, breathing a sigh of relief. When Katie notices me, she lowers the assault rifle and gives it to me.

"What happened?" She asks, looking at the gunmen.

"Some guy named Howard Jones hired a bunch of killers to take us out of the race." I reply, giving her as much as I know.

"Do you think he hired the truck we saw in Alabama?"

"It's pretty likely."

"We need to get in the 'RTR and get out of Las Vegas."

"We can't. Quan7um will disqualify us if we do. At the beginning of the race, he said that if we pass any of the checkpoints or skip town before the race is resumed, we forfeit our chance at victory. We can only run around Vegas for a while, until we get the green light from Quan7um at least."

Katie nodded and adjusted the backpack she had. It contained some supplies Rex had given us for the race. She got it on her back and I readied the hidden blades on my GL-X5s. We began to make a break for the Mustang, not turning back.

When we got to the Mustang, I got in the driver's seat and Katie was in shotgun - holding our shotgun. I turned the car on, getting ready for the equivalent of a high-speed police chase.

When I got buckled in, a car pulled up beside my window - the XR-09. It was Cole, of course.

He rolled down his window, signaling for me to do the same. I rolled it down, wondering what he was doing.

"I'm sorry I left you to deal with those guys, Aaron. I think there might be a way for us to both take down Jones."

"What's that?"

"When Quan7um gives us the signal that the race is resumed, we need to both get out of Vegas as fast as possible. I was thinking we could work together to win this race."

As Johnathan went on, I nodded and agreed. We could work together to win this race. If we could keep Howard Jones from getting to the next checkpoint, Billings, we could get him disqualified.

Johnathan and I exchange phone numbers, making sure we can always contact each other if something goes wrong. If we can beat Jones to Billings, we might need a head start to outrun his Lamborghini.

Katie and I drive around town, looking for things to do to pass the time until the Bli7z resumes.

I spot a car building shop - a special type of garage that builds custom-made cars - and ask Katie if she wanted to go inside. She agreed, and we were soon in the shop.

The owner took us around the shop, showing us all sorts of custom-made cars. They specialized in classic cars - old Mustangs, Chevelles, Camaros, and even Plymouth Barracudas!

As we walked through the shop, something caught my eye. It was a car - covered by a white tarp - sitting in the corner of the garage, collecting dust.

I asked the owner of the shop about it.

"Excuse me, sir? Do you know about that car in the corner? What is that?"

"That? I don't even know. It was here when we got the place. We're thinking of sending it off to the junk yard."

"I'd like to see it."

"Go on ahead. If you want that thing, you can have it."

I walk over to the car, grabbing the tarp by its edge. When I take off the cover, I discover a monster of a muscle car.

An Equus Bass 770.

The Equus Bass 770 is a frankenstein of older muscle cars, like the 1970 Dodge Challenger, the 1969 Camaro, the 1970 Mustang, the old Plymouth Barracuda, and a few others.

The car is made in Detroit and can usually sell for half a million dollars, but I'm not going to sell it. I want to drive it.

The Bass's hood covers a 6.2L V8 with a supercharger. It's top speed is 200 miles per hour, which is good for a muscle car, but slow compared to the Mustang and XR-09.

I called Rex to pick it up and tow it to Billings.

When Rex arrives and picks it up, Katie and I get back in the Boss 302, still waiting to kill some time.

By now, it's in the late evening, and we are ready to go to sleep, but the hotel is too dangerous to stay at, since Howard's gunmen have the place on high alert.

We find a parking lot and decide to sleep in the cars tonight. Rex would sleep in the Raptor, I would sleep in the Raptor's back seats, and Katie would be able to sleep in the Mustang.

I got a surprisingly good amount of sleep.

November 23rd, 2027

I woke up in the Mustang, which was strange, since I fell asleep in the truck. I sit up and look around.

Katie is driving, and the Bli7z has already resumed. I look at my phone. The GPS says we're in Utah, just north of Salt Lake City.

I look out the window. It's just as desolate as Nevada, so I can't see anything except sand and pavement. How did they manage to pave a road in the middle of nowhere?

"Good morning, Aaron." Katie says.

"Good morning, Katie. Is Johnathan nearby?"

"He's right behind us." She says, pointing back towards a tailing XR-09.

I nodded and checked the backpacks. In the event that we were attacked by Jones' hired guns, we would need all the firepower we could muster.

Everything was accounted for, and it was all loaded. That gave me some feeling of security.

As the day went on, we managed to find ourselves in Yellowstone national park, home to the Old Faithful guyser. We didn't see anyone trailing us, so we decided to take a look around the park. Johnathan wanted a picture of Old Faithful.

We stopped long enough to get a map, and we got on the road again. Old faithful was in the middle of a large roundabout, and it was set to go off at about 2:45. It was 2:30 when we were getting back in the cars.

As soon as I got back in the shotgun seat, we heard a formidable sound - a V12 engine.

This is formidable because Howard Jones drives a Lamborghini Aventador SV, which has a V12 engine. He wanted us dead, and would go to great lengths to get it done.

I pulled out the Benelli M4 - our tactical shotgun - and made sure it was fully loaded and ready to fire.

Katie, afraid of having to race a 750 horsepower Lamborghini, looked around for the source of the sound.

All of a sudden, I blinked, and we were already on the road, speeding around.

"He's here!" Katie shouted, slamming the throttle open.

I checked my Soul Stealers as Katie bagan speeding off in the direction of Old Faithful.

She suddenly slammed on the brakes, sending me forward and into my seatbelt. Katie reached out her arm and pushed me back into my chair, like a woman protecting her child.

I can take care of myself though.

I looked up, seeing the SV in the windshield. In the cockpit, I saw Howard Jones, looking at us with an enraged face. Katie reached over to the center console and turned off traction control. She evidently planned on drifting her way out of here.

I braced for the acceleration. Is this what Katie feels like when I drive? I hate my driving all of a sudden.

Howard lunges forward, his Aventador screaming like a maniac. He gets quite a bit of wheelspin on the start, and he soon leaps at the Mustang at shocking speeds.

Katie slams the pedal, accelerating as fast as the Boss 302 can go. The supercharger screams, and it isn't long before the turbocharger kicks in.

I close my eyes, feeling a sharp jerk to the right. I begin to be thrashed about by the vibrations of the Mustang. I think Katie just went off-road.

Soon, the vibrations stop, and I can feel the vehicle begin to drift in a circle. Where are we? I'm actually afraid to look.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. It's Katie. She's brave enough to tap my shoulder in the middle of a drift?

I open my eyes. Katie is holding out my phone, and is steering the RTR around the Old Faithful roundabout. Holy cow, she's good.

"Hurry up and get a photo!" She shouts.

I take the camera and look at my watch. Old Fatithful is getting ready to erupt soon. I roll down the window and stick my phone out the opening. The grey and white ground that is old faithful begins to bubble, like a steaming teapot.

I open my phone and get ready for a picture.

I never thought I'd be the one who leaned out a window to take a picture of Old Faithful while riding passenger in the world's fastest mustang that's drifting around a guyser with a Lamborghini in tow.

The things that happen in my life, I'm telling you.

As Katie exits the drift, I look back at Howard, who is now giving me the shaft from the inside of his vehicle. I laugh, returning the favor with two hands.

Once inside the Mustang, I roll up the window and look at the GPS on my phone. I tell Katie to make a left in three exits, then to turn right at the next intersection.

I try not to pay attention to what she's doing and decide to focus on being her navigator.

When we exit the roundabout, Howard is still hot on our tail.

Suddenly, a car swerves out from behind him and slams into his right side. It's Cole in the XR-09.

Howard slams him back, but the XR-09's new frame barely feels a thing.

Katie speeds ahead and makes sure that the police are distracted from Howard and Johnathan. If police try to interfere with their high-speed car fight, both of them could end up dead - which would ruin my memories of Yellowstone.

As I am thinking, a police car approaches us on the left, preparing to slam the Mustang and possibly kill Katie and I.

The cop turns to ram us, but Katie brakes to get out of his way. She and I watch as the cop misses, loses control and rolls over.

Not wanting to become jailbirds, we get out of yellowstone as fast as possible, making our way North towards Billings.

November 24th, 2027

I wake up in a bed, not knowing when I fell asleep or what happened before I fell asleep.

I sit up and look around. I'm in Billings, and Katie is asleep at a small mahogany desk in the corner, which also holds our backpacks, and our guns.

I get up, walking over to her.

She always looks so cute when she's asleep, and now is no exception. She has the keys to the Mustang clutched in her hands, and she has quite the tired expression on her face.

I walk into the kitchen and gather some ingredients for pancakes. I look in one of the drawers for a pan.

I find the perfect size, at the bottom of a pile of pots and pans. I grab the handle, pulling on it with all my might, knowing that the other pots would make it's retrieval harder.

It wasn't a hard as I anticipated, and I accidentally fall to the ground with a crash.

As I try to get up, the pots and pans fall on top of me, and a fairly large one hits me on the forehead, knocking me out cold.

I wake up and Katie is leaning over me, taking the pot off my head. As I reach up to move, Katie accidentally drops one from her hold.

I frantically reach out to grab it, and inevitably miss. The frying pan lands on Katie's toe and she releases a wimper of pain before shouting out in pain.

This morning just got really interesting.

When I move Katie to the bed, I check her foot, which is a little red from where the frying pan made it's atmospheric reentry.

It's not bad, but I had better check with Katie if it hurts.

"Will you be okay if I don't do anything?"

"Well," She says, wimpering, "It does hurt."

I take note and go get an ice pack from the fridge. Ice usually helps calm the nerve cells that are freaking out.

When I apply the ice, Katie begins to feel better, and she soon asks about what I was doing with the kitchen appliances.

"I was making pancakes." I said, letting her know.

"You cook?"

"Yeah, who do you think makes the pancakes you like so much?"

"How did you know those were my favorite?"

"Please, when you can eat your first plate faster than the Hoonicorn RTR can eat tires, you have to like them."

"Haha. Very funny." She says, with slight amounts of sarcasm.

When I get back to the kitchen, I begin making pancakes. I was almost through the first batch when there was a knock on the door.

I answered it, finding Cole and Rex fighting in the hallway. Rex was shouting things like, "You killed the XR-09!" while Cole was trying to avoid Rex's wrench.

I calmed Rex down and invited the two in for breakfast. When Cole explained everything to Rex, he decided to let it go, but not forget about it. Katie hobbled over to the table and I served the first batch of pancakes, which had a very nice-looking topping of whipped cream with chocolate syrup.

I had never cooked anything better.

When we all came up to breathe from our delicious deluge of desserts, we decided to go shopping for a while to kill some time. The last few racers of the Quan7um Bli7z were somewhere in Wyoming.

Katie volunteered to drive, but I had to shut her down because of her foot.

"Please? I feel fine now!"

"I still feel like I should drive. Ice is pretty difficult to navigate in a powerhouse like the Mustang."

"Pfft. You should've seen me when we came into Montana. It was a full on blizzard."

"Then I can take care of the easy stuff. Just get some rest. I don't want you to be asleep at the victory party back home.

I got in the drivers seat and started the car. The air conditioner suddenly blasted the cold air from the outside, chilling me to the bone. I reach to the center console and turn off the A/C.

I try to look out the windshield, but it's caked with fresh powder and snow. I flip on the windshield wipers, making sure I can see where I'm going.

Once the windshield is clear, I reach across the car and unlock Katie's door. She climbs in and puts the backpacks on the floor. The cold air from outside gathers on the floor like a hazy fog.

When Katie gets herself buckled, I turn on the communication radio in the Mustang. The first thing I hear is Rex, giving us some pointers on where we'll be going.

When we get the full directions, we head off, picking up snow and powder in our wake. In the dense snow, we barely saw the red light we accidentally ran.

Or the cop who ran our license.

I will take this time to slightly explain why I didn't stop immediately.

When a cop "runs your plate," it means that they took your license plate and scanned it for any criminal history. If it comes up negative, he just tickets you.

But if you come up with a record like mine, then only god can save you from a life without parole.

The cop lights up his car, filling my ears with the sound of sirens.

I hit the gas to the floor, filling my tachometer with RPM. I instantly hear the whine of my supercharger begin to fade into the squal of the turbo.

As the cop begins persuit, I make a hard right, trying to maintain control on the slippery road.

In the snow, my usual driving style is very limited. I can't drift through turns, since I can either spin out and die, or lose power in the rear wheels, slow down, get caught, and go to prison.

When the Boss 302 clears the turn, I slam the throttle open again, letting the V8 do it's work.

When the Mustang picks up speed again, I suddenly find another cop in front of me, charging at me head first.

If he hits me, it's game over.

I turn onto the (thankfully abandoned) sidewalk, squeezing between two lampposts.

The officer misses, narrowly missing my rear fender.

The police scanner comes to life. All of the voices are scrambling to get "speed enforcement" onto me.

I slow down and make a left into a parking garage. These are great places to hide.

The mustang is painted a color of black, so all I have to do is find another black mustang, and hide next to it.

I slowly run down the line of cars, none of which are mustangs, and even fewer are made by Ford. I suddenly hear a vey loud engine sound and look ahead.

It's a Dodge Charger Hellcat - in a very nice matte green color - and it has a wide body kit to support it's wide tires. It's evidently built for snow.

The driver gets out, reveling a man with dark skin, a small amount of stubble, and a very short haircut.

"Looks like you stirred up hell. Are you the Mustang that the boys in blue are after?" He says, pointing at me.

"I would assume so." I say, trying to make sure this man isn't a cop.

"Come with me. I'll help you." He offers, getting back in his Hellcat.

He revs the engine, filling our ears with noise. Katie covers her ears as the Charger spins it's back end out, pulling a one-eighty and leading us away from our current location.

He leads us into a back alley, pointing us towards a small garage door. He tells us to knock on it and rev our engine twice.

When we approach, Katie gets out and knocks on the door.

I put on the parking brake and hit the gas. The door opens, and a man in a pair of black overalls opens up the garage door from the inside.

He waves us in and the Hellcat follows. We find ourselves in a massive shop - full of legendary cars that have been modified to tear up asphalt and slay the most durable of tires.

The most prominent of all is a Lamborghini Veneno, which is proudly placed on a turntable in the front. Upon closer inspection, I found it had a hybrid drivetrain for better launching off the starting line, a titanium rollcage inside to keep the driver safe if the car rolled over, and a nitrous system to keep the speed coming.

Holy cow, that's basically a unicorn.

The man in the Hellcat came up to me and introduced himself.

"Nice to meet you homie, this is my crew. We're the Bloodhounds of Billings. If you need help while you're here, We'll be happy to give it to you. My name is Walker."

"Nice to meet you Walker." I say, shaking his hand. He was quite a bit taller than me, and his hands were gloved - probably part of his driving style.

Katie opened up the door of the Mustang and got out. She greeted Walker and asked about the cops.

"They won't be a hassle anymore. We blackmail them not to mess with us. We found out that their chief was a known drug dealer himself, so we just dug up the right dirt."

I nodded and watched as a mechanic started to lower the garage door.

Walker led us to a worktable, which had a big, blue canister of an unknown substance.

"You guys looked like you could use an upgrade. If you want to, this bottle is on the house." He says, picking up the blue canister.

He flips the canister over, and I see the label on it's side.

It's written in orange and red, and it proudly says, "Nos."

I look at Katie, who is currently grinning like a kid in a candy store at Christmas time.

I pick up the canister - it's heavy, and it feels cold in my gloved hands.

I hand the bottle to Katie, and she nodded in approval. We usually don't ever use nitrous oxide, but in this race, anything goes.

And if anything goes, then only a few things can really be called fast.

As we talked with Walker, he taught us about his custom nitro recharger. It apparently uses the rotational energy of the wheels to compress naturally occuring nitrous oxide - which can be found in most environments - into the tank, providing an almost constant flow of nitro.

I look around the shop, there are tons of materials here, and I can think of a few things that can be done to the Mustang.

"Hey Aaron." Katie says, in my peripheral vision.

I look in her direction, smiling.

"Hi there."

"Something on your mind?" She says.

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"What is it? You know you can talk openly with me."

"Yeah, I was thinking about adding another turbocharger to the Mustang."

"That's not a bad idea. It can raise the horsepower by quite a bit depending on the turbo."

"I'll see what Walker has in stock."

Walter brings me around to the back, and he hands me a turbo kit, which contains the turbocharger and the tools needed to install it in my current setup.

I thank him and head off to a small space he cleared near the door. I had everything I needed.

The time taken to install the turbocharger and nitro system was long, and Rex soon met us at the shop. He asked if there was anything he could do for us, and I told him that food was the best option.

He agreed, and ordered a delivery pizza, which was miraculously still warm when the delivery driver knocked on the garage door.

It was another night that I can't remember falling asleep.

November 25th, 2027

I woke up and I'm stretched across the seats of the Mustang, and Katie is hugging me. I look down and see that she changed into a tank top, which has spots of oil and grease on it. She has a oil smear on her cheek.

As dirty as she is, I smile. She's really cute.

I put my hand on her head, and she swats it off.

"Mmm. Five more minutes." She mumbles.

"How late were you up?" I ask.

"Some ungodly hour. I finished installing the turbo. And I gave the engine an oil change."

"You did? I was going to do that when we hit Seattle."

"Well, now you don't have to. Now shut up and let me use you as a living pillow." She said, just before she planted her face into my side.

I let her sleep for another six minuts before Rex opens up the door to the '302. He hands me a coffee and gives Katie an identical drink.

Once Katie and I are fully awake, we get the Mustang out of the shop and out onto the open road.

We head to the mall, like we were going to yesterday, and we arrive an hour before its opening time. So all three of us wait in the Raptor for the mall to open.

When the mall opened, we came inside out of the snow, hurrying like vulnerable puppies.

When we got in, Katie grabbed my hand and we ran, half-stumbling, into a clothes shop.

Katie went off on her own now, leaving me to see what was in the store. I found a new leather jacket and tried it on. It fit perfectly, and wasn't restricting on my mobility or arm reach. I decided to buy it.

Then I saw its price tag - $599.99.

Ho-lee cow.

I wish I had that much money on me.

Katie invited me over to the changing rooms, and asked me to rate some of the outfits she found.

One was a pair of coveralls that she put together with other automotive elements to create an outfit that made her look like a real mechanic.

Her coveralls' zipper was zipped up to right below her bust - on purpose, of course - and the rest was covered by a carbon fiber gray shirt. She had a pair of fingerless gloves, a pair of work boots, and a new digital watch.

"Christ on a bike!" I said, giving it a 8 or 9 in my mind. "Are you sure that's even affordable?"

She quickly did some mental math, mouthing numbers to herself so fast I couldn't make out if the numbers actually existed.

"This outfit is a total of $300." She said, doing a couple of stretches in it.

"That's a really good outfit, then. I thought it'd be somewhere around the $1,000. We need that money for gas."

She happily went back into the changing room, coming out in a more casual outfit. It was a gray T-shirt with a pair of rather baggy black cargo jeans. She had donned a small hoodie that was black with neon green graffiti as it's design. On anyone else, it'd look average, maybe around a 4 or 5, but on her...

Straight up 9.

When we came out of the store, Katie is back in her normal clothes and I got a portable phone charger. We wander around the mall, looking at different stores, stands, and items.

As we walk by a small music shop, we decide to head inside. There were people inside, maybe about 20. Each of them had on some heavy winter gear.

The store sold strictly electronic music, and I found a song I might like to listen to in the Mustang. As I went to check it out at the register, I noticed the cashier was eyeing me for some reason, like I was a major threat.

As I approach the desk, I hand the cashier my CD and hand him a $20. When he takes it I see a Colt M1911 on his belt.

The odds of that being a coincidence with the M1911s that Howard's mercenaries use is small. For one, the mercenaries are hunting us, which means that they can be anywhere around us at any time. The second thing is that the Colt M1911 is their standard-issue firearm.

As I stand there, growing nervous, I feel something on my neck. It's cold, metallic, and has a small hole in the center.

It's a gun.

I spin around, kicking my attacker - a boy no older than 20 - in the shin. He drops his gun, and it clatters to the ground.

He quickly retaliates with a punch, which I dodge. It narrowly misses my head.

Another mercenary approaches, holding an identical gun. He aims carefully at me.

I grab the first assailant's arm, bending it behind his back and using him as a pivot. Using my free hand, I grab my concealed carry weapon - a Cytel Mk. 10 smart pistol - the one that automatically locks onto its targets - and shoot the gunner in the knee, quickly aiming again at his head.

I fire again, blowing his head wide open.

At this time, Katie has taken notice of the violence, and has come over to where I am currently cleaning up the other gunman.

"Aaron! What's going on?"

"These are some of Howard's mercenaries. They use the same guns, and their first target was me, not the cash register. If they were thieves, they would've shot at the cashier, not me."

Katie nods and looks down at the gunman I shot. Blood is now spurting from the wounds, but he's too dead to notice.

When we walk out of the store, the mall turns into a war zone.

I duck behid a coffee stand, taking cover from all the lead that's flying everywhere. One bullet hits the coffee maker, sending the cup of coffee next to it over the edge of the counter.

I catch it. This world runs on coffee. And so do I.

After I down the cup of coffee - it was disgusting decaf - I lead Katie to a safe spot in a hobby shop. When we find a good spot, we also notice a fire alarm and an emergency exit.

We took the chances, but not after helping us to a few of the items in the store.

When the door opened, the fire alarm was set off, and a man came running into the store, holding a machete.

I quickly shove Katie through the door, locking it behind her. I then refocus on the attacker, and I dodge behind a small bookshelf

"Hey look! They have the new books on 'How To Get Into GT Racing: For Dummies.'"

Suddenly, the attacker slices through the bookshelf, grabbing me by the collar and throwing me to the ground near the front of the emergency exit.

He raises his machete, ready to deliver a killing blow.

If this is how I end, Tell this guy I said, "Screw him."

As I close my eyes, I hear a combination of eighteen gunshots.

Two seconds later, I realize I'm not dead. I open my eyes.

Katie had pulled out her own sidearm - a Glock 18 - and shot through the door, hitting the machete man in the chest eight times, the head four times, and the lower body six times.

He dropped to the floor with a quiet thud.

I unlocked the door and Katie jumped out, hugging me.

"Aaron, don't do that again!" She shouted, tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted you out of way. You wouldn't get hit if you were behind the door." I said, apologizing.

When we got over the fact that I had actually SHOVED KATIE, we piled into the Mustang.

It isn't easy to get a cold start from the Mustang - to start it, you need to get in the driver's seat, strap into the five-point-harness, take the steering wheel off of it's overhead mount, and then attatch it to the steering wheel attatchment port. Only then can you look up and flip the three switches that say, "Hybrids," "Gas," and "START."

The whole process can take a minimum time of about 15 seconds.

I slide into the seat, clipping on the seatbelt. When the car is successfully turned on, I hear the loud rumble of the Mustang's V8 engine.

I also hear another few noises. The first is my phone, which displays the text Quan7um just sent me.

"Congrats, racers! the race is back on! Next stop: Seattle."

The other sound is the noise of countless engines across the city roaring to life.

November 26th, 2017

I'm on the highway, burning apshalt up at almost 300 miles per hour, and making sure that nobody is in front of us for too long.

I suddenly notice the lack of light - the sun hasn't risen in a while - and I don't know what time it is.

I glance at the dashboard - it says its 11:44am.

I do a double take and ease my foot off the throttle. It's almost noon and the sun isn't up!

Katie began to stir in her seat. This was understandable, since the seat wasn't meant for comfort at all - it had a 5-point harness.

"Where are we?" She asked with a yawn.

"We are about 200 miles from Seattle. So far, it's been a boring stretch of road."

I looked in my rearview - looking back at the long straight that we were on.

When we arrived in Seattle, it was still dark - and pouring rain.

I parked the Mustang underneath an overpass, which sheltered us from the rain. It was very cold, and there were cars that would periodically drive by.

I was inside the car, unstrapped from the harness, and gazing at the steering wheel, which was now suspended from it's rack.

I suddenly hear a loud roar from outside, and I sit up to look out the window.

It's an enormous 18-wheeler headed straight for the car.

I quickly scurry to flip the overhead switches - and the car roars to life.

I look up and find the truck getting closer, as if it were a heat-seeking missile.

I grab the drive stick, shifting it into "reverse." The car lurches backwards, and I quickly hold down the throttle as I put the steering wheel into the slot, all the while trying to get in the harness.

I look over to Katie. Who is not in the car. Her seat is empty, and I quickly refocus and try to prioritize my objectives.

Number one: Survive.

Number two: find Katie.

Number three: Finish the Bli7z.

I check my mirrors, jerking the wheels into a 180. In the middle of this 180, I shift into "drive," and give the throttle a solid punch.

The 18-wheeler is right on my exhaust pipe, probably scraping it, too.

I open the throttle wider and pull the handbrake, drifting round the truck's front end. I narrowly escaped being run over like a cockroach.

I make my way to the overpass, and find Katie in the middle of the road, with a swarm of racers behind her.

I suddenly feel time stop - or at least slow down - and some unknown instinct tells my body to move in a certain way. It felt like my mind was on autopilot, but still scared out of it's wits.

I pull the handbrake and turn into a drift. With my hand on the wheel, I reach over to the right-seater's door, opening it wide.

I'm not about to do what I think I'm about to, am I?

I scream something at Katie, but I don't hear what it is - I am deafened by the muffled roar of the Mustang and the loud sound of adrenaline in my veins.

I'm doing a sideswipe now, and Katie jumps, curling herself into a fetal position.

I blink, and I miss the next few seconds, but I open my eyes, and Katie is in the shotgun seat, safe and sound.

I just did a passenger pickup in a drifting vehicle. How did I just - you know, I don't even want to ask...

I pull the wheel out of the drift, turning a knob on my wheel to change the driving mode.

A small break for explanation - one of the most unique things about this Mustang is it's versatility. The Mustang can change it's driving modes from all-wheel-drive to rear-wheel-drive, which can allow it to race better in places like dirt, asphalt, and even snow and rain! All of this is controlled by a simple machine known as a drive box, which controlls "which gears" recieve "how much power."

I shift the drive box to all-wheel-drive, and I make a turn onto the overpass. As soon as I am clear of the Bli7z runners, I pull the handbrake like a chainsaw's pullcord. The Mustang does a small spin and I hear all the tires grip the ground with maximum braking effort.

I'm going to need to get Rex to machine the rotors when he gets the next chance.

A little while later, we get a call from Quan7um.

I answered the phone.

"Hello, Keyes."

"Hey, Quan7um. I'm in Seattle."

"Yeah, your GPS verifies that. I was calling to say that there is no rest stop in Seattle. The race resumes the minute I hang up the phone."

"Okay, adding a little bit of action to the race, aren't you?"

"Yes. I am. You have 2 days to get to Anchorage."

"Got it. You better prepare 25 million dollars."

He hung up after that.

I turned to Katie, who was still in the shotgun seat. I told her to buckle up and load the guns.

Then I slammed the throttle open, heading north.

Alaska was on the other side of southwest Canada, and we had 2 days to get there.

When we got onto the open road, there were about 200 racers there.

A Corvette ZR1 swerved in front of me. I feinted a left overtake and passed him on the right. Next was a Lamborghini Diablo, which tried to brake check me. I hit the handbrake and drifted in a wide left arc. He wouldn't be a problem.

Soon, we were in the snow-capped mountains of southern Canada, and the cops were setting up roablocks all over the place.

"Copy, dispatch, this is armor-22, I have eyes on a large group of 10-94's headed north on Eastwood Rise."

"Copy, Armor-22, you are cleared to use lethal force, if necessary."

It was about then that I heard a radio come on inside the Mustang.

"Welcome, Aaron. I see you made it to the final stretch of the Quan7um Bli7z. If you don't remember this voice, this is Howard Jones, and I am in first place, only a few miles ahead of you. Good luck catching me. I'm in a Koenigsegg Regera, and I'm the fastest racer out here."

I looked at Katie, who nodded and readied the Benelli shotgun. We were going to win this race, even if we had to kill some cops and racers to do it.

But I'd sooner lose an honest man than win a cheater.

As we approach our next opponent, we hear a loud roar from our left - a Ford F-150 SVT Raptor pickup truck.

I'm trapped, with an Audi R8in front of me, a Mitsubishi Lancer Evo X to my right, and a Aston Martin Vantage behind me.

Over the Mustang's radio, I hear Rex.

"Just like a baja rally back in Atlanta!" He shouts, enjoying himself a little bit too much.

"I know right?" I hear James scream. Wait, James? I thought James was back in Atlanta!

The Raptor jumps OVER - yes, over - me and Katie, crushing the Evo X like a Red Bull can. In the truck bed is a late 1990s Porsche 911 turbo, with a RWB widebody kit.

"That's James' 911!" Katie shouts, watching it pull out of the truck bed and drop onto the crowded road.

James was sitting in his 911, with Ashley, our expert pyro, in shotgun. Ash looks at me through the windows and waves at Katie.

"We're going to run blocker, Aaron! We'll keep any cars from getting at you! Rex, run over anything in your path that keeps us from Alaska, cops included!"

I suddenly understood what we were going to do. James would keep cars from getting too close to us, and Rex would run over cops, racers, barricades, and such. I would just relax for a while.

At this moment, the Aston Martin behind us flipped over, pushed by what my team calls a "Rhino."

Rhinos are heavily armored vehicles that are capable of overturning and running over other cars with little effort. They can take out Rex's truck with just a tap.

"All units, be advised, we have a Rhino on our 6-o'-clock. Let's move up!" James shouts into the mic.

We all floor the gas, but I keep mine at half throttle, since the Mustang would blow everyone away at full.

After an hour of dodging cars, avoiding death, and shaking cops, we finally find a good stretch of road to relax on.

I let the throttle go, and set the cruise control.

"So, James, why did you come along with Rex to join us in the Bli7z?" I ask through the radio.

"I was getting bored. You guys were gone, and Kate was always pestering me about following you guys and making sure you weren't dead, or anything. She pulled rank on me."

Wait. She pulled rank? She - acting as James' superior, ordered him to help us? I'm starting to get a little suspicious on her motives...

As we were driving north through the mountains, we came upon a very beautiful road, which overlooked the valley to our left, and we could see the coastline.

"Hey guys, check it out." Rex said.

We all looked to admire the view, and it was amazing. We had all been relaxing for the past hour, and this was probably the best part of the relaxing stretches of the trip.

We had admired it for too long, though. I was startled by a Porsche 918 Spyder and I almost ran off the road. The 918 was going about 120 miles per hour, maybe 130.

The driver got on the radio and gloated at us.

"Hey, Mustang! Think you can catch me? 'Pink you to the next city!"

"I'm coming in hot, then!" I shouted. I always wanted a 918.

"Everyone, me and Katie will take that Porsche! You guys keep anybody from passing you!"

I opened up the throttle, letting the Boss 302 do what it does best.

Go really, really fast.

I soon found myself in a dark tunnel, probably from the 2000s. The lighting was bad, and I couldn't see without the headlights on.

I was pushing about 9000 rpm in my fourth gear, putting me at a decent 100 miles per hour. If I kept at this pace, I'd lose.

I keep the pedal to the floor, watching gears slam by like waves in an ocean.

After I exit the tunnel, I see the 918's rear end turn around a hairpin curve.

I quickly downshift, ripping the handbrake as hard as possible. I did a little scandinavian flick, and turned into the countersteer.

I exit the turn, right on the Porsche's tail. I could see through his rearview mirror. He was an older man - maybe 30 or 40 - and he had a pair of very bushy eyebrows, which did not match with his cleanshaven head.

I look for a spot to pass him, but the 918 is such a wide car, I can't find a big enough opening to pass him. If he gets to the next city at this rate, I will lose the Bli7z before I even get to Alaska.

I'm looking for a spot to overtake him, but he's taking up both lanes of the narrow road. I just can't get past him!

I get up behind him, readying to pit him. If I can just get him to mess up, I can pass him.

I get up close, drafting off his aerodynamics, and I think for a second.

"Play it dirty and be criticized? Or play it clean and be respected?"

I'll play it clean.

I quickly honk at him, catching him off guard enough to make him jump.

The 918 suddenly swerves to the left, leaving an opening just wide enough for me to slingshot out and overtake him.

I quickly swerve out into the opening, reaching for the nitro bottle that is housed next to the handbrake.

I open the little valve at the tip of the bottle's domed head.

I hear the turbochargers hit their powerband, and I suddenly notice that the HUD on the windshield reads "WHEELIE BARS EXTENDED."

The RTR's ECU says it all - my tires are folding under the G-forces being exerted on them by a 1,800 bhp engine, a 50 psi supercharger, two 45 psi turbos, and a big bottle of nitrous oxide.

The acceleration the Mustang feels is so immense, the front end lifts up.

Sensing that the front wheels are off the ground, the ECU deploys a pair of wheelie bars, which keep the back of the car from scraping the ground.

I can't wait to read the OBD readings from this.

When the front end has a family reunion with the asphalt, I am traveling at a speed I had never thought possible in this Mustang - 372 miles per hour. Thank the lord in heaven above that we had a straight line in front of us.

I look in my rearview mirror - the 918 is now a small speck, following about a half mile behind us.

I need to keep moving. The 918 could cath up to us.

He never did, and we spent the rest of that day in the mountains.

November 27th, 2027

It was 3:00 AM when Katie woke up. The sun was still gone, and the roads were still dark.

I was about to fall asleep when I saw it.

A Koenigsegg Regera.

That Regera meant one thing: I had caught up to Howard Jones. With Howard around, I knew that his hired goons couldn't be too far.

I quickly turn off the headlights of the RTR, trying to catch him by surprise. Thank heaven we had tinted the windows, otherwise he might be able to spot Katie and I in the glow of the dashboard and HUD.

I close in on him, my heart racing faster than ever.

If he looks in his rearview now, we're burn toast with a side of turkey bacon.

And turkey bacon is not the kind of bacon that you want with your toast.

I start drafting, and as soon as I slip into his aero, his tail lights flash.

He's brake checking on me.

I quickly do a scandinavian flick, drifting around Howard's Regera. When I overtake him, I pull the rear back in to regain traction.

Now I know I'm in the top 10 of this race.

For a while, Howard tries to find an opening, but I consistently block him from doing so. Katie looks at me, then looks through the rear window.

"Doesn't the Koenigsegg Regera have two headlights?" She inquires.

"What kind of a question is that?" I ask, swerving the RTR to keep Howard behind us. "Most every car has two headlights, unless you count the individual LEDs in the light housing."

"Well I'm seeing four headlights behind us."

I look back, and sure enough, there are four headlights. I'm not on the road with one rival - I'm fighting two.

I look ahead. Suddenly, a series of toll gates comes into view, with the words, "Welcome to the Frontier State," written in bold across a bright sign up top.

Can't go over it, can't stop for it, can't go around it.

I'll have to go through it.

I hit the pedal to the floor, and the tachometer begins to redline. Katie grabs on to the door's "panic handle," hanging on for dear life.

I just hit the nitro again, giving more power to smash trough the gate like a 20mm artillery shell fired at tissue paper.

The gate shatters, and the Mustang keeps on moving. Howard's Regera makes it through, and the third mystery car does, too.

When it comes through, a single streetlight illuminates the vehicle's shape revealing that it is Johnathan Cole, in the XR-09.

I keep the gas on the floor, shifting into the next gear. I'll need all the speed I can get, since we're in Alaska, and Anchorage is only about 400 miles away.

When Howard, Cole, and Katie and I make it through the gate, border enforcement begins sending units after us.

On the highway, I begin to dodge roadblocks, cops, and traffic. It's not easy, especially when you have to avoid a pair of supercars.

Soon, Howard's Regera is on my heels, and he is getting into position to pit me.

I have an idea.

"Katie!" I shout over the roar of the engine.

"What is it?" She says, concerned over the Regera at our back.

"Hold onto something!" I shout, opening the throttle and reaching to activate the nitro.

If the road is long enough, we should be able to recreate the wheelie we did with the 918.

I wait for the tachometer to hit the powerband - the minimum amount of revs necessary to activate the turbochargers.

It didn't take long, nd the turbos are soon whirring like never before. When they activate, I open the nitro bottle's valve, letting the laughing gas pour into the engine.

As soon as I open the valve, the engine's noice reaches a fever pitch, and the front end lifts up as we hit higher and higher speeds.

When the wheels come back to earth, I can't find the Koenigsegg - but I can find the XR-09.

It's right in front of us, and I can see a bright city skyline in the distance.

It's time to tame 7,000 horses.

I suddenly see a bright light, and I look around.

The police have a chopper on Cole and I. It's searchlight is blindingly luminous.

I quickly try and sideswipe Cole, an effort to knock him off the road.

I can't let him win. He took everything from us. And we just sat and watched an entire half of our income burn. He has Kate's Lykan, James' Chiron, Rex's favorite Camaros.

He can't win.

I recoild from the impact. It didn't even dent the XR-09's titanium exterior.

I guess he did make improvements.

I put the pedal to the floor, and the tachometer redlines.

Cole comes around for an impact, but I shift up just in time to see him miss. That was a lucky shift I got.

Cole comes up behind me, and accelerates to pit me. The light from the chopper reflects off of his hood, and bounces off of my mirror, blinding me.

I'm helpless against his attack.

He rams into my rear fender. Hard. I begin sliding, and I begin spinning around at heaven knows what speeds.

This is it. He won. I lost, but I went down with one heck of a fight.

I close my eyes, waiting for us to spin out and crash into a lamppost, or a tree.

Waiting for death.

But when I give up, of course, Katie stands her ground.

Katie reaches for the steering wheel, turning it into a countersteer.

The spinning stops, and Katie maneuvers the car to get behind the XR-09.

I see her release the wheel, handing control over to me.

I look in the camera relay on the HUD - the driverside rearview camera is showing Howard's Regera on my left.

I have to do something. Cole is in front and Howard is on my left.

I have one more idea, and its worth a shot.

I accelerate, pitting Cole in his right fender. He loses control and swerves to my left, spinning as he makes contact with Howard's Regera.

They both crash, and they're out of the race.

It's over. but not until I can find the finish line in Anchorage.

I look at Katie, whose mouth is wide open with excitement.

"YOU DID IT!" She shouts, not taking credit for the fact that she saved both our lives and our chance at $25 million by countersteering in the middle of the spin.

I look at her, and she quickly grabs her phone to call Rex and the others.

I guess I can take a little credit for our victory.

But I still have a chopper to deal with, so I tune into the scanners.

"Copy, this is Hawk-9, I have eyes on the rouge 10-94. Modified Ford Mustang, sending details, over."

"Copy, Hawk-9, this is dispatch. That Mustang belongs to a known criminal. You are authorized to use lethal force, over."

Great.

The helicopter's side door opens up, revealing a M60 machine gun. I remember them from my experience in the military.

It fires a big bullet, most often a 7.62x54mm bullet of solid lead. It can't really penetrate the Mustang's roof in one bullet, but a lot of them can probably kill the mood, and us along with it.

But the M60 is slid aside, and put on the helo's floor.

Oh thank god, they aren't using the gun.

Then they slide a new gun in it's place - an M1014 gatling gun, which has 8 barrels, since the 5.56x45mm NATO rounds are fired out at a rate of 50 bullets per SECOND.

The gun opens fire, spraying bullets in a deadly cone. I swerve right, dodging a lethal stream of bullets.

I hear one make an impact into the roof, and I silently pray that the carbon fiber alloy will hold its own.

When we reach the city of Anchorage, my phone rings, and Katie answers it.

I can hear small fractions of conversation over the sound of a roaring V8 and the repeating bang of the helicopter's gatling gun.

I tear down main street, looking for the docks where the finish line should be located.

Suddenly, a Porsche Panamera swerves out in front of me, and a man pokes his head out of the side - its gotta be one of Howard's hired guns.

I pull the handbrake, drifting in a wide arc around the mercenary's Porsche. He fires a spray of bullets at the Mustang, scaring the bejeezus out of Katie and I.

Katie drops the phone, and I can hear Quan7um shout, "What is going on?" as the phone slides down into the gap between the center console (where the nitro bottle is lying) and Katie's seat.

Great. First world problems that need to be solved in potentially lethal situations.

As the drift stops, I careen into a construction zone, just barely missing a 18-wheeler full of bricks.

I keep on driving, trying to balance my attention between finding the missing phone and trying not to die at the end of the race.

"Hold on, Quan7um!" I shout, knowing that the phone can still hear me. "I need you to sing, 'Bohemian Rhapsody,' as loud as you can into the phone!"

As Quan7um begins to sing "Is this the real life?" I make a sharp turn into a closed parking garage to avoid gunfire from the police chopper.

As I speed up the ramp, Quan7um happily sings, "Caught in a landslide," and I soon drift through the round corner of the garage to keep the police chopper on it's toes.

Katie begins unbuckling herself to look for the phone. I temporarily switch my driving style to "Grand Turismo," which involves less drifting, and more conventional braking.

When she locates the phone, I tell her to buckle up. By now, Quan7um has gotten to "THUNDERBOLTS AND LIGHTNING, VERY, VERY FRIGHTENING, ME!!!" which is hilarious to hear with his voice modifications.

Don't tell him I said that.

I quickly pull the handbrake, pulling the car into a 180 turn. I floor the gas, and I see the helicopter appear in front of me, outside the garage, in an attempt to get a clear shot.

I drift onto the next ramp, descending a level. If I can get low enough, I could probably get the helo off my back.

I drift out of the garage, entering the open streets.

The Panamera is waiting, and he opens fire, blowing out my passenger-side headlight, and denting the corresponding front fender.

I quickly dig into Katie's gun holster, pulling out the Mk. 9 SmartPistol. I point it at the window, firing a single bullet to brek the glass.

I wait for a single second for the auto-locking feature to kick in and calculate a clear shot.

Its not doing it fast enough, so I just fire manually.

I don't know how, but my first shot manages to bounce off the man's gun and impact him in the jaw, killing him instantly.

I wonder how lucky a man can get in a single night.

With the gunner dead, the Panamera might not be a challenge anymore. I just need to take out the helicopter.

I begin to drive erratically, trying to get the helo to make a mistake. I try to drift a donut around a single building, but it doesn't work, so I try to search for an overpass or something.

Suddenly, as I drive down the road, the helicopter pulls away, leaving.

I stop, celebrating my victory, when a series of police cruisers and cars surround me, blocking my escape.

I let my head fall on the steering wheel in defeat. I'm headed to prison for life without parole for illegal immigration, street racing, murder, theft, resisting arrest, and probably for a candy bar I stole when I was 9.

Katie leans over and whispers in my ear, telling me to start doing donuts.

I lift my head. I think I know what she has planned.

I pull the handbrake, flooring the gas, and I begin drifting in circles like a plastic top.

My tires megin to smoke like a bunch of chimneys, and soon, the whole street is smokier than a [HOONIGAN] convention.

I can't see a thing except for the headlights of the police cars.

I get it. They can't see me now, and I can probably find a gap between the cars where I can escape.

I keep on sliding, and I stop in front of a pair of Dodge Charger Hellcats, with a gap between them just big enough for the Mustang to drive through.

I hit the gas, plowing through the space, and I make my way through the fog until it clears.

When it does, I look around, and the police are nowhere to be seen.

I escaped, but I better hurry to the finish line before someone else does it first.

Its about now that Quan7um stops his singing. I'd forgotten he was on the phone.

I ask Quan7um where the finish line is, and he points me in the right direction, which was at the dock.

I don't know how I managed to avoid the cops for long enough to go across town, but I did.

When I reach the docks, Quan7um is outside, waiting for me.

I unstrap myself from the 5-point harness, and I open up my door to meet Quan7um.

He meets me with a smile on his face.

"Aaron Keyes, good to see you." He says, shaking my hand. "Excellent job on completing the Quan7um Bli7z, and I am glad to award you with the prize - $25 million and all the cars that came behind you in the race."

I look at Katie, who just got out of her seat as well. I motion for her to come over here, since she did save our skins on the road here, as well as taking control while we were in Yellowstone National Park.

Quan7um hands me a set of keys.

"What are these?" I ask.

"Keys to a warehouse in Atlanta, inside will be all 450 cars that participated in the race, as well as a letter to claim your prize money." Quan7um explains.

I thank Quan7um and grab my phone from my pocket. I call up Rex and the others, eager to tell them about our victory.

The phone hums twice, then Rex answers.

"Rex Magnus speaking."

"Hey, Rex. Its Aaron."

"Yo, ma' man! How's the race?"

"Its over. We won. Quan7um is here, and he gave me the keys to a warehouse in Atlanta. The warehouse holds all the cars, and a letter to claim the $25 mil."

"SWEET! I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT!"

"Yeah, well WE did this. We built the Mustang, and we gave it the capability to win the race."

"Bull."

"Huh?"

"I said, 'Bull.' The car is only as good as the person driving it, but the power and all does help the driver's performance. It all has to do with a balance between the hardware, and the skill of the driver. WE did not do this. YOU and KATIE did this. You two are the best drivers we have. You two made 5 months of pain, sweat, blood, and toil worth something."

"Thanks. I suddenly feel really proud."

"I didn't say that to humble you. I'll book you two a flight back home."

"Nah." I said, looking at the Mustang.

"I think I'll drive."