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|Initial D World - Discussion Board / Forums > Initial D Fanfiction > [FANFIC] Carbon Expressway - Epilogue|
|Posted by: Rudy Feb 14 2008, 03:58 AM|
| Author's note.
This fanfiction is complete after 5 long years. Thanks for everyone who supported this!
Stage 00 - New Jersey Drive
Five weeks ago, the sightings of the mysterious foreign 'Muscle Car' began. Described as a yellow fastback coupe with agressive black and grey side decals, little else was known about it aside from the fact it was left-hand drive and most likely an American vehicle. That aside, it was mostly a mystery - aside from the fact it was underpowered, perhaps even bone stock - and so was its driver. Like the car, he appeared practically out of nowhere, just showing up one evening and dueling against some of the lesser, older R34/33/32 GT-R Skylines on the C1 line.
Somewhere in downtown Shinjuku at a small, privately owned coffee shop, two street-racing enthusiasts gathered for a small private meeting. One was a driver of a well-known local regular, and the other was his mechanic and owner of a tuning business and dealership that usually didn't deal with such extreme cars as this particular client's. They engaged in this meeting for the basic fact that the head of the tuning shop didn't know what to make of this car and needed advice.
"Things are starting to get a little uneasy around the C1 and Wangan lines. A new car has surfaced and scared a few lesser-skilled R drivers witless."
"What kind of car? An R35 Skyline?"
"No. It's an import. A yellow import."
"Surely you don't mean the C5R Corvette replica. I thought he retired that car."
"No, it's not that vehicle. They do believe it's American, though. It's a strange case... lacking horsepower, the driver takes a lot of risky moves to keep his speed up, especially in dense traffic."
"No other info on the car?"
"Well, I think somebody said it had a black spoiler and black and grey side decals... That's about all I know, though. Rumors are saying he's trying to lure you out of retirement, and that the races he chooses are usually on your favorite stretches of Wangan and such."
"I think that's exaggeration. I'm done with racing the Wangan. I want to take motorsports more seriously, and compete on an official level. Everybody knows this."
"Well, perhaps we shouldn't use that car, then. Your car is being rebuilt anyway, right? There's a demo car in need of an experienced driver who can deal with high horsepower."
"The only domestic vehicle that interests me is the R35 Skyline. Unless it's that, I think I'll pass."
"Please, just give this one a test drive? You might seriously appreciate all the chassis implements. I'd even go far enough to say it's almost on the level of your old car, if not between your car's old state of tune and the setup that's in development."
"... Well, if you're going to be stubborn, I guess I could drive it a little. But I've already told you, I'm not into Wangan racing anymore. That highway is the cause of a lot of greif in my life. After that Z driver died, I vowed never to race again."
"Well, at least that Z itself hasn't resurfaced, right?"
"Oh. One more thing. That car has also been spotted out in Myogi. They have their own racing club on those backroads. An client R32 driver told us he 'nearly lost to some outsider in a trash American RWD car' before asking for an upgrade to 380 horsepower. I believe it is the same car."
"Really, now? Interesting... On second thought, I might have to see this car up close."
.:Two months ago:.
'Police continue to search for a man who goes without a name. Some people have called him a modern-day outlaw, but goes by the alias, "Mike Brick." Nobody knows of his real name. Approximately 6' tall, weighing in at around 170 pounds, this infamous helmeted street racer has been terrorizing the streets state-wide in his blue 1986 to 1992 Toyota Supra, with the fake New Jersey plate number ML4-321. Along with engaging in various illegal street racing activities, he has ran from the police multiple times, sometimes damaging police property and endangering local police and State Troopers in high-speed pursuits that have exceeded speeds that police helicopters are capable of traveling. Believed to be armed and highly dangerous, do not confront him at any costs. Please contact the New Jersey State Poli....'
Same old, same old, isn't it? Heh.... what a bunch of idiots. What do they expect running Charger Hemis and outdated Crown Vics?
Mike lounged back in his computer chair, mocking the MSNBC News broadcast that seemed to him to be no more than a bug on his windshield. Notorious street racer, professional theif, and general-purpose thug, Brick didn't care much about what authorities thought of him - though he didn't make the mistake of not caring about their plans to stop him. Living single for as long as he can remember, he grew up in a self-raised, generally homeless lifestyle. In this ever-evolving, ID-ized, digital age, Mike still preferred to live by word of mouth, pay in cash, and answer issues with his fists instead of a lawyer. Growing up on the streets of Newark, New Jersey, he lived through the 90's as he watched the unique urban car-stealing lifestyle come to life, how people would jack and joyride cars just for fun... and watched the Newark Police's brutal crackdown on such activities unfold.
Mike Brick was just a kid at the height of the drama. He learned a few important lessons as a youngster, though. First, trust yourself and nobody else. Second, a gun can come in handy. Third, if you're going to run from the police, know the streets and have a fast car - and make sure your gun's loaded. Finally, avoid the police as much as you can, and if you're going to go for a high-risk vehicle, make sure it's high-value, too.
Around age 15 (Cicra 2005), he stole himself a Toyota Supra Mk. 3. In baby blue, and non-turbo, he quickly realized the car's worthlessness and was about to scrap it, but got involved in a white-knuckle pursuit against Newark Police who didn't forget the wave of car robberies just a decade prior. In that 35 minutes of his life, he thought he was royally f**ked. His car was down on power - way down on power - , down on grip, and down on fuel against recently-deployed Impala SS Supercharged and Mustang SVT Cobra pursuit units. But somehow, through every city block, every red light, every small stretch of highway, he managed to keep his distance. He didn't know how... but he somehow got away. Mike could have taken it as a fluke but he didn't. He fell in love with a car that put his sunglass-shielded face on the front-page news.
And that's when he saw what was going on down in South Jersey.
Across the Pine Barrens, on highways 70, 72, and 539, was organized - very organized - street racing. And not just Civics with fart-cans... more like balls-out WRX-STi's with EG33's installed racing 'factory-fast' exotics like the 360 Mondena down these lonely country roads. On the long straights, the cars would near and exceed 200 miles per hour. They even blasted through the Fort Dix reservation, knowing that as long as they didn't lose control and crash through those fences into U.S. Government property, they'd be fairly safe. Mike thought about street racing every here and there, but it didn't take him full-force until he attempted to max out that little non-turbo Supra on a stretch of 539.
When he hit the rev limiter at 155 in 5th, he wanted to go faster. His plans quickly shifted, and he carried himself and his car out to Atlantic City, which at the time was a slowly recovering city in a state of recession and one of the world's largest networks of organized crime and Mafia activity, under all those pretty lights of the Tropicana and Trump Plaza. He started picking off high-ticket items, like the new Corvette Z06, and random classy cars... some say he was even involved with the mafia himself... and 'shipping them out' for loads of cold, hard cash. He had a few close calls with Johnny Law, but the iron grip of Newark's Auto Theft Unit of the late 90's made this 'security force' seem more like a narcolepsic, elder-age security guard in comparison.
Every dollar of that money, almost, went into his Supra. Quickly, he broke the "6 to 60" mark, then started racing lower-echelon rivals on the Garden State Parkway and New Jersey Turnpike. Picking off swapped 240SX's, stock Evos and lightly modified SRT-4's, and racing - and fleeing police scrutiny - on these heavily patrolled highways quickly gained him infamy. His '87 MA70's baby-blue color remained, but a Kaminari bodykit soon found its way around the lower curves of this machine. Retrofitted Magnum 500's, and a flat-black hood, rear spoiler, and stripe job gave this car a very 'Hemi 'Cuda' look. He left the engien be at about 400 horsepower, and started focusing on chassis work. Migrating back to North Jersey, his Supra started popping up near High Point and Montague, and down by Bridgewater, all over roads close to Interstate 287, and on the highway itself. "Toe-gay" became his addiction, and now beating a WRX-STi was a lot more... challenging.
Suspension mods, chassis mods, tires, tubbed fenders... insane work went into the core body of the vehicle, Mike tuning the car as if he was playing Forza in Career Mode. He quickly darted back down to the flatlands of South Jersey after a few overzealous rivals almost wrecked him and ended up killing themselves on the downhill twisties.
Now two and a half years strong with this car, he was Most Wanted and thinking even bigger. If you knew who to call, you could arrange a pink-slip race against a super-exotic. And that he did - against a Ferrari F40.
His Supra won the race, by a nose, airborne through the 539-72 Intersection finish.
He took the car, then sold the car back to its owner next week at market value. He was so attatched to his Mk. 3 , it was almost disturbing. Some say he even talked to his car as if it were a girl. Maybe it was, to him. After all, it was transportation, a weapon, a revenue source, a potrait of his own style and tuning tastes, and most of all, his shelter on countless days. With no bank accounts, he always kept the cash in the car and the car safe... but his attatchment to his car was about to backfire against him.
Mike was cruising through Green Brook, New Jersey at about 11 in the evening, leaving a local arcade called Eight on the Break, back on his way to Ithaca, New York to meet up with a colleague named Dominic Wanger, who was soon to move overseas to Tokyo, Japan. But this evening, the police had other ideas Knowing Mike -did- listen to their chatter wherever he drive via a scanner, masked radio transmission made things seem fairly normal as he got ready to pull onto Highway 22.
"This is unit 36. We got a make on a 1974 Chevrolet Van, Brown in color, over. Driver has been clocked doing 87 miles per hour entering our jurasdiction."
"Idiot", Mike muttered to himself, "You can't go faster than 65 without asking for a ticket on this road. It's a 55 and the wet dream of speeding-ticket cops", he stated aloud, pulling onto the highway. Little did he know, an undercover Crown Victoria was positioning itself behind his Supra, trailing him as he headed Westbound.
"Waiting on authorization to call this guy in." "Uhm, negative that, Unit 36, we have units further up north and have notified them. Maintain your position." "Roger that."
What Mike didn't realize was his car was already identified when he stopped at The Break. As a Chevy Tahoe pulled alongside him in the left lane, and a Dodge Durango moved in on the right, Mike was checking the charge on his cell phone. The Durango backed completely off, an '05-style Ford Mustang passing it and pulling ahead on the right, then merging into his lane. All units undercover, a multi-borough unit successfully tricked the unaware Mike into a four-unit box trap. Suddenly, the radio crackled, "OKAY, LET'S NAIL HIM ONCE AND FOR ALL! and a flashing red and blue orchestra of lights lit up Mike's surroundings. They had him.
"DRIVER, STOP THE VEHICLE AND GET OUT WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!", a voice commanded, as the Mustang in front of him now put its brake lights on. It was over... or was it?
...after coming this far... risking your life... and making me feel so alive...
...we're not going to let them stop us now... are we?..., a voice commanded him.
Mike's right foot trembled.
...do it... make a hole... with my body... I can take it...
With a roadblock waiting for him just 1/4 mile up the road, Mike made a decision that would change his life forever, in a way. The 7M-GTE's custom-fitted Roots-type supercharger wailed as Mike slammed into the back of the undercover Mustang, spinning the police vehicle out with relative ease and making his hole. Gunning it, he took off, the police blaring on the radio.
"ALL UNITS, CODE THREE! BLOCK EVERY ROUTE IN THE VICINITY!"
...to be continued.
|Posted by: Meteor Feb 14 2008, 04:43 AM|
| This is a rather different fic.
And I would like to see more.
*adds to fanfic list*
|Posted by: Wheels84ss Feb 14 2008, 04:53 AM|
|So far so good... I do like the writing style... lets see where it's gonna go...|
|Posted by: red comet 7 Feb 14 2008, 02:31 PM|
| the writing is cool and all. i dont know if this is the case so dont hate me if im wrong, but this almost seems like youre a supra fan boy trying to make one sound cool...like the way you described the upgrades on it was like something you want to do to yours...i mean, you coulda started off with a turbo supra...it didnt have to be NA in the beginning..
and the yellow muscle car, sounds like a dream car of yours or something. that you would like to see in these manga and anime...
most people that write fan fics based on these stories, try and stay true to the world and basis of it...
and i mean in fiction your car can be anything. Any color, with all types of specs...and to me this sounded like you were tryin to write about you or someone you know owns a supra and used what they WANT to do it as the specs...
and thats cool and all, but the baby blue supra with a "flat black hood"??!?!
thats not something you just write in... the supra could've had a CARBON hood.
and Baby Blue? that would make the car look something like this.
thats not exactly a very popular color among supra owners...
it almost sounds like you own one, and are trying to make it into a "HERO" car...
sorry for the ranting, other than that the writing is good. those were just a couple of things that made me stop for a second. youre writing is enjoyable and i hope you contiune to enjoy the process of it, and keeping with it, so i can read more.
|Posted by: Drew Feb 14 2008, 05:24 PM|
| Great job, Dori.
Got the roads dead-on down here in South Jersey.
Gotta rep & recognize, yo.
|Posted by: pnoytecknix Feb 14 2008, 07:21 PM|
|awesome start dori. cant wait to see where this goes.|
|Posted by: Nomake Wan Feb 15 2008, 12:53 AM|
His real car is that color. http://img294.imageshack.us/img294/4956/p1000938iv8.png So you're probably right-on when it comes to his selection of vehicles.
However, what's so bad about that? What's so wrong about choosing cars you like for your fanfic? I mean, look at Twitchy's Haruhi/InitialD/Wangan fics. Does he not have a main character driving an Integra? Did you call him out on that, too? And I'm sure that plenty other fanfic authors put their own personal favorites in as well. Heck if I were to write a Wangan fic, I'd definitely star an SVX.
So what's wrong with it?
|Posted by: thx712517 Feb 15 2008, 03:54 AM|
|I think every author should be able to include his personal car as either a cameo appearance or as a villain car, but anything beyond that does need to be justified. The writing style is interesting, although using italics for speech in the first part of the story is a new one for me. The story does have potential to be interesting as long as it doesn't turn into the writer patting himself on the back for how cool he is.|
|Posted by: Nomake Wan Feb 15 2008, 04:12 AM|
He did that to discern between two un-named people talking to one another. Of course, by the rules of English, we should be able to tell that without italics anyway since you have to start a new line when the speech changes from one character to another (which he did). So the italics are kinda redundant.
This is right on point, and a major thing to avoid with original fanfiction. I agree completely; as long as it continues on within the story-land and doesn't turn into a self-promotion-fest it should turn out really cool.
|Posted by: red comet 7 Feb 15 2008, 01:23 PM|
and thats my problem with the car he chose.
he didnt just a write a story about an old supra.
he was very specific in the color "baby blue" with a "flat black hood"
first off baby blue is not a very traditional JDM color and "flat black hood" is pretty much as ricer as it gets.
he could have made the supra something really nice with a "carbon hood"
and like you said with the self promotion fest, thats what it sounded like...like he owned the car and was trying to make it "cool" by writing about it.
for example my FC in real life has a WHITE TII hood on it. that is because it was originally NA, and i converted it into a complete TURBO II. and the hood is necessary for the car to run, because the motor has a top mount intercooler, and that was the only hood i was able to get my hands on. but if i was writing a Fan Fic about my car, i would not include the part about a white hood. see what im saying? thats the point i was trying to make, and there is no problem with including the cars you love, anyone would do that. it just seemed like what you pointed out earlier, a self-promotion fest.
other than that its pretty good i enjoyed it for what it is.
|Posted by: Nomake Wan Feb 15 2008, 01:27 PM|
| Way to quote a later post in response to someone else and completely ignore what I said in response to your post, man. Thumbs up. Putting in one car that's yours and others you like into your fanfic is not what I'd consider a "self-promotion-fest." You should be able to tell that by my sentence structure. Lemme break it down for you.
"[A]s long as it continues on within the story-land and doesn't turn into a self-promotion-fest it should turn out really cool."
"As long as" and "doesn't turn into" suggest to the reader that the story is not presently a self-promotion-fest in my opinion.
|Posted by: red comet 7 Feb 15 2008, 01:38 PM|
| well in my opinion it was well on its way there with a car like that!
and i didnt ignore you. i stated exactly what was wrong with it. in detail i explained why i didnt like the car.
and i just said that putting car's you love and own in a fan fic is fine. so whats your deal?
your exact words were, "So whats wrong with it?"
and i told you.
so hows that ignoring you?
he was coming back to the forums and wanted opinions on his writing so i gave him mine, and you jump all over it. whats the deal?
|Posted by: Nomake Wan Feb 15 2008, 01:41 PM|
|Just seemed ridiculously harsh over something ridiculously small.|
|Posted by: red comet 7 Feb 15 2008, 01:53 PM|
| Its the same thing in racing the small details decide the outcome.
and can make or brake the win.
|Posted by: Rudy Feb 15 2008, 11:48 PM|
| Author's notes:
a. The main character of this story [whose true name is still unknown] is loosely (key word: Loosely.) based around an 'anime-style' interperetation of what I would be if I were so f**king awesome, so excuse me for using myself and Nana-Maru as a basis of him and his Supra. Although, you obviously missed the picture if you thought that the flat-black hood was just a cheap excuse for carbon fiber; I mean, try Googling "Magnum 500". The theme for the Supra is 'Japanese Muscle Car'... which he firmly believes the Mk. 3 truly is. Furthermore, Look at the paint scheme. Black hood, black mirrors, black spoiler, side stripe... am I the only one who can trace the paintjob back to Mustang Boss 429's and Roadrunner 440's? Finally, the Kaminari '86.5-88 is WAY prettier than those pig-nosed mutants of what was originally a gorgeous car. Finally, the fact he started off with an extremely underpowered NA but sitll managed to get out of a tight spot was kind of a way of suggesting that maybe there's more to this particular A70 then meets the eye. Anyway, as this next chapter will reveal, you jumped the gun.
b. Having wandered around South Jersey, and been to Atlantic City, Tuckerton, Cape May, ect., I have a prefect picture of roads like 539, 72, and 70... heh.
c. Don't worry, this fic will in no way become anything close to a 'self-promotion fest'.
Stage 01 - Y3ll0W Fd/b1rD
The black Nissan Z33 Fairlady 350Z teared down the C1 line, its body glued to the road in a state of tune known as 'light understeer'. Roaring off the exit of a chicane turn, the engine's twin-turbos shrieked and spooled up almost instantaneously, rocketing the car into warp-drive effortlessly. The car performed an 'all-wheel' motion as a slight oversteer was easily corrected upon flooring the gas as the car boogied through C1's trecherous high-speed curves.
With a calm sigh came an amused smirk on the driver's face. "You didn't tell me this car had an entire GT-34R drivetrain swap... I was under the belief that it was merely the RB26 engine." The mechanic riding shotgun just chuckled, noting "Well, that's because I wanted you to feel how seemless the AWD system really worked, we've completely turned the handling nature of the Z33 on its head." Grabbing for fourth and then quickly fifth gear, the Z's speedometer climbed so quickly you'd think the car was merely on an AWD dyno. All 600 horses were being deeply-routed to the ground through the car's 265-series tires all around, and the Z's easy passing of rookie GT-R's and Evo IX's solidified the driver's confidence of the car's ability.
"It truly is different from my own car, I must admit... It's remarkably easy to drive, and even easier to drive fast... the weight balance of the car seems much more refined." The mechanic smiled lightly and nodded back, fiddling with the laptop that he was using to live-tune the engine. "Weight has been reduced to 1,200 kilos, much lighter than a stock Z33, and a special aluminum-block design on this custom RB26 engine nearly halfed the engine's weight. The twin-turbos use a ceramic variable-vane design, they're actually Porsche turbos. It's a 6,500,000 yen swap, but we've tried our hardest to make it worth every yen."
The driver of the car merely nodded back as he saw an unfamiliar set of headlights about a tenth of a kilometer down the road. Cocking an eyebrow, he struggled to identify the car's rather large taillights from afar. Unfortunately, traffic was heavy, but the good news was the car was merging onto a branch of highway that would lead him onto the Wangan line. A yellow car... that's a shade off from an FD, as well... is it him?, the Z33 driver thought to himself. Weaving strategically through lanes, the driver kept the Fairlady on its toes, utilizing the AWD system's ability while off the onramp once again, the car's tail stepping slightly out of line before tucking itself back in as the turbos force-fed another 300 to 400 horsepower down the engine's otherwise-weak throat. Slowly, he closed the gap between himself and the yellow car.
.:Two Weeks Ago, revisited:.
Police vehicles surrounded the scene of the accident, the cops leaping out of their cruisers with their guns drawn, before slowly reholstering them. They looked at the disfigured mess of what was once a driver's obsession, and the body of the driver himself sprawled out on the pavement, 20 feet from the car's final resting place. Slowly approaching the helmeted driver, one senior lieutenant rolled his body over so he was on his back, then slowly removed the helmet he was wearing. A blank stare was returned to him from the very young man's eyes. "So you're our 'James Kowalski', huh?", he asked the driver. No response. He then felt around the neck area of the driver, seeing if there was a heartbeat to be found; nothing.
There was none. Immediately, they flagged the EMS crew over and his lifeless body was quickly hoisted him into an ambulance, which left the scene in a hell of a hurry. Tattered pieces of bodywork, glass, and plastic littered the road in a spot where a Police-built F-450 met with Brick's mechanical soulmate and practically destroyed it. But unlike the Supra, which was merely bent and mangled upon the 40/140 MPH intersection impact, the F-450's nose was ripped clear off; alas, the Sheriff who was driving the F-450 also climbed out of the truck, merely shaken up. There was a thick tension that lingered in the air like a bad smell, too. Glances were exchanged. Glares were shot at each other. And a few caps were angirly thrown at the wreckage of the MA70, along with at least one young officer's badge.
It didn't have to go down like this. Not in any way, shape, or form. In fact, this was not even the original plan. The moment Brick's car was spotted entering Dunellen was the moment he could have been arrested, in a quick ambush while he was walking to The Break. But no, a few higher-ups decided to grow an ego and prove that they could stop him in his car, on the highway, in the car's natural state. It sucked up more resources, more man hours, required more planning, and just pretty much seemed like a dumb idea, but the concept of three local jurasdiction taking down somebody in a team effort that even the N.J. State Troopers couldn't muster.
Their goal, however, was not to kill the driver. In a way, he actually had a bit of a modern-day 'outlaw' fanbase going for himself. Although some people who actually wanted to see him evade the technologically-aided defenders of the laws of this very state, and even this very country, some criticized him for driving a Japanese car. And that was just fine with him, too. He built it like a 'muscle car', so to him it was, even if it was built by the same motherf**kers that attacked Pearl Harbor oh-so-long-stone-ages-ago. He didn't kill anybody. He didn't rob any banks. He wasn't a terrorist, a murderer, or a rapist, either. He wasn't a member of any gangs [as far as anybody knew about his hazy and mysterious persona] or any mafia [to an extent, some anonymous residents of Atlantic City claim]. He was just out to have a good time and turn the streets of the U.S.' most densely-populated states into his racetrack, open for any lucky spectators to view. So, for certain emotional members on this case, this impeding death was the worst possible outcome. At the least, they wanted to learn his actual name.
.:Return to Present Day:.
Downtown Shinjuku was a popular place to get a space. While it wasn't particularly the safest area in Tokyo, the rent was cheap, the rooms were somewhat clean, and for somebody who was into computers, there were plenty of IT business oppurtunities floating around in the upper parts of this technology-driven city. That's one reason why 20-year-old Dominic Wanger took up a space here. He didn't bring a lot of luggage, either, having come in all the way from the United States, but sure enough, there were boxes scattered all around, and as the 5' 1", thin-framed adult crouched over an open computer case to connect its power supply and install its motherboard. He grinned, eyeing over the Core 2 Quad processor he was about to install, and then quickly did, before connecting two nVidia GeForce 8800GTS' to the board. "Dit-dit-dit-da... man... this is going to be f**king sweet", he said to himself. Having graduated from the Rochester Institute of Technology in Rochester, New York, from taking a course in system administration, his ambitions here in Japan were high.
And his skill with these silicon-built devices was just phenomenal. Another ten minutes and he was already into the BOIS, the computer fully connected and his overclocking wizardry put to use. He then popped in a bootleg Windows Vista Ultimate x64 Edition DVD-R and began setting up the computer. A few clicks and then it was pretty much Microsoft's turn to work on its own, and in that breath, he shifted out of his position and plugged in the CAT-5 cable to the computer's network adaptor. It wouldn't stay like this for long, but the computer had to be hard-wired to the Internet before he could install all of his wonderful little device drivers. That gave him time to shift to his television set, which he quickly fired up and started flipping through foreign networks. Of course, while he had a security deposit for rent mapped out for 4 months, his internet and TV were already paid three years in advance. Tuning into Us-based CSNBC, he checked out the local headlines from earlier that morning - in the US, anyway. One headline caught his attention.
"And the hunt for the body of the infamous outlaw street racer Davey Anderson, who went under the alias Michael Brickland, 'Mike Brick' for short, continues. After a tragic high-speed pursuit that ended under grim circumstances,
emergency crews desperately attempted to revive the lifeless body of Anderson during the ambulance's drive to Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital in New Brunswick, New Jersey. However, all efforts proved futile, and Anderson was labeled as "dead on arrival", his body moved to a morgue across the street. The body, however, went missing, without a trace, and was gone by the next morning; no surviellance camera caught any activity and no people were spotted entering or leaving the morgue. Everybody knew that Anderson's alias wasn't his real name, however, until a few 'coming-out' Newark residents helped identify him, instead of being a "John Doe", many 'fans' and even some law enforcement authorities labeled him as a 'James Kowalski', in reference to a 1970 car chase movie where the main character of the same name evades police for days and runs across various state borders before meeting a fate similar to Anderson's. Green Brook, Bridgewarer, and Dunellen police are also under an investigation by the Middlesex and Somerset county's Sheriff's departments, under the belief that they knew where Anderson was prior to the pursuit, and had a chance to apprehend him out of his vehicle, but intentionally ignored the opprutunity...
Wanger's remote fell right out of his hand. Shock quickly overtook him, and he soon found himself shaking from head to toe. He heard about something going down involving a Supra of somesorts, but he didn't know the details. He was too busy getting ready for the 'big move' and selling his 1990 Subaru Legacy - a car he held very close to his heart - to somebody respectable. Eventually, he decided on a local friend who owned a number of Subarus and who would pass on the Legacy to somebody who he saw fit.The rest of his stuff he either Ebayed off or gave to friends and relatives. He wasn't expecting Anderson's suprise visit at his house, so it's no wonder that he didn't see this coming.
Still. The photos, the wreckage, the carnage. It was almost enough to make him sick. His friend, dead, just like that, at the snap of a finger. It was just too much... he quickly fumbled through a bunch of different TV channels, eventually deciding on some bland local-broadcast network to ease his nerves a little, as they announced some stuff about a local high-school play and other random nonsense. But almost as if by fate, a local used car dealership ad cycled through, and while struggling to listen to the Japanese, he watched them cycle through the models. "Wingroad, Toyota Estima, blah blah blah...", and just as he was about to flip the channel, a new car spiked his interest. "Wha? 200,000 yen for an SVX? Not bad... those cars are pretty sweet." Grabbing his RAZR V3xx like John Wayne would pull out his revolver, he quickly screencapped the telephone number. While it was past business hours, he was sure to call the dealer first thing in the morning.
.:_On the C1 branch line_:.
As the black Z33 reeled in the yellow 'muscle car' in closer and closer, the driver of the Fairlady also saw another car was just ahead of the American vehicle; a yellow Mazda RX-7 FD. "There's one", the driver said to his mechanic, looking on. "I don't recall seeing that car on this road.", the mechanic replied. He studied the 'body language' of the two cars as he reduced his trailing distance to 100 meters. They were clearly engaged in a race of their own already, albeit at a 'compromised' pace. The experienced Wangan driver looked on from the sear of the Z, watching as they picked their way through traffic. "I've never seen that FD, either. Looks like a stock Type R, given the wing design. You have any idea what the trailing car, is?" The mechanic shook his head. "It's definitely from America, but I won't be able to tell you until either of us is close enough to read the rear badge."
The driver of the FD kept his foot glued to the floor, trying out outrun the flip up headlight-eqipped piece of trash that was following him. He knew this car wasn't really designed for this kind of driving, but it didn't matter; 13 years old or not, this car still posessed the ability to defeat anything on the street! As they completed the merge onto Wangan, he threw the gear shifter into 5th gear, the engine revs dropping from 7,800 down to 6,000. With the traffic ahead clear, he thought, he could show this gaijin the difference between a thoroughbred, lightweight tarmac fighting machine and some American V8 hunk of junk!
...to be continued.
|Posted by: Meteor Feb 16 2008, 05:43 AM|
| The part with the Supra driver dying is slightly confusing. But the next chapter should clear that up.
And, as is your trademark, more well done driving scenes are present in this fic.
In short: MOAR! Please?
|Posted by: Drew Feb 16 2008, 11:46 AM|
| Is that a hint of Nomake Wan I see there?!
Once again, another brilliant chapter, Dori!
|Posted by: MattW Feb 16 2008, 12:36 PM|
|Hmmmm, that "past" part seems A LOT like Vanishing Point.|
|Posted by: red comet 7 Feb 17 2008, 08:20 PM|
|goin good so far...really open though..|
|Posted by: Wheels84ss Feb 27 2008, 08:57 AM|
| Another good chapter bro.. as always keep em coming... (and don't kill this one off when it gets really good like the last one)
And It usually takes him about 4 or 5 chapters to really get to the meat of the story... he likes to leave us hanging that way...
|Posted by: Rudy Mar 5 2008, 11:35 AM|
| Stage 02 - Eastbound and Down
The A70 Supra of Davey Anderson and its 3-year illegal street racing and getaway car career was an engineering feat, it fact, from the tires to the roof-liner. Starting off as a basic non-turbo automatic-equipped Targa, it was loaded with a bunch of factory Toyota crap like ABS and leather seating, but somehow got ahead of 5-0 and stuck a middle finger to Johnny Law. Davey quickly dubbed her "Amy Li", and kept her factory Sky Blue color through the many modifications she'd see. Among those changes was the unique installation of a Vortech supercharger kit that came after the 7M-GTE swap. Sitting where the A/C compressor would normally be, its special pulley kit and mounting setup was a one-off special performed by Davey and a few trustable mechanics. Feeding 13 (later a maximum of 24) pounds of boost initially to the engine, its direct response and screaming whine gave Amy Li just the right 'attitude' that Anderson was seeking in her. And that "7M-GZE" engine badge would prove to be the key to getting off clean... or so Anderson alias Mike Brick thought.
With 4 undercovers on his tail and a stretch of open road ahead of him, Anderson put the hammer down and rocketed away from the four pursuing cars. However, a Corvette Z06 with a gumball magnet-affixed to its roof was also in the 'party', and shifted its place from 'laying back just in case' to being the primary pursuer. 405 horses of American-raised iron didn't faze Davey all that much - he'd outgunned a similar car before - but still cocked an eyebrow at the lack of... well... attention he was recieving. The other four police vehicles didn't even attempt to follow, the chase being between himself and the Z06. Something about this doesn't feel right, he thought to himself, charging balls-out down beyond the Green Brook jurasdiction and into Bridgewater. Usually, there'd be some kind of helicopter up in the skies by now, or a roadblock, or... anything. It was too quiet in this particularly Nazi-like area of New Jersey, as far as moving violations and police activity were concerned. Even when he wasn't as infamous, he had a similar situation occur on this very road, with much more attention.
An uncertain notch into fourth gear was the car's way of telling Davey he was at risk. Highway 22 was pretty broad and open, but to what? Was there an eight-car roadblock ahead ready to ambush? A crackle on the radio that was slightly incoherent but along the lines of "I'll take care of this bastard" was heard and Davey was all eyes. But the road ahead was clear, so was the road behind. He neared his speedometer's limits (marked to 155) before easing off for a casual left. The few distant blinking lights behind him disappeared. Davey didn't know it, but just past another easy left was an auxilary exit to Chimney Rock road where a white police pickup truck was 'staging' itself for a do-or-die takeout maneuver. Another ominous shudder came from the car's chassis as it neared the bend. Although the road ahead looked completely harmless, Dave'ys life was about to be changed forever... or possibly even terminated.
The yellow FD's driver kept his foot glued firmly to its floorboard, the 13B-REW singing its buzzy little two-rotor song. The car was already close to maxed out at 225, according to the tachometer, anyway, its needle sinking into the red zone and its annoying shift buzzer blaring loudly. But it was only 7,500 RPM... not much to worry about, right? What was more important was ditching this LHD import... and the Fairlady Z trailing it, for that matter. A swift jerk to the right in an emergency lane change nearly sent the RX-7 spinning wildly out of control, but a fluke kept it stable; the import and the Z33 took the merge much more smoothly, losing less speed and closing closer in. God damn it, the driver thought to himself, who the hell does this kid think he is, driving that Mustang, or whatever the car is!? Ignoring engine warnings, he pressed on, the tachometer's ominous warning gesture that he was now 1,500 RPM beyond redline (8,500 total) meaning little to him. Well, one knows how rotaries are. They don't 'run out of cam', they keep revving to their fuel injector's capacity.
"I hope that dude has an RE-Amemiya kit under that hood, else something might break", the American car's driver said. He took a glance at his own rev counter, and smirked. Even doing 145 in top gear, the non-drag-race-setup posi-traction (An actual mechanically-engaged locking rear, as opposed to your typical limited-slip JDM setups) gearing on his ride was set up for high speed cruising; with a redline at 6k, he had 500 RPM to go, the small-block V8 not even sweating this speed... his foot wasn't even fully floored. He could theoretically pass the FD, but traffic tonight was too heavy, and he was also under belief that part of his ease of following this Mazda was in the draft; that ridiculous rear wing had to help that car punch a sizable hole in the air it was passing through.
The black Z's driver remained studious of the two cars as they charged ahead. Barely pushing the throttle down nearly as much as the other two cars, he listened to the sound of the two cars as they charged along , now hitting Wangan East's main straightaway. "From the sound of it, the FD driver is pushing his car's mechanical limits", he said to his mechanic. The mechanic nodded. "Yes, that sounds about right. That car just ahead of us has quite a rumble to it, though, doesn't it? And really tall gearing." The ATTESA ET-S system that this Z was equipped with - a complete R34 Nϋr powertrain swap from cam cover to axles, then upgraded to hell - didn't really serve much purpose on this stretch of highway. Boxed into the right lane from heavy traffic in the slower lanes, the cars continued to gain speed, the Z's driver calmly grabbing for 5th gear @ 255 kph.
The RX-7's engine had now spent at least a minute and a half into the redline, and although it was showing no signs of failure, revving a stock-rotor, stock-port 13B to 9,000 and beyond (And keeping it there with dialed up boost but a stock cooling system) was still just asking for trouble. But the driver didn't care. He was starting to slowly, very slowly, crawl ahead of that annoying import. His FD's lighter weight offset the equal horsepower level between the two cars, along with a very mild aerodynamic advantage. That, in turn, meant that the gear ratios should have been upped, not reduced, but this FD wasn't tuned for the highways, either. A slight downhill stretch, very slight, meant even more torture on the poor, freshly-built 13B-REW, and its oil and water temperatures (Now 145 and 135* celcius) didn't agree.
In the blink of an eye, the engine made a loud buzz from under the hood and proceeded to end its own life, the rotor snapping from its eccentric shaft and smashing its way along the walls of the rotor housing before flying loose from its cage and blowing out the top of the rotor housing, wrecking the insides of the engine and popping up the hood, smoke pouring from the engine compartment. The engine done wrecked itself, and it was purely the driver's fault for overstressing those parts. The drivetrain stress locked the transmission into gear and the car skidded and swerved, trying to avoid a wreck. God knows what happened once the two chasers passed. In a moment's passing, the RX-7 was no longer part of the picture; the driver of the small-block muscle car was to fend for himself.
"Water temperature at 210, oil at 185, oil pressure 75 PSI, engine at 6k.... barely under the limiter, topped in 5th. Is this all you can do, baby?" The driver blinked at the rearview mirror; like nothing, the Z's driver closed himself in. Was he sand-bagging? For the past 5 miles he could keep the Fairlady at bay, but now he was barely holding the menacing machine off. Passing through a tunnel, he could hear the echo of the Z's engine over his exhaust system. The turbocharged, high-RPM wail was definitely NOT the sound of a VQ35DE or HR. "...An RB! 20? 25? 26? ....Probably a 26." The engine's rev gauge was starting to cross into the red, to the driver's disappointment, before a chime - very similar to the car's door chime - got his attention.
"6TH GEAR READY - SHIFT INTO 6TH" went the car's onboard LED dot-matrix computer display, and a neat icon of a double H-pattern shifter being slid down into the sixth slot displayed on his readout, the driver blinking as he heard a small click coming from the shifter console, the gear unlocking. "This hunk of iron has a 6th gear? Go figure." The red-lit tachometer needle fell down to a more comfortable 4,350 revs per minute, the engine falling back into its torque curve and providing the car with just a smidgen of extra acceleration, although aerodynamics were starting to hamper this suprisingly sleek-bodied muscle car's ability to gain more speed. Now off the markings (somewhere between 165 and 170, he reckoned), he was going to use the traffic ahead to his advantage, and demonstrate many years of outsmarting official drivers to his chaser.
Pedal pinned to the floor carpeting, the muscle car dove, glided, drifted, swerved, and otherwise just swiftly changed lanes through the heavy traffic, the Z33 at times having to slow slightly then unleash some of its actual horsepower in order to keep pace. The import driver was mildly impressed at the follower's boldness and skill, though he still remained a step ahead. After passing 25 or 30 cars, he saw the cause behind the hold-up; three truck drivers inappropriately using all 3 lanes. Checking the gap, the driver didn't even glimpse at the brake pedal. His fingers carefully nudged the steering wheel and he held his breath as his car carried itself to the unnaturally (by his standards) narrow shoulder, his driver-side mirror inches from the tunnel wall. By just a smidgen, he cleared the gap, a 120 MPH difference between his car and a NAMCO box truck. But now the open road was his, and in the final mile, he was going to show Mr. Z what he was made of.
The V8 sung a cheery tune, its drag-and-stock-car-racing heritage serenading the stainless steel's exhaust system with a deep, throaty melody as it crossed the "sweet spot" between 5,000 and 5,500 turns a minute. The aluminum-block OHV V8 was born from 50 years of racing experience, lightened and fine tuned, and featured modern features like roller rockers and a finely-ported plastic intake manifold to make the most of each combustion cycle, light-weight, balanced parts to ensure longevity and high-RPM tolerance, and large coolant passages to keep temperatures down. Theoretically, it could be a 7,500 RPM screamer, but the factory tuned it for 26 miles per gallon on the highway, and torque where the "muscle heads" demand it - down low, around 3.5k.
It was quite the mechanical symphony, and if the Z had feelings, it might have been embarassed if it wasn't so stuck-up and pride-happy with its sneezing turbo and 9.5k super-wail, the monsterous iron-block RB26 offsetting the Z's already bad front-rear weight ratio. They exited the tunnel and were now on a wide-open high-speed stretch of exposed straightaway once more. To the muscle car driver's suprise, though, the Fairlady suddenly got on the brakes, in spite of the road ahead. In the time it took him to process why the Z would slow down, he got caught off-guard. A major road imperfection turned an annoying hump at civilian speeds into a frightening high-speed jump, and before he knew it his car was airborne. A half-second later the car violently touched down, the sheer speed difference and stress tearing the driver's rear tire from its bead and rotating it on the rim, effectively causing a mild blowout.
The driver fought the car's wicked behavior as the tire upset its balance, seeing traffic ahead and trying not to go backwards; at 150, it might flip his car into the air like a speedboat given his car lacked a Gurney flap. But he couldn't maintain forward stability; the car's rear eventually swung around and sent him for a wild ride. Struggling to maintain control by way of not hitting traffic or either wall, he palmed the steering wheel from lock to lock, zooming past traffic in a flashy (but unintentional) slide. It felt like hours, but it only took about 12 seconds to slow from whatever speed he was going to a dead stop, locked at all fours. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins but the car managed to right its direction and stop in the shoulder with his assistance. Still wearing his helmet, he calmly climbed out to assess the damage.
The Z pulled in behind his car, its driver exiting from the right. He stopped walking when he saw the driver, and said Z driver calmly stated, "It's obvious you don't know much about the Wangan line, but are great at improvising your own lines. It's why you made the mistake you did." A silent pause lead to the driver continuing. "That car you drive is interesting. I believe I saw it once pacing the Daytona 500 race a few years back. What it's doing here in Japan and why you're driving it is perplexing, though in your performance I admit it's amazing for an American machine. What's your name?" Another dead-silent pause. "Well, I know better that it's not a late-model Corvette, and if you choose not to reveal your identiy to me, fine by me. I just want you to know, I won't race again. This was just a test drive for a friend. I have no place here on the Wangan line."
The muscle-car driver watched as the Z driver re-entered the demo car and slowly drove off, leaving him to repair his own tire and the like. He barely turned to see, still in shock. From a trembling voice, the driver flipped up his visor, watching the taillight's slowly disappear into the night, and asked himself; "The Wangan's legendary Black Bird... Tatsuya Shima!?"
.:Somewhere in rural Akagi, two hours later:.
At a rather large house built in the lonely hills of the Akagi area, a few rather specialized vehicles sat parked in their driveway. A white FC, a few RX-8's, a white Toyota Space Cruiser van and an orange S14 Silvia Q's remained dormant, but the center of attention - where a few people had gathered - was a once-gleaming Mazda RX-7 Type R of the late 1990's. Its hood was damaged... somehow. Its nose piece was knocked clear off, duct-taped to the roof, possibly for transportation. The passenger's side was nearly totaled out, its front-passenger wheel knocked out of adjustment and bent, the suspension system possibly totaled. A mechanic removed the hood, surveying the structual damage. Slowly shaking his head, he said to the team's leader, "It's a total loss. The front frame is severely bent. It would be financially more logical to start with another FD and carry over the rear suspension and as much else as we can. The car would cost at least 1.5 million yen to repair in parts, and even then, I can't guarantee it will drive at 100 percent."
Removing the palm from his face, the leader sighed and nodded, calling up a colleague and asking about a car. "Hi. Yes, it's me. Do you still have that Spirit R shell? Good. I think I'm going to need it. Put it on reserve, I'll meet you tomorow at noon." Flipping his cell phone closed, he looked to his spiky-haired prother in severe disapproval. His brother fought not to look the other way. Finally, he asked, the few other people around the FD backing away. "Keisuke, I really would like to know... could you explain to me, please, why your car came home on a flatbed tow truck tonight?"
|Posted by: HashiriyaR32 Mar 5 2008, 12:16 PM|
| Care to explain why Tatsuya is driving a Z rather than a 911?
EDIT: Oops, didn't realize it's a demo car.
|Posted by: Meteor Mar 5 2008, 06:47 PM|
|Another awesomely done chapter! Especially the high-speed Wangan battle between the FD, Z and the 'vette.|
|Posted by: Drew Mar 6 2008, 06:18 PM|
| The visual language used in the racing scenes is AMAZING!
Another great chapter, Dori.
|Posted by: Hannah Mar 6 2008, 07:56 PM|
What Corvette are you talking about? It was stated it WASN'T a Corvette.
However, if you wanna play "Guess That Car", be my guest.
Not all 'gaijin' drive Corvettes. D:
I really like how you incorporate all these different series.. It's really really interesting. Hurry up and post more chapters, ok? :3
Overall and seperately...
I really feel the character.. the way you portray each canon character and original character, it's really powerful.. true to their nature and yet unpredictable! If you know what I'm saying...
|Posted by: Meteor Mar 6 2008, 08:34 PM|
I thought the fic was saying that it looked like a late-generation 'vette, but isn't one.
Basically, I forgot to add in the double-apostrophe.
|Posted by: Wheels84ss Mar 14 2008, 05:45 AM|
well if you paid attention, you know what the car is...
Although I'm a little suprised you would Use a T/A... Because unless your info is incorrect, The Only rwd pace car besides the corvette was the T/A(which was yellow in 02)... I don't see you using a FWD Grand Prix, especially since they didn't come with 6 speeds, and the Goat wasn't used (although I really was hoping it was a goat)
Another good chapter... Keep em rollin
|Posted by: Rudy Mar 17 2008, 07:19 PM|
| Stage 03 - Ballad of a Dead Driver
The gentle lopes of the muscle-car (or perhaps 'pony car'?)'s cam-in-block setup echoed deeply off the barrier of the Wangan Expressway, damn near vibrating the pavement around it as its small block V8 sat idle, waiting for more action. Alas, action it would not have until the car's driver dropped his jack and placed it back in the car's hatch area. Soon enough, though, the flat tire was fixed.... sort of. Its Bridgestone replacement tread was only 50 MPH rated, and narrow as a mother, so the driver wasn't too anxious to crack open the throttle and let the car's (350-375?) ponies back out of their gates just yet.
Instead, as he closed the hatch, his job complete, he pulled out of his pocket the only reminder he had of a past life of his; a Motorola SLVR L7c cell phone, a unique candybar design much like the iPhone in size but predating it by over 2 years and not having nearly as many features; perfect for his needs, though, needs being txting and talking. Nothing more, nothing less. Entering his TXT menu, he chose to send a new message, and picked 'Boss' as a contact. Carefully, he typed on the keypad a small message for his boss to recieve.
'S p o t t e d T a t s u y a S h i m a . I t h o u g h t h e w a s r e t i r e d? R i p p e d a v a l v e s t e m . W h a t n e x t ? T h a t r u r a l t o w n ?'
As he started driving his way back to his small little apartment building that he was given, a reply text quickly came back in.
' Y e a h . G o t h e r e t h i s F r i d a y. I l e f t y o u s o m e c a s h a t H o m e . D o n ' t s p e n d i t r e c k l e s s l y . '
With a sigh, he eyed the message, knowing a reply wouldn't do much good since this 'boss' only replied to status updates and wasn't one much for conversation. Regardless of that he wanted to txt back but decided against it. About 30 minutes later he was safely parked back in his own little one-car garage on the outskirts of Tokyo, and as promised, he was given 250,000 yen to play with; roughly $2,500, he figured, or so. Friday was just around the horizon, so he wouldn't have an asston of time to prepare himself for whatever 'job' he would be put on next. Whatever. His mission right now was to stay alive until he could figure out why he was alive. Anything else just complicated matters to him.
At least he was still alive, he figured to himself. Something kept him alive and carried him to Japan. Whatever that something was was the same driving force behind this boss of his. But quite frankly, he had an authority problem and didn't like having to listen to txt messages to know he would have a place to sleep every night without worrying about getting backstabbed by who-knows-what. Was this a setup? Why was this 'boss' doing this to him, exactly? For self-profit? For entertainment? As a 'favor'? Whatever it was, he intended to get to the bottom of it, and soon.
.:Downtown Shinjuku, Friday morning:.
"Is this the SVX you guys advertised for 200,000 large?", an eager 'Don Wan' asked the salesperson. "Yeah, she's a little beat up but in great shape, with less than 140k on her. Nobody has looked at the car twice; we're really trying to move it, it's been here for almost a month." Dominic nodded, assessing the car's exterior condition. Rust? That was wierd. The hood dents were even wierder, and a New York State inspection sticer on the hood took the cake fo-
In an instant, Wan almost passed out then stumbled back a few steps, realzing the HUGE paradox that the car ensued. Stammering, he mused to the salesman, "WAIT, you guys didn't tell me this car was LEFT HAND DRIVE!?". The salesman gave him a bit of a shrug, motioning, "We sell what we get. You didn't notice it in the TV ad?" His cheeks reddening, Wan shook his head. "No, I was too excited over the price. No wonder this car isn't moving; it must be a nightmare on the toll roads!" Again, the salesman shrugged. "Something about a bad transmission.... it's a US model, from New York State. Just arrived at our doorstep one morning, practically. Girl traded it for another US vehicle, though it was of much lesser value... some GMC piece of shit", he laughed. Wan laughed it off, too. Traded an SVX for some truck? Talk about drawing the short straw. In a matter of minutes, the title was his, and so was the rest of the car.
Cruising up and down the Wangan, Dominic quickly realized something was lacking from this SVX. Its lazy shift pattern was reminiscent of his Legacy L, and the spacing was so wide and tall... in short, this car seemed more cruiser than bruiser. Its suspension geometry seemed a bit lax too, perhaps due to the car's higher mileage and the fact it was 16 years old. The engien felt somewhat healthy, but its exhaust note screamed 'Meineke Special' in its undersize replacement-muffler cheapness. On top of that, his water temperatures seemed to be a little bit high for his taste, so he quickly slowed back down to... er... 100? No, that's not right, he's moving way faster tha- ...oh, right. This speedometer only reads in MPH. Can't see the KM/H numbers with these retarded 'ricer lights.' Fusck. Gotta fix those soon, and how, too.
.:Elsewhere in Japan, Gunma perfecture:.
"I'm telling you! The only way you're going to get girls is if you get a nice car! Get a Z33, or an RX-8!"
The almost childish squeak came from a very silly looking highschool boy with an even sillier looking haircut. Apparently one way or the other, the person he was yapping his ear off to was his friend, who seemed completely unable to care any less about cars than humanly possible. "What's with all these codes?", the airhead asked his friend. "Don't the cars have names? Like, Iketani's car. It says Silvia. But you call it a Z31." The other palmed his face, giving him a look of disapproval. "For the last time, Takumi, it's 'S13', not 'Z31'! That's the old trashy Fairlady Z! The Silvia S13 is a classic, the best drift car ever next to its sister 180SX! Even the S15 Z-Tune can't match their coolness!" "Whatever, Itsuki."
Ah, so their names were Takumi and Itsuki. Takumi Fujiwara and Itsuki Takeuchi if you want to get technical. Both gas station attendants that also still attended high school, Takumi's job was to make money, and Itski, in his eyes, had that role along with talking nonstop about four-wheeled nonsense. A car's a car. It's got four wheels and runs, and you put gas in it and change the tires. Nothing else to them. They're appliances, not goddarned poster girls. "You know, Itsuki, maybe if you focused less on cars and more on girls you'd actually score one, with a little bit of luck. And a different hairdo, too." Itsuki did a double-take before his cheeks lit up with embarassment and his eyes narrowed in a feeling of being insulted. "What's that supposed to mean? My haircut looks awesome!" Before Takumi could fire a slightly cunning remark, the school bell rang, and off the two teenagers would go to class. Little did Takumi know, he would soon run into a 'young punk' like himself that cared as much about cars as Itsuki did - but carried himself a lot more maturely for an identical age.
|Posted by: DK_2 Mar 17 2008, 09:05 PM|
| Why'd you make Takumi retarded like here?
you should've made Takumi well er.. Matured? Oh well nice update anyway. (:
|Posted by: Nomake Wan Mar 17 2008, 09:42 PM|
|I think he's trying to start from the beginning of the series instead of the middle/end. So this is when Takumi is still dee-dee-dee about cars. That's the feeling I got from Dori's description of Takumi as someone who thought a car was four wheels and took gas.|
|Posted by: Meteor Mar 18 2008, 12:41 AM|
Anyway, another awesome chapter Dori. Itsuki talking about cars that don't exist in that particular timeline bothers me slightly. But otherwise, another awesome chapter.
(And, yes, I did take note of the Dual Core processor appearing in this fic. But that particular part isn't in the exact Initial D timeline, so Dori could pull off a Shigeno there and insert things that didn't exist at the time.)
|Posted by: Hannah Mar 18 2008, 09:52 AM|
| not to mention the r35 skyline... the story takes place in spring 2008, says Dori.
so his Trueno will be a 22 year old rustbucket, or something... i mean look at the details
Maki's SVX is selling for 2200 usd(?)... in 96, the car was still new in 96
|Posted by: Rudy Mar 18 2008, 04:17 PM|
| Stage 04 - Corrector's Edishin
The story of Dominic Wanger and his black SVX seems trivial and irrelevant at start, but that is merely because they're going through a bit of a rough mutualization with each other. Just three days into the relationship, the car has already let the young IT worker down, and in an expensive manner. A pool of greenish-brown fluid was building below the car as he climbed out, whiffing the sweet, yet very sour, smell of cooked coolant. Rubbing his hand against his forehead, 'Wan crouched down, assessing his vehicle's condition. Something gave. A coolant hose? ...No. There's chunks of what... what looks like modeling clay on the ground. Dominic, now realizing that there's also a gaping hole punched into the bottom of the radiator, concludes that this 'patch-job' was the previous owner's halfass way of fixing the cooling system - just like his instrument panel solution was to place a pair of piece of shit LED Wal-Mart lights in front of the speedometer instead of actually fixing the damned cluster.
"Motherfsucker. Are you kidding me!? Are. You. Kidding. Me!? What an idiot! Oh my god, I can't believe he thought this would work!" Yeah, Wan was a little pissed at this bandaid-on-a-gunshot-wound approach, and he had every right to be. Though, given this car was 16 years old, he was expecting the pricetag to come without all of the headache. Sorry, no dice... Instead he has a car without a radio, with some kind of retarded wiring setup that he still hasn't gotten the point of, no instument lighting, a shift-laggy transmission, and worst of all, a blown radiator with a Home Depot patch job. Dominic was beginning to regret not shipping the Legacy over. After all, he got stuck driving some USDM Subaru, anyway. Might as well have been his grandma's Legacy. No kidding; 'Nekoruma', as he called her, WAS his grandmother's Legacy originally. And now, he missed her, and her fail wheel drive greatness, dearly.
.:Red Suns Garage, Akagi:.
Keisuke watched dimly as the pieces of what was supposed to be his uphill attack car were removed and installed into the fresh chassis of a much newer (2002) Mazda RX-7 Spirit R Type C chassis. A lot of the bodywork was there, but the vehicle had been stripped of its VIN numbers, engine, and transmission and most of its drivetrain components. Essentially, it was a stolen car that Ryousuke was now planning to inplement the soul of another car into. Of course, considering the Type C was to an RX-7 what an SR would be to a Corolla Levin or the J's would be to an old Silvia, most of the suspension work would be redone, with a decent bit of tuning coined in from Racing Beat and R-E Amemiya.
Keisuke knew if he crashed this FD, it would be game over for him, and he would be right back on the streets that Ryousuke practically yanked him from. The Red Suns would go on without him, and Ryousuke's "plan of dominance" would be that of his own. Keisuke didn't like the idea of being thrown back on the streets though, so he kept his mouth shut and just watched his elder carefully piece together the reminants of his own destruction, skillfully directing his team of 5 people on how to remove what parts, what tools were better suited to what tasks, and when it was time to bust out the plasma cutter to remove damaged parts. It only took 4 or 5 hours for the totaled frame to be stripped clean and the parts transferred into the newer shell. At the end of the day's work, the new FD was still mostly incomplete - the 13B-REW could be spared, but not much of the suspension or secondary drivetrain components were slavageable. Royusuke Takahashi still had a lot of work to do if he intended on having his brother race behind him in what was now being called the 'Fastest in Kanto Project'.
Deep in the quiet town of Akina, a gas station manager and one of his most valued employees were planning to part ways. The female mechanic has growing bored of the small town and had been 'offered' a job out in Tokyo. How could the purple-haired dame resist such an offer?
"Are you sure you really want to leave? With only Iketani and Kenji around, I'm really going to have my hands full this summer. Can't you hang on until autumn?", the middle-aged manager begged.
"I really enjoyed working with you, Yuiichi, but the city beckons me. Please don't complicate matters, alright? I'm sure some more help will come your way, and that Iketani guy isn't too bad with cars, either. I'm sure you'll find someone really soon!", the 21-year-old girl smiled.
"Well, you can't de-wing a free bird, or so the old saying goes. Good luck, Kitsune!", Yuiichi waved back. He watched as the young gal started going through her things, eventually shaking hands with Iketani and Kenji, both of them appearing equally shy and nervous.
"I recon you both should get some more guts and go out and chase a woman of your own, instead of staring at me all the time. 'Cause my time around here is over!", she playfully teased, nudging the two. As both friends laughed, she then gave another wave to the manager - with a broad smile - before hopping into her vehicle, driving off in just seconds flat. And just like that, the sometimes rackety Exxon station grew quiet once more, a few cars coming in here and there. Funny thing is, just as Yuiichi hung up a Help Wanted sign, a pair of third-year highschoolers walked by, turned around, and helped themselves inside, looking for a job. The one with the dorky haircut wanted to save up for his own car, but the other just wanted pocket change. Either way, the legend of the Akina Speed Stars was not too far from finally being born.
.:A week or so later:.
"I forgot some of my clothes. You didn't see anything left back in the garage area, did you?"
"Actually, I was wondering when you was going to return. I couldn't call you back because your old number was disconnected. Are you going to drop by?"
"Yeah, I'll drive back to Akina since today's my day off and get my stuff. Thanks for hanging onto them, even though they look trashy."
"Not a problem. I don't ever throw anything out, because you never know!"
At the gas station, new hirees were still learing the ways of the gas attendant routine, Kenji showing them some of the garage tools, such as the tire machine, in case a car needed some basic work. That left Iketani to pump gas, and he would be suprised as an unusual car pulled into the station. A fastback coupe with an American growl, in yellow, with silver and black striping, with tastefully chosen chrome/black wheels. It was also left-hand drive, sporting flip-up headlights on the extreme ends of the car's busy nose, an agressive hood-scoop filling the center. In a word, the car was fearsomely gorgeous, blending just the right amount of attitude with functionality.
The driver exited his vehicle, standing a solid 6 feet tall. He was a pretty handsome piece, himself; spiky black hair, but not outrageous. Pale skinned, he appeared to be Asian-American, with one brown eye on his right side and one blue on the left. A long scar creased down his left side, making one wonder if the right eye was just a glass eye, given the scar went straight down and 'through' his eye. His build was somewhat athletic but his composure didn't line up; holstering a cane for balance, his left leg was a bit shaky. "Fill 'er up", he said, in a very Gaijin accent.
"That's some car. I've never seen one before, what make is it?", Iketani asked.
"Pontiac. Firebird. Trans-Am WS6. Corrector's Edishin. One of less than 1,200.", the driver calmly shrugged. His left eye moved in unison with his right, so maybe he was just an oddball at birth. "Your low-grade fuel is like our premium, so just put in the cheap stuff."
"Roger that", Iketani nodded, "Cash or credit?"
"Alright, I'll need your card."
"Hit the windshield too, eh? I'll tip ya good."
The driver of the Trans-Am looked on through traffic, catching a glimpse of a somewhat nice-looking truck. Just as payment was made and he tipped Iketani, he paused to gaze at another reminder of the States. "An old GMC Jimmy... No, Typhoon! A little beat-up, but nice!" The driver watched as the GMC drove right by... right into a car at a red light, its nose becoming a little crumpled, the driver apparently failing to notice the stopped car and rear-ending it. He saw the dazed girl climb out of the SUV, assessing the damage. "And an idiot b*tch driving it, too. Fsucking figures, man." Shaking his head, he slid back into the T/A's welcoming leather cockpit, firing up all 8 large-displacement cylinders and driving off. He still hadn't found what he was looking for, apparently.
The driver of the Typhoon, however, was loaded, apparently. Quickly passing off 1,000,000 yen to the person she hit, she told him to "keep it off the books and get out of here", to which the somewhat intimidated young-ish driver did, quick to realize that was profit given the only moderate damage to his new Corolla Rumion wagon. She'd then park the truck of hers into the Exxon parking lot, staring blankly at the Trans-Am as it disappeared from the landscape back onto the highway. Yuiichi asked her if something was wrong, and she nodded, in a slightly shaky voice, "The brakes gave out. I'm gonna patch her up and limp back home. Got my clothes?" Before Yuiichi could respond, she was already under the hood and fixing the coolant hose that was knocked loose. Damage was bearable, but she figured this old Typhoon was due for a paint job soon anyway. But none of that was important; only one thought loomed on her mind. And that thought was what caused her to space out and hit that Rumion.
Did I just see a ghost? That face... the driver of that F-Body... was that really Davey Anderson!?
|Posted by: pnoytecknix Mar 18 2008, 08:00 PM|
|and the plot thickens.... great stuff dori, i always enjoy reading your work.|
|Posted by: Wheels84ss Mar 18 2008, 08:08 PM|
| Not a bad set of running there as always... Although I got spank ya on a few details... Kenji never worked at the station... Just hung out with the guys there. So i couldn't see the manager using him as a viable employee. But considering it's a fan fic I guess you can play with cannon some... That's the joy of writing your own story... things can be played with...
And Oh yea... Your thoughts on japanese gas are incorrect... Japan Uses the The RON method of octane rating. America Uses the PON or (R+M)/2... We also have higher quality control then most countries...
|Posted by: Nomake Wan Mar 18 2008, 09:28 PM|
For reference, the Japanese SVX (any year) is still selling for about 3 million yen on average. Lowest I've seen was about 2.5 million yen. Which is about $25,000-$30,000.
|Posted by: wing_0 Mar 19 2008, 10:01 AM|
|Well, great piece of writing, I really like the style. Interesting choice of cars too. It's hard to find anything that'd bug me... oh wait... what's with all those Motorolas?|
|Posted by: Nomake Wan Mar 19 2008, 10:13 AM|
True that... lol. Where are all the DoCoMos?
|Posted by: Meteor Mar 20 2008, 02:01 AM|
|Another great chapter. Keep 'em coming.|
|Posted by: Rudy Mar 22 2008, 09:11 AM|
| Stage 05 - Pushrod Drift
"I thought America had some insane mountain roads... this is much crazier than that."
Having never traveled all that far, the driver of the Firebird Trans-Am WS6 only had a small taste of just what it means to go uphill on a windy pass. These corners were pretty menacing, with limited visibility from one to the other. It was hard to calculate the route he could take in and out of each curve. He fought as the car slid across the corner exits, the LS1 occasionally banging its rev limiter before he let off and let the RWD beast regain its composure. With a glance at his radio clock, the red LCD projected a somewhat ominous 3:57. Morning not having completely arisen yet, the Trans-Am driver was glad to see the now-confirmed Hotel Akina in the distance.
He yanked on the parking brake lever and did a reverse slide just short of the course's finish.
He skidded to a halt, revved the pushrod V8 once, then dropped the hammer and gained wicked speed heading back downhill. He almost crashed - multiple times - as he continuously underestimated the ferocity of each and every bend, dip, curve, and otherwise challenge that was laid out before him. Sand Bank road has nothing on this. The 90* angle hairpins that neared the end of the course were even tighter than those he found on Skyline Drive back during his visit to Port Jervis, New York. "Those drainage ditches are interesting", he mouthed to himself, noting how 'convieniently' they were arranged. "With a little bit of insanity, you could probably utilize them.... somehow." It was 4:00 sharp when he reached the bottom of the course, now turning 'round his Firebird once more and waiting. He pondered to himself just skipping town, because this was one hell of a drive just to see a kid in a "20-year-old Corolla".
Standing beside his WS6, four-ways on, he only had to eye his watch once before he heard the sound of, at the very least, some vehicle with a four-cylinder engine charging up the pass. He didn't hear any tires skidding, though, so more questions were raised about his txt message from 'the boss'; "They say the best legends are undiscovered ones. I want you to see if this 'ghostly' AE86 legend from Akina is true. Just hang out on Highway 33 overnight one night. If he's not there by four, then it's a myth. If not, and the car -isn't- a ghost, find out who this driver is." It only took a little more time for the driver to figure out the rest of the euqation. "4A-GE... 16-valve variation, modified intake but no ITB's... okay, doesn't sound phenominol..." His eyebrow cocked as the car's headlights flickered on the road ahead. Soon, he saw this 'Legendary AE86' with his own two eyes. "Okay, what is this shit!?", he asked himself as the car neared, soon slowing down to a halt.
His eyes weren't even checking out the driver just yey. He assessed the vehicle as it stood; A stock-bodied Sprinter TRUENO GT-Apex, '83-85 body-style in basic Panda White. The body panels were dented and the paint, as far as he can tell, was so faded it looked like dull plastic. He thought he could see rust eating the rear quarter panels alive but he wasn't sure. But all in all, it just seemed like another beat-up, high mileage AE86 that was nearing the end of its lifespan and didn't go through the discomfort of being raped into a 'Kei Dorifuto machine Supremo', taked up with any stupid Japanese symbols [such as the iiChan logo], fitted with any ungodly spoilers, or otherwise just detastified. In fact, the one 'modification' it did have was cost-efficient, cheap, and tasteful; some Celica Supra wheels in place of the original pizza-pan ones. There was a sticker on the car, but it was just for business; in plane-Jane Kanji, it read, "Fujiwara Tofu Shop (PRIVATE VEHICLE)". The Trans-am driver glanced briefly at the pre-dawn sky, noting shades of blue slowly getting ready to overcome black. In another glance, he eyed the AE86's driver, who was now making his way out of his car. In a Rei Ayanami-like tone of voice, the AE86's driver asked the Trans Am driver, "Are you okay?"
The WS6 driver nodded, before motioning with his thumbs, "Yeah, I'm okay. What's your name, kid?" The tofu delivery boy seemed a bit perplexed that this stranger who looked younger than him had the nerve to call him 'kid', but replied without an attitude, in that same almost monotonous voice.
The WS-6 driver paused for a second, before deciding to reveal his name to this kid, not thinking much of it for who he was encountering.
"Davey Anderson. I came here because of you-..." Looking at the teenaged boy in a very 'suprised' manner, "Or at least you- ...your, er... car... yeah. I think I should just leave you be, but I have but one question for you; how often do you drive this road?"
Takumi looked at Davey in a bit of an insulted manner. "I drive this road every day at four in the morning on my tofu delivery run, but what's with your disappointed tone of voice? I hardly know who you are and it sounds like you're judging me already!"
Davey paused, popping a pill in his mouth and waiting for his leg's shakiness to die down. Moving towards Takumi with his cane, he lightly traced his finger along the pitted and chipped once-chrome "TRUENO" on his car's front bumper. "I'm not judging you, it just doesn't make sense. Somebody said a 'Legendary AE86' comes up and down this road, 'like a ghost', and its driver is 'downright incredible'. If this is the Legendary AE86, then either that story is a myth, or whoever owned this particular car, which matches the legend's description to a tee sans the business stickers, was the real Legendary AE86 driver. That's all, alright? You seem like a decent kid with a little bit of vanilla mixed in."
Takumi shook his head at Davey. "AE86? I don't know what you're talking about. This car's a Trueno. I think the AE86 is that Mazda car that my friend keeps talking about, isn't it?"
Davey shook his head. "Your car is called the AE86. Want to see why?"
Takumi blinked, before nodding slowly. "Uhm... sure."
"Pop your hood."
With a bit of a confused look, Takumi popped his hood, and Davey unlatched and propped it. Pulling a comact LED high-output flashlight out of his pocket, he showed Takumi what he meant. "See that stamp on the firewall? AE86 is the car's model code. Toyota used to factory-code name their vehicles this way from the late seventies up until the late nineties. It's not something I'd expect somebody like you to know, though."
Takumi canted his head to the left, before musing to Davey, "Listen, I have to finish my run, but can we talk more at the hotel? I don't want the manager to yell at me."
Davey nodded. "I'll follow."
Climbing into his Trans-Am, Davey was expecting himself a boring ride. The AE86 took off, accelerated, and shifted slow as he neared the first corner, but as he watched the Trueno practically glide around the first serious curve, something caught his eye. Well, two things, actually, but one was very apparent! That kid gained a car length on me! Catching back up, Davey was now watching the AE86's motions a lot more carefully as it coursed its way around a sweeper before nearing that series of hairpins. I'll credit the newbie with this, he can drive that car smoother than a baby's ass. I can barely tell when he's shifting. And around the hairpins, Fujiwara contined to suprise. Perfect apex, every. Single. Time. This kid's good, real good. I underestimated how well he can drive, but he's still not what I would call legendary. With a stock-block 4A only putting down 150 horses or so, from what I can gather, that clunker doesn't have the capabilities to match newer machines like the S15 Silvia R or FA1 Civic Type R Coupe.
He was actually unconsciously being drawn to the car's aura, so much his clutch leg was responding as well as it did before he ended up in Japan. The graceful actions and incredible corner rounding forced Davey to repeatedly dig into the LS1's torque surplus and force his T/A to catch up to the 86. Admittedly, if I was driving the same car as you, I'd lose, he chuckled. At least you can whip that old Corolla like a pro martial artist can utilize the abilities of his own body. It's a shame you're driving a rustbucket that looks like it's about to fall apart. In an Elise, you'd be stratospherically awesome. The odd part was he didn't really see the 86 exerting much of its tires' cornering abilities... only 75-80% of its total traction seemed to be used. Though you do drive a bit timidly... for the sake of the unknown? Before Davey could finish his assessment, they arrived at the top of the pass, at Hotel Akina.
After an exchange of tofu and money, Takumi returned to Davey in the early morning light, now assessing his LS1's mechanical condition; Normal, as always. Though part of him longed for this engine to sit under the hood of an FC or MA60, he was content with the body he was given to operate in.
"Yo", Davey asked, seeing Fujiwara in his perephrial, "who the fusck taught you how to drive, kid?", as he turned his head.
"Nobody did. I taught myself, for the most part. Why do you ask?"
"Because if I didn't have nearly 350 horses being delivered at the rear wheels, I would be left in the dust. Your skill is incredible, and you'd be great... if your car didn't suck."
"What do you mean, 'be great'?", Takumi asked Davey.
"I mean, you have the skill that some amaetur racers lack. Your handling of that machine is inspirational; hell, I didn't have a handle on my old Supra as good as that shit. In short, you're phenominol."
"Phenominol? I only drive this way because the routine is very old and boring."
"At your age? Gimme a break. You probably just got your driver's license."
"Actually, I only have a provisional license. I shouldn't be driving between 12 and 5 AM."
"Proves my point! You've only been driving less than a year at bes-"
"...well", Takumi kind of muttered, "Almost 5 to be honest..."
"You mean, you were driving since you were 13!?"
"Since I could reach the pedals, my Dad made me drive this damn car."
"So your father owns the private business. That makes-"
"In rain, snow, whatever. It's an agonizing nearly 365-day-a-year routine. Even though I just got a job he still wants me to drive and pay me."
"...Well", Davey blinked, a bit of a slack-jawed, stunned look on his face, "Two things. One, your dad's a complete idiot for letting you drive illegally this long. But considering I was driving and running from the police at that age, that's irrelevant." A smirk creased its way across Davey's face. "I don't know if your father is lazy, an asshole, a genius, or a little of all three, but forcing you to drive that early made a wicked racer out of you, just begging to be awakened."
Davey paused for a second. Why!? What does he mean, 'why?'!? Doesn't he see it? That kid has the capacity to do something he could only dream of doing. "Kid, you have no idea. I guess that routine took the excitement out of driving like a bandit, but let me tell you." Davey pointed a firm finger at Takumi's face, his eyes narrowing. "People just having seen or heard your car charging downhill have already made a legend out of you. Sooner or later, somebody's going to target you." A small pause followed. "Hopefully, it won't be me."
"I still don't understand the point you're trying to drive, but I'll at least be careful. I have to admit, you have an interesting car. It seems they forgot which side the wheel is supposed to be on, but it sounds nice", he mused, with a slight blush. "It just looks kind of silly."
Davey chuckled. "Don't confuse sexy with silly. Soubi, he's one sexy little beast, isn't he?" Patting the car's front fender, he grinned a bit, before turning back to Fujiwara and beginning to fiddle with his flashlight.
"One question, Davey. What did you mean earlier by, 'it's something you didn't expect me to know?'"
"Oh, that? Well, it's like this." Davey grinned a bit again, before walking to Takumi and patting him lightly on the shoulder, leaving his hand there. "I can see it pretty easily that in spite of your godly attributes, you're not much of a car head. Like so very few people alive today, you see your iconic drift machine as just a Trueno and nothing more. Your driving style and view on cars are so contradictory that it's almost a paradox, but it's kind of refreshing to meet somebody who doesn't Hawk (Seiji) (Seiji) (Seiji) on the mechanical details... and just drives."
"I never said I was into cars,", Takumi shrugged. "It's got an engine and four wheels and runs. It's just a car."
Davey's watch beeped as he checked the time; time to get back into Tokyo. "Listen, kid, I gotta bounce, but I have one last question for you; if you've driven this road over a thousand times, why are you so timid behind the wheel? You weren't even chirping those little tires."
"Oh, because I didn't want to break the tofu. It's sensitive, so I had to drive careful. I don't hold back when I'm heading back home, though. I want to go back to sleep for at least an hour before school begins."
Davey's eyes widened, pupils shrunk. He almost fell into a state of shock upon that realization. That's right, he thought to himself, tofu is easy to break. That's why he was turning, shifting, accelerating, and braking so carefully. Even if his car isn't all that great... A sall bit of sweat ran down his face, the skin itself beginning to drain of blood and pale. Who knows what he can do downhill... Jesus Christmas. "I... I see." Davey's left leg spasmed again and he nearly collapsed, but grabbed the cane quick and stabilized himself. He popped another pill from out of his pocket, swallowing it with just the saliva that was in his mouth. "Well, I'm a business man, Fujiwara, and I have business to take care of. I'll see you sometime soon. Take care."
Takumi watched as Davey slid back into his Trans-Am, letting the rear tires erupt into smoke as he burned on them (he still didn't slap on the new Goodyear Eagle F1's waiting for him back at home just yet) before doing a doughnut, giving Takumi the thumbs up before disappearing beyond his cloud of tire smoke, heading back home on a different route than Takumi's. "What a wierd person", he thought to himself, "Giving his car a name. He's interesting though."
In another moment, the AE86 that was soon to be the talk of the entire Gunma street racing perfecture made its own departure in a much less exciting fashion, before zooming back home to the Fujiwara Tofu Shop.
|Posted by: Meteor Mar 22 2008, 09:35 AM|
| Getting even more interesting now. And, as is usual, another well written chapter.
Davey sure is an interesting character. .
Looking forward to more.
|Posted by: Hannah Mar 22 2008, 09:52 AM|
| Holy fack, that is one hell of a chapter. You sure are getting there, Reiji-sama. I really enjoyed the conversation between Davey and Takumi, as well as Davey's inner-thoughts on the guy. S'just what I thought he would react like. XD
Oh yeah. ^^ Just because I'm your girlfriend doesn't mean I can't tease you some....
it's phenomenal, dumbass. :3
|Posted by: Nomake Wan Mar 22 2008, 01:49 PM|
Dammit, she got to it before I could.
|Posted by: Rudy Mar 22 2008, 08:04 PM|
| Fifth Chapter Break; Some Character Attributes and Storyline Tips, and critique inquiry
.:Current Original Character Information:.
Mitsune Rage - GMC Typhoon
Height: 5' 3"
Weight: 124 lb.
Eye color: Deep Green
Hometown: Jackson, Michigan
Reason for moving to Japan: Unknown
Current Employer: Unknown
-No other information is presently available-
Davey Anderson - Pontiac Firebird Trans-Am WS6 Collector's Edition
Height: 6' 0"
Weight: 158 lb.
Eye colors: L Blue, R Brown
Hometown: Newark, NJ
Education: Middle school dropout
Current employer: Known only as 'boss'.
Stock 2002 Pontiac Firebird Collector's
LS1 small-block V8 with SLP LS6 high-performance intake manifold and hydraulic roller camshaft
SLP Wide-Mouth Street exhaust, Magnaflow resonators. Factory cats replaced with high-flow units.
Some mild weight reduction, fiberglass hood and sound deadening removed.
Detroit Locker 1.5 way limited-slip rear differential, Slp Ford 9"-style 12-bolt rear axle housing
SLP Skip-shift eliminator
SLP Heavy Duty torque arm
SLP Chassis Subframe connectors
Eibach lowering spring kit, front and rear, 1" drop
Bilstein non-adjustable shock absorbers
Current 'safe' Chassis HP: 520
Current rear-wheel peak HP: 361
Originally believed to be killed in a police chase just weeks ago, Davey remains somehow alive, for some oddball reason having awakened in Japan. He knows more about his car than himself and his boss in this present state.
-What's up with Davey's left eye and leg? They were never mentioned prior to his 'death'. And how does one survive a snapped brain stem exactly, anyway?
-Is Mitsune Rage somehow connected to Davey? She knows him, and also left town just a week before he started scoping out the Legendary AE86 of Akina... even if the car itself turned out to be not legendary at all.
-Takumi's car looks like it's ready for the junk yard. I guess 23 years took their toll on the vehicle, eh? But who knows; maybe Davey knows somebody at a body shop, or even does his own work.
-Keisuke is a hot headed idiot at times. Let's keep our fingers crossed that him and Davey don't cross paths again, else sparks might fly, ne?
.:Comments and suggestions?:.
Personally, I'd like to know how you, the reader, think these chapters are coming along. I'm also curious as to how people think of my 'from the beginning' approach to fanfiction, unparalleled to the majority which I've seen take place either after the end of Fourth Stage or way before the beginning. Like, years before. Either way, please let me know how things are going~! This is a fan-driven fanfic, after all! <3
[Yes, that means you, Turbo_Levin_13 and Red_Comet_7, too. Along with anybody else who's posted after the prologue but not since the third chapter. Or ones who have just corrected certain things and/or typos. -glares at Maki and wing_0-]
|Posted by: Meteor Mar 22 2008, 10:02 PM|
It's going quite well. I do have to disagree with small details like Itsuki talking about RX-8s or Takumi's 86 being 23 years old instead of 10 (before thinking of the fact that this could be an alternate universe/ish fic). But otherwise, it's going quite well.
The characters you've put in this fic are quite interesting. Both the Initial D cast and your own characters are well written, both in themselves and in their relations to other characters. Oh, and is it just me, or is there going to be a slight bit of that RP in here like in your previous fic?
Like in all your fics, the driving scenes are quite well written.
The "from the beginning" approach is an original way of writing ID fics. And meshing that with a great plot brings good results. The plot has yet to get boring. Every single chapter makes me want more.
As I said: It's going quite well.
Keep at it
|Posted by: wing_0 Mar 23 2008, 04:12 AM|
|Hai, hai... well, the storyline sure is getting more interesting. The interesting fact is how Davey remembers car related things, and nearly nothing about himself. You did a good job on capturing Takumi's character. Also, the inner thoughts of the main character are interesting too. Well... I have nothing more to say, so... keep it up. And don't you dare disappear and delay the updates, nee? *returns the glare*|
|Posted by: Hannah Mar 23 2008, 07:43 AM|
| Davey does remember his past life but he cant fill in the blanks between getting hit and waking up in Japan; Dori says.
Also, we would like to let everyone know there is no form of magic in this story at all, no catgirls [like Sanagi], no cargirls, like Esprit-chan, nothing like that. Even if Kurumi were to make her debut.. which I don't think he's going to add her at all, she would most likely be some scary ganguro in a 'Yankee'-style biker gang. XD Hey, that'd be kinda cool.. :3 But it'd be irrelevant, wouldn't it? :3
Also he says it takes place in 2008 and is alternate-universe. Although Davey is a recycled character, it has no relation at all to "On the Unbeaten Path", hence, things like the Porsche 959 and the Elise being used for Godfoot and Godhand, not being a problem. Since, he's not trying to improvise on storyline and model years, it being 2008.
Oh, be on the lookout for a red Audi r8. X3
|Posted by: Rudy Mar 29 2008, 11:18 AM|
| I'll be gone for a while, playing CoD4 and Import Tuner Challenge for a while. Perhaps the latter will bring ideas to the table, who knows.
Hopefully by the time that's done, Maki'll have read up to this 5th chapter. Otherwise, this story will go cold turkey... muahahahahaha. >:x
|Posted by: wing_0 Mar 29 2008, 11:45 PM|
You know that in that case you'll have to deal with enraged fans, rite? That's one of the things that happens after you make them
|Posted by: Rudy Mar 30 2008, 11:07 AM|
the idea is, mr. i don't read fanfics but lul this one has teh shuffel will actually have enough, erhm, 'motivation', to actually appreciate a good piece of work. since, you know, it actually FEATURES HIS CHARACTER. =.=
|Posted by: Rudy Apr 7 2008, 06:10 PM|
| Okay, so my muse begged me to go on. f**king sue me, eh? Oh, and this chapter was kind of inspired by a crush of mine in the semi-retro videogaming world, so bite me if you see any similarities...
Stage 06 - Don't think; Shoot!
.:Fujiwara tofu Shop, April 31st, 2008 / Three weeks after Takumi met Davey:.
It was Takumi's eighteenth birthday. Having graduated from his GDL program and having acquired a full Gunma Driver's License on the very same day (which was but a small step up from his Provisional [only being hour-and-passenger-restricted]), Takumi's eighteenth birthday was not much cause for celebration; his sly father already had a few 'presents' for him in mind; first, he got a new car! ...except it was the same piece of shit Sprinter he's been driving since he was 13, anyway. But now the title was signed over to him and he officially owned the Trueno. His first responsibilities were to register and insure the 'new' car, and get it emissions and safety-checked at the DMV. Well, at least, register; his inspection sticker wasn't due until July. His next present was the installation of a catalytic converter [again], so it will actually pass when sniffer time is due. But that's about where it stops. "You earned this car", Bunta said in a casual voice. "Five years of tofu delivery will cover the value of a car in this kind of condition and then some, but it will be your choice on whether to let it rot out and find another car, or learn something about bodywork and fix it. Remember now; this car is yours. I won't help you on it from here on out."
"But what about you, Dad? What are you going to be driving?"
Bunta paused, then shrugged lightly.
"I'm probably going to buy a car that's practical and easy to drive. I'm not getting any younger, you know."
With a sigh and a headshake, Takumi ventured outside the tofu shop to glance at his newly acquired AE86. What a beater it indeed was; rust was creeping up the sides of the car, a victim or road salt. The remaining paint was oxidized, much of the clearcoat stripped clean. There was no lust or shine, and the fender creases, damage that was on the car well before he started driving, was an eyesore. But, at least the doors closed properly and the steering didn't wander. Yet, anyway. On top of that, Bunta always assured Takumi, 'The car will always drive safe as long as I own it; I take the time to service the mechanicals. But with your shitty driving, maintaining the body would be pointless.' Whatever. Takumi's been driving legally for two years now without any accidents or mishaps, and this view of his driving ability was a little bit unfairly biased. Regardless, Takumi re-assessed his new car, shrugged, and went inside to call up a couple of insurance companies to get the car insured. By mid-afternoon, the car had new plates on it. His new plate # was 13-954, and now at least the car's license plate had a hint of looking somewhat shiny, if nothing else.
Oh, yeah, Bunta also covered whatever it costed to re-register and re-insure Takumi's car for the next 6 months. Working at a gas station would cover the rest. Well, at least his fourth year in high school wouldn't be boring. Being a Senior and owning a car would get him mad props. Exceeeeeeept, he didn't care about whether it was cool or not. Oh well. No bothers either way. Grabbing his uniform top and cap, he started off for the gas station which was just a block or two away. No need to waste gas.
And that's the way it would work out with Takumi for the next couple of weeks. He decided he would use the car as little as possible to save gas money. Little did he know, by mid-May, after extensive re-tuning and rebuilding, he would be presented an oppurtunity to face the same driver that his friend Davey went up against on the Wangan Line. Except, this time, he would be on his way home from a tofu delivery.
[TBC- Fujiwara Storyline]
Davey paced cautiously along the hallways of this meeting place. He was sent here to be briefed on another 'job' of his, but this ratty apartment complex-building didn't seem like the smartest place to gather intel. He was alert; he walked with no cane. His leg held steady, somehow acting like a proper ligament should. Was it his adrenaline surging through his veins? This particular block, as he was told, was known for its high crime rate. At his side was a classic Colt M1911 .45 caliber firearm, holstered to his black jeans belt. He had another pocket attatched to his belt, carrying three magazines, just in case; Anderson never was warm to the concept of 'traveling lightly'. "Just five more flights of stairs... why can't they all be in one place?", he asked himself, covering more ground as he continued to check his 3, 6, and 9 o'clocks. There were so many hiding places; he knew this could be a setup.
After all, he wasn't even privy to his boss' name or voice. Why the hell am I supposed to meet with this Yakuza boss in theis wreck of a building, anyway!? Who's stupid idea was this? There were so many pitch-black nooks and crannies, for all he knew somebody could be watching him at this very instant. A meeting at a tenth-story studio apartment, just to gather info about a list of 'hot rides' that needed to be 'worked on'. What a stupid freakin' idea. He paced himself through the hallways, his left hand always at his side. One by one, he climbed another auxilary staircase, until he reached the final floor. it was a decent haul, but it didn't leave him - or his leg - winded. Years of shooting up flights of stairs, the occasional building-leap, and numberous climbs of fire escapes equaled very little challenge to the somehow-still-living Anderson.
In spite of it being dark, he kept his aviator sunglasses and cap donned, resembling one of his childhood Anime heroes, Duo Maxwell. In a sense, to him, his level of badassedness could occasionally touch the lower limits of what Duo dished out in his black-on-black killing machine known as The Deathscythe, but that was the brainchild of someone with a really sweet imagination... not actual reality. For Davey, it was more of a survival kind of thing. The aviators and cap were merely to at least make his identity somewhat mistakable, plus with the dark shading, it was hard to see his left eye was blue - and functional. His vision out of that eye was also now somehow 20/10, even though both his eyes - when he was alive in New Jersey - were brown and 20/30. His right eye was also now 20/20... and he had excellent night vision out of it.
Slowly, he approached his mark - room 1012. He knocked on the door in the exact manner he was instructed to. Three knocks in quick succession, then a pause, then two normal ones, then four fast ones immediately afterward. Whipping out his .45, he pointed the gun at the door as it was unlocked and slowly opened, then lowered it as his mark greeted him.
"Ah, so you are alive, Mr... Anderson, is it? I wonder how my associate managed that one.", the man said, with a curious smile.
"Who knows, and who cares?", Davey replied. "I'm just here for the car list. There's 48 of them, right?"
"Ah, quite frank, aren't you? Are all of you Americans this way?" The person who compiled the list seemed slightly insulted at Davey's nonchalance.
"I wouldn't know. I've only looked out for myself; haven't had time to bother with other people's lives and/or cultures. So I apologize if I come off as a tad bit rude and lacking tact, Mister...", Davey's voice trailed as he tried to remember the name, at the same time re-holstering his gun and being lead inside the apartment room.
"Shinamono. Hideo Shinamono. When I asked Mr. Big if he knew of anybody who could get these cars for me, he immediately started going on about you. He says you're the best of the best, although you do have an attitude problem." With a small laugh, he offered Anderson a small portion of a sake glass that he'd poured beforehand.
"Sounds to me like this Mr. Big person knows more about me than just my history stealing cars.", Anderson grunted. Pacing to the front of the apartment, he eyed the nearby buildings, one of them high enough to hide a shooter. Or five. Backing away from the balcony, he returned to his previous standing spot, his nerves on edge. Something about this situation jus didn't add up.
"Ha-ha, well... he does know how to recruit excellent streetmen. But his last person wasn't up to the task, so we parted ways-"
"-With a .50 caliber submachine gun round?", Davey cut him off, eyeing Hideo's gun.
Behind the door, a young Japanese woman, dressed in full Yakuza atire, placed her ear against the metal surface, beginning to eavesdrop on their conversation. Her heart was racing; this was the closest she's ever gotten to 'her boss'. Going against her gangster code was something she did in secrecy; she had a few skeletons in her closet, sort to speak, and those skeletons combined to form a shield in the shape of the Japanese symbol for law enforcement.
"No, of course not! Mr. Big just had him relocated back to somewhere in California. Plane ticket and all, or so I hear."
"Does this person get everybody from America, and did they all somehow die before meeting them?"
After a small pause, Hideo shrugged. "It's not really my concern. I ask him to find me men, and he finds them for me, and gets a 10% cut of my profits. That's all. I don't associate with him in any other way."
Davey scoffed lightly. "A head broker, huh? Figures... the way he texts me, it sounds like that's the kind of stuff he would be into. How do you know if this guy's legit or not? He could be setting you up."
Across the apartment, about an eighth-mile away, a rival boss had had a sniper set up, anticipating this meeting. The sniper slowly set his aim on the back of Shinamono's head, and waited for his cue to fire.
"Nonsense", Hideo said, holding up his Sake glass, "I've dealed with this person for three years now, and he's 100% tr-"
Suddenly, gunfire from afar blasted through the window of the small studio apartment, an ill-aimed shot piercing straight theough Hideo's back and almost completely ripping through his body. The shattering glass caused Davey to instinctively jump back, his eyes wide in shock. Hideo struggled to keep his footing, dragging his feet forward. Unfortunately, that was an extremely high-caliber shot - enough to kill in seconds from almost any bodily contact.
"Ungggh..... uggghh...... whhhhyyyYYYYYYYYY!?", he screamed in pain, as his knees gave way. His heart was obliterated in the carnage from the high-caliber rifle, and he could barely breathe, coughing up blood. Crawling forward, one hand outstretched to Anderson. He took a few fateful last gasps of air, before the lack of a heartbeat caused his entire body to shut down, Shinamono dying before Davey's eyes. It wasn't something he hadn't seen before. Glancing at the impact angle from the blood spatter and the bullet entry angle, it seemed as if the shot came from the 38-story apartment five blocks down. Davey was out of that vantage point, and risked his own flesh for only a second to check his pulse.
"Damn.... stone dead." Davey flipped out his SLVR and dialed the new phone number that was given to him just 'fore the meeting. A few rings, and an unfamiliar, though equally American-as-Davey sounding voice picked up.
'It's Davey! I was set up!'
'Hideo Shinamono. He's dead! There was a sniper on a nearby rooftop.'
'A sniper!? Davey, you better get the hell out of there. There could be more.'
'I swear to god, if you set me up for this, you'll pay for it.'
'Don't be ridiculous, Anderson. The Shinamono clan is one of the highest-profile families in the Yakuza, and have been long engaged in an ongoing battle with the Nasaki clan. A double-familyman probably tipped somebody off.'
'...why don't I find that thought more comforting? I'm already in deep with crime. It was fine to have me boosting cars, but this is getting out of hand! What do you want me to do next, sell drugs to ganguro prostitutes!?'
'Listen, Davey, now's not the time to debate. If he's dead and you're alive, and anybody else is in that building, YOU are going to be the one deemed responsible. You better make sure nobody sees you, and kill them if they do. Got it? Just focus on getting the hell out of there.'
'Thanks for the valuable advice.' -beep-
"Fuscking bastard. I'll bet he's playing both sides of the street.... whatever. Keep it together, Davey. Your survival is most important right now." Arming his M1911A1, he slowly backtraced through the studio to the entrance. Listening for footsteps running up the hallway, Davey confirmed all was quiet. For now. Thank god. He slowly opened the door and peeked down the west hallway. All clear. Slowly, he made his way out the door, only to find the cold steel of an M16 assault rifle brushing the back of his neck. Pulling an instinctive 180*, his sunglass-shielded eyes stared into the trembling blue eyes of an undercover female police officer.
"Don't move!", she almost screamed, as she saw Davey trying to aim his sights on her. "Put the gun away.... s-s-slowly." Fusck, Davey thought to himself. Not Yakuza, but worse. What price did she have on his head!? His train of thought switched tracks, as he watched her turn her head to assess the situation inside. "So you killed my mark. You bastard!" It was hard to see her clearly in the dim light, but her body language spoke in droves. Davey could turn this situation 180* whenever he feeled like it. "Dav... ey A-a-anderson...?" She saw the scar from under his glasses, then shook her head. "Impossible, he's dead after all. So who the hell are you?"
"Who the hell are you!?", Anderson replied, knowing now that he wasn't her primary focus. "That would be intriguging knowledge."
"Officer Kurumi Saitoh, Tokyo P.D., special Yakuza Investigations Department."
Davey saw the badge that she carelessly drew a rifle-holding hand away from the gun to flash. "I see", he said, in a slightly sarcastic tone. He instincitvely drew his gun and pointed it squarely at Kurumi's head before she was aware of what he was doing. Now, he had the 'upper hand', in a sense. "So, is the first time you ever pointed a gun at someone, rookie?"
Kurumi tensed up, her grip becoming a stranglehold on the rifle. "Careful! I'm no rookie!"
Davey retorted. "Liar. That scared look on your face, that nervous glance in your eyes. Your eyes are wandering all over the place. You have no focus; they're rookie's eyes if I ever saw 'em. Can you really shoot me, rookie?"
Kurumi gasped, before jabbing Anderson with the rifle barrel. "You talk too much! I should arrest you on the spot!"
"So then, why don't you? It's not just because I've got a gun pointed between your eyes, is it?"
A small pause, before Kurumi's unsure response. "Because I'll blow my cover if I do that! What if someone in the clan sees me up here!?"
"Too late to worry about that", Davey countered. "Your cover's blown, and you've got a price on your head."
"What do you mean?"
"I told you that you're a greenhorn. Think about it! You snuck up here to gather intel, and should not have been here to begin with, right? This was you acting on your own."
Kurumi's eyes widened with shock and fright. Good... good fuscking point you're starting to drive..., she thought to herself.
"So", Davey continued, "Who do you think they'll blame when they run up here and see you? With that blonde hair and those blue eyes, I highly doubt you're a Japanese native, much less part of the family. Of course you'll take the folley."
Kurumi glared at Davey, insulted. "I AM a native born Japanese, thank you very much~!", she pouted, that somehow scaling its way higher up the priority list then the situation at hand.
"Are you fuscking daft, b*tch!? Your life's in danger! Who cares if you're a native-born Japanese or not? I should pull the trigger right now so you don't have to see what THEY have in store for you, because I am certainly not going to take the head for a crime I didn't commit! ESPECIALLY FROM A GANG."
A few seconds of awkward silence, before Kurumi glanced back inside. It was then that she noticed the shattered window and the angle of impact. Still, Yakuza gangmen weren't crime scene investigators; they could easily mistake it for a hit-and-run murder. "Do you have a car of your own?", she asked.
"So we can get the hell out of here!"
In an instant, the sound of crazed sons of Hideo charging up the stair flights began echoing up the hallways. "Looks like we'll be a little delayed," Anderson responded. Davey ducked into a corner, pushing Kurumi back into the studio apartment. Seeing her assault rifle from across the other room, Davey shouted out the most basic of street smart instructions for surviving a gunfight;
"What are you waiting for!? Don't think; shoot!" Still, Kurumi chickended out, only to look blankly on as Davey began firing off shots. Jumping right into the line of fire, he lined up five headshots and executed them all brilliantly, almost as if it were slow motion. She heard car tires screeching from down below; looks like backup has arrived. More footsteps, and Davey retreated further back. "I'm telling you! Shoot!" Ten more gangmen stormed in with their Teks blazing, and Kurumi screamed, unloading the entire clip as Davey assisted in picking them off.
"ARAAAAAAAGGHHHHHHHH!!!!", she shrieked, the first 35 gunshots of her life being marked up against Shinamono clanmen. She couldn't keep her eyes off of this young kid with that Colt 1911, though. He fired about 12 shots, and killed about 12 guys. What was with that ridiculous, almost superhuman aim!? It was like he could predict the gangster's movements before they happened. Davey started strafing up the hallway, right past Kurumi, dumping his clip and loading another.
"Come on, we're going through the hard way! I've got 36 more shots. Hopefully there's less than 37 more assholes to take out." Kurumi nodded, backing up on Davey's six. This situation turned really ugly really fast, but this young kid and his dumb-looking New York Yankees cap was the only thing keeping her alive; God knows even a minigun wouldn't be enough, given her still-fragile personality. This kid just didn't give a damn about how own life. And... mayb eit was her, but it actually seemed like he was trying to save her life, too. Even though his felony record was buliding up faster than the Thrust SSC tearing across the Bonneville Salt Flats, it would never go on the books.
Ba-bang, ba-bang-bang-bang-bang! POW! Kurumi aimed what shots she could as Davey helped her navigate through the mess of an old apartment. Picking off Yakuza boy after another, Kurumi might've been hallucinating, but she could have sworn she saw a slight grin forming on the man's face. "Just like Call of Duty 4, isn't it?", he laughed. "Except instead of the USMC, I'm a one-man-f**king army. Just as I always have been my entire life." Repeatedly, Kurumi fought the urge to vomit as Davey picked off the last ten tangos, the sight of blood and guts starting to get at her. But her mind was derailed when she saw him heading for the basement.
"What are you doing? We gotta get out of here! There might be more on the way!"
Davey shook his head, whipping a flashlight out of his pocket and clicking it on, heading down the flight of service stairs. "These kinds of old buildings are usually interconnected to the sewer system. We'll go out that way so nobody can follow us."
"Hey, even the worst-smelling waste water smells better than the smell of your own blood draining from your head. Just follow my lead." Surely enough, the boy would lead her through an access and a couple of tight fits, before walking approximately five city-blocks through the underground waste water system before meeing up with a defunct subway line. A train roared overhead. "Heh. Just like New York City. Not too shabby", he grinned, flashing his light at Kurumi, who nodded on.
"Let's just get to the surface already, I'm getting sick."
They reappeared at ground level just minutes later, Kurumi immediately grabbing for her radio.
'HQ, this is Saitoh! A huge gunfight took place at the intersection of... at the... apartments!'
'Thank goodness, Officer Saitoh, we thought you were dead! What was the most recent situation?'
'Shinamono's dead. It was..', Kurumi paused, taking a second to look into Davey's eyes through those deeply tinted glasses, 'The Nasaki clan. A sniper acorss the building got them. They think it was me that shot him.'
'10-4. Saitoh, what's your current location?'
'I'm at the station of... ...I'm a little smelly though, I snuck away through the sewers.'
'Roger. Stay in your position, 75 is on the way.'
Kurumi took a sigh, staring at Davey's face. "You should go", she mused, "before you get caught up in this. This was a huge car-smuggling operation that I was trying to crack down on, but it looks like someone else had their own motives. You saved my life; you deserve the free pass."
"Heh", Davey nodded, tucking his .45 out of sight. "Then those weren't just wasted bullets after all. I'll be going then." Davey started for the exit, but Kurumi stopped him to mention one last thing.
"Wait!", she yelped.
"What is it?", he asked, turning slowly around.
"How can I thank you?"
A small pause, before he grinned. "Don't cite me for speeding, reckless driving, reckless endangerment, grand theft auto or grand larceny. That'll be more than thanks enough."
Kurumi laughed lightly, making a small faxe at him. "You asshole... fine, it's a deal. Jerk." Kurumi winked at him. "One more thing... what's your name?"
Davey shrugged. "I have no name", he sighed. "I'm just a nomad. Like a wandering ghost that hasn't found a place to die. Well, I better be going. Later!"
And just like that, with a limp in his leg but otherwise great posture, the young man disappeared into the night. Before her assisting officers arrived, the thoughts drummed through then circled repeatedly around and around in her young head, making her heart race. Her pupils narrowed; her skin began to crawl at the notion. On her own, she pieced together her own puzzle, but was less than enthralled at the end result. Grand larceny... grand theft auto... reckless driving, reckless endangerment...!? Those are all the crimes that were to be against... charged against... in the news...
Looking emptily up the stairs to street level, Kurumi asked herself, in a scared, dry voice... Davey... Anderson...!?
|Posted by: Hannah Apr 7 2008, 06:52 PM|
| OK. That was just.. wow. Fuccking.. wow.
Not what one would expect from your run-of-the-mill ID fanfic. But this isn't that. XD It's just so.. kyaaaaaaaa, SUGOI!! I'm so totally diggin' this!!
95% accuracy for KS-tan, I did appreciate that, and the whole Yakuza and police thing.. It made me more into it, paying more attention to that than some Ranzuki mag or parapara event.. THAT wins mucho internets.
|Posted by: Drew Apr 7 2008, 07:13 PM|
He's still got it. Well-done and properly executed.
Speaking of fics...heh, heh (jumps back onto computer to write next chaps. of own fic) *cough* shameless plug of Battleground USA *cough*
|Posted by: Meteor Apr 8 2008, 05:00 AM|
| The long awaited update has come.
And it's worth more than the wait. Freaking sweet chapter! I think that's all that needs to be said.
Just a few mistakes you should clear up, and it'd be a near perfect chapter (near perfect because an absolute perfect is impossible)
|Posted by: Hannah Apr 8 2008, 07:51 AM|
He won't let me beta-read it for him, so it's useless to correct him about it.
|Posted by: TheFadedSeraph Apr 8 2008, 08:20 AM|
| I'm impressed, Dori.
Very nice job portraying Kurumi, as Paula stated.
-smiles and nods.-
You're getting better with your writing.
I wish I could belt out my stuff in that same manner.
I have to work on Karie's Autobiography, afterall...
-quiet, animated sigh.-
And yes, I'm kinda back on the forums.
|Posted by: Hannah Apr 8 2008, 08:26 AM|
I agree, considering his SL that Kurumi's in.
It took a little bit of thinking to imagine a non-Shibuya Nights Kurumi, to imagine her as just a normal ganguro-turned TPD officer gal. After that, it was easy to see her the way he portrayed her. :3
|Posted by: Wheels84ss Apr 8 2008, 10:52 AM|
| Another well written chapter... I won't hit you for the firearms screw ups... They're not common knowledge. But next time just for your own head, Stick with the MP5 for the lady, m16's are only issued to swat guys and kinda hard to manuver in stealth. Oh and the 1911 only packs 8 rounds full size and 6 rounds compact.
Story wise, The telling was excellent and well thought out... Another great chapter... So we have to see where it goes next.
|Posted by: wing_0 Apr 8 2008, 11:22 AM|
|Good work, Herr Dorifuta. Just like Paula said, you're straying from a regular ID fic... but that's what makes your work unique and more interesting. Keep up the good work, and oh... rookie eyes is an obvious nod to MGS, nee?|
|Posted by: Rudy Apr 15 2008, 12:39 PM|
| Stage 07 - The No-make Wanderer
Davey saw an opportune chance to get the hell out of there when he reached the street level. He didn't want to hop into a taxi - God forbid somebody did tip him off to the Yakuza [he fairly assumed everybody who saw him was shot dead before they could say anything], he needed to be a little more discreet. That discretion came in the form of a sleek, GT-style coupe parked at the station-side convenience store. Hm, should he steal it? He took a second to give the car a thorough once-over, struggling to identify it. "Hey, sexy...", he grinned, trailing his finger along the somewhat dull-painted feather. What kind of car was this, again? That Mazda Eunos Cosmo three-rotary thing? No, the Cosmo had chrome, and side moldings... He thought, or at least, believed. Its elegant shape drew him in, and the black paint job just added to its goodness. Although, one look inside caused him to frown, speaking out loud. "Oh, brother. A four-eh-tee." Better known as a 4-speed Automatic Transmission. So it was one of those jobs, eh? But what the hell was it? Then he also realized; It was left-hand drive, just like his own car.
"A Subaru?", he asked, glancing at the wheel. Davey nearly jumped when he realized somebody was behind him, answering his question in a modest tone.
"You bet it is. The Alcyone SVX... or just the SVX in America. What of it, never seen one before?"
Davey turned to the owner, blinking. Here he was thinking he was about to knock somebody out in self defense for them accusing him, and trying to beat on him, for wanting to steal their ride, but instead he saw a somewhat pleased, young, short, and slightly geeky looking owner, with a small grin on his face. "Yeah, I've never heard of the SVX! Is it new?"
The owner laughed. "Does it look new?"
Davey then glanced around and realized that the car had more than its fair share of imperfections; slight rust here and there, a dented front fender, dull paint finish, et cetera. "Heh, I guess you've got a point. Five years old with a reckless first owner?"
The owner chuckled. "Try fifteen. It's a 1992 model. He broke a lot of shit, then jury-rigged 'fixes'... like patching the radiator with soldering putty, or fixing a burnt-out light cluster with Wal-Mart LED's. Pretty bad stuff, don't you agree? Oh, and he also installed the cheap car alarm from hell... I've reversed, at the very least, the radiator damage and 90% of the wiring."
"So at least you're off on the right foot. Good for you, man... really a 1992, eh? And was imported to America... can't believe I've never seen one. I'm from America, ya know... East Coast. New Jersey."
Maybe it was just stupidity on both their parts, but they both knew each other damned well. As in, they've been together and cruised around places back in the States. But perhaps their lives, their jobs (both on the books or otherwise) or whatnot have blocked their knowing of each other out of their memories. Maybe it was because in the back of Davey's head there wasn't a hound's chance in hell that he would meet his old friend; it being dark out didn't help matters. "Weird. New Jersey is SVX country, too, it seems - half the SVX owners I know online live in NJ, I'm one of the few Japanese owners out there - and I have a New York model, too."
"Explains the LHD thing. New York, eh? I once had a friend in New York who loved Subarus... come to think of it, the SVX was his dream car, now that I remember! Or was it the DeLorean? Well, anyway, he'd get a kick out of it if he was here. Poor fella had a front-wheel drive automatic model, as well. Never drove a real Impreza or WRX. He has no idea how cool Subarus actually are." In spite of how much I fuscking hate working on those pieces of shit, with almost no room whatsoever under the hood, he quietly thought to himself. Davey blinked, noticing the owner trying to size up his face under his shades. "Something wrong?", he asked.
"OH, no-no-nothing at all, heh. I just thought you were an old friend of mine. You look and sound like him to a tee."
A split-second and that thought crossed Davey's mind, as well. "Same goes for you. What 'cher name?"
"Dominic Wanger, IT Administrator at [...]."
"D!? Dude. It's Davey! From Jersey~! Holy shit man! What hath you been up to, mah brotha from anotha motha??" Unfortunately for Davey, when he spoke in fluent English, using his semi-'signature' tone of voice, it started a domino effect in Wan's brain... effectivelly shutting off all function and causing him to pass out on the spot.
.:20 Minutes Later:.
Cruising around Shibuya, Davey and Dominic were now heading back home in Wanger's SVX. The car definitely had more oomph to it then it did last time, although he wasn't being reckless; just passing a few slow cars here and there, sometimes forgetting that the left lane is not the fast lane on a left-hand road. "So you have no idea how you got here? I was more than certain you were dead, body present or not."
"Yeah, well, my mind is a blank", Davey replied to Wanger. "I guess I should consider myself fortunate, but I don't really care all that much. All I want to do is find out how I got here and leave it at that."
"So how has that been coming along, then?"
"Not very well. I almost got ID'd by some Yakuza, but I'm pretty sure whoever did see my face is now dead."
"...You killed them!?"
"Better than them killing me, I reckon. It was the first time I aimed a gun at someone with intent to kill. Just more skeletons in my closet, I guess."
Wan shook his head and sighed. So Davey is a killer, he thought to himself. Or at least, he killed. Legally, he's dead anyway, but who knows what would happen if US authorities got to him...
Wan's thought process was interrupted as they approached the toll booth for Shibuya Route 3, a small two-lane stretch of road that connected Shibuya to the C1. "That person in the GMC Jimmy has been following us for quite some time now, by the way." Wan blinked, glancing to the adjacent toll. They were in the E-Z Pass lane but stopped alongside them, as if they were depositing coins of their own. "That's the express lane, right? Then they have no excuse to stop, unless it's because they don't want to lose somebody."
Dominic started to sweat. Was it one of the Yakuza? Going by statistics - traffic was light and the person was driving a freaking Chevy Blazer - the truck would be easy to outgun with horsepower and aerodynamics on his side. But, if they WERE in the mafia, there was plenty more waiting ahead in more domestic Toyota Crowns and Nissan Cimas. "Dude. Seriously man, how many people already have a price on your head in Tokyo!?"
"No idea", Davey shrugged. "Just drop the hammer and lose this SUV, D."
Wan power-braked his SVX, then let his foot off the brake and his 4AOD do the talking. Instantly, the car shot forward with what appeared to be a sense of urgency, the EG33 flat-six resonating in a bit of an annoying drone mid-way through the rev range but screaming past redline [7k] all the way to 7,800 before the transmission grabbed second. Suprisingly, in spite of an ECU retune that Dominic perfected that yanked 80 horsepower out of the engine, [LITERALLY. In the SVX, there's about 75 to 90 horsepower just sitting dormant in the engine's programming. It just has to be finessed out by someone who's seriously 1337.] the Blazer was keeping up, and it was only then that Davey's eyes widened and his blood rate started to hillclimb, hearing the sound of a Holset snail spinning wildly under the black SUV's hood.
"Turbo boost!? ...Uhm. D, I totally forgot about that model."
"That truck. It's not a GMC Jimmy."
"It's a Blazer, right?"
"No. ...It's a GMC Typhoon."
"Typhoon? It looks like a Blazer!"
"Looks can be decieving. A Typhoon is a Jimmy with a turbocharged Grand National-inspired 4.3 liter V6... and about 340 horsepower, which is easily exceedable..."
"Only now you tell me this!? Dude. You're telling me we're hosed!?"
"Cool your jets, we're not even doing 125 yet. Magical things happen at that speed, you know - well, to cars with slippery bodies, anyway. After that speed, aerodynamics start to weigh down blocky trucks like the Typhoon... that's why their quarter speeds tend to suck once they break into the 8's. How heavy is this car, anyway?"
"Thirty-eight hundred!? I think that the Typhoon might be lighter than your damn car!"
Through all this arguing and debating, the car's speed soared quickly past 85, then 100. On this long, Wangan-like two-lane stretch of road, the Typhoon was still on their ass, but couldn't draft ahead of them. Davey thought he heard a blow-off valve; he was probably hallucinating, given they're all automatics, anyway. The speed effect was ridiculous in this car, though - as in, he barely felt it. The transmission finally grabbed third and 125 came and went, and the next thing you know, by 135 the SVX is starting to put major ground on the Typhoon. The body was still stable as they hugged a light bend, diving into the left lane as roadwork blocked them off - conveniently, they passed one car right before the road narrowed, effectively blocking off the Typhoon (or risking a wreck). Davey grinned, noticing the luck in their favor. "Keep it floored", he notioned, watching the GMC's headlights shrink in the distance. A mile ahead was the C1 intersection; "Take the outside, that'll take us back home, right?" he asked Wanger.
"No, it won't, but we can hop off right after that and head back in the other direction", he said.
"Sounds like a plan." In just 20 seconds, Wan laid on the brakes hard - they reached the outer crest of 160 MPH - and almost crashed the damned car. He gasped, the worn-out rotors quickly overheating, smoking, glowing, and doing everything they weren't supposed to be doing, Wan fighting hard with the brake pedal, using the tire's lateral friction to fight the car around the offramp. One of the brakes completely failed down to the base of the pad, emitting a horrifying metallic shreik as metal grinded against metal. It was a close call - one inch seperated them from the guardrail at one point in time - but they somehow cleared it, the SVX's cabin soon filling with the stench of what smelled like an electrical fire.
They took the first availible offramp, leaving off on some local biway, to inspect the damage and possible emergency situation; the good news was, the brakes were not on fire. The bad news was, they had enough of that shit. They waited a good fifteen minutes before starting back off, giving the car's flimbsy (and, according to Wan's suspicion, cheap replacement) rotors time to regather themselves, god forbid someone stops short in front of them. After that, they were on their way - effectively rid of the bothersome Typhoon, although barely with their lives intact.
|Posted by: Drew Apr 15 2008, 01:35 PM|
GMC Typhoon; now that's unexpected, and freaking awesome at the same time!
Once again, well written, Reiji! Keep it up.
|Posted by: Hannah Apr 15 2008, 07:19 PM|
| Most. Exciting. Chapter. Evar.
Well, aside from that one chapter, you know, Davey -vs- Tatsuya..? :3
Anyways, you know a certain muse of mine gets excitable over crazies in SUVs chasing down the main characters. I love the dialogue between Dom and Dave. *nodnodnod*
|Posted by: wing_0 Apr 15 2008, 09:59 PM|
|Stellar work, Herr Dorifuta, truly stellar work. Wonder what that Typhoon has under the hood? There's a GMC Typhoon competing in my country's drag racing championship, and it goes pretty fast, so I wonder how quick is the one in your fic.|
|Posted by: Meteor Apr 16 2008, 01:29 AM|
| Two words, one exclamation mark, and one Left Shift key.
That's all I really need to say about another excellent update. But I'll elaborate anyway just in case you aren't satisfied with a short review.
The way you wrote about the two old friends seeing each other again was well written. It was quite fun to read, especially them talking about the horrible patchwork on the SVX and at the part where Noma-err-Wanger fainted after finding out who he was talking to.
And then you've got them cruising around Tokyo, and mix it up with more well written dialouge.
And then we've got a GMC Typhoon chasing after the heads of our two heroes. The Typhoon's gaining ground, but the SVX finally gets into 3rd gear as well as get some luck on its side.
And after losing the Typhoon, they nearly crash through the railing thanks to some pretty bad brakes. I wonder when that's going to be fixed. Those two sure need some luck to get out of this one. If their brakes don't work right, they're in some trouble the next time they have to get to speed.
|Posted by: Hannah Apr 16 2008, 05:46 PM|
If you really would like to know, it's a Chevy 350 V8 with two cylinders chopped off.
No, literally. The original concept of the 4.3 V6 was to have it be a baby 350, and that's exactly what it is. From there, GMC looked at the Buick Grand National for inspiration, relying on the 'Turbo V6 > V8' concept and doing some serious internal beefing up.
Stock, the engine, which people say is underrated by about 20 to 35 horsepower, produced 270 horsepower and 340 foot-pounds of torque. There's a sister truck called the Syclone, which looks like a Sonoma, but has the same engine and AWD system. The Syclone is faster and lighter, but I prefer the Typhoon tenfold.
[Like hell I'm giving it away!]'s Typhoon has had its turbo replaced with a Holset turbo from a Dodge Ram Cummins, a new intercooler installed, a beefier headgasket, fuel injectors, and a few other bolt-on goodies. It's making about 350 horsepower and 410 torque. Was that helpful?
|Posted by: Nomake Wan Apr 16 2008, 11:45 PM|
|ITT: Shared Computers without multiple user accounts.|
|Posted by: wing_0 Apr 17 2008, 06:26 AM|
Sure was, huge thanks, Paula-tan!
It also seems that Nomake has read the fic... hope so. If the fic would be canned because of him not reading it, then I'm afraid that I'd have to use one of Europe's finest close quarters and projectile weapons... the Nokia.
|Posted by: Rudy Apr 25 2008, 10:05 AM|
| Stage 08 - sü-prä, over; above; beyond
"Damn it... I lost him."
Sighing, Mitsune Rage took the first oppurtunity that she could to pull her truck over to assess the damage. Just before the road narrowed, she hit the nitrous and something almost instantly blew out in the engine, causing a severe power loss; pulling into the parking lot with her sputtering V6, the short, pale-skinned, green-eyed, purple-haired country gal quickly rested her truck and climbed out, popping and propping her hood just seconds later. OVerall, it wasn't the prettiest of pictures here, but wasn't the ugliest, either.
"I guess the baby 350 don't like the boost, eh sweetheart?" Fortunately, there was no steam, no oil spray, no fires, nothing... just a cracked intercooler pipe on the intake side. Mitsune reckoned she backfired and that blew it out, who knew. A 250 shot wasn't such a bright idea, after all. "Well", she spoke to herself, "I guess I can limp the baby home. I got another set of wheels to sink my teeth into and tear up like a doggie's newspaper, anyway." Scratching her head, she paced around the back of the truck and popped open the rear glass, reaching inside and yanking out a pair of jeans and a scissor. In about 45 seconds, she effectively turned a torn piece of clothing into something that will at least hold the intercooler piping together. In 5 more minutes, she grabbed a Dr. Pepper from a vending machine, took a can-raping swig of doom, belched loudly, and threw the now-empty can neatly into the trash bin, before hopping back into her Typhoon. Now, at the very least, she was ready to take on that mysterious Supra that wouldn't fracking start to save its own life.
.:March 25th, 2007:.
Davey had foot to the floor as he teared down County Road 539, listening to the seductive whine of his 7M-GE's recently installed supercharger modification. The screw-style Roots-type blower required an extensive amount of work to properly fit, requiring some major engine re-configuration to allow for proper function and high output throughout the entire RPM range. This was the most significant modification Anderson ever made to his engine, and it as a whole was actually a complete series of detailed modifications and revisions;
-A long-runner header was designed from scratch, Davey not happy with the choice of a non-flow tested OBX or Pace Setter header
-The engine computer and fuel system was completely changed, Anderson specifying VW-style direct cylinder fuel injection and precision fuel system monitoring
-A complete cat-less exhaust system complimented the headers, the nice, deep-sounding Tanabe Hyper Medallion 'cat-back' portion filling out the rear.
-The fuel pump and fuel lines were upgraded, along with a high-flow fuel filter
-A front lower airdam-mounted intercooler was installed, custom piping designed specifically for this application
-Flanges were welded firmly to the engine block, as mounting points for the supercharger system
-New engine pulleys were designed, the air conditioning pump removed and a relay underdrive pulley placed there to re-route the belt to the supercharger
-The pistons, crankshaft, and connecting rods were changed out for billet-cut titanium ones. During the process, the cylinders holes were bored out .030", effectively bumping displacement up to 3.2 liters
-A high-resistance metal head gasket went in place of the factory Turbo-fitted headgasket, titanium head studs holding the top end together
-Finally, a high-cfm screw-type supercharger was fitted to produce a maximum boost of between 15 and 18 PSI at 5,500-6,500 RPM
In the end, output equated to about 630 horsepower @ 6,200 RPM and 590 ft. lbs. of torque at 4,800 RPM. Keeping the stock redline, Davey insisted that the engine, under all circumstances, retain a linear and broad power curve, with maximum power availible just short of the engine's redline. The car responded extremely well to it, and without the curse of turbo lag, he could do what other Mk. III owners only dreamed they could do, the professionally lightened and strengthened chassis fluently communicating with the finely tuned suspension and the widened outer-fenders and tubbed inner-fenders giving the car that much more 'meat' to hug the road with. In this 2,800 pound package, was it really that suprising that this machine could eat 575M's for breakfast and Ford GT's for lunch, then finish the evening off with a portion of Mercedes-Benz SLR for dinner, should the owner of such fabled exotics be presistant? With a deep pocket and a creative mind, this MA70 was transformed into something that looked like a regular "Pro-stock" MA70 but could do so much more. A careful eye would discover that the nose piece was even replaced, an extra 2-3" added, allowing for a raked top portion and a front air splitter. It was no suprise he was gliding along at 150 without sinking his foot all the way in.
Downshifting to 3rd gear after some heavy braking action, he blazed through the Fort Dix reservation and got back wide open on the throttle, the I6 singing a very healthy tune. The gentle hills seemed almost ferocious as he easily maxed out the speedometer in 4th gear, nearly going airborne a few times. The empty pavement beckoned him to max the car out, and so it was, blazing eastward across South Jersey at a numbing pace. The road setting was very unique through the Pine Barrens, a black strip of tarmac cutting deep through endless pine trees, and a patch of sand on either side. With no buildings or traffic signals to get in the way, it felt much like a desert to him. What he wasn't expecting was a truck that carelessly loaded up a metal-track bulldozer and had its load fall off said trailer just days ago, the metal parts of the heavy machine damaging the pavement just ahead. Although his eyes scanned an imperfection at a hill crest, he had no idea that it was as deep as a pothole where the machine landed. His eyes caught it at the last second, and although he attempted to swerve and avoid the danger, one tire literally caught that piece of road, effectively severing the delicate connection between car and road.
Instantaneously, the car thumped (though suprisingly, the tire didn't give) and skidded into a spin, rear tires lifting off the ground. The slight airborne effect rotated the car a full 180*. But it didn't end there; at this speed, the air resistance effect was so severe that what was once downforce was now lifting the car up like a speed boat, Davey gasping with wide eyes as all four tires left the pavement and the car soared back-first through the air. His mind raced. Milliseconds turned to minutes. The frighteneing tension stabbed through him as he witnessed the car spiraling for less than a second, before starting a dive back torward the pavement. For the first time in years, he was geniunely scared for his life. Fortunately, the landing wasn't horrendously brutal; the nose touched down first, the car metal-dragging for a hundred feet before sliding slightly off the road and spinning on its roof, the driver compartment catching grass and throwing the car into a somersault-roll. The effect in the driver's seat was something like a plane being shot down and tailspinning towards the ground, except he already was back on the ground and questioned the roof's structural ingrity.
But somehow, in spite of him being thrown around, chucked, and banged from multiple angles, eventually, the ride came to an end, the car resting just a few feet off-road, amazingly never travelling far enough off-course to land into an unforgiving pine tree. The car's ride ended on all fours. In a dazed funk for only a few seconds, Davey came to and unfastened his 5-point safety harness. Damn... I probably totaled her, he thought to himself, blinking when he effortlessly opened the driver's door. Removing his helmet, he assesed the carnage... or in this case, lack of.
"...Huh?" The wheels were still in their respective places. The roof, intact and well. The nose piece was still there, and so was the hood. The doors had their mirrors ripped off but were ontherwise only mildly dented. No smoke or steam came from the engine compartment; no fluids leaked underneath. The car looked... vandalized, at the very very worst. One would expect a car to be completely torn up by this kind of wreck [reference: Elliot Sadler, Talladega 2003], but, no, not even were the tires flat. "What the fuxk, Amy Li... what the fuxk." It's not like Davey was mad that the car withstood the wreck with minimal damage; in fact, he was so impressed he was in a surreal-feeling state of shock. "Cars like you shouldn't hold up to accidents like that so well..." Okay, so his rear glass was shattered and the spoiler and lower splitter got torn off, along with a heavy dose of scraped paint, but it was still well above an ordinary vehicle's damage tolerences. "This is some Sci-Fi shit", Davey muttered, popping the hood and examing underneath. His custom 7M-GZE was still as shiny and healthy-looking as ever, and the hood had no trouble re-latching. Knowing there were no stupid crash-protection implements in this vehicle, such as an emergency fuel cutoff, he figured 'to hell with it' and gave the old clutch-in-and-twist-key a shot.
To his astonishment, the vehicle simply came back to life, the 7M nonchalantly firing up and idling at its usual 750 RPM hum. Playing with the gearshift, it easily notched into 1st just like it always did. The steering felt A-okay, and when he let out the clutch, the car just rolled on like nothing happened, inspite of doing a 4chan-worthy barrel roll. He had the urge to bang his head against the wheel to stop these hallucinations, but as soon as he prodded the loud pedal and the rear tires broke loose, he decided to save the worrying for later and tear back off into the sunset. Full speed and full throttle, just like he always did. At the crest of the 539-72 intersection, he went airborne - at the very exact moment, another car passed by him at a ferocious speed in glorious red. Davey thought he felt a strong aura eminating from the vehicle in that off-ground second, like somebody with skill close to his own. But that couldn't be; nobody in this area came close to his driving ability. They were all rich punks, anyway; he glanced at his rearview, catching the car as either an old Alfa, MG, or Triumph, and gazed his eyes back upon County Road 539, hanging a quick left at the next light for his route back home. Davey also thought he felt a female presence beside him, but just shrugged it off as his lack of mental stability at the moment.
.:July 4th, 1987:.
-=From an on-board State trooper patrol camera; Interstate 81, just outside of Charloette, North Carolina. 3:11 AM=-
The car locked onto and then quickly pulled over the Supra, which matched a 911-call description and also was driving very erratically, with the left blinker going for no apparent reason. New Jersey License plate # STM-17S. Later details would surface of this video feed; Driver name: Nakakashi Maruhodou. Age: 21. Gender: Female. No felony record, no driving offenses on record.
10 seconds passed, and the door of the sports car opened up, a young female driver appearing to climb out. Poor recording quality made it hard to identify details, but her expensive-looking white dress appeared stained with blood in the black and white feed. Hangng onto the side of her car with one arm, she started stumbling towards the police car. The State Trooper came into view, appearing to reach one arm to try to catch the female. However, he glanced the other way before jumping out of sight, a split-second later a driver who was later to have testified falling asleep behind the wheel plowed into the State Trooper car, kicking up lots of dust and debris. When the camera view cleared, the State Trooper was struggling to get back up, looking at the damage caused by the passed-out driver. The Supra and its driver, however, were missing.
An earlier 911 call reported an attempted carjacking and a struggle, the driver of a blue Toyota Supra that matched the plate description being shot before peeling off and heading for the nearest highway. The assailant was later found and charged with 1st degree assault and grand theft auto and suffered an unknown fate, but the complete report of the incident was never declassified. Whether the driver is alive today is unknown to authorities. What happened to the Supra is also a mystery. The driver of the blue Ford minivan that dozed off behind the wheel was cited for careless driving, and the State Trooper was brought in for questioning by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and later had to swear to never disclose, to anybody, the details of the incident and mystery disappearance. The video feeds and recordings are, still today, in high-security storage in Washington, D.C.
...Over 20 years later, In March, 2008, shortly before the second 'disappearance' that would later turn into a news fiasco, Federal authorities matched up the vehicle's registered VIN number to the vehicle driven by felon Davey Anderson. No other information is known about Anderson, the Supra, or its original owner, Nanakashi Maruhodou.
|Posted by: thx712517 Apr 25 2008, 01:19 PM|
|I had a mental image of a blue Supra being packed into a crate, and the crate being wheeled into a large warehouse full of other crates as ominous music plays in the background.|
|Posted by: Hannah Apr 25 2008, 03:01 PM|
| Totally spot-on with Mitsune-san, although part of me is dreading the moment that or if Kurumi and her possibly meet. >.> But I doubt she would have a reason to start shit with such a rookie cop. xP
Hmm.. for some reason I see K and D meeting up again...
Your storytelling of these flashbacks is something awesome. :3
dkhfkegrf goddamn this Ubuntu POS D:<
|Posted by: Drew Apr 25 2008, 04:29 PM|
|well, the aim we had last night seemed to be changed up a little bit, but still a very awesome update, Dori.|
|Posted by: Meteor Apr 25 2008, 08:07 PM|
| Another epic chapter made of freakin' win! And every single update makes the story all the more interesting
I patiently await the next.
|Posted by: kyonpalm Mar 9 2010, 12:49 AM|
| Just finished reading this fic like The Unbeaten Path, and this is almost as good!
It feels different than the first, but it's not too foreign, since Drifter's writing style is the same.
I loved reading this almost as much as the last one.
|Posted by: Rudy Mar 17 2010, 02:34 AM|
| Stage 09 – Akina's Basterd
Mitsune Rage had about had it with the car in front of her. After hours of beating, screaming, and swearing along with multiple electrical shocks, Mitsune Rage was living quite well up to her last name. Throwing a pipe wrench at the plastic timing cover of the 7M-GE and expecting it to break, she was shocked at its ability to withstand such strong impact force.
"God damn you, you piece of shit. Why won't you just start!?" It's not like the engine didn't have compression, or fuel, or spark. It had all three, and the timing was spot-on. The engine just... refused to fire. And that was a shame to her, because she never heard what a 7M sounded like without a supercharger. In reality, the engine should have easily came to life. She even went through the bother of checking the ECU system in spite of the car having a distributor ignition; no faults detected.
She sighed and sat back inside the car, closing the door and taking a pause to gather her thoughts. This mystery engine was impossible to diagnose since everything appeared to be fine and dandy. It was only after another presence sent shivers down her spine that she realized that the only way to actually expect this car to actually run, was to respect it. A small, weak voice barely penetrated the cabin's air; at first, Mitsune thought she was hallucinating.
"If you expect me to actually run, you won't treat me so rough... I don't like abusive partners."
Mitsune drew her small pocket-sized revolver from her jacket and pointed it around in the back seat.
"Who... who the f!ck was that!?"
She glanced around, the hair on the back of her neck standing.
The response Mitsune got was nothing but silence. She slouched back in her seat, rolling her eyes back in her head. In the midst of all the drama and excitement involving this car (which was just sitting in a shipping yard waiting to be picked) she must have had a few too many drinks for her own good
She reminiced over the chase between herself and that Alcyone; the blockiness of her Typhoon worked against her at higher speeds. She was starting to considering switching to a more streamlined vehicle but had asked herself time and time again: how many times would she actually need top speed to outrun the cops?
The answer was, close to zero. In the crowded streets of Tokyo, it usually only took a handful of slick maneuvers to put the red lights far, far in the distance and make them disappear. She loved her truck's AWD system; she claimed to many it was as good as a Subaru's thanks to the way she tuned the differentials; for the most part, she was right.
It was just that nitrous backfire that bothered her the most; what if that engine still had the plastic intake manifold? Her train of thought was derailed once again by a voice that resonated within the vehicle's cabin; this time she was sure she wasn't hallucinating.
"You're just not looking in the right places. I'm not actually in the car, silly."
Mitsune's eyes widened again, this time she glanced in the passenger's seat. Nobody was there, but... in her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of a woman adorned in a white dress in the car's rearview.
"See, Mitsune? I'm right here! I came here to find my owner... will you help me?"
Meanwhile, near Tokyo's apartment district, Dominic and Davey were struggling with his new car's transmission. Just before the car pulled into Dom's parking lot, the transmission began slipping like crazy and when they finally parked the car, they noticed it was puking ATF and antifreeze out all the way from the main road. The culprit? A ghetto-patched radiator that finally gave out. Now the SVX was up on jack stands, Davey poking a flashlight and trying to guide Dom through undoing all the coolant lines.
It was a very messy process, because the rad was still draining fluid. But it had to be done; whoever thought that duct tape and Fasteel would actually hold up over time was crazy. Dom and Davey also noted that the wheel bearings were howling like crazy after that high speed run.
"Davey, you think that the wheel bearings are also fried?"
"Absolutely. Dude, whoever owned this car was a f!cking cheapass who wouldn't pay for sh!t. But why didn't you fix this radiator before it blew up in your face?"
Dom kind of glanced off to the side, scratching the back of his head. "Well, admittedly... I told myself I was going to take it to a shop, but I've been sidetracked with modifying my computer and getting moved in. It was kind of back burner. I didn't expect it to fail THIS quickly, Davey."
Davey sighed and shook his head, removing some upper coolant hoses which were dry rotted and aged.
"Serves you right for not putting priorities first. Well, I'll help you this time, but I want you to use your head more often. This isn't your grandma's Subaru Legacy. This is a very complicated machine that's grown some complicated issues through negligence."
Dom nodded as he crawled out from under the car. Grabbing a 12mm wrench, he got to work on the upper radiator support bolts, and that's when he noticed it.
"Hey, Davey, could you look at this for a sec?"
Dom pointed the flashlight at a hole on the side of the engine where an accessory would usually bolt to.
"Uh, is it me or has the A/C system been removed? Why would anybody do that?"
Davey buried his face in his palm, shaking his head from left to right.
"Yes, partially, but they left the condenser unit in! It doesn't get too hot in Tokyo, but it looks like who ever worked on this car was a real friggin' dumbass."
He noted random A/C lines just hanging out in random spots.
"I suppose we should finish what the previous owner started. And this time, we'll do it right."
"Sounds like a plan to me. What were the odds of me running into you here in Tokyo?"
"Same odds as me being alive, I guess."
Davey laughed as he helped Dom remove the radiator completely; it was off to Super Autobacs tomorrow to grab a replacement unit, perferably a high-output Koyo model. It would be only the beginning of trying to qualm the SVX's factory cooling woes, but it was a good place to initiate some kind of action.
Davey paused for a moment, receiving that long-awaited text message from his U.S. 'associate'. Reading it breifly, then deleting it and flipping his phone shut, he frowned. So he was the sole proprietor to this all, eh?
He never did mention to anybody what the text said, but it seemed Davey had a good clue as to who killed him. That pursuit... was no accident.
Meanwhile, on the top of Mt. Myogi, a handful of blood-red exotic cars, none of them domestic, were perched at the Senic Overlook. They weren't near the main course, but had a great view of it from there.
"So, boss, what's our next course of action?," asked a shade-wearing gentleman in a business suit. "Is he on our side or not?"
The other person paused for a moment of deep thought. He responded in a very uneasy tone.
"The kid's smart. Too smart. According to an insider, he already made contact with the T.M.P.D. And hacked into US government computers, searching for answers behind his 'death'. He should be minding his own business, but he already replaced his car's ECU and removed the the tracking device I had in the car--he's out of control."
"Think he'll figure out what killed him in the first place?"
"Even if he does, he won't live too long to think about it. I guess 'hiring' him was a bad mistake. He's far from submissive, even when exposed to life-threatening circumstances. Matthew, I think it's time we nipped this problem in the bud before it burns us. After three years in Japan, I've grown very, very strong. If I have to get behind the wheel of my car and take these streets over myself, so be it. Anderson is talented, but he's too nosy. He's just like Trey."
"Boss, I heard he HAS made contact with Treyandli Faust."
"Then we need to silence the asshole once and for all."
5 Days Later; 10:25PM, Akina Rd....
The streets were flooded with the sounds of various four and six cylinder engines, barking through a myraid of exhaust choices, racing down the Akina Pass. Everybody wanted to get down to the finish line to see what the fuss was all about. It didn't take long for a few cars to spin, and a multi-car pile-up to begin, but nobody cared; they wanted to see what was happening at the bottom of the pass!
Just minutes ago, the up-and-coming S13 of the Akina Speed Stars was fighting just to keep a mysterious foreign hardtop-equipped convertible in its sights. He pushed his S13 to its outer limit, and on an attempted gutter maneuver, he spun his car and nearly wasted it; he crossed the line 25 seconds behind the roadster, which set a new course record on Akina pass.
His pride as badly scraped as the underside and wheels of his precious Silvia, the shaken Kouichirou struggled to his feet, his eyes locked onto the screaming red body of the '2000 twin cam'.. the only badge-identification that the roadster wore, painted on the side of the car. As the tall driver removed the steering wheel – the only way his oversized frame could easily extricate himself from the tiny car – he adjusted his dark aviators and chuckled a small bit. "Looks like you're no longer... a star of speed."
"Kono yaro...", Iketani muttered under his breath, before raising his voice. "Slightly modified my ass! I'm not exactly Red Suns material, but I'm goddamned close! Pop your hood, An-dew." He struggled to properly pronounce the driver's name, American names being quite difficult to nail in typical native Japanese tongue.
"It's Andrew..." he flinched, before shrugging and rotating 180* toward the car in a small, neat motion. He walked to the front of the car, undoing the hoodpins – all four of them – and then placing the hood on the roof of the car; it had no other attatchment to the car, no frame or latches. Iketani – and the rest of the gallery – gawked at what they saw. Iketani's forehead began sweating, his fists clenched, arms shaking... he wasn't just mad, he was boiling with rage.
"A NISSAN SR20 REDTOP!? FUZAKERUNA YO! SLIGHTLY MODIFIED MY ASS, MY S13 HAS THIS ENGINE, ONLY WITH A TURBO ADDED! THERE'S NO WAY THIS F!CKING CAR CAME STOCK WITH AN SR20!" Iketani smacked his hand against the car's fender, the material that he was actually beating on revealing itself; another silence came over the crowd. "Ka... Kaabon Faibaa ...!? You... you've got to me kidding me! This is practically a race car!?"
You could hear a pint drop from the stress and anxiety. Nobody wanted to say a word; some drivers were shocked, others downright insulted, but most of them were just speechless. "I'm surprised you bought that line. I mean seriously, are you going to blame me for your own bad judgement? It's just an engine swap, the old one kind of sucked you know?"
The crowd was in a downright uproar. By popping his hood, Andrew effectively opened Pandora's Box. The fenders were tubbed, the chassis was stiffened by adding tubing in areas, the suspension was interchanged from another car and modified to fit... however, nobody else knew this but Andrew. After all, nobody in Akina knew what a Triumph Spitfire was until today.
"I'll tell you what kind of sucks, lying about what your car actually has! What kind of car is this anyways, some old MG!? I know you at least braced the chassis for the extra torque, but only God knows what else you did to it. Are you just TRYING to insult us by bringing this... this thing!?"
Andrew chuckled. "You insulted yourselves by not sizing up the opponent. I asked you if you wanted to race and you were dumb enough to accept. Whose fault is that?"
Iketani clenched his fist ever so tightly and wound back, he was on the verge of throwing a punch when-
Everybody's eyes turned away from Andrew's car – including Andrew himself – when they heard the cackle of a wide-open exhaust approaching from the distance. Most people stared blankly, not having half a clue what kind of powerplant could be making such a raw, deep growl... but Iketani knew exactly who it was.
The striped, yellow-and-black body of the Firebird Trans Am glided into the scene, the driver revving his engine a few times as he pulled to the side of the road, calling attention to himself without making it obvious. As he slid out of the leather seats and stepped onto the surface of Akina road, he took off his thin-profile glasses and tossed them casually on the dashboard, closing the door as he shuffled towards the Spitfire in his limp-walk.
"Alright, my phone's been blowing up with texts about this ra- .... wh... whaa..." He stared blankly at Andrew with a look of utter shock; he was the last person he expected to see here, so far away from the Jersey Shore. Japanese gave way to English. "Drew... Drew Windall!? What the hell are you doing here!?"
Andrew blinked, switching his own dialect to a more American one. "It's Andr- ..."
He paused for a moment; It took him a second for it to click; then at once, it all came together in his head. The tone of voice, the thick North Jersey accent.... it could only be Davey Anderson!
"Da... Davey!? What the hell are you doing ALIVE!?
|Posted by: Nomake Wan Mar 17 2010, 04:07 AM|
| DAVEY ANDERSON WILL NEVER DIE! ONLY THE WRITERS WHO PLAY HIM! He also can't die until Dominic's SVX is fixed. Do work, son.
Good chapter, except of course that you left the Mitsune/demoncar bit at a cliffhanger to focus on Davey's story. Call me crazy, but a car possessed by some little girl is way more interesting. Then again, I think we all have a possessed car story or two to relate to on that one?
Good to see you fixed the clipping issue with Davey's Firebird. Would've been pretty terrible if the chapter had been released with him just constantly looping back to the centerline every time he tries to pull to the side of the road.
|Posted by: HashiriyaR32 Mar 17 2010, 06:19 AM|
| Call me crazy, but a car possessed by some little girl is way more interesting. Then again, I think we all have a possessed car story or two to relate to on that one?
That's something we could use MORE of.
|Posted by: Hannah Mar 18 2010, 12:51 PM|
| *shriek* WOW!! This one really hit the spot! I love mystery as much as I love action in racing! I'm glad you decided to mix things up a bit, it's pulled me back in.
I love mystery and drama novels. Keep at it, Drifter! <3
|Posted by: kyonpalm Mar 20 2010, 01:17 AM|
| Absolutely and completely seamless!
You picked it up like the last chapter was yesterday! Nicely done! Great read.
|Posted by: Rudy Sep 21 2013, 06:43 PM|
| WARNING: This chapter contains some pretty graphic/violent scenes within. Not for the weak of heart.
Okay, my loyal readers. I'm going to give you an opportunity that's unheard of in the fanfiction community. As you can see, this is pretty much the end. However, it doesn't have to be. There's one way that things can be turned around... but will it happen?
Thanks for reading. I hope that if you don't want it to continue, that you all enjoyed the read after these 5 years. It has been an incredible, if seldom-ventured, road.
-Sincerely, Midnight Drifter. <3
|Posted by: Hannah Sep 21 2013, 07:38 PM|
| Once again, well written to say the least. I enjoyed the multiple perspective.
|Posted by: HashiriyaR32 Sep 22 2013, 04:05 PM|
| There's only one option.
|Posted by: OkamiWind Sep 27 2013, 01:49 PM|
| Love this fic; dark at times with dramatic moments. Beautifully dark and well made.
Needs a conclusion where it is either bittersweet or good, not this...I dunno...bad taste I got from it. But that's just me.
|Posted by: kyonpalm Sep 28 2013, 06:02 PM|
| Chiming in at the request of the author.
I'm not given any good options, really, because there's no "redo", but if I have to pick between the two, I'd say continue. If I said "stop" and this was the final chapter, it would be a pretty anticlimactic one, so the best option is to give it a proper conclusion. Even if I don't like it.
|Posted by: Nomake Wan Sep 28 2013, 10:30 PM|
| I...really don't remember where this story was going or anything, to be honest. But I was asked to read it, and I did... so here we go...
If you've got something written up, feel free to keep going... but personally I'm just confused. That's what happens when there's that huge a gap between chapters I guess.
|Posted by: Rudy Sep 28 2013, 10:56 PM|
| You guys asked for it, so here it is! Carbon Expressway's bonus ending!
Epilogue – A Rift in Time
This is death? This doesn't feel like death.
The slender, yet muscular form of Mitsune Rage slowly awakened in an almost painfully bright hallway. Her senses were well about her as it was. Her whole body was aching, as if she was put through a shredder. She pretty much was, after all. Hitting a toll booth at what had to be 200 miles an hour and being ejected from the driver's seat into the concrete pillar couldn't not be painful, but yet Mitsune's clothes had no blood on them. She played with her hands, examining her digits. They all checked out fine. As did her legs, and feet. She glanced around for a mirror, but either side of the endless white, industrial-looking hallway provided no such resolve.
It feels like a hospital... or an office of some sort?
Mitsune noticed a ticket had slipped out of her sleeve, with the number 005 on it. She didn't remember buying a sandwich or anything earlier that day. But then again, she was convinced she was dead – or in some sort of a post-death dream. She glanced forward down the hallway again, and noticed a door she hadn't seen just a moment ago, with an old-style flip counter and the classic 'NOW SERVING' text above it; it was at 04. Mitsune then examined the bench she woke up on. Everything was white. Absolutely everything.
Mitsune began patting her face, trying to feel for any cuts, bumps, scabs or scars. None were present – not even the ones she earned from years prior. And then it dawned on her that this hallway was silent, completely silent. No vague white noise coming from an HVAC system, no hum of the florescent lights up ahead, not even the beating of her own heart.
Am I dead? Is this even reality right now? It's so quiet.
Mitsune took a pause to check her own pulse. There was none. In fact, her skin felt cold in spite of the corridor she was in feeling quite warm. She couldn't hear her breath either. Patting herself again, she could clearly make out her skin making contact with one another, so what was going on? Maybe this was one of those hauntingly realistic two-part dreams where one wakes up, thinking they're awake only to be awakened one more time into actual reality.
“Hello?” Mitsune called out, to nobody in particular. Well, she was certainly capable of producing sound with her vocal cords. There was a certain disconnected feeling about the situation she was in at the moment that kept convincing her more and more that this was just a hyper-realistic yet surreal dream. Just as she was about to form that conclusion, she heard the overhead counter flip over, the number now reading 05. Followed briefly by the typical buzzy, crackly sound that only a true high-quality P.A. Speaker could deliver.
”Candidate number 5? Candidate number 5, please report to the office. Candidate number 5, thank you.”
5 was Mitsune's number. She looked behind her, and suddenly that nearly infinite corridor that was once in that direction was replaced by an exit door, with a bold-type warning written on it in English.
EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY
Please use this door to escape
this realm in the event of an
emergency. There is no re-
entry once you leave. Not a
“What the?” Mitsune cocked an eyebrow at the terminology written on the sign. “Realm?”
”CANDIDATE NUMBER 5 PLEASE!? IS THIS THING EVEN WORKING? CANDIDATE NUMBER 5, CANDIDATE NUMBER 5, LAST CALL FOR CANDIDATE NUMBER 5.”
Mitsune cringed as the feedback from the mic caused a high-pitched squeal. She slowly pushed on the release handle for the emergency exit, wanting to abandon this dream – but then something deep in the back of her mind commanded her to answer the call. Mitsune turned back around and nervously approached the door. Creeping up on her was the same kind of fear of the unknown she experienced as a little girl, except Isolinear wasn't around to hold her hand or tell her it's okay.
“Well, fuck it. I'm already dead, I think. Maybe that's God, or Jesus Christ or Mom or something on the other side of that door...”
Mitsune reached out and grabbed the handle of the door, and could hear the 'buzz' of an electronic lock releasing. The handle turned, and she was able to slip inside to what appeared to be perhaps a banker's office. Unlike the all-white corridor behind her, the lighting was much more subtle. Wooden bookshelves lined the walls, most of which Mitsune noted had titles printed in a language unlike any other she had seen before. It was then she noticed a rather tall man lounging comfortably in a padded swivel chair before her. His features were... strange to say the least.
It's like Edward from that stupid book Twilight, she thought to herself. Mitsune was talking about how his skin was not only unusually pale white, but also glowing in a very subtle radiant aura, and how his hair seemed to sparkle. Now that she was looking closer, she also realized his eyes were also glowing a deep off-grey color with a slight blue tint, looking as deep and vast as the galaxies beyond Earth. I don't know who this guy is, but he ain't no religious prophet or God that I've ever seen.
“Have a seat, please. This will only take a moment.” The man before her smiled.
Mitsune's face grew red as she realized he was staring directly at her the entire time she was sizing up his body and face. And then she noticed the ears... his ears, they were wide, very wide – and pointy. Almost like some kind of mythical elf or something of that nature. But elves were supposed to be small – this pale-skinned half-English-half-Asian looking fellow appeared to be 6' tall, easily.
“Candidate #5, I'll need to see your identification.”
Mitsune blinked for a second, before shaking her head softly. “I don't carry any-”
“Right front pants pocket.”
Mitsune was cut off, baffled for a moment before reaching into the pocket he mentioned. Sure enough, there was some sort of metal card in there. It felt warm to the touch, and seemed to have a bit of a static charge or something. The card itself had a picture of her face on it, and also her name 'Mitsune Kei Rage', which was shocking to her since nobody was supposed to know her middle name. Her mother's name. Just like her sister Isolinear. Her height, weight, and age were also listed although Mitsune found it peculiar that “A.D.” was inscribed after the year. There was other writing on it as well, but it was all in that same foreign language that some of the gentleman's books were.
“The card, please?” The man who was asking for her credentials seemed to be running low on patience, though he was still acting polite about it..
Mitsune handed off her identification card to the man, clad in dress shoes, brown slacks and a grey button-up shirt that matched his hair almost perfectly and observed him as he proceeded to study the card carefully. “Thank you,” he finally said, passing the card back to Mitsune. “This should only take a minute or two. I have a few questions for you before letting you see the Doctor.”
“Wait, who are you?” Mitsune was tired of just taking info in, because what her eyes were telling her simply weren't enough for her piece of mind.
“I'm the doctor's assistant. Please, if you don't mind, we must get this over with before the next candidate arrives. They're simple yes or no questions, so let's just get them out of our way. Are you happy with the way things turned out?”
Mitsune wasn't happy that the man blatantly avoided her question, but she knew exactly what he was talking about. “No. I'm hardly even content.”
A slight smirk appeared on the man's face. It was almost as if he was expecting to hear those exact words come out of her mouth. “Do you want to go back to the place you were before we picked you up?”
Mitsune was confused by that question. Picked her... up? Her remains, maybe? What was he talking about? “Where was that?”
“The abyss that's remaining of your home territory.” The gentleman's smirk was turning into a pretty wide grin. He already knew she wasn't going to accept that before she could answer. Resting was one thing, but what he was describing sounded very grim.
“Of course not. Is that where the emergency exit lead to back there? I'm not interested.” Whatever was going on, Mitsune wanted to get this charade over with. For some reason or another she could feel just a spark of hope building in her spirit. What was going on? Mitsune couldn't tell.
“Yes, it does lead back to your abyss. In that case, the Doctor will be seeing you.” Before Mitsune could form a reply, the gentleman picked up his desk phone and nearly immediately began speaking into the receiver. “Doctor. Candidate 5 is a code green. Alright.” He hung up the receiver. “Alright, the Doctor is waiting for you. Please don't make her wait.”
As Mitsune got up, she felt pressured to at least get one solid answer out of him. “I don't even know your name, what is it?”
A small chuckle from the assistant. “It's irrelevant. You might meet me again though. Maybe. Maybe not. Human free will is hard to predict. Now please, the Doctor will see you now.”
Mitsune rolled her eyes and proceeded to the next door. This one looked a lot more industrial than the one leading to the office. As she stepped through the door, she was stepping into a very familiar place. The grey concrete walls, stainless steel table at the center of the room, the single shielded lamp over the table, just barely giving the room enough light to be navigable and showing only part of the 'doctor's' face, this was no doubt a classic jail interrogation room. But what kind of doctor would have this setting for their office, especially a female?
“Yes, come in and have ah seat. My goal is to waste as little of your time as possible.” The woman at the opposite end of the small room had a strikingly similar appearance to that of her assistant, including the ears. Except for her attire, it was an all-white kimono – quite a drastic change from her assistant's rather business-looking form of dress. She had a thick accent too... sounded kind of British, kind of Southern... but nothing like she's ever heard in person.
“I have a question.” Mitsune said slowly, and politely. Her eyes were trained in a small wooden placard set on the interrogation-looking table, with a gold insert with the writing 'Karie Sandars, CMD'
“Understandable, but if yah don't mind, I've done this foah times already todeh and have come to identifah the top five questions asked to meh and will answer them befoah taking yours. 1, you are most certainly dead. In fac, in yoah case I'd say there's little evidence to proove because yah have almost no physical remains, but yah are definitely a dead hoawse. You're in pure spirit form, yoah body is not with you right nao. 2, I am a Goddess. Not THE God or Goddess, the cosmos knows that fer sure, but ah am definitely oldah than yer entire human race is. 3, everythin' you see befoe yah is mah creation, everythin' in the othah office and the waiting area is mah assistant's. 4, ah cannot take you back to the moment before you died but ah I can offer you another chance to live yoah life, and 5, yes, they're real, very real, and yes, they're very soft.” By now Karie was clutching her extremely-large breasts, which through the opening of the lapel of her kimono revealed the same glowing skin tone as the rest of her body. “Ah get question #5 ah lot more often than ewe think. Now then, Mitsune, if there's another question you have my pointy ears are lis'nen.”
Mitsune giggled. That last answer was pretty silly, but it was easy to see why so many folks, especially men, would ask such a forward question to someone so powerful. This Karie woman had personality, at least she had that going for her. The rest of the answers were indeed relevant to her inquiries but she still needed answers. From here on out, it was simple back and fourth between Mitsune and after being exposed to Karie's accent once, it was nearly transparent. “Why me?”
“Because you're someone who this rift centers around.”
“What do you mean, 'rift'?”
“Look, darling, the less you know the better. I barely understand the phenomenon myself but let's just say that you were supposed to die at age 48 or so, from natural causes; this particular universe I'm pulling your spirit from wasn't supposed to implode. ”
“So why did it? When did it?”
“After your time, and I don't know. But I know your premature death is tied to it in a large way.”
“If you don't know for sure that saving me will stop it then why try?”
“Because there's a chain reaction that will inevitably lead to all existence of all kinds ceasing to be if I don't stop it, and I'm doing the best I can to prevent it.”
“So what are you doing then?”
“I'm sending you to a universe that the rift hasn't formed in yet.”
“What do I do once I'm there?”
“Stay alive, and be weary of dark spirit energies.”
“What do you mean?”
“You'll know it when you feel it. I can't say any more right now.”
“Because the less you know, the less whatever or whoever is fucking with the fabric of space and time is likely to find you out as a 'candidate' and erase you completely from existence.”
“So what do I do if I encounter a person with bad energy?”
“You make your way to the top of Mt. Fuji at midnight on a Monday morning. I'll sense you nearby and we'll meet. You report the description of the person or thing to me.”
“Who else is involved, anyone I know?”
“I can't say, but it's only a handful of people. Most of them just wanted a fresh start, but you and one other person wants to get to the bottom of this as badly as we do.”
“Are you in?”
Karie then picked up the telephone on the table. “Candidate #5 is ready. Let's begin the ritual.” Karie got out of her chair and made her way towards Mitsune, smiling softly. “I'm really happy that you're in. Sometimes David can be a lot more powerful than Goliath. Just so you know, things will be a little bit... different.”
“Will I find out who killed my family?”
“No. That's all I'll say. Now let's begin.”
Mitsune remained silent as Karie's assistant entered the room. She watched as the two of them circled around her and held hands against each other. She felt an incredible, electrifying energy consume the three of them and her own body glowing with radiant energy. She felt herself being spirited away by this reality and-
Karie collapsed onto the ground, practically heaving. Her assistant wasn't faring too well either. “Kealan, I only think I have enough energy for one more transfer today, how many candidates are left?”
“Only one more” he said back to her, also looking pretty winded. “She's waiting inside.”
“Alright, no need to rush with this one. Stall her, offer some idle chit chat. Perhaps show her your sparkling chest or something, apparently that really gets the females all hot and bothered in that version of 2008.”
“Smartass. Alright, will do.” Kealan slowly forced himself up and exited back through the door, leaving Karie alone in the room.
Bonus Scene – Mature Content Warning
Mitsune was startled awake by the sound of a radio alarm clock, an older track that seemed strangely familiar blasting in the background. As she tried to get adjusted to the strange bedroom she found herself in. She also noticed she was sleeping with a man. Still, she found herself oddly entranced by the lyrics blasting through the cheap alarm radio before the song gave way to what appeared to breaking morning news.
“You don't need money,
Don't take fame,
Don't need no credit card to ride this train,
It's strong and sudden, and it's cruel sometimes,
but it might just save your liiife
That's the power of love.
You feel the power of love
You feel the power of love
You feel the power of loooveee~
GOOD MORNING TOKYO CITY! This is Kurumi, your morning DJ for 'The Hax', WHAX, the Groove of Tokyo City! And that was Huey Lewis and the News. It is 8AM on this beautiful Monday November morning here in the Tokyo Prefecture. I know a lot of you today are calling out sick, wink wink, nudge nudge, to head on over to Suzuka Raceway and watch the 1996 running of the NASCAR Thunder 100, a post-season exhibition race for the NASCAR Winston Cup Series, right here in Japan! Drift King Keiichi Tsuchiya will be participating in the event, which is very unusual considering there's no such thing as drift driving in NAS-”
Mitsune slammed down the 'off' button on the analog alarm-clock radio, just happening to have flip numbers, oddly enough. “1996!? That's 12 years ago!” Mitsune's exclamation was loud enough to wake whoever was in her bed . It was the person she just got done killing her mark. “YOU!?”
“The hell!? You, what are you-”
Mitsune was tossing around frantically, trying to find her weapon. She knew she killed him, yet he was still alive. She couldn't have that, her instincts were telling her.“WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY GUN!? FUCK IT I'LL STRANGLE YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS!”
“No, stop, guuccchhh-” Davey struggled to fight the fiery assassin off of him but she was impossibly strong. Isn't this great... I die, get offered a second chance or something in a dream only to wake up and get killed by the same exact person. Davey grabbed onto her hands and tried scratching into them, then trying to punch her in the face as he fought more and more frantically from the oxygen deprivation pulling him into a full-on panic. The phone began ringing, but Davey was too busy to answer. Then the answering machine came on, and whatever voice was speaking into it completely limped Mitsune's grip.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ISOLINEAR! Even though I know you won't call back, I still want you to know that I still love you. Even though you turned into an asshole after that one drift kid ended up making you into some kind of punk bitch and you changed your name, you'll still be mommy's little Iso-chan-”
Mitsune's eyes began to tear at the sound of the voice crackling through the answering-machine speaker. “M... mama?”
“Gimme the phone gimme the phone. Hey, Iso, why do you keep ignoring your big brother? I tried looking out for you but you didn't listen. Why don't you listen to me? All I want you to do is come back and be normal! Why do you keep hanging out with that Yakuza trash kid Davey, huh? Do you want to throw your life away? You were such a smart little girl until that Takumi kid blew you off-
“Ani... aniki?” Tears were full-on streaming down Mitsune's cheeks. Was this really true? Mitsune's thoughts were racing. Karie said things had changed and that I'd never find the person who killed my family – but did she really mean that she'd enter a world where they were still alive!?
“Stop it, Takashi, you're ruining my birthday message! Anyway, I hope you get back to me soon. Dearest wishes, your one and only Mom.”
Davey didn't even have to get Mitsune off him, as she was reduced to a crying ball of mass laying beside him in the fetal position. He couldn't make sense of any of this. Was that DJ for real? Was it seriously 1996?
“God damn it” Davey thought out loud, getting out from bed and leaving Mitsune to take in what he knew was an almost acceptable new reality for herself, “Different indeed... different... indeed...”
|Posted by: OkamiWind Sep 28 2013, 11:54 PM|
| Well...supernatural but very nice indeed. It was a bit bittersweet but I felt a sense of resolution in this ending then the other one. I like it...I like it a lot.
Good alternate ending if I may say so myself.
|Posted by: Hannah Sep 29 2013, 01:49 PM|
| Brb crying like a bitch
The epilogue is great, it's the perfect ending to this story. The story as a whole was one amazing ride, I enjoyed it the whole way through. As for the epilogue, it was great, and it leads to us wanting more. Let's get cracking on those other stories, we love being entertained
|Posted by: wing_0 Oct 2 2013, 10:12 AM|
|Didn't see that one coming. Great epilogue and a really cool twist|
|Posted by: kyonpalm Oct 10 2013, 06:43 PM|
|That was interesting. Don't really have much else to say, but I guess I'm satisfied. Probably the most you could ask for, really.|
|Posted by: PWNatorPWNED Oct 10 2013, 09:12 PM|
|Just read the whole fic right now. Nice, I like how you used Initial D and Tokyo Drift characters.|
|Posted by: Meteor Oct 19 2013, 01:04 AM|
| Done reading this whole fic from start to finish. Sorry for being so late with the review.
(How do I type this as quickly as possible so I can get this review done before I have to go out of town again?)
Well, I can tell you that your prose is still pretty damn good. These last two chapters weren't boring. Character interactions were good as always, the writing made for a nice read, the chase scene didn't fail at being exciting, and this overall wasn't too bad an ending to the fic.
It did feel a little too sudden though, but at least the last chapter allows for the possibility of a continuation. That'll keep things in this story from just staying unresolved.
As for things to criticize, I have to admit the truck "accidentally" going the wrong way on the C1 came across as just a little too convenient. And I guess what N1 said regarding road names and firearms too. American police code being used by Japanese officers in Tokyo was also a little odd, but I guess those scenes just wouldn't have looked right without some sort of police code being used, so maybe it was just unavoidable considering none of us here could possibly be expected to know Japanese police code.
The representation of Karie's accent was also hilariously overdone; I just couldn't take it seriously. You could've really just written that bit of dialogue like normal and just let the reader's imagination fill in the gaps, since you already described the accent she had beforehand. It'd have honestly worked just fine that way.
Also, that bonus scene was just pointless.
So, anyway, maybe this fic could've gone on longer, but it ended decently and it'll tie into other stories nicely. Keep up the good work. Sorry I couldn't go more in-depth.
(Status in the list updated, btw.)
I'll try to edit this review to be more in-depth later if possible. Sorry again for taking so long, and sorry to everyone else waiting for me to review their stuff.