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|Initial D World - Discussion Board / Forums > Initial D Fanfiction > [FANFIC] Initial D: Battleground: USA|
|Posted by: Drew Mar 6 2008, 07:05 PM|
| Well, while working on "Initial Ski", I kind of hit the immovable wall known as writer's block, so I began on y sidestory for "Touge Legends" I already have five chapters of this story finished, and I plan to release them in a way so that I can still have some material to fall back if I do get stuck again.
The story takes off where "Legends" leaves off; Ryousuke's dead, and Keisuke is sent to America to fulfill his brother's deathwish. It's a different take on storytelling, and I've had an idea of an American-based Initial D story for a while, so here goes!
Chapter 1: Hi-Speed MX5 Pursuit
San Diego International Airport: 8:00 PM
For young racing ace Keisuke Takahashi, eight hours on a plane was not the most interesting proposition to the start of his new training, but he had to do so. "It's for my aniki," he thought, reminding himself of that cruel March night in which a red FC killed his brother, "I was also given specific instruction on what to do with my inheritance. I still don't get what this will accomplish for me."
After getting his bags at baggage claim, Keisuke walked to the parking lot to get his rental. "I can't believe it," he said while looking at his bare bones Ford Focus with sat-nav, "If all American cars are like this, I don't want any part of them." After getting in, Keisuke opened up his carry on and pulled out a manila envelope. Written in Kanji was his name, and to the side there was a stamp that said "DO NOT OPEN" in English.
This plain envelope was what Keisuke was given at the funeral. He recalled the instructions given to him; "Keisuke-san," the voice said, "I have also arranged for you to go to America. You will arrive in San Diego. I have given you an envelope with further instructions on what you have to do." "What in the hell did he want me to do here?" Keisuke asked himself. He opened the envelope. Inside was a set of keys to some sort of automobile. They were an older set that was worn down by many years of usage, but nonetheless they were a set of keys. Along with the keys was a map. A port was circled. Attached to the map was a letter. It stated that Keisuke was to go to the circled address and look for a large ten-year old crate from Japan. It also stated that he would have to steal it. With all that, there was also a gun that he had, too.
"You've got to be joking, aniki!" Keisuke said to himself, "Steal the f**king car?" "I'm guessing in your Yakuza days" the letter said, "That you could easily take care of stuff like this. I wish you luck Keisuke, and I hope you eventually understand why you are doing this." After finishing reading the letter, he threw the Focus into drive, and headed out of the airport.
"What the hell does he want me to get in this yard?" Keisuke said, listening to some American band known as Primus, "This is not like him at all. He must've rushed this before the race, knowing he'd possibly die." "This'll be your last run for Project.D" the tape said, "This time, failure is not an option."
"Jerry was a race car driver"
"In 200 yards, turn right"
"Never did win the checkered flag, but he never did come in last"
"You have reached your destination"
"Okay," Keisuke said getting out of the car at the dockyard, "Now I have to break in here. How the hell am I supposed to do that?" He got out, looking around the complex for some sort of gate he could ram through, seeing the 20-foot fence and barb-wire all around the yard. "Screw jumping the fence," Keisuke said, "Now what?" He then saw a gate with no guard, which he could ram through.
"What's up, Jim?" the guard said. "There's this guy sitting out here in a Focus, looking like he's gonna break through the fence." "Call the cops then, dumbass." "Got it, boss."
The Focus rammed through the gate with no problem. "Damn," Keisuke said, "This is one tough mother. I'm surprised it didn't shatter." He then started driving through the complex, looking for the crate. "Where the hell is it?" he said, "By the time I find it, I'll be in jail!" He then spotted it out of the corner of his eye. He slammed on the brakes of the Focus, and grabbed the folder, the gun and the set of keys. He shot the lock out, like in the movies, and went into the crate.
Outside the yard, a police car was pulling up. "Thanks for showing up, officer," the guard said, "He's right in there, possibly armed, Asian, driving a Focus, and definitely determined." "We'll try to stop him before he causes any harm," the officer stated. He then got back into his Impala, and drove inside to apprehend the criminal.
"Come out with your hands up!" a voice on a loudspeaker yelled. "What now?" Keisuke said, in the old seat, "I can't give up now; ah well, so long cruel world!" He turned over the engine and exploded out of the crate, nearly sideswiping the Chevrolet cop car.
"Requesting backup on a police chase in San Diego shipyard. Vehicle is a right-hand drive 1994 blue Mazda Miata with Japanese plates."
"Roger. Help is on the way"
The tires squealed as the Mazda drifted through the shipyard towards the exit. "Shit, aniki!" Keisuke said, "Why the hell did you make me do this?" As he was making a run for the exit, he saw three other cop cars heading towards the exit. "Damn!" Keisuke said, braking and turning hard right towards the freeway. "I gotta outrun these bastards!"
"suspect Heading northbound towards Los Angeles. Requesting backup"
The blue MX5 was speeding through traffic. Keisuke was sweating bullets as the red-and-blue lights started to fade from his rear-view. "Am I losing them?" Keisuke wondered, listening to the high-rev engine while shifting up; the familiar sound of a blow-off valve whooshed out of the engine, "That sounds like my 13B! That's why I'm losing them! He set it up like the FD was when I started!"
"Damn, this guy is fast!"
"We've lost suspect. Setting up a 3-mile perimeter around area. All cops look for blue MX5."
In a back alley, the car sat idling. Keisuke laid his head on the steering wheel. "That's the worst experience I ever had," he thought. Keisuke then began to look in the car for some sort of instruction. "C'mon aniki!" he said, "You had to have left me something to instruct me with!" He looked high and low, eventually opening the glove box. Inside was a map of the United States with a route drawn out in red. The first circled location was Los Angeles. next to the circle was a post-it with an address. Next to the address were the words "Ask for Gene Maglio; tell him you're the Comet's brother. Give it about 3 hours before leaving San Diego, too." "Maybe he didn't hurry this thing," Keisuke thought, "Okay then, next I'll head to LA."
|Posted by: DK_2 Mar 6 2008, 07:22 PM|
|Holy crap. This is going to be epic. Keisuke already in trouble with the 5-0. Plus a 13B pwered Miata!|
|Posted by: DrIfTeRX305 Mar 6 2008, 07:27 PM|
| I like it, and although I haven't read any of your other fics, I didn't get lost while reading it.
I do have some constructive criticism: when you have the police chatter, I don't think you need the "roger" parts, just kind of what's happening like "all units proceed with caution, suspect driving at 120 MPH".
Also it would've been cool if would have built up the suspense about what car he was driving until the end, instead of giving it away by the cop's description of it(which by the way, was one pretty observant cop)
Good start though, hope to read more.
|Posted by: Meteor Mar 6 2008, 08:38 PM|
| Allow me to join Takahashi Keisuke in exclaiming "What the hell?!". Especially in regards to the late Takahashi Ryousuke giving him a task that puts the police on his tail.
Quite a good start to the fic though. Please continue it.
And about your Initial-Ski-writer's-block. Just give yourself some rest from that fic. The block will eventually crumble to nothing, and then you can return to updating that one.
|Posted by: ?wha? Mar 7 2008, 02:53 AM|
|Epic Lulz when Keisuke's forced to nick the car. Never thought Ryosuke would or can torture his little brother enough|
|Posted by: HashiriyaR32 Mar 9 2008, 01:17 PM|
|Where can I find the original fic?|
|Posted by: Drew Mar 9 2008, 05:50 PM|
| You can find it http://idforums.net/index.php?showtopic=24848
Also, here's chapteh deux!
Chapter 2: Drainage Ditch Run
12:00 AM: Downtown Los Angeles
"He's on this street?" Keisuke asked himself, "Man, this place's a dump." The slums were filled with trash, and apparently the address that Keisuke was given was that of a men's only hotel. He parked the car in a back-alley and covered it up with the tarp that was in the trunk. He then proceeded to head up the stairs to the hotel.
The air was thick with cigarette smoke, and the music playing was that of a classic blues band. In one corner of the lobby, there was an old man playing chess with another equally aged gentleman. Keisuke walked up to the counter and asked for Gene Maglio. "He's not in, bud," the manager said, "He's probably out racing." "Where does everyone race around here?" Keisuke asked. "Down in the reservoirs," the manager said, "Especially tonight. There's a big race for some guy's pink slip tonight, too." "Thank you, sir!" Keisuke said, bowing. "You're welcome, I guess," the manager said, taken aback by Keisuke's customs.
Keisuke jumped into his MX5 and headed over to the reservoir in Watts. Looking down in the ravine, he saw three cars fly past him at over 150 mph. "I guess it's thataway," Keisuke thought while driving down the bank, "These guy's have gotta be mad to drive like this."
"Yo, yo yo," yelled the announcer through his PA system, a Puerto Rican man with a Von Dutch cap on, "Y'all ready for the next event?!" The crowd cheered as the five cars lined up for the race. These cars were a bone-stock black Corvette Z06, a heavily modified sublet green Volkswagen GTi, two Civics, both heavily modified and with vinyl graphics and a Lamborghini Gallardo. A starter was standing in front of the cars, ready to signal. "Ready," she said, with her hands up, "Go!" Dropping her hands, everyone sped off. As they did so, a blue Miata came out of nowhere and almost caused one of the Civics to wreck. "Damn!" the announcer said, "Close one there from the obvious newbie!" As it pulled in, everyone was pointing and laughing at the driver's inability to yield.
"So," said the announcer, "Any of you eses up for a half-mile barrel race?" "I'm in!" Keisuke said. "So the newbie thinks he can race, huh," another man with a pro-wrestler build and handlebar mustaches said, "What're you gonna do in that Barbie-mobile, bro?" "You'll just have to find out," Keisuke stated. "Okay then," handlebars said, "I'm in." "Same here," a younger man said. "Whoa, ladies and germs," the announcer said, "Orale! Gene-o is coming out to run tonight! What exactly are you driving tonight, homes?" "My GTO, what else?" Gene said, "Gotta let the Nismo Z cool down from her track day."
"It's him," Keisuke said, sensing his opponent's burning aura, "He's amazing. No wonder my brother wanted me to see this guy; he's a god." "What's your name, ese?" the announcer said to Keisuke. "Takahashi Keisuke," Keisuke replied, "This is my first race in America." "Ooh," the announcer said, "This guy's straight outta J-town, people! Keisuke Takahashi!" "Okay," Gene said, "What do you all have on ya?" "I've got 3 grand," Handlebars said. "2 thousand here," Gene replied, "How about you, bra?" "I've got about one million yen on me," Keisuke said, "That's roughly 3 grand." "Sweet," Gene said, collecting the money and putting it with the announcer, "Line 'em up!"
The three lined up at the line. Handlebars drove a gold Oldsmobile 442 with a pro-street conversion and a twin-roots style, bug-catcher intake blown 572 big block. It was raised up in the rear on a set of Weld Alumastars with American Racing Hopsters up front. The engine was so powerful, it shook the ground and burned the concrete from its turn-down shorty headers spewing six-foot flames like an angry dragon. Gene's red GTO was lowered and sitting on a set of Foose rims. The large cowl hood was hiding a massive twin-turbo LS1 small-block. The rear of the GTO was also 'tubbed, but it held a Corvette suspension set up and ZR1-size tires. Keisuke's little Miata was also an insane vehicle. With the exception of the Work Equips, the outside appeared bone-stock. Under the hood, however, didn't breathe the twin-cam four that once was in the bay. Instead, the hurricane of a highly-tuned twin-turbo 13B rotary made high-rev music that contrasted the grunt and angry rumble of the V8s.
As they were waiting, the crowd began to whoop and holler. The starter was coming up to get the race underway. She was looking intensely at the Miata of Keisuke. "All right, y'all," the announcer yelled, "You's ready for some tire-smoking action?!" The starter had her hands above her head, and all three drivers had their clutches in, ready to explode off the line. The hands of the starter dropped, and the three cars exploded off the line. Keisuke and Gene kept their rides grounded, but Handlebars' 442 lifted up and stood up on its two massive Mickey Thompsons. The old-school muscle car eventually touched down, and all three were off to the turn-around point at the other end.
"We have reports of street racing in lower Watts in the drainage ditch."
"I can do this!" Keisuke said, shifting his blue MX5 into third gear at over 100 mph, "If I can beat Gene, I'll gain his respect and he'll help me with this training!" The Mazda was right on the tail of the 442, getting ready to slingshot out to catch Gene's GTO. "Here it goes!" Keisuke slingshotted himself to the front of the 442, but didn't notice how close the barrel was to him until now. "Shit!" he yelled, "I'm going too fast! I guess I'll swing wide here." He swung his car opposite to the barrel to attempt a Scandinavian Flick, but the speed was too great; his MX5 spun out, allowing for the 442 to pass him.
"Suspect in MX5 is present."
"Roger. Moving in."
All of a sudden, a bright light shone down on Keisuke's MX5 from the bridge across the ravine. "Stop!" the officer yelled in his Crown Vic patrol car, "Come out with your hands in the air!" "Well," Keisuke said, "Gotta go!" He slammed on the gas, and sped off down the ravine, knowing that the cops couldn't catch his MX5.
"Suspect is on the run!"
"Same here at the scene! Everyone's scrambling!"
"Oh crap," the announcer said, seeing the black and white Crown Victoria blow through the area, sirens blaring, "Everyone get outta here! We've got 5-0!" "Shit!" Gene thought, swinging his GTO around to escape. "Not again!" The car then went back off in the direction of his opponent. Everyone else in Hondas, Fox-bodied Mustangs, on Hayabusas, and other cars and bikes made a run for it, trying to confound the few officers that were there to arrest the racers. They already caught Handlebars, who was on the ground of the drainage ditch, next to his overturned and smoking 442.
Keisuke at this point had lost the cops and was trying to find a place to ditch his MX5. "I can't go around in this car anymore!" he said, "It's technically stolen! I'm screwed if I don’t get rid of it!" He then found a dark back-alley where he parked the car, and gathered up his supplies and left. "Now where the hell am I?" he said, looking at a street sign, which said "Compton Avenue" "Now how do I get back to the hotel, GPS-san?" Keisuke said in a false sense of compassion to the inanimate.
"In 400 yards, turn right."
Oh," he said, looking at the screen, which stated '15 miles to location', "Dammit." As he was heading back, a set of headlamps approached him. The car was about the size of a Supra, but it had the sound of a V8. "Who the hell?" Keisuke said. "Yo," the driver said, rolling down the window, "You okay?" "Yeah, of course I am," Keisuke yelled with sarcasm, "I'm an Asian in Compton, afraid to get shot, what do you think?" "You wanna come back to my place?" the driver said, "I could help you out, man. Where's your car?" "Over there," Keisuke said, pointing to the MX5 in the alley. "Oh, you're that guy," the driver said, "I just came from there. I'll give ya a lift."
Heading into LA, Keisuke watched the sun rise. "Who are you?" Keisuke asked the driver, "And why did you pick me up?" "Name's Jon Benson," he said, "I picked you up because it was inevitable that the cops would catch you. They got a clear view of your face. Apparently, it states that you broke into a San Diego shipyard and stole that MX5 of yours. You're one tough mother, lemme tell ya." "You're not a cop, are you?" Keisuke asked. "Nah," Jon replied nervously, "I'm too much of a wimp to shoot a gun." "Thank god," replied Keisuke, "Where are you from?" "Oh me?" the driver stated, "I'm from Texas. I moved out here with Gene so we could attend college at UC Berkley. We work at a local race shop that his uncle owns. They helped me build this baby up from the ground." "What is it?" Keisuke asked. "You don't know?!" Jon replied, shocked, "It's a 1966 Mustang GT Fastback. She's been in my family for three generations now, and I'm the current caretaker. You probably don't see these too much in Japan, do you?" "Not really," Keisuke said, still embarrassed that he lost to an over-powered FR USDM Cavalier and a car that seemed to only go straight.
They pulled the Mustang into a parking garage next to an apartment complex. "Welcome to my domain," Jon said to Keisuke. When they got out, Keisuke could see how much work went into the Mustang. The entire car was painted a bright torch red, and the Texas license plate read "THX 137" The car sat low on a set of Magnum 500s that were massive in the front as well as the rear. Two white stripes caressed the cowl-induction hood and slid down the car, creating a white profile. "Can ya stop gawking at her?" Jon said, "Let's go!" "Oh," Keisuke said, "Okay."
|Posted by: DK_2 Mar 9 2008, 06:07 PM|
|LMAO at the license plate.|
|Posted by: DrIfTeRX305 Mar 9 2008, 06:27 PM|
|The guy on the MIC reminded of me of the annoying announcers in Pro Street.|
|Posted by: DK_2 Mar 9 2008, 06:31 PM|
AHA. The scene reminded me of the first FnF.
|Posted by: red comet 7 Mar 9 2008, 09:52 PM|
| yeah a little FnF style in this one...except instead of from U.S. to JAPAN, its JAPAN to U.S.
|Posted by: Meteor Mar 10 2008, 02:33 AM|
| Another well written chapter. I'm looking forward to more.
lol @ the license plate
|Posted by: Koykis Mar 11 2008, 06:34 AM|
| The last month all I've been doing is reading fanfics to catch up with the rest of the forum and my head is spinning
This one is good written but the style really reminds me of NFS pro street and i dont think that's good. This is really the way the street races take place in the west? I mean in drainage ditches and the police chasing the racers all the time? Anyway, what's funny about the license plate?
I'm still curious to read more, keep up the good work mate!
|Posted by: DrIfTeRX305 Mar 11 2008, 07:02 AM|
I've never been chased down a drainage ditch, but I've been involved in some major raids here in Miami, that involved helicopters, road blocks, etc. it's not that bad anymore, people usually just stop, instead of running.
The license plate is alluding to the username of thx712517, who writes fanfics on here as well.
|Posted by: Koykis Mar 11 2008, 07:15 AM|
| Oh, I see thanks
Its also interesting to learn about the lifestyle of the street racers there. I thought thing like these happen only in movies.
|Posted by: Drew Mar 11 2008, 08:21 AM|
| I guess you all thought the same with the license plate joke, but hey, people interpret things differently. It's actually the same number as the license plate on the back of the yellow '32 Ford hot rod in American Grafitti. George Lucas used it as a tribute to his early film "THX 1137" when filming "Grafitti".
With the street racing, it's dramatized for writing. It is true that people race in the drainage ditches of Los Angeles, but they're not chased all the time by cops; it's really just some FnF-inspired race, that's all. I've never attended a street race, but from films and gamin, this is what I'd expect them to kind of be like in LA.
This story is more or less my "Kill Bill"; it's a hodge-podge of FnF style street-racing, Bullitt-like car chases, and other classic auto movie referencess like the more-accurate "Two-Lane Blcaktop", "The French Connection", "Vanishing Point" and "American Grafitti" Just a bit of foreshadowing, too; the story will eventually end up in Chi-tow where Keisuke runs into a famous fictitious bounty hunter and her Ford.
I will not say any more! (starts typing away on future chapters while wryly grinning)
|Posted by: DrIfTeRX305 Mar 11 2008, 08:26 AM|
I was off by a lot.
|Posted by: thx712517 Mar 12 2008, 06:03 AM|
|Wasn't it THX 1138? American Graffiti was a great movie, I liked that Thunderbird more than a man should. Curious about the Ford-driving bounty hunter, I'll have to search around for that one. Any chance of a Bluesmobile appearance?|
|Posted by: Meteor Mar 12 2008, 06:23 AM|
|Posted by: Drew Mar 13 2008, 06:06 PM|
| New chapter up.
Chapter 3: Just One of the Guys
4:35 AM: Berkley Apartment Complex
"Why did you come to America?" Jon asked Keisuke while walking through the garage to the elevator. "My dead brother asked me to come here for some kind of training," Keisuke said solemnly, "It was in his last will & testament." "Oh," Jon said, sorry that he brought the subject up, "Well, we'll try to make your stay here somewhat enjoyable. First off, I got to introduce you to my Berkley pals."
The apartment was a relatively well-kept building. "Well," Jon said, grabbing his keys to unlock the door with the numbers '756' on it, "Welcome to our humble abode." Opening the door, Keisuke and Jon walked into a classic bachelor's apartment. The room was filled with the lively music of Joy Division. The walls were covered with random anime posters with everything from Dragonball Z to the Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. The centerpiece of the living room was the large leather couch that had cracks and veins on it. In the kitchen there was a man leaning on the open fridge. Keisuke could smell the pungent odor of 5-week old Chinese sweet & sour chicken. The man grabbed a Duff energy drink and proceeded to sit down with a Super Street magazine in his hands. What really drew Keisuke’s attention however was the 42-inch flat screen with a Playstation 3 hooked up to it. On the couch was a young man of about the same age as Jon. He was playing "Virtua Fighter 5" and turned to see who it was after pausing the game. "Yo Jon," the man said, "Who's this?" "Oh, him?" Jon addressed, "This is Keisuke Takahashi. He's from Japan, and he was in the street race tonight. Chased off a slew of 5-0." "No way," the man said, "Only one I know who was able to lose cops that fast was Comet." "Wait," Keisuke said, "You mean, White Comet, Ryousuke Takahashi?!"
"Holy shit!" Jon said, "You're his brother! Hey Daley, this guy's Comet's younger brother!" "Damn, bra," Daley said, "You gotta teach me some moves!" "I would love to," Keisuke said, "But I don't have a car anymore." "We'll have to get you one, then," a man said in the kitchen, "I knew you had skills when I saw you race. You just weren’t used to the different surface, that’s all. The reservoir is notorious for spinning out the best of ‘em.” “Yeah, I can see,” Keisuke replied, “Who are you?” The man turned around, and Keisuke recognized him as Gene Maglio, the GTO driver. His scrawny build and messy hair were unmistakable along with his height. “Name’s Gene,” he said, “Ryousuke gave me a call before he died; told me you might make a visit.” “How did you two know each other?” Keisuke asked.
“He came here about a year and a half ago as an exchange student from Tokyo U,” Gene replied, grabbing his acoustic guitar off of its stand, “He was in my differential equations class as a sit-in tutor. I was struggling in the class, so I asked him for some help. We ended up being really good friends, and every Saturday, we’d end up racing each other wherever there was some action. When he died, I was expecting you to show up. He planned that you’d eventually have to come over here; it just wasn’t going to be so sudden.” He then began to belt out a Rush song, “I suggest that you head into bed; tomorrow we’ll get you a new car.”
In the bedroom, Keisuke didn’t fall asleep quickly, even though he was awake for 28 hours. “I’ve got to figure out what aniki meant by ‘training’,” he pondered with his hands behind his head on the fold out mattress, “If I don’t, I’ll feel like I’ve been standing still while he keeps getting better.” The person Keisuke was talking about was his bitter rival Takumi Fujiwara, who was given a full-ride into the racing world prematurely. To Keisuke, he felt like he was being underestimated next to such a carefree prodigy like Fujiwara. “I’ve just got to keep soldiering on,” Keisuke said, struggling to fall asleep, “It’s what aniki would want.”
“Come On Down!” the television yelled, “You’re the next contestant on the Price is Right!” “So,” Daley said, grabbing a pop tart from the toaster and heading back to the couch, “What kind of ride is our Japanese racer gonna run?” “Well why don’t you get off of your lazy ass and come over here and help us decide!” Jon said, “We’ve narrowed it down to two, so why don’t you come over here and give us your input.” “We were thinking a Mustang,” Jon said, “Most likely something from ’66 to ’71 with one of those new Alumanator engines and a fully independent suspension and rear-mount transaxle-“
“-or a 5.0-liter model with a centrifugal supercharger and SCCA-legal suspension,” Gene said, “It’s cheaper and it’s a good starter car for Keisuke.”
“The classic looks of the older ‘stang’s better, Gene! People’ll know who he is faster!”
“I personally like the 5.0-liter. It’s got a ton of parts; didja even think of that?”
“You’re such a cheap-ass, Gene. Those engines have to be at least fifteen years old and a pain to work on.”
“And how much is one of those all-aluminum V8s plus the shell you’ll put it into?”
“It’ll be a later add-on, Gene. He’s still not used to that.”
“Aha! You said it! That’s why we should get him the 5.0-liter!”
“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Daley said with bitter sarcasm at the two, “Why don’t you two shut the hell up and let Keisuke decide?” He then sat back down.
“What’s going on?” Keisuke asked. “We’re just deciding on a car for you, Keisuke-san,” Gene said, “Is it okay if I call you that?” “Why wouldn’t it be?” Keisuke replied. “Never mind,” Gene said. “Okay,” Jon said, “We’ve got two here. The sixties body style-“ “Or the more conservative eighties fox-body,” chimed in Gene with the disapproval of Jon. “Let me see both of these,” Keisuke said, grabbing the magazines, “Don’t like either. Y’mind if I show you what I was interested in?” “Sure,” Gene said. Keisuke went back into the living room and came out with the February 2008 issue of Car Craft. The page he had leafed over was one for an article feature on a dark blue 1969 Boss 302. “Ha!” Jon said, “I knew he’d want the classic lines!” “Something like this,” Keisuke said, and then he pulled out another magazine, “With this engine.” It was another Car Craft, but this time, it was an August 2007 Car Craft with a small block 318 Ford that was blown to an insane 700 horsepower. “Take that!” Gene said in Jon’s face, “He likes the 5.0-liter!” “The only thing I want different on this engine is a twin turbo kit that makes the engine put out about 500 horses,” Keisuke said, “Is that okay?” “You want it detuned that much?” Gene said. “Yeah,” Keisuke said, “I’ll start out small and work my way up. These engines are common, right?” “Of course,” Jon said, “We have an old ’93 F150 at the shop that hasn’t ran in five years due to a rear-axle problem. The engine’s still pretty cherry.” “Well I also know a guy selling a slant-six ’69 ‘stang, and we can do that up like a Boss easily,” Gene said, “How’s that sound?” “Sound’s like we’ve got a design,” Keisuke said, “Let’s do it.”
|Posted by: Meteor Mar 13 2008, 07:03 PM|
| Another good update. Should be interesting to see how Keisuke handles a RWD (atleast I think that's what it'll be) starting out with 500 bhp.
Looking forward to the next.
|Posted by: DrIfTeRX305 Mar 13 2008, 07:16 PM|
Not to mention the torque.
|Posted by: Drew Mar 13 2008, 08:17 PM|
| Another clue to intrigue you all!
Oughtta be a dead giveaway to the bounty hunter in question thx712517.
Also, for next chapteh, think green, but still mean.
|Posted by: jpn6438 Mar 14 2008, 07:09 AM|
|I'm trying to picture Keisuke in an American Muscle.|
|Posted by: Drew Mar 16 2008, 03:13 PM|
| Chapter 4 finished!
Chapter 4: Tesla
Next day 8:30 AM: Long Beach Auto Maintenance
“Yo Jon,” Gene said underneath the rusted-out 1969 Mustang, “Hand me a 9/16”, will ya?” Jon, who was currently working on stripping the gaskets from the engine block, went to his battered black tool chest in the corner of the old garage and grabbed a socket. “Here,” he said, throwing it sloppily to Gene; almost hitting him in the head. “Shit!” he yelled, swinging his cart out of the way, “Be careful with that, man!” “Sorry,” Jon said.
“What the hell was that?” Keisuke said, lifting his head from the computer. “Nothing,” Jon said, “Anyway, when do you want this to be finished?” “As soon as possible,” Keisuke replied, “At the latest, about one to two weeks.” “Pretty ambitious,” Gene said, “Well, this calls for some bulk caffeine for the next few nights. Why don’t you take Jon’s stang and head over to the Seven-Eleven and buy us all some Monsters.” “Okay,” Keisuke said, “Anything else?” “Yeah,” Jon said, “I ordered the turbo kit and since your deadline’s so soon, would you mind picking it up in Oregon?” “Where is it in Oregon? Just give me the address, and I’ll head up there.”
10:00 AM: US Highway 101; somewhere near San Francisco
The red Mustang cruised down the highway at a leisurely pace. “This road’s amazing,” Keisuke said, swinging the wheel to the right to take the sharp turn, “If this is what most scenic routes are like in the United States, I won’t want to leave.” The Ford carried its passenger to the destination, of which the two arrived at about 6:00 PM.
8:30 PM: Highway 101; Oregon
With the turbines in the back along with the intercooler, Keisuke started his ride home. “That’s a relief,” Keisuke said to himself, getting off the phone, “They got the body all stripped and primered and the suspension just got installed. I never expected that they’d be this fast. Hopefully it’ll be finished in a few days.” As the fastback purred along, a set of lights came out of the darkness that seemed to be closing in on Keisuke. The road was pretty much deserted with the exception of Keisuke and this driver. As they came out of a sweeping left, the car flashed his high beams at Keisuke. “Does he,” Keisuke pondered, ”want to pass me? Well, try if you can. You’re too small to be a Crown Vic, so you can’t be a cop.” He then slammed the gas pedal to the floorboard, and let the bored-and-stroked 390 roar like a monster. The two began their battle into the night.
Every turn seemed to be risky as hell, since this section of 101 was on the coastline. As the battle raged on, Keisuke’s opponent kept getting closer. “What is this guy doing?” He thought, looking at the rearview mirror as they took a hard left, “It’s like he’s not even trying!” As Keisuke looked at the gauges, he noticed that his fuel was almost out. “Dammit!” Keisuke said, “I’m almost out!” He then let off the gas, and let his opponent pass him. The car passed with no sound except for rushing wind. “What the-“ Keisuke said, “What is he running?” The car that passed him was about the size of a Honda Fit, with a body like that of an Elise. As he got behind it, he saw the New Jersey plates with “TESLA1” on it. The car was also badged as a Tesla Roadster. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Keisuke said as he saw the silent lights go around the next turn seemingly into oblivion, “A Tesla?”
One Week later; 10:00 AM
In the garage, the sound of a revving hi-output V8 screamed with the sound of a blow-off valve following not more than a millisecond after. “Well,” Jon said, closing the bright blue hood of the Mustang. Its final iteration was a classic Boss 302 on the outside, but with the heart of a monster and the grip of a late-model sports car. “All that needs to be done now is a test & tune. How does Highway 101 sound Keisuke?” “There?” Keisuke said, having visions of the Tesla stealthily speeding past his loaner Mustang, “Why not? Anyway, how much do I owe you?” “On the house,” Gene said, “Your brother paid for all of it in advance when he came here last.” “Hmm,” Keisuke wondered, “He really planned this shit out. I wonder what he had in store for Takumi?”
Diner on Highway 101; near San Francisco
“So Bean,” the young, lean man with the scraggly hair and in the flannel shirt said to the massive mercenary, “How do ya think of its performance?” “It’s different,” Bean said, stroking his massive chin and then taking another sip of his Miller Lite, “Not as good as my L88 ‘Vette, however. To be honest, Dru, it’s a weird car to drive.” “Why?” Dru said, looking out the window of the diner at the small silver car, “Not used to the shitloads of torque?” “It ain’t that,” Bean said, taking off his sunglasses, “It’s just that I was able to keep up with a highly tuned Mustang driven by some really tough-ass driver without me even trying, that wa until he was outta gas. It drove like it was on rails.” “Well it was built atop of a Lotus platform,” Dru said, taking a sip of his root beer, “Let’s see, how about next time I come to Detroit or Chi-town, I’ll race you in my ’76 turbo Cosworth-powered Spitfire. How’s that sound?” “You actually got that shit finished?” Bean said. “Yep,” Dru replied with a snide grin coming over his face, “All 500+ horses of British Steel.” “You’re nuts, Dru” Bean said, “Just nuts to be even thinking of having that much horsepower in a lil’ British roadster like that.” “Why thanks, Bean,” Dru said as they continued to eat breakfast.
|Posted by: Meteor Mar 17 2008, 01:11 AM|
| Getting better and better. And Keisuke's new car is nearly completed.
And already we get a glimpse of another interesting vehicle (make that two).
|Posted by: Drew Mar 21 2008, 06:25 PM|
| New chappy, everyone!
Hmm...I wonder who the 180 driver reminds me of? *cough* cool version of mahself *cough*
Chapter 5: Irwindale Chance Meeting
7:00 PM; Irwindale Raceway
“Well, well, well,” the announcer said over the PA from the broadcast booth, “It looks like Keisuke Takahashi, AKA Case-K has been tearing it up at tonight’s amateur drift battle!” The blue Boss 302 swung to the banking, drifting hard on the slope with tire particle and the smoke from burnt rubber mixing with the sounds of a high-rev V8. The car then swung to the right and headed infield. “Perfect angle from that Boss Mustang!” yelled the announcer, “And he also scrapes the clipping point, too! Case-K’s on a roll tonight ladies and gents! Top ten material for sure!”
It was already two weeks after the build was finished, and for the first five days, Keisuke searched up and down Highway 101 for the fabled Tesla roadster that had an unfinished battle with the Red Suns member. He asked anyone in the vicinity about the car. He got the same response from everyone he talked to; they had no idea that a race happened on Highway 101. It was such commonplace, that the locals in the area just assumed it another bunch of punks, and headed back to sleep hoping for a cop in the area to nab the youngsters.
It was utterly hopeless until Keisuke mentioned the fabled battle to Jon Benson, the man whom Keisuke borrowed the Mustang from that night. “Oh that guy,” Jon said at the shop while working on his ‘66, “I’ve heard of him. Drives a Tesla Roadster. Apparently he’s not that good in that specific car; his best ride is a Triumph Spitfire. Now either he had someone else in the car driving, or you just suck.” “Well, thanks for having confidence in me,” Keisuke said with sarcasm, “Maybe it was the car.” “Yeah right,” Jon said, going back under the Mustang, “I’ve heard he runs every Saturday night at the Irwindale amateur night as a drifter. If he doesn’t have the Tesla, look for him in a beat-up old Nissan 240SX-or a 180SX to you.” “Thanks,” Keisuke said, “You know his name?” “Dru Boelyn,” Jon said, “Remember; beat old 180SX. I think he runs a RB25 under the hood.”
“Where is he?” Keisuke said, pulling into the pit area, “He said a white 180SX would be here, but there’s gotta be hundreds! Dammit, I need to find that Tesla’s owner!” “Oh, is that?” the announcer yelled, “Aww yeah, get ready for some serious smoke, because here comes DBX; AKA Joisey’s own Drew Boelyn and that ratty old 180!!” “It’s him!” Keisuke said, looking back at the track.
“Okay, so the limit of x squared plus five over three x as x approaches infinity is indeterminable,” the driver thought to himself, “Hey, this is starting to get easier. Wait, did I go to Subway twice yesterday?” The white 180SX flew through the bank hitting the clipping point ever so slightly with the rear bumper. “Whoa! My favorite song!” the driver said, turning up the radio and simultaneously flicking the Sparco wheel to the right, “I haven’t heard ‘Low Rider’ in ages, dude!” The crowd was standing up at this point, cheering on the white 180SX. A few screaming girls had a banner up that said in bright green
to the eXtreme
We Love You Dru!”
“Here he comes,” Keisuke said while intently watching the 180SX go by, “What should I do?” The beat Nissan stopped right after the Boss 302. The door opened and the driver stepped out. He couldn’t have been older than eighteen. His brown hair was down to his shoulders, and he wore a yellow flannel shirt over a Shelby T-shirt. His eyes were focused hard on the Boss. “Damn!” he said, whistling, “Haven’t seen one this clean in a looooong time!” Further inspecting the body, he found particles of tire in the front wheel well. “He must’ve been drifting!” the young man said as if pointing out that someone was murdered with a knife after seeing the blade in the man’s heart.
“Ahem,” Keisuke said, and then the white 180 driver looked up, “You don’t happen to own a Tesla roadster, do you?” “As a matter of fact,” the driver said, scratching his head, “I do. Why? Do you need to know the dealer’s name from where I bought it?” “No,” Keisuke said, with the fire of competition burning in his eyes, “I want to race you.” “Well,” the driver said, “I don’t street race, my good man, and this is just my drift car. Name’s Dru Boelyn, and the guy who drove my Tesla that you encountered was my good wheelman friend and mentor, Road Buster. If you really want to see my potential, race me in a month when I have my Spitfire done. I’ll wait for you in Jersey. He then got into his 180SX and drove away, still smiling and all as War’s “Low Rider” played.
“The nerve of that brat!” Keisuke said, “Such a cocky bastard, that Dru. Yet he reminds me of Takumi-san with his lax attitude.” “Excuse me, young man,” an older long-haired gentleman in a worn leather jacket whom reminded Keisuke of David Carradine of “Kill Bill”/”Kung-Fu” fame, “Are you Keisuke Takahashi?” “Yeah, why?” “I have a proposition for you,” the man said, “Just meet me at this address tomorrow at eight AM, and I’ll set you up with free gas for six weeks. You have real talent; I’d like to see your true potential.” “What’s in it for me?” Keisuke asked. “How about a free ride to Chicago. There’s a man there that may help you learn how to drive better. I could throw a good word to him about your skill if you give me your all. I’ll also throw in six weeks of free gas like I said.” “I am short on cash,” Keisuke thought, “I can’t really do anything else here in the city; everyone here’s been beaten anyway.” “Meet me at the address given on my card tomorrow at exactly 8 AM if you are interested. If not, this conversation never happened to me or you.” He then disappeared into the Irwindale parking lot.
“That was odd,” Keisuke said, looking at the card, “I wonder where he’s located?” The card simply read
Nevada Storage Garage 35
N. Las Vegas, NV
8:00 AM Sharp!
“What the hell?” Keisuke said, “I guess it’s worth checking out, however.” After he collected his winnings of $1000, he headed back to the apartment.
At 4:00 AM next morning he said his goodbyes and told his new friends that he was going to keep in contact. Before leaving, Gene took Keisuke aside to talk to him. “I don’t know about this guy,” he said in the kitchen, “Seems kind of seedy.” “Right now, I’m low on cash,” Keisuke said, “And I really need the money, so I have to do this.” “What’ll he pay you?” Gene said. “He said he’d let me in with a driver who knows more than I do,” Keisuke said, “Plus six weeks of free gas.” “Just remember Keisuke-san,” Gene said, patting Keisuke on the back, “If you get in trouble, give me a call; I’ll try to help you. I’m one of those guys with ‘connections’.” “Got ya,” Keisuke said, “See you guys later!” And with that, he was on his way to Las Vegas.
7:30 AM, Somewhere Outside Las Vegas
“Uh, hi,” Keisuke said to the gas station attendant, “Do you know where ‘Nevada Storage’ is?” “That’s funny there, yes’m,” the wrinkly old gas station owner said, smoking a cigarette, “Y’all usually wanna go te see dose big-ass casinos; Now dere’s a sin against the world, y’know, just by goin’ into dose places, yep.” Keisuke sighed and brought his hand to his face in frustration, “Could you please just tell me how to get there?” Keisuke said, waiting for an answer from the man. “Uh-huh,” he said, “Right down the road here. Y’all have a nice day, now!”
The grabber blue Mustang pulled up to the 35th Garage at 7:45 AM. “15 minutes to spare,” Keisuke said, “Now where the hell is he?” He turned around as the garage door opened. “Alright, kid,” the man from the other night said, “You showed. Now if anyone else comes, we can get this race underway.” “Race?” Keisuke thought, and then he saw it; a low black Dodge Charger on a set of Foose rims. “This is my Hemi Charger. We’ll run in the Route 66 race of a lifetime.” “I see,” Keisuke said with interest, “It’ a highway battle.”
|Posted by: Meteor Mar 21 2008, 07:11 PM|
| Another awesome chapter from you.
Getting even more interesting. Time to see how the Hemi Charger and the FD-errr-Boss Mustang will do on Route 66.
|Posted by: Rudy Mar 24 2008, 12:39 PM|
| Here's to hoping that it's a 2005+ Charger HEMI 350.
(Also, pay attention to my thread! >.>)
|Posted by: Drew Mar 24 2008, 07:09 PM|
| New chapter!
Chapter 6: Two-Lane Blacktop
Nevada Storage: 7:50 AM
“What are the terms for this race?” Keisuke asked. “Race all out from 8:00 AM to 8:00 PM,” the man said, “Stop only to fill your tank up and eat. Oh, and sorry for the delayed introduction. My real name’s not important, but my handle’s ‘The Man’.” “Handle?” Keisuke wondered, “You mean like a CB radio?” “That’s exactly what I mean, my boy,” ‘The Man’ stated, “If ya don’t have one, I do have a spare here.” He walked into the garage and pulled out an old 1970’s CB radio. “Let’s see,” ‘The Man’ said, “You’re handle would probably be somethin’ like ‘Banzai Boss’. How does that sound, kiddo?” “I’m fine,” Keisuke said, “I don’t think a CB handle would be best for me anyway.” “Okay, suit yourself,” The Man said, “How’s about we get this race underway?” “Sounds good to me,” Keisuke replied.
Just before getting into their cars, a aqua-blue 1968 Corvette pulled up, with its massive aluminum 427 LS7 rumbling. The door opened, and a large man in a leather jacket stepped out. His headband was tied around a head full of hair. His chin was also like a rock. “Am I late, gents?” he said, “It’s only 7:56 AM, so I guess I’m early.” “And who are you?” Keisuke asked. “Road Buster,” the man said, taking off his shades, “And who the hell are you?” “Takahashi Keisuke,” Keisuke said, “Nice to meet you.”
“The finish line is the Chicago fairgrounds arena,” ‘The Man’ stated, checking his car at the gate of the storage area, “Route 66 is the best route for the majority of the race, but you can improvise. First one there gets $100 grand. Do it in less than 72 hours, and that amount’s doubled. Second and third get nothing. Also, try not to get caught.” “Got ya,” both of the other drivers said. “As soon as the light changes, head on to Chi-town like a bat outta hell.”
The light was about to change. The sound of the massive V8s seemed to deafen anyone near the cars. “I can do this,” Keisuke said, “I am a RedSun! RedSuns never back down! Never!” The light changed. The three cars kicked up dust as the rear tires began to spin. The Charger, with its wide meats, swung off towards the highway, running every red light he hit and endangering others; The Man was off, along with the other two.
“Turn right in 500 yards,” the dash-mounted GPS said to Keisuke. He was currently going 110 on rough urban streets, weaving in and out of traffic like a boxer would when repeated jabs come at him in the heat of a title match. “This is nuts!” Keisuke said, slamming his brakes to avoid hitting a LeSabre that was going to slow in front of him, “So much damned traffic!” As he turned onto the next road, the GPS showed that he was on Route 66. “And now is where we begin!” Keisuke exalted, shifting into 5th and slamming himself into the black leather seats at over 150 miles per hour.
All of a sudden, The Man’s Charger came flying up onto his rear end. “He wants to pass, huh?” Keisuke said, “No way he’ll do that!” Keisuke then swung the Mustang around a semi-truck. The other lane had an SUV in it, blocking the Charger’s only way around him. He was behind Keisuke, but not for long. Unbeknownst to Keisuke, the Dodge was just driving at a cruising pace in the Boss’s slipstream, ready to strike on the uneducated highway racer. However, a blue Chevrolet was screaming towards both of the cars at an alarming rate.
“Road Buster!” The Man said looking in the rearview, “ How the hell did he catch up so fast?!” The blue Corvette passed the two cars with no struggle after they all passed the semi. It then rocketed with an infinite acceleration into oblivion. Keisuke, who just witnessed this lightning-quick pass, saw the ‘vette slam on the brakes, as if he saw a cop. He did.
“We’ve got a speeder in a blue Corvette. Seems to be in a street race with two other cars.”
“What is the license plate number on the Corvette?”
“That man is on the most-wanted list! Get everyone in the area on him!!”
The cop car exploded out to chase the blue Corvette. The Dodge Charger’s red and blue lights shown as the siren roared. A little further up, three more cars joined in on the pursuit. “I gotta get outta here!” Keisuke said, “If I get caught, they can ID me and I’ll be in deep shit then!” He turned on his turn signal to get over to the exit ramp. As soon as he saw the exit ramp, he slammed on his brakes. Going through the quarter of the cloverleaf, the back end broke out, sending a plume of white smoke and tires behind the ‘stang. With Keisuke’s skill, however, it wasn’t hard to flick the car back to a straight line.
After getting off 66, Keisuke pulled into a diner in the middle of nowhere to get away from the race. The only other cars in the lot were a Geo Metro, two Semi trucks, and another blue Mustang. Right behind him was The Man in his Charger. “f**ked!” Keisuke yelled to The Man, “We’re f**ked this time for sure!” “Don’t worry about it, Keisuke,” The Man said, “Those cops were too focused on Road buster’s ‘vette to even notice us.” “Why?’ Keisuke asked as they walked into the diner. “Road Buster apparently was wrongly convicted of terrorism,” The Man said, “It happened in San Fran about a week ago. He was making a delivery to the Haight-Ashbury district in a bombed car. As soon as he got far enough, the bomb was detonated, killing 35 people. Road Buster said that he had no idea that the car was hot with an IED.” “Shit,” Keisuke said, drinking his coffee, “So he’s a wanted man, huh?”
“Well,” The Man said, “You’re in some hot water with the law, too. You did break into a San Diego boatyard and steal a race car.” “So?” Keisuke said. “Hold up,” a woman in the next stall said, “How do you know Road Buster?” “Who’re you?” Keisuke said. “Name’s Rally Vincent,” a young tan woman with short jet-black hair and a business suit said, standing up with a Desert Eagle pistol pointed at a man across the diner, “I’ll talk to you in a few, but first I got some business to take care of.”
|Posted by: Meteor Mar 25 2008, 01:02 AM|
| And the plot thickens. Rally Vincent sure made quite an entrance, and so did Road Buster.
The race was quite well written.
I'll be waiting for the next addition to this awesome fic.
|Posted by: DrIfTeRX305 Mar 25 2008, 05:31 AM|
|I don't know if you meant it or not, but those handle names made me laugh.|
|Posted by: red comet 7 Mar 30 2008, 10:41 AM|
| finally had the chance to catch up on a fan fic or two. lol, taking break from my own for a little bit.
and man at some points i have a hard time reading this because the dialouge sounds so close to how the rednecks talk here in southern alabama.
For instance one asked me other day about my FC....
"This you're car?"
"What kinda motor you got in this thang? a damn Four Banger?"
"YOU GOTTA V8 IN THIS SOM b*tch?!?"
"Well den what da Hell you got in this thang?!!?"
"A rotary, 13BT"
"Rotary?!?(Laung Pause from the redneck of frustrated confusion)
f**k dat sheeiiit just slap a 350 in that some b*tch, f**k all that rotissere shit!"
only thing a redneck knows is V8 and go straight.
|Posted by: Drew Apr 2 2008, 12:54 PM|
Allow me to explain; I live in a hicktown, so I grow up around those types of people. My speech is nothing like it is in the story, but I try to make the dialouge sound as close to the speech in my native area.
And here's the next chappy!
Chapter 7: Lone Justice
“Geoff Martin!” The young woman said, holding her piece with two hands, “Give up. You’ve got a significantly large $30,000 bounty on your head for drug dealing in Phoenix. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Come with me, and I’ll try to give you some mercy.” “Shut the f*ck up, ya bounty-hunter b*tch!” Geoff said, drawing his 9 mm Beretta “I ain’t goin’ with the likes of you!” “Okay then,” Rally said, “I guess it’ll be the hard way.” The Desert Eagle went off right in Keisuke’s ear. Looking over, Keisuke saw that the magazine was shot right out of the gun. “Holy-“ Keisuke said, not sure about what he just saw.
“I-I give up,” Geoff said, as Rally walked over to him with her gun still drawn on him. As soon as she was five feet away from him, a discharge went off from the dealer’s jacket pocket. It hit Rally right in the right leg, knocking her down. She was bleeding, but not badly. “Like that, b*tch?” the dealer said, “small concealed deal. Now I’ll kill ya with my hands” “You bastard!” Rally said, writhing in pain from just talking, “If Road Buster was here, you’d be dead!” “I gotta help her!” Keisuke thought, grabbing the gun he was given in his jacket.
“Hey dick!” Keisuke said, “You want to kill her? Well ya have to go through me to do so. Since you’ve used your last defense, why don’t we go mono-e-mono?” “No weapons?” the dealer asked. “Just the way I like it,” Keisuke said, “Do ya know that I do have Yakuza ties, and if you kill me, the entire Japanese Mafia’ll be on your sorry ass.” “Shut the f*ck up and let’s dance!” the dealer said, pulling out a butterfly knife. Keisuke then shot him right in the left kneecap. After shooting him, he then smacked the dealer upside the head with his piece, seemingly KO’ing him. “That’ll teach you to mess with Yakuza,” Keisuke said, spitting on the man.
“I’m surprised you hit the guy,” Rally said, getting up in pain, “And where did you get a Luger?” She was referencing to Keisuke’s weapon that had been given to him by his deceased brother. “You can’t move,” Keisuke said, “We’ll bandage you up and get you to a hospital.” “I’m fine,” Rally said, standing up, “Really, I’ve been shot before.” “Oh, well sorry for showing some compassion,” Keisuke said. “I’ll remember not to shoot the drug dealer when someone’s in need of help!” “Well, I gotta call the cops,” Rally said, “So I can collect my bounty.” “What bounty?” The Man said, “Your man left going east on 66 in your Shelby!” “No!” Rally said, in panic, “Not my GT500! That bastard!” “Get in my car!” Keisuke said, grabbing Rally’s arm and heading out to his car. “I’ll drive, you shoot.” “I can do both fine, thank you!” Rally said in frustration. “You can’t accelerate nearly as well as I can,” Keisuke said, “Just trust me on this, okay?” “Yeah,” Rally replied, trusting in this strange Japanese savior with a Boss 302.
“Do you have any way to track the car?” Keisuke asked, turning over the 500-horse supercharged pushrod V8. “I had a homing device installed that allows me to track it if its stolen,” She replied, bandaging her leg up with Keisuke’s first aid kit. She then grabbed her cell phone and pressed a few buttons. A map came up, and it showed two dots on a GPS roadmap; one was a green dot, while the other one was white. The white one (Rally’s GT500) was heading at a frantic pace eastbound on the fabled highway. “Alright!” Rally said, loading her gun with more bullets “He’s still heading eastbound!” “Well then,” Keisuke said, upshifting and disengaging the clutch, “Let’s go!” The two were slammed into the leather-covered buckets at a seemingly infinite explosive pace.
“Amazing acceleration, um,” Rally said, grabbing the “oh shit” handle, not sure who was piloting the Boss, “What’s your name?” “Takahashi Keisuke of Akagi’s RedSuns in Japan,” Keisuke said, “Now let me show you how a Japanese hashiriya drives!” As the road continued eastward, it twisted through the mountains. Keisuke swung the big Mustang through the turns, coming within inches of vertical cliff-faces, guardrail, or steep canyon drops. “Your skill’s amazing,” Rally said. “Where is he?” Keisuke said. “We should be seeing him as soon as we crest the mountain,” Rally stated, excited because of this Takahashi kid and worried for her GT500.
“Get ready,” Keisuke said, “Because we’ve got a switchback section coming up!” Rally brought her Desert Eagle up, waiting to shoot out the tires on her Mustang. “He’s right below us,” she said, looking at her phone, “Two switchbacks down!” “Then let’s make it one, shall we?” Keisuke said, waiting until the last minute to smash the brake pedal down and swing the angry Ford through the mountain turns. The engine screamed in furious harmony with the echoing canyon walls as the 10-inch wide rear tires kicked up smoke. Up ahead were the wide tail lamps of a certain Shelby Mustang. “Now try to hold it steady, Keisuke!” Rally said, as she rolled down the window and leaned out to get a clear shot. A bang went off, and the rear tire of the GT500 exploded. The Shelby began to spin dangerously close to the canyon drop, but it stopped right before falling down into the abyss. “Cover me,” Rally said, as she went over to the GT500. Luckiy for both of them, the dealer was too busy shaking in fear from Keisuke’s driving skill. “It’s like a ghost,” the dealer said, shaking, “He just came up on me like a ghost!” “Well,” Rally said, “How about you and I split the bounty? I usually don’t do that, but what the hell; you saved my ass back there along with my GT500!” “Actually,” Keisuke said, thinking of his own criminal record, “I got a better idea…”
|Posted by: ?wha? Apr 2 2008, 11:49 PM|
| ....aaaand Keisuke goes 15 grand up I wonder where it goes from here, seeing that Keisuke's got a bounty hunter who may go after his ass for his gone-in-60-seconds stunt ..
|Posted by: Meteor Apr 3 2008, 01:37 AM|
| Another epic update to the fic. That's all that needs to be said.
And I wonder what this better idea is that Keisuke's thought up.
|Posted by: Drew Apr 8 2008, 06:50 AM|
| Well, todayI'm off from class, so now I can post up the next exciting installment in my series; hope you enjoy it.
Chapter 8: Welcome to Chi-Town
3:00 PM; Small-town Police Station, Somewhere on Route 66
Keisuke walked out of the small station a free man. After helping the bounty hunter Rally Vincent catch a drug dealer, he was given a full pardon for his actions in San Diego. Rally even offered to help Keisuke out if he beat the Road Buster in the three-car road rally. “What’ll you help me with, Rally” Keisuke asked the young woman who was sitting on the hood of her super-expensive GT500. “I know people who could help you tune that car to your driving style,” Rally said patting the hood of the blue muscle car, “They helped me with my Shelby here. They’d love to help a true racer like you. I’m not interested in street racers’ bounties; it’s not enough money nowadays to even pay for the gas and ammo.” “Well that’s a relief,” Keisuke said, getting into his Mustang, “I’ll see you in Chicago, then.” “Got ya,” Rally said while getting into her car, “I’ll see you there.”
* * *
3:30 PM; 20 miles south of Route 66
“Shit!” Road Buster said, swinging his blue ‘Vette around the curve and into the alleyway as the left front rim sparked from an encounter with the always-unfriendly tire spike; he was now forced to keep the car turning left in order to keep his speed up, “I’m way too far to even be near Route 66! Even if I lost all these cops, there’s jack-shit near here for me to get a fill up. I could run my full-size spare, that ain’t a problem; it’s just gas,” The blue Chevrolet took another left, breaking grip from the rear of the car and causing it to spin out.
“Goddammit!” he said, slamming his foot down on the gas, playing chicken with the cops. The road itself was a narrow alleyway between an old movie theater and a burned-down warehouse. Switching on his high-beams, the two remaining cop cars swung to the left and right. One ran through the old theater, bring a wall down on him, and the other hit a pile of rubble, causing the Crown Victoria to barrel roll thirty-so feet into a pile of cardboard boxes. “Now,” Road Buster said, lighting up a cigarette, “Let’s find a gas station and get back onto Route 66!”
* * *
8 hours later; West Texas; Route 66
The blue mustang streaked across the desert like a ghost. The needle on the speedometer was pinned on 160 mph, but Keisuke knew that he was way past that speed. The radar that he had picked up from a small flea market on 66 hadn’t shown a single cop car’s radio in over three hours. “He’s gotta be out there,” Keisuke said, headlights shining into a seemingly endless oblivion known as the desert, “Where are you?” While Keisuke was pondering this, the car he was looking for showed up. The unmistakable rear tail lamps of a ’71 Charger now dissipated red light into the cabin of Keisuke’s car. This was going to be it; according to his GPS, Keisuke was now only about 300 miles away from Chicago. In front of the Charger, however, was the Corvette of Road Buster. “Let’s go!” Keisuke said, opening up the glove box and flipping a switch that armed the nitrous oxide bottles on his car.
The three sped through the night at over 180 miles-per-hour; the lead switched constantly as the three cars were locked in fervent battle for first place. As they battled, a hard right approached them, but only one knew that it was approaching; while in the lead, Keisuke let off the gas at a point, and the two cars sped past him. He then precisely put on the brakes, and swung it through the turns as the other two screeched to a near stop, just noticing the turn. Keisuke now had the advantage as they neared this section of the road; this was a curvy section of road. “You guys have nothing on me, now!” Keisuke said, heel-toeing the Mustang around a tight bend, “This is my turf!” As the Mustang continued to ascend and descend the hilly roads, he slowly lost his two pursuers in the tight turns. About twenty minutes into the twisties, roadside signs started showing up for Chicago. The finish line was another eight hours away, but the signs were starting to redirect the drivers towards their ultimate destination of Chicago.
6:00 AM: West Texas Gas station.
The three started up again the next morning from a small gas station that appeared just fifty miles past the canyon run. After the previous night’s battle royal, Keisuke was the victor, coming out of the pass an amazing four minutes ahead of Road Buster and The Man. For the next 800 miles, the three cars blasted up the fabled highway into the Midwest’s Great Plains. As they flew past farms and fields in their hopped-up hot rods, Keisuke was doing something behind the wheel of his car that he hadn’t done in a while; he was enjoying the subtleties of a summer’s day going by at 175 mph. “This is amazing,” Keisuke said to himself, “These roads, they aren’t like the touge or the highways. I’m feeling relaxed even though I am doing near 200 miles per hour.” While he was appreciating the scenery, he didn’t realize that Road Buster’s ‘vette was in his slipstream, getting ready to jet past him. “Dammit!” Keisuke said, seeing the blue sports car fly past him, “There goes the relaxation.”
As the day progressed, the three battled on steadily until the last 100 miles, in which they began to see suburban homes come into view. “Now,” Keisuke said, reaching for his GPS, “Let’s find a faster way to the fairgrounds, shall we?” He was on a pretty direct route to the fairgrounds, but after Route 66 ended, there was still another fifteen miles of inner city driving to get to the fairgrounds. According to his digital navigator, he was on a route that would take him over 3 hours due to the inner city traffic. He re-programmed it to find the fastest way around the traffic. “This’ll be tough,” Keisuke said, “But it’s worth a shot.” The LCD screen now displayed a time of 2 hours, 32 minutes to the destination.
“What is that crazy kid doing?” The Man said, as Keisuke broke from the pack. He was flying off-course according to The Man. Road Buster, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was doing as he drafted behind The Man. “He’s got a GPS,” he said, “and it’s programmed for the least congested route. He’s using that to his advantage, obviously not relying on instinct. I’ll just keep heading down my route, and dodge as much traffic as I can. I’ll definitely kick his ass!” The blue C3 swung out of the Mopar’s slipstream and passed him like he did many times before.
11:00 AM; Suburban Chicago
The blue Corvette exploded down the street, plowing through red lights with close calls that ranged from hitting a subcompact to being broadsided by an eighteen-wheeler. Luckily enough, its driver avoided each with the skill of an experienced criminal wheelman. On another suburban street, Keisuke drifted around a sharp corner, barely missing a light post. The tires were worn and now the only thing Keisuke could do to salvage them was to drift around every sharp corner he came to. “When aniki told me of conserving my tires back when I began,” Keisuke thought to himself, getting back on the throttle, “I don’t think he’d ever expect me to conserve them for this amount of distance. Right now, it’s impossible to grip a corner at a faster speed. I’m just glad that the torque in this engine can allow me to snap the rear end out with ease.”
As Keisuke headed into the city towards the fairgrounds, he passed by Wrigley Field, the home of the Cubs. He took a right at the first turn after the fabled field, nearly taking out a motorcyclist with the rear end of his Mustang. “This is getting too dangerous,” he said, “I’ve got to finish this quickly and without further incident. Swinging around the next turn, he came across the Dearborn River, and to the horrors of Keisuke, there was a boat coming through the narrow waterway. Due to this, the bridges were beginning to open further down the river. Keisuke’s bridge was just beginning to open. “Shit” Keisuke thought, slamming the brakes and banging his fists on the wheel in anger over the possible loss he was faced with, “this is just great!” He looked at his GPS, hoping for a batter route, but he was in a straight 5-mile line to the fairgrounds. “Well, I guess some Dukes of Hazzard shit is worth the risk if I land straight,” Keisuke said, plowing his foot At that, he gunned the supercharged 318 cubic inch V8, and held on as the car either headed towards victory or defeat over the drawbridge.
|Posted by: Meteor Apr 8 2008, 09:34 AM|
| A cliffhanger? You evil, evil, evil, person.
Another sweet chapter. Keep it up!
|Posted by: Drew Apr 8 2008, 04:27 PM|
Yeas I am.
And I should mention, that the second half is coming up soon.
|Posted by: Drew Apr 12 2008, 04:40 PM|
| OMFG! Doube postozors!
This is a short chapter, but it gives the story a kind of a conclusion for the first half.
And JZX100, if you haven't checked your messages, yes, I'd like to do the fic compilation. Just check your messages for details.
Chapter 9: Drag
The blue Mustang hit the ramp’s crossing signal, losing its front bumper. On the ramp, Keisuke felt like an eternity was passing while waiting for the ground to be under the tires. That eventually happened, and the car’s revs dropped for a second as Keisuke flew over the traffic. As he began his descent, Keisuke was beginning to brace for impact as people on the ground ran for cover at the chance raining of a single Boss 302 coming down from the sky.
The car landed slightly pointing downward. The shock of the hit, of which Keisuke took easily, had knocked a few things loose in the front suspension. As Keisuke attempted to regain control, he saw Road Buster’s ‘Vette followed by The Man’s Charger cross over the just closed bridge. Keisuke did regain control, but had now lost nearly all his momentum. “Thank god that the rest of the way’s a straight line,” Keisuke said, as he slammed on the gas. Dodging traffic, Keisuke realized how hurt his car was. “f**k!” Keisuke yelled, slamming the car’s shifter into the fourth gear slot, “I’ve gotta stop.”
As he stopped, the other two had just come into view. Road Buster was the first to see Keisuke outside of his Mustang. “His car’s hurting,” Road Buster thought, seeing ahead of him that the traffic was almost impenetrable due to Keisuke’s stunt, “I can’t get past this traffic, so why the hell not.” The Man had the same idea, and the three pulled over to the side of the road to debate what they had to do.
“We can’t just wait here for the cops to come, dammit!” The Man said, “I’m saying we go up to the last light at the speed limit, and then we drag race the last half mile. How’s that sound?” “Sounds good,” Road Buster said, “Do you think your car can make it?” “It still handles well in a straight,” Keisuke said, “It’s just that when I turn at high speeds, it easily loses control. I probably bent the sway bar along with smacking the entire front end out of alignment.” “So its settled,” The Man said, “The finale will be a half-mile drag into the fairgrounds. Let’s go gentlemen, before the cops show.”
* * *
All three cars were lined up with the fairgrounds’ amusement attractions in view. The engines roared, making the massive bodies shake from the torque. As the perpendicular light turned yellow, all three began revving their engines up to a steady RPM, waiting to unleash the power by removing their feet from their clutches. As soon as the light turned green, the three muscle cars exploded off the line in the same fashion as they did about 2000 miles ago in Las Vegas. They accelerated with an exponentially increasing power, all three jockeying for position. At the quarter mile mark, all three were doing over 110 miles an hour.
Keisuke was looking to the side, getting ready to trigger the nitrous bottles in his trunk. “Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it,” Keisuke hit the button, and the whoosh of the nitrous oxide caused the V8 to rev up to a new level. He passed by the two cars. For both the Charger and the Vette, it was too late; the win was now Keisuke’s victory as he flew past the gates of the carnival’s parking lot. He then slammed on the brakes, spinning the Mustang out.
Keisuke put his sweat-stained head on the wheel, both tired and excited over his last-minute victory. “I did it,” he said, as the local fans were crowding the victorious Mustang. “Ladies and Gents,” the announcer said, “We have our winner! The young and insane Japanese Good Ol’ Boy, Keisuke Takahashi!” The crowd roared. Keisuke came out of the car tired and weary, with the fans greeting him and giving him their congratulations. It was finally over, but this wasn’t the end of Keisuke’s journey….
_____Part One Conclusion___________________________________________
|Posted by: Meteor Apr 12 2008, 05:27 PM|
| Epic end to epic race.
Looking forward to the next
|Posted by: pnoytecknix Apr 12 2008, 09:32 PM|
|awesome update... cant wait to see what happens to keisuke next|
|Posted by: Drew Apr 15 2008, 05:54 PM|
| Oh thnap, its time for teh new chap!
Chapter 10: Gunsmith Cats
2:00 PM; Sears Point Raceway; two weeks later
The crowd turned their heads towards the entrance of the track as a increasing din was approaching. Out of the pits, there were four cars all done up with all the regulation-based equipment for the local club racing teams. A white Mazda Miata pulled up next to a red FC RX7. Behind those two came a blue Boss Mustang and a bright yellow Formula Trans Am. All four lined up at the starting brackets; they were ready to begin the five-lap amateur race.
“So which one’s this ‘Keisuke’?” a young man in the grandstands wearing a Phillies hat asked, drinking his Sobe Pina Colada. “The guy in the blue Boss Mustang,” Road Buster said next to him, “He runs one helluva race. He jumped his car over the Dearborn, and damn near blew the front end out from under him from the landing. The sonofab*tch drag raced The Man and me all the way to the fairgrounds. He’s one lucky kid, I’ll tell ya that.” “I just hope he’s ready for me and my Tesla,” the young man said, tossing the bottle into a trashcan. “How about the Spitfire? You should’ve had that done by now, Dru!” “I’ve got a guy painting it this week,” Dru said, “Right now, the rear end’s been mini-tubbed enough to fit a set of 10-inch wide tires, and the front’ll be rolling 8-inches rubber up front. I just finished building the Cosworth engine, too.” “I meant to ask you this in Cali,” Road Buster said, “How the hell did you get a Cosworth engine?”
“Out of a Vega,” Dru replied, leaning back into his seat. “Vega?” Road Buster said, confused a bit, “Oh yeah, I forgot about that Vega.” “Exactly,” Dru replied, “The Cosworth Vega was the best-performing 4-cylinder car of its day in America. It started the entire DOHC trend in America, and I myself think that engine’s much better than some hyped up VVT engine in an old-ass drifter’s AE86 Corolla. Stock, the Cosworth Vega ran over 130 horses. With better beathing and a more aggressive cam setup, it can easily go over 175. Fully built engines can be at over 240 horses. Put a turbo on that, you can get up to 400 horses.” “Weren’t you aiming for something like 500?” Road Buster said as they walked down the stands to the exit. “Yeah,” Dru replied with a wry smile, “That’s why I also supercharged it.” “You’re kidding!” Road Buster stated in a surprised manner, “That’s some serious shit you’re getting into!”
“I know,” Dru said nonchalantly, “It’s really only for drags and over-the-road high-speed races. All of that excess gets taken off for the road course. While testing at Thunderbolt in Millville this past week, I ran it with the full charger setup, but it was almost impossible to control through the turns; it breaks away at every corner at max tune.” “So you take all that off and leave it NA for a road race?” Road Buster said. “Exactly,” Stated the young man, getting into his beat drift-spec 240SX, now with a mismatched blue Ks S14 Silvia front end with an intercooler poking through the bottom valance, “Apparently, the lap time was reduced by five seconds after all that was taken off, and to be honest with you, I don’t get what’s the big deal with the massive power people put in these well-handling cars nowadays. Did you ever hear of the guy who put a fully-built 350 into an Austin-Healey?” “I think I read about that somewhere,” Road Buster said.
“Well, apparently he came to Thunderbolt during our British car club track day a weekend ago,” Dru stated, “and he didn’t even come close to the fastest British car there.” “Who was that?” Road Buster said. “It was my Spitfire,” Dru said in a humble tone, “Still, I’m not the fastest there by far; not yet anyways. You want to go to Pizzeria Uno & grab a bite?” “Nah,” Road Buster said, getting into his ‘vette, “I’ve got a job to do.” “Oh,” Dru said, disappointed, “Well, I guess I’ll see ya around then.” “Yep,” Road Buster replied, and they both drove off towards Chicago.
* * *
5:00 PM, Gunsmith Cats Gun Shop.
The shop was a small place on the outskirts of the city. Out front sat a light-blue Mustang with a set of vintage Thunderbird tail lights; a classic trait of the GT500 Shelby. Next to that sat a much smaller bright yellow Fiat 500. Inside the shop a young girl was on the phone as the sound of milling machines played their music behind a doorway. The young girl looked to be about thirteen, but in reality, she was more like eighteen. She played with her short blonde hair as she talked on the phone with someone. She wore a bib with the store’s logo on it. Many didn’t know this as they walked into the shop, but this girl was an ex-call girl who was always packing some serious explosives to help her friend in their bounty hunting work. Her employer was working on the mill, boring out a chamber, the sound of the machine making its monotonous music.
“Hey Rally,” the young girl at the counter of the gun shop said after getting off the phone, “Becky called; apparently she’s got more info on that Keisuke guy.” “Really?” Rally said, poking her head through to the doorway, “What did she say, May?” “Well apparently he came over here three or four weeks ago,” May replied, “She said that he stole a blue MX5 Miata licensed in his dead brother’s name.” “Who was it?” Rally said, already hearing what she helped pardon Keisuke for. “The owner of the Miata?” May said, leaning onto the counter “That was once owned by a guy named Ryousuke Takahashi. Apparently, the record at Laguna Seca is still unbeaten for a rotary-engine car. He was also on the Most Wanted list for a while for a murder he didn’t commit. This is the best part; Becky said that this guy was so smart that he was able to find who really committed the murder along with the evidence.” “That’s impressive,” Rally said as the front door opened, “We’ve got a customer!”
“Hi!” May said, springing from her relaxed state to a more attentive one, “May I help you?” The young man walked into the shop. He was an Asian, about six feet tall, and had spiked dirty blond hair. “Hi,” he said, “Is Rally around?” “She’s in the back,” May said, “Let me get her.” She disappeared into the machine shop. “Hello,” the young woman said coming out from behind the curtain with a 9mm, shocked to see her Arizona wheelman standing before her, “Why did you come all this way to see me?” “Yeah,” Keisuke said, “You didn’t give me the name of the guy who does all the engine work.” “I heard of your little act on the Dearborn, too,” Rally said, “You’re goddamn lucky that you didn’t kill anyone.” “It’s just that when I’m racing I don’t like to lose,” Keisuke said, scratching the back of his head; he then saw Rally’s project, a 9MM Beretta for a wealthy businessman, “What’re you doing with that gun?” “Look around,” Rally said, “I’m the proud owner of a gun shop, whadya think?” “I haven’t really gotten used to the idea of legally owning a gun,” Keisuke said, “The only time I see them are in John Woo flicks and video games.” “Whoa!” Rally said, grabbing Keisuke’s wrist and dragging him down to her shooting range, “I’ve gotta teach ya something before you go kicking someone with some friendly fire!” “Oh boy,” May said, “Now you’re enrolled in ‘Rally’s Gun School!’”
“First off,” Rally said, glasses in place and gun in hand, “How do you think you should hold a gun?” “Like this,” Keisuke said, holding the gun with the barrel facing the opposing wall. Rally grabbed the gun and swung Keisuke’s body downrange. “You idiot!” Rally yelled angrily, “Rule #1 is that you have to always hold your gun down range! Don’t forget that!” “Oh,” Keisuke said, embarrassed, “Well, do I hold it like this?” His gun was sitting in one hand pointing downrange. “No,” Rally said, “You got to align both the front and rear sights at the target to get a clear shot.” She then held the Beretta out in front of her with one eye closed and pulled the trigger five times. After bringing up the target from down range, Keisuke saw that the five holes were nicely grouped in the center of the target. “Like this?” Keisuke said, attempting to line up both sights. He pulled the trigger of his own gun and the discharged cartridge landed on Keisuke’s thigh, burning through his pants, “Shit! That’s f**king hot!” “Well yeah,” Rally replied, handing Keisuke a different gun with the bolt opening on the other side, “Try this one.”
Keisuke turned the safety off on this new gun and aimed at the target. This time, it hit the target without any incident. “That’s better,” “You’ve got good form,” Rally said, looking Keisuke over, “And it seems like you’ve done this before; odd for a Japanese man to seem so used to shooting.” “I used to do paintball for a while with my Yakuza buddies,” Keisuke said, mentioning his troubled past, “The higher-ranked guys had guns, but I only used melee weapons for street fights; I’d rather be arrested for fighting than illegal gun possession, y’know.” “You got a valid point,” Rally said, “So do you want to go see this guy?” “Sure,” Keisuke replied, “We’ll take my car.” “How about mine?” Rally said, “Do you mind if you critique my driving style while we head over there?” “No problem,” Keisuke replied, “But let me warn you, I am a harsh critic.” “Oh, I’m fine with that,” Rally replied as they headed out to the GT500.
|Posted by: .M. Apr 16 2008, 03:58 AM|
|nice chapter i like how keisuke mentions his past|
|Posted by: Meteor Apr 16 2008, 05:25 AM|
| Another excellent update. Keisuke trying to get a good shot with the gun was quite a fun read.
Let's see what the great driving critic Takahashi Keisuke has to say about Rally's driving.
|Posted by: Drew Apr 19 2008, 06:13 PM|
| New chapter.
And guess who makes a cameo...
Chapter 11: Deuce
The shop was a small one about fifteen blocks down the street from the Flamingo statue. Out front was a white Acura RSX with what appeared to be a DC9 model Type R wing on the back and a set of Mugen rims like the one’s on God Foot’s S2000. The license plate from California simply read “Twitchy”. A few spaces down sat a dark blue Westergard-style Kustom ’36 Ford Coupe with Eldorado hubcaps and a massive 5-inch chop. Next to the Kustom was the shell of some sort of British sports car that was just painted. It was a dark green, and the color was broken up with a white racing stripe placed down the car’s profile in an offset manner. In the wheel wells was a set of dark bronze Watanabe-ish rims. The hood and bumper weren’t on, nor was the trim, but the hardtop was in place, and that carried the racing stripe through to the taillights. The blue Mustang GT500 pulled in next to the RSX. Keisuke got out of the passenger’s side as Rally came out the driver’s side. “You’re not bad,” Keisuke said, “But this is only on public roads, and you drive like you’re always in some sort of a hurry.” “That’s just the way I drive,” Rally said, “And I don’t want to hear anything from you about ‘being in a hurry’, Bo Duke.” “Very funny,” Keisuke said jokingly, “So this is the place, huh?” “Yep,” Rally said, “Now c’mon, let’s go in!”
Inside the shop, there was a brand-new bright red Civic Si up on the lift with an open box of Spoon performance parts next to it. Off to the side a white NSX sat without an engine. The engine was sitting up on an engine dyno. “Yo, Twitchy!” Rally yelled, “Where’s Deuce?” “Where else?” a young Filipino man said from under the Civic, “He’s in the back. Say, when’ll you finally break down and buy a Honda? It’s cheaper to run than that GT500 of yours.” “Hey,” Rally said, “As long as people keep getting into trouble, I can pay for it’s addiction to Saudi Sauce.” “What is he talking about, Rally?” Keisuke asked. “Let me show you,” she replied as they walked across the shop.
The room they went into was another garage, but instead of a bunch of Hondas and imports, there sat a bunch of vintage cars, parts and memorabilia. On one wall, there sat a five-foot tall old Gulf sign along with an old gas pump and a poster of Steve McQueen. About two feet away from the wall sat an engine stand with an Ardun flathead V8 engine with a ScoT blower carbureted by three Demon 98 carbs that held Weber-style intakes on top. In the middle of the floor sat a 1929 Ford pickup whose cab laid very close to the ground. On the candy green door was the name of the company “Deuce’s Rod & Kustom” in rocker-form with a cheater slick in smoke. Outside sat a red 1964 Pontiac GTO with a fully-built custom widebody. Next to that sat a pink ’70 Hemi Barracuda that was lowered and sat on a set of deep-dish salt-flats style rims. The radio blasted “Bag Drag” by Cactus as a man got out from under the ‘Cuda.
“Hey Rally!” he said, “Who’s this punk-ass?” “Oh him?” Rally said, “Just some ace driver from Japan.” “Oh really?” he replied, carrying a ½” wrench in one battered and greasy hand, “How ya doing, bub?” “Okay, I guess,” Keisuke replied, “What’s your name?” “That shit aint important,” he said, turning on a blowtorch to light up a cigarette, “Just remember to call me Deuce. I own this place.” Deuce was very large. His grease-covered muscles had tattoos all over them, and his black hair was slicked back with some sort of grease. His soul patch was fully grown in, and equally as jet black as his hair. His shirt was a So-Cal Speed shop brand shirt. Rally knew this guy for may years; he was the man who got her GT500 when she began bounty hunting.
“What’s your name?” Deuce said, sitting on the rear tire of his ’29 Pickup. “Takahashi Keisuke,” Keisuke replied. “Whadya drive?” replied Deuce. “1969 Ford Mustang Boss 302 with a supercharged engine and race suspension,” Keisuke said, “Maglio’s shop built it in LA.” “Shit,” Deuce said, “You’re one spoiled SOB. Yove probably never lived without an independent suspension, have ya?” “No, why?” Keisuke said. “Shit,” Deuce replied, stamping out his cigarette, “I haven’t done this in a while, but come with me.”
The two walked out to the pink Plymouth. “Why did you paint this car like this?” Keisuke asked Deuce. “Eh,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “That’s the way the customer wanted it; if it was my choice, this thing would be an electric blue.” The two got in the car as Rally and now Twitchy who came out from under his Honda to watch the possible debacle. “Bet you $200 that he comes back in shock,” Twitchy said. “You sure?” Rally asked, perplexed why Twitchy made such an odd bet. “You in?” he replied. “Yeah, sure,” Rally replied, pulling two Benjamins out of her back pocket.
“It feels different,” Keisuke told Deuce as they headed into the city for a quick run, “It feels much less responsive.” “Well that’s probably due to the live axle in the rear,” Deuce said, lighting up another cigarette, “Most American muscle had live axles in the rear, well, except the Corvette. This made them great for drag racing, but if you wanted to run one on the road course or the local twisties, it’d be like hell-on-wheels.” He pointed at the corner ahead of them, “Try taking that corner like you usually would.” Keisuke heel-toed the engine to drop it down in gear, but he could barely stop the car. “What the f**k?!” Keisuke thought in frustration as the car lost all grip and brakes at once, “I-I can’t steer! Goddammit, I can’t steer!” As he struggled to regain control of the car, Keisuke realized what it was that was weighing him down. “The engine’s weighing me down?!” he thought, as the big pink muscle car swung to a stop.
“Pretty damned fun, huh?” Deuce said malevolently, “You’ve got no shot in any other race until you learn how to control a car of this size and engine type. Drivers today are way too spoiled with their fully-independent suspensions!” Keisuke sat with his head on the wheel panting, “You thought that was tough, oh buddy, you don’t know what driver’s hell is. Try doing that with a buggy-style suspension and no independent front axle either in some old jalopy hot-rod! Still, kid, you did a pretty good job with this car; Now get into the passenger’s seat and let me drive.”
The ‘Cuda came back, and Keisuke was silent the entire way back to the shop, in a shock from what he had just done. “Ha!” Twitchy yelled, “I win! Take that, Rally!” “Shut up,” Rally said, disappointed in Keisuke’s driving costing her $200. “He’s still not used to it, huh?” a young man said next to Rally, startling the bounty hunter and the Hondamaniac. “Gah!” Twitchy said, “Where in the hell did you come from?!” “Oh, I’m just here to ask Deuce for an update on my Spitfire.” “Oh, it’s you, Dru,” Deuce said reluctantly as he walked over to the group with Keisuke, “How the hell are ya?” “I’d be better if you’d get the chrome back on my Spitfire.” “Yeah,” Deuce said, “About that, have you decided on a name for her?” “Name?” Dru asked, confused, “Oh, that! I was thinking of something like Asuka Reijuu.” “Dude,” Deuce said, “Why don’t you go with something simple like ‘beast’ or something like that?” “Dunno,” Dru said, “Once an anime fanboy, always an anime fanboy.” “You’re one weird kid, Dru,” Deuce replied, “Now if you wouldn’t mind, just go and sit in the garage, and for God’s sake, please don’t touch anything.”
“So,” Keisuke said, “What do you think I should do?” “Don’t give up, man,” Deuce said, grabbing a wrench and returning back under the now cooled down ‘Cuda, “You’ve got talent; anyone who can beat my brother Road Buster’s got to have something good in ‘em.” “Thanks,” Keisuke said, “I’ll just keep practicing with my 302 until I’m better.” “Good for you,” Deuce said. Keisuke walked away with a silent Rally following behind him. “I’m no good,” Keisuke said, “If I can’t run fast. Rally…” “Yeah?” she said as they walked through the shop. As soon as she said that, Keisuke saw him. It was Dru Boelyn; the man whom, according to Keisuke, beat him on Highway 101.
“It’s you,” Keisuke said, “What do you want? You ain’t here just for the paint.” “Well, no,” Dru said, “I’m wondering if you want to race me. That little British roadster out front is mine, and I’d be very glad if you raced me as its first opponent.” “Under what conditions?” Keisuke asked. “Three-part race,” Dru said, holding his hand up with three fingers outstretched, “East, West and Central US; all in that order. It’s obvious that you still need training behind the wheel of a muscle car to try to beat me, but I’m pretty sure you learn real fast.” “How’s about in two months?” Keisuke replied, already psyched about another battle on the horizon. “Deal,” Dru replied, “Come to Wildwood in front of Mariner’s Landing Amusement Park Pier in Southern New Jersey on the first Saturday night in July. We’ll start at the courses I pick.” “Why do you want to race me?” Keisuke asked. “I think you may be able to beat me,” Dru said, “Don’t forget; Wildwood, NJ.” “I won’t,” Keisuke said, and with that the biggest American-based battle was on for Keisuke.
|Posted by: Meteor Apr 21 2008, 01:55 AM|
| Another awesome update.
And so Keisuke's got another challenge. And the battle starts in two months. All the more reason to look forward to the next chapters.
Identified cameo appearances in latest chapter - 2
|Posted by: Drew Apr 23 2008, 06:34 PM|
| New chapter up!
Also, please excuse me for Stephen's behavior; he's a tool and should get uber-pwned.
Chapter 12: Keisuke; AKA The Heartbreak Kid
10:00 PM; New York City; 2 weeks later
“And we’ve got ourselves a race,” the man said as the group waited patiently in front of the Cyclone roller coaster in Coney Island, “Stephen,” “Yeah,” a blonde cowboy-hat wearing man in a big-shouldered suit jacket said with a. “You’ll be racing against this man and his Mustang.” “Pfft,” Stephen said, “That piece of shit? No thanks. It’s too outdated to run against my state-of-the-art Corvette.” “Hey buddy,” Keisuke said to the Corvette driver, “don’t get so cocky. That thing’s bone-stock!” “Well, you’ve gotta have skills driving a car like this,” Stephen said, “Your piece of shit has no chance.” “Y’know, a man once told me that you guys with an independent suspension under the frame rails are nothing but fakes.” “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and go double-or-nothing, you Jap,” Stephen said, “You won’t do it.” Keisuke looked off into the distance, and chuckled. “Why not?” he said, smiling, “And stop tryin’ to be Burt Reynolds; that damned hat makes people think you’re Mr. Brokeback Mountain.”
The two lined up at the streetlight. “Okay men,” the coordinator said, “Both of you have your GPSs loaded up with the course. It’ll be a two-lap run. Any questions?” “I’ve got one,” Stephen said repulsively, “When do we put this Asian bastard in an intermittent camp?” “Why don’t you shut your f**king mouth and just drive?” Keisuke said, his eyes burning with rage at what this inconsiderate banker from Texas was saying. “You’ll regret saying that shit,” Keisuke thought, “This’ll be a hellish night for ya.”
“Okay, you guys ready down there?”
(Yep. Send ‘em down any time.)
The tires squealed as both cars launched off the line. The blue Mustang barely spun the wheels as much as Stephen did. It was Keisuke with the holeshot as they went into the first turn. As they rounded the turn, Keisuke heard the sound of a blow-off valve behind him. “He’s turbocharged?” Keisuke thought, “No wonder he’s been so good in a ‘bone-stock’ Corvette; he’s cheating.” The two drifted around the first turn, and Keisuke gained about one and a half car lengths on the C6 Corvette. As he was driving, Keisuke bwgan to reminisce over what had happened to him in the last two weeks….
* * *
Two Weeks Earlier: Deuce’s Shop; 2:45 PM
“Getting better!” Deuce said as the big GT500 swung around the turn with the back tires spinning in protest against the g-forces of the car, “Remember to brake much earlier, kid! Brake, brake, brake! Goddammit, you’re running too fast!” The back bumper of the Mustang just touched the shop wall out in the parking lot of Deuce’s shop. It was already Keisuke’s second day under this greaser’s wing, and he had mastered drifting Rally’s GT500 with ease; Rally and her informant friend Becky were standing out front watching Keisuke kick up smoke and dirt with the Shelby. “Wow,” Becky said, pushing up her glasses, “He’s gotten really good!” “Yeah, sure has” Rally said as she looked on glassy-eyed at the car gracefully drifting around the lot, “Apparently he went on a trip to Sears Point with Deuce in his racing GTO to learn by witnessing the technique, and he blacked out by the fifth corner.” “And you say this guy was once a full-blown street racer in Japan?” Becky replied. “He said afterwards that he felt scared for the first time in over five years,” Rally stated, still attentively watching the Shelby. “Where is he staying?” Becky asked. “My house,” Rally replied, “And for the first time in my life, I think I’m in love.” “No way!” Becky yelled as the GT500 swung around to a full stop. “Damn,” Keisuke shouted, banging on the wheel of the Mustang. “You’re doing fine!” Deuce said, “Let’s run through that again.”
One week later; 7:35 PM
About a week later, Keisuke started getting a hold of racing the Mustang with ease. He had gotten used to the brakes, and seemingly melded with the car. After one final session of running the Shelby, Deuce sat down with Keisuke for a talk. “So,” Deuce asked, “How much different is it than everything else you’ve driven?” “Different?” Keisuke said, “Well first of all, it’s got no grip on those bias-ply. Second, the engine makes the car too front-heavy, causing terrible understeer. After getting over that, the brakes are about as useful as trying to stop a freight train with a cardboard box on the rails.” “Is that so?” Deuce said, “Well now, tomorrow bring the Boss, and we’ll se how much you’ve improved.” “Wait,” Keisuke said, confused, “What do you mean by ‘bring the Boss?’” “You’ll see,” Deuce said, walking back into his shop, “When you get into it.” He then left into the shop with Keisuke standing there confused.
Going back to Rally’s house was not a relaxing ride home, due to Keisuke’s mind running with plans on what he’d do heading out east to catch up with Dru in Wildwood. He parked the GT500 in-between to May’s Fiat and his Boss 302. Walking into the kitchen, he spotted Rally sitting at the counter. “What’s up?” he said, trying to make light conversation with his new friend, “Any interesting bounties come up?” “Keisuke,” Rally said blushing, “I-I’ve got something to tell you.”
“What is it?” Keisuke asked, “If you need the Shelby back tomorrow, take it. Deuce told me to—” “I’ve never felt this way about someone,” Rally struggled to say, “But I’ve got to say I’ve found that someone.” “What’re you saying?” Keisuke said, perplexed. “I love you, Keisuke,” Rally said, “I’m not quite sure about it, but I really love you. From that day at the diner in the Southwest, I knew there was something special about you. I just find that you’re such a great guy! I’d do anything for you!” “Okay,” Keisuke said, confused and strangely interested, “So what do you want to do?” “Whatever you want me to do,” Rally said, awkwardly walking over to him, beet red, “I’ll do whatever you say. I know you have to leave soon, but let me spend just one night with you. How about it?”
“I’m sorry,” Keisuke said, “But I can’t do that.” Rally was shocked. “Why?” Rally said, “Why don’t you want me?” “I have to focus, Rally,” Keisuke said as Rally began to tear up, “I can’t spend a night with you with my battle against Dru coming up.” “That’s not a good enough reason!” Rally yelled in tears, “It’ll only be one night! Why not?” “I just can’t,” Keisuke forcefully said, “You’re a great friend, allowing me to use your car and everything, but if I do end up dating you, I already told you; I won’t be able to focus if I get into a serious relationship.” Rally sat down in a chair, staring off into oblivion with tears of mascara running down her face. “I hate doing this as much as you do,” Keisuke said coldly, “I’ve broken up with another girl who seemed just as wild about me as you are. I just don’t want to break another heart like I did before. I can’t start a relationship with you. Not now, probably not ever. I’ve gotta go, anyway. Deuce told me to drive the Boss when I got home. I’ll be staying over at his place from now until I leave for Jersey.” “Well,” Rally said, forcing a smile, “Good luck. I want you to keep in touch with me if you can, okay?” “I’ll try,” Keisuke said, “Let me go and grab my stuff and I’ll be out of there.” After getting his things, he stopped in the doorway, “I’m truly sorry, Rally, I really am.” As soon as the back door shut, Rally began to cry hysterically, knowing that her first true love had just walked out the door probably forever.
“Rally,” Keisuke thought to himself, getting into his grabber-blue Boss 302, “I also love you. I just can’t break another heart like I did with Kyoko-chan last time. I just can’t do something like that.” After the incident at Rally’s house, Keisuke began running up and down the streets of Chicago, looking for prey. Every race he ran, he began to feel something new about his car. “What is this?” Keisuke sensed, “It feels as if I’m driving my FD again! The suspension; it feels so much tighter now, and the tires are actually gripping! It’s as if I can take corners faster than I ever did!”
During his last week of training in early May, Deuce watched as this young man surpassed him in every element of driving. Keisuke’s final test, a race between him and Deuce in his race-ready GTO, was his shining moment; he had beaten Deuce by over 3 car-lengths. “Well, well, well.” Deuce said at the shop, “It seems as if you’ve surpassed me. So how about boosting the blower up now?” “How much?” Keisuke said. “I think you’d be best at around 700 horses.” “That sounds just fine to me,” Keisuke said. “Good for ya, Heartbreak Kid,” Deuce said, laughing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Keisuke asked. “I just figured that’d be a good nickname for ya, since you’ve broken two ladies’ hearts.” “Shut up,” Keisuke said, “I didn’t want to break up with either of them, and I still feel horrible about Rally.” “Hey,” Deuce replied, “That name doesn’t have to be about your lady-friends. It could be due to you breaking the hearts of your hopeful competitors.” “I dunno,” Keisuke said, “Sounds a little too close to Shaun Michaels’ nickname for me.” “Oh,” Deuce said, “A WWE fan, huh?” “Yeah,” Keisuke said, embarrassed of his pro-wrestling fandom.
* * *
Today, however, Keisuke was smoking Stephen and his Corvette. He was also going to expose Stephen after he took the victory. Keisuke did win, with an amazing 15-second lead over the pompous and racist rich-kid. As he crossed the line, Stephen got out of his car, and headed over to Keisuke, furious about his loss. “How did I lose?” he said, “Especially to a sonofab*tch like you?” “You ain’t used to the turbo kickback, are ya,” Keisuke said, with a wry smile, “I saw your car’s butt wag in my rearview. That points directly to a turbocharger.” “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stephen said, with the people wondering what Keisuke meant. “Let’s see what’s really under the hood, shall we?”
Popping the hood of the Corvette, it seemed that Keisuke was the embarrassed one. “Well, buddy,” Stephen said, “It seems that you’re wrong.” “I guess so,” Keisuke said fakingly, “But I wonder, what is this pipe doing in the intake?” He pointed to a flat black pipe going into the intake system that seemed much larger than stock. He flicked it, and it made a metallic sound. “Now that doesn’t sound OEM, now does it?” He started walking the perimeter of the car, until he went underneath the rear end and found the culprit. “Not turbocharged, eh?” Keisuke said, coming up with his camera phone. On the display was the rear of the Corvette. Where the mufflers should’ve gone, there were two turbochargers and blow-off valves that exited through the exhaust pipes.
“He’s lying!” Stephen said, “I swear! That ain’t my exhaust system!” “Yeah right, Stephen,” a large black man said, “I bet you couldn’t beat me and my Viper if you didn’t have the turbo.” “Shut up!” he said, “All of you, shut up! I’m gonna call the cops!” He then peeled out and crashed a block away with everyone still watching and laughing at the fake racer. The rumors were truthful; Takahashi Keisuke was the Heartbreak Kid that the rumors talked about; exposing fakes and phonies East of the Mississippi in his badass Boss 302.
|Posted by: Meteor Apr 24 2008, 01:31 AM|
Let's all point and laugh at Stephen!
Keisuke's driving sure has improved a lot. All the more reason to look forward to the battle that's 2 months away.
|Posted by: Drew Apr 25 2008, 07:54 PM|
| New chapter ladies and gents!
Chapter 13: The Other Jersey Devil Pt. 1: High School Hell
One week later: Millville, NJ, 3:05 PM
“So,” a man said at the counter of the AutoZone store said to the young man who had just bought a blow-off valve for his 240SX, “Have you heard the rumors about this kid in his Mustang, Dru?” “Yeah,” Dru said, removing his aviator sunglasses from his head, “I’m supposed to race him in three weeks after Independence Day. I’ve been testing and tuning my Spitfire to run the mountain passes. I’m afraid I won’t see any of you guys for about two weeks.” “Why?” the clerk asked. “After I get the settings down, I’m heading down to Shenandoah National Park to run the Skyline Drive for a week.” “You’re running there?” The clerk asked, surprised, “How are you gonna do that? It’s a national park, for Chrissakes!” “I’ve got connections,” Dru said, pushing a hand through his dark brown, almost black, hair, “And we’ve gotten clearance from a friend of mine who works in the parks service.” “So I’m guessing you ain’t a friend to the environment?” the clerk asked, ringing up the part, “It’s gonna cost ya $350.75.” “Of course I am,” Dru replied, “I run E85 in most my cars; most ignorant car guys think it’s a hippie fuel, but I’ve seen some massive increases all over the power band when running my engines on the dyno.” “Okay,” the clerk said, “Well, have a nice time in the boondocks, Dru!” “I’m used to it!” he replied as he walked out the door to his truck.
The truck wasn’t his, but he still was able to use it due to his boss knowing it was in the good hands of a high-caliber physics-based mechanic. Dru was a hobbyist mechanic in Cape May, NJ for the longest time, rebuilding small lawnmower, weed-whacker and nitro RC car engines for friends in his first year of high school. Without them knowing, Dru started testing out engine performance upgrades. He would port the intake and exhaust valves, grind down the cams and rebuild the carburetors. His friends began noticing these changes, but they decided to take these engines and put them on the back of go-karts. Almost as soon as they did that, his reputation spread like a nitromethane-fueled fire.
When his friends got their first cars, Dru began to work on them. The engines he built were so powerful, that he had to learn how to re-build and beef up other parts on these cars. This occurred to him when he finished rebuilding his friend’s Mark III Supra. After one full-throttle burst down the Garden State Parkway, the transmission exploded, causing trans fluid to spew out of the tranny case. It left a path a mile long that led to where it was stopped in the grass. Back at the shop, Dru tore into the transmission. “I’m curious,” he said to his friend, “If I could find a used 5-speed from an old SVT Mustang and make an adaptor plate and coupling, I might be able to prevent that from happening again.” “Well what about the driveshaft and rear axle?” his friend said, “I’m surprised that they even handled that amount of torque!” “We’ll need to swap those out, too,” Dru said, lying on his oil-stained garage floor, looking under the 17-year old chassis, “What I want you to do is to look in the junkyards for a C3-C4 Corvette rear diff; better yet, try to find an entire rear IRS setup without the trans if it’s a C4. I also think that the driveshaft from that might fit under there with some cutting. Ya got that?” “Wow,” the friend replied, shocked, “You should try to go to college for this; you’d be hired right out of the gate.” His words seemed to fall on deaf ears as it had for years.
“Goddammit, Dru!” his mother said, frustrated at his firs report card at technical school, “If you keep getting grades like this, you’ll never get into Rowan University!” “But mom, I was—” Dru said, getting cut off by his father. “Listen to your mother!” he yelled. “I don’t care if you were helping f**king goddamned Richard Petty,” she said, frustrated that her bright and gifted child was not living up to her extreme expectations, “No more working on cars for you until you get your grades up, and you’re grounded from your Nissan indefinitely!” she yelled. “That’s unfair!” Dru said, I need that to get to school!” “WHY DON’T YOU TRY TO TAKE THE BUS?!” She yelled, her face as red as a bloody rose. “I can’t!” he yelled, “He’s on that bus!” “You mean Buck?” his dad said, “That shit happened six years ago!” Buck Gifulcio was the nastiest kid in Cape May County; the son of a drug-dealing ex-bootlegger, Buck picked on kids for no reason whatsoever, and he probably couldn’t forgive Dru for what he did to him in the sixth grade.
-6 years ago
“Hey retard!” a mean-looking ten-year old wearing a “Slayer” shirt said to a shy child dressed in a large t-shirt with baggy pants who was playing with his Hot Wheels, “Why don’t you get outta here? I gotta do some business.” The shy child didn’t move. “Did you hear Buck, you f**king moron?” one of the kids in Buck’s posse, “Get the hell out of here-Saaaaaaaay…nice Hot Wheels you’ve got there!” “Hey!” the shy kid said, jumping up at the bigger 5th-grader, “That’s mine! Give it back!” “You want this, Dru?” Buck said, “Too f**king bad; gotta pay the toll to play here, retard.” All of a sudden, something snapped in Dru’s head; he jumped on Buck and started pummeling him in the face. “GIVE IT BACK YOU MOTERf**kING JACKASS! I’M GONNA KILL YA! YOU’LL BE A PIECE OF SHIT WHEN I’M FINISHED WITH YOU!” “Oh God, Dru!” one of the aides ran over and pulled Dru away form Buck, “You don’t do that! You’re going to the Principal now!” The posse laughed, along with Buck, who was now sitting up and joining the posse as more and more people joined in to make fun of the awkward and weird-looking boy as he walked out of the school. He went to a private school and never came back.
-6 years later
The first week on the bus was hell; no one knew him since he left the school, but nonetheless Dru was beginning to suspect that he was the only sane one on the bus. Everyone seemed to be acting all gangsta. “Okay,” Dru thought to himself, “We’re here in the middle-of-nowhere, NJ, and these morons think we’re in Compton? What the hell?” School wasn’t that much different at Court House Tech. He wondered to himself why only a handful of people were somewhat motivated to go to college there if the lowest curriculum classes were all College Prep. The funniest thing to him was that his engineering class-a class geared towards a college career-was the laziest. Most of the time, everyone ended up playing World of Warcraft or Unreal Tournament most of the time. Dru himself didn’t mind doing that once in a while, but it made no sense that a college-based class would be this laid back; it was ridiculous.
One of the few good things about Tech was the fact that there were some die-hard car nuts who truly did want to have him work on their cars. He wasn’t able to work on them at home, but Dru was friendly enough with the Auto Shop teacher that he was able to stay after for a while to help work on his friends’ cars. During the day, Dru would spend time during his less-important classes doing his homework and studying so he could hopefully work on his own 240SX. When he didn’t have any homework, Dru would doodle different iterations of the car on his notebook.
After two years in Tech, Dru had worked his way up to a free-ride to a university; the only catch was that he complete two years of community college before going off. His parents were so proud that they bought him a 1975 Triumph Spitfire 1500; well actually it was Dru’s dad’s Spitfire that was sold to Dru after he finished his first two semesters of college, when he had the time. The problem with this new car was the fact that he didn’t have time to work on it. It was beat and old, but Dru still did see a silver lining to its compact British design. For years he’d just stare at it in the backyard as weeds grew up around it and the metal rusted through the botched and Bondo’d body job. “One day,” Dru said, “It’ll be the fastest thing on four wheels in South Jersey.”
|Posted by: Meteor Apr 25 2008, 08:18 PM|
| Another awesome update.
Just a little more time. And then we'll get to witness one hell of a battle.
Do I even need to say "MOAR PLZ!"?
|Posted by: Drew Apr 28 2008, 07:36 PM|
| say moar, you get moar.
But not yet.
I'll just taunt you with a nice little road known as...
That, my friends, is the final round in all of its 14 mile goodness.
|Posted by: DrIfTeRX305 Apr 28 2008, 08:20 PM|
|omg those twisties @ the NC/Tennessee border are pretty awesome - its where my civic first saw some turns last Thanksgiving.|
|Posted by: Drew May 1 2008, 07:22 PM|
| Okay, now is where it gets intersting.
1st chap posted since I finished my English 102 ppr. Glad that's over with.
Chapter 14: The Other Jersey Devil Pt. 2: Chosen Cosworth
Two Years Later: Atco, NJ NOPI Tunerfest
“Dude,” Dru said to his friend Zak Remus, “Why the hell are we here? I hate these rice-burners.” “You don’t like these cars?” Zak said, a die-hard audiophile, “Man, these suckers have gotta be loud.” “I wanna race,” Dru said to Zak, “Not look at the tens-of-thousands of flying robot wearing, fart-can rocking ‘I-Live-My-Life-At-A-Quarter-Mile-At-A-Time’ posers; where’s the autocross?” “Shit, brah,” Zak said, irritated at his comments, “Ya need some entertainment at times.” “I know,” Dru replied, “but 50 screens in one car? Come on! That is so damned stupid!” “You gonna run your 240?” “No I can’t, Zak,” Dru said, disappointed, “I bent the front spindle the other day trying to rally the car. I mean, didn’t you feel the rattling when we were driving down the road?” “Not really,” Zak said, obviously not as sensitive as Dru was when it came to ride comfort, “It’s always a pain in the ass to long haul with, right?” “Yeah,” Dru said, “But it’s just unsafe going around corners at a stronger g-force right now.” “So what’ll you drive then?” Zak replied. “Most of the time they have demo cars for people to run,” Dru replied, “I’ll just ask them if I can borrow one of those.”
“What do you mean ‘not for autocross competition use?”” Dru questioned. “That’s just the way they set it up,” an official with a Freddie Mercury style mustache said, “Now if someone else wouldn’t mind you borrowing their car, then I don’t see how it could be a problem.” “How much time do I have before the competition?” Dru asked, wiping his face with his hand in frustration. “About fifteen minutes to get back here and sign in,” the official said, “there’ll be announcements in-between five minutes for you to get a car.” With that, Dru went off, looking for people who’d allow him to borrow his car within a five-minute walk. “What’ll you do if you can’t find the car?” Zak asked. “Just give up,” Dru said, frustrated, but not that stressed, “It’s really just for my own enjoyment, that’s all.”
“Excuse me!” Dru yelled into the crowd, “If I could have your attention! I am in need of a rear-wheel drive car for me to compete in the autocross race. If I do win, I’ll donate $200 of the prize money to the owner.” There was silence among the people. “Who the hell are you?” a skater wannabe twelve-year-old kid said. “I’ve got a car,” a large man said, “Thing is, can you handle it?” “Great!” Dru said in joy, “Where is it?” “Follow me,” he said. The young driver followed the man to the parking lot. This man seemed terribly out of place at the tuner show. He wore a cowboy hat on top of his mullet. His muscular arms were covered in scars. Eventually, with eight minutes to spare, they reached the car. It was an old Corvette. “This,” the man said, “Is my L88 Corvette. Now if you wreck her in any way, I’ll cut your throat. Got it?” Dru, nervous about wrecking such a pristine muscle car, nervously uttered an “Understood” to the man. “Oh, and by the way,” the man said, “You seem like you’ve got some talent just from the way you acted back there. Name’s Road Buster-well, not really. If I did tell you my real name, I’d hafta kill you.” “Name’s Dru,” Dru replied, nervous and excited to get behind the wheel of a classic car such as this.
After getting signed up, something happened that shocked Dru into becoming a totally different driver than before; he saw his old school bully, Buck. He was sitting on the hood of his light blue Mitsubishi Eclipse. “Hey, retard!” he yelled, knowing that that trigger word might set him off. Dru, however, wasn’t getting angry. He now had something to race for. “I’m gonna beat him,” he thought as his eyes changed, “He’ll regret ever taking me on. This is war!” “Yo, punkass!” Buck yelled, getting off the hood of his car and heading over towards him, “Did you even hear me?” “I suggest that you stop picking on him, bub,” Road Buster said, coming back from the concession stand with a soda, “Or you’ll be talking through a tube when you wake up.” “No,” Dru said, “I’ve got this one.” “Oh,” Buck said, “So you are listening, huh. Now wemember, this car’s for big boys, and you ain’t even a big boy, Dwu.” “How ‘bout you shut your mouth and let your car talk for you?” Dru said, fearsome and controlled. “Okay then,” buck replied, “But be prepared to be blown away by my car’s power.”
The first to go was Buck. The race was a best-of-three time attack. Buck’s technique, while flawed in the eyes of Dru, got him an amazing time that wasn’t even beaten until Dru was up. As soon as the flagman waved his flag, Dru was off, getting used to the car. “Look at this guy,” Buck said to his posse, laughing, “He can’t even control that thing around the turns.” “I give him a half a lap more before things really start cooking,” Road Buster thought. By the time his first lap was done, Dru was behind Buck by almost two seconds. The second lap, however, began to look cleaner. “It’s different,” Dru said, downshifting and slamming on the brakes, “But not by that much compared to my 240.” This second lap would’ve been faster by three seconds, but Dru unfortunately knocked over a cone, costing him 5 seconds. “Shit!” Dru thought, hearing the cone go under the tire, “Well, I didn’t want to do this, but I guess that little mistake leaves me no choice.” The final lap, Dru seemed to push the envelope over the edge. Every turn, the tires spun with the force exerted on the chassis. Everytime he took a turn, he missed cones by inches. On one turn, Buck could’ve sworn that Dru tapped a cone. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway; Dru was faster by an insane seven seconds. It was revenge, and it was sweet for Dru.
From that day forward, Dru and Road Buster were good friends. Through Road Buster, Dru was introduced to a few shops in the northern New Jersey area that specialized in wrecked sports cars. About four months later during the college winter break, Dru headed up to a shop that specialized in wrecked 4-cylinder cars. It was below freezing, and the snow was beginning to fall. His father told Dru to take his Five Hundred, a car that Dru comically nicknamed the “Folvo” for its bastard Ford/Volvo roots. Walking through the boneyard, Dru saw the remains of burned out and busted up Miatas, Corollas, Civics, and even a SRT4 that seemed to be sideswiped by a large semi-truck that ignored it as it was changing lanes. As he continued through the junkyard, Dru ran across an old black Chevrolet Vega that was placed in between an MG Midget and a BMW 2002. It was a black car with gold stripes that sat on cement blocks. At first, Dru wondered what it was doing in a 4-banger specific graveyard, and then it hit him. “It can’t be!” he thought to himself as he walked over to the car. As he approached it, he saw the golden stripes were more than that. He wiped the still flaky snow off the side of the old seventies Chevrolet. On the stripe in Capcom-esque lettering stated what Dru was hoping to find. The stripe stated “COSWORTH TWIN CAM” boldly against the worn-flat black body. “N-no way!” Dru said in half-shock, half-exalting joy, “I think I’ve found my engine.”
As he worked his way around the car, looking at its glory, he began to feel something. It was as if something was calling him to the engine bay. He looked at the door to see if it was unlocked. It was, so Dru opened it to pop the hood. Inside the car, there was a smell of must and animal excrement. The seats were torn into as if a rats colony had gotten into the car and lived in the seats. The front windshield was broken with the spider crack heading to each corner of the glass. The rear left window was also smashed, which was letting snow into the car through its opening. The rear seat was entirely rotted, exposing the entire coil frame. The floorboard was not in good shape either; the decades of driving on salty winter roads had rusted them into orange Swiss cheese. Sadly for Dru, he knew the car was unable to be restored to its former glory. “If I could pull the engine out, however,” he thought, “I could drop it into my 240! Or better yet; the Spitfire!”
Opening the hood, Dru’s doubt was finally lifted from his shoulders; the engine was still there and fully intact. Even stranger was the fact that the engine seemed to be still in excellent shape. The aluminum valve cover was cold against Dru’s hand as he checked the spark plugs. “It’s like a new engine!” he thought as he checked the throttle linkage on the set of four throttle bodies. The blue and red racing fittings were shining as with the manifold and exhaust. As the snow kept coming down, Dru kept on staring at the engine as if it was an Aztec Crystal Skull filled with mysteries. “What is it,” he thought, while snow fell upon his leather racing jacket, “About this engine that draws me to it?” “What’re you lookin’ at there, kid?” a man’s voice stated, shocking Dru. “Oh, hi there!” he said, still in a daze from looking at the engine, “I was just wondering if I could possibly purchase this car.” “The car’s for sale,” the man replied with a grim look on his face, “But the engine isn’t.” “Why?” Dru asked, “Let me guess, it’s ‘haunted.’”
“Mmm-hmm,” the man said, “The original owner was named Brent Trevers, a young race mechanic for Cosworth in the 1970s. He was one helluva mechanic; apparently he tuned the engine to over 250 horses without a power-adder.” “What happened to him?” Dru asked. “Died one night working on the car twenty years ago,” the man stated solemnly, “While trying to test the engine, it backfired in his face. It seared all the skin off of his skull, killing him in a fiery holocaust. His friends decided to rebuild it and sell it for charity. The guy who bought it after the incident raced it every weekend out on Watkins Glen. One weekend, though, a Ferrari cut him off on his way to the races. His anger, for some reason that’s still unexplained, triggered what he said was an extra 200 horses in the car, and he was able to catch up with the Ferrari and tailgate him at over 160 mph for ten miles. He was so terrified when he regained his composure that the car kept on accelerating until it had passed the Ferrari and took the off-ramp at an insane 65 mph without losing grip.”
“So he sold it to you for scrap after being scared shitless by his angry driving,” Dru said, “that’s so cheesy. If you want the engine, I’ll go on ahead and find another car.” The reverse psychology wasn’t even fazing the man. “I ain’t kidding you!” the man said in desperation, “Something wakes up inside that engine whenever the driver gets mad!” “Well, I’m getting’ seriously pissed by your shit right now,” Dru exclaimed in frustration, getting in the man’s face, “So if you don’t want me to buy it, just say so--” All of a sudden, the twin-cam Cosworth engine exploded into life and began to idle for about twenty seconds while both the men stood silently. Once again, as the snow fell upon the car, Dru had begun to feel frightened. “I-is that a sign?” Dru asked, a little nervous. “No,” the man said, “That means that it must’ve chose you; it wants you to run it due to your anger. I’ll go get the forklift for you.” As he walked away, Dru stared at the engine. “So, you want me to give you new life, huh?” Dru thought as he looked at the engine, “Well, you’ve got it. You’ll become part of the greatest car to blaze down the Jersey Shore!”
|Posted by: Meteor May 1 2008, 07:57 PM|
| Another chapter that was worth the wait Keep it up yo.
The Devil Twin-Cam appears! Getting a bit more interesting now.
|Posted by: Drew May 7 2008, 05:46 PM|
| Okay then, who;s up for some specs on a buildup of my dream car?
I believe I am!!!
Chapter 15: The Other Jersey Devil Pt. 3: Rebirth
The engine came into Dru’s garage within a week. It sat in the corner of the garage along with the Spitfire that had just been moved inside to get away from the terrible winter weather that had just come across Cape May County. Dru was also too busy to work on the car. He was working hard in his second semester of college trying to get a degree in mechanical engineering. To pay for the car, Dru worked whenever he could. He tutored students for a while, helped assemble bikes at Toys R Us during the Christmas season, and swept floors at his friend’s body shop.
May 12, 2006; Route 55, Mullica Hill Exit
One day in mid-May before finals, however, Dru ran across a man who he had never seen as he rushed to school for his Chem. II final that he was destined to bomb. While traveling down Route 55 in his 240 (which was severely detuned for gas mileage purpose during school), Dru ran across a dark green Pontiac. As he flew by the car, he realized what it was. “64 GTO, huh?” Dru wondered, “Illinois plates; damn, he’s coming from far places.” The car then flashed its high beams at him as if he wanted to race. “Okay then,” Dru said, stil going over Chemistry equations in his head, “Let’s dance all the way to the campus.” The two exploded from their cruising speeds. Dru tried to block the large GTO the best he could, but he couldn’t even try. It blasted past him. “Well, you’ve won,” Dru said, “Damn this KA24! Wait, he’s still going.” He was getting off at Dru’s exit. Dru followed suit, hoping to pass him in the turns of the hilly roads of Glassboro and Mullica Hill. He passed him while the big green machine was slowing down to make a turn. The back end swung out and barely missed a light pole as it powered through the turn. “Can’t stay and chat, Mr. GTO,” Dru said, “But I gotta pass my Chem. final.”
4:00 PM; Rowan University
After school, Dru’s phone rang. After picking up, there was another voice on the line. “You the kid with the Silvia?” the voice said. “Y-yeah,” Dru said, confused, “Why?” “Meet me at Deptford Mall, 5:00 PM sharp,” the voice said, “My GTO and I forgot to thank you.” With that, he hung up. Dru then ran and got into his 240 to head over to the mall.
At the mall, Dru saw the GTO parked with a man sitting on the trunk smoking a cigarette. “You’re early,” he said as Dru got out to meet this man, “Name’s Deuce. You drive really good.” “Thanks,” Dru said, “Why did you want to meet me here?” “I’ve heard from someone that you’ve got a project car you might need help with,” he replied. “My Spitfire?” Dru replied, wondering where he got the knowledge. “Exactly,” he said, stamping out the cigarette, “I’ve got the facilities for you in Camden if you want to assemble it properly.” “Thanks,” Dru said, “But why me?” “You drive that car like you built it,” Deuce said, “If you really want to build something properly that’ll smoke everyone, come to my shop tomorrow; got it?” “Okay,” Dru replied as they got each other cell phone numbers.
May 13, 2006; Somewhere in Downtown Camden, NJ; 8:30 AM
The next day, Dru brought the Spitfire and the engine to the shop. It was being towed by one of his high-school friends’ truck. He followed behind in the Folvo. They were dropped off in the shop, and thus began the massive workload.
The first issue was to install the large in proportion Cosworth engine in the small chassis. After opening the clamshell hood, they discovered a horrible truth; the suspension was shot. “So what do we do now?” Dru asked Deuce who was going over to the bench. “We screw our original plan,” he said, grabbing a plasma cutter and putting on a set of goggles, “And go all out. Road Buster’s funding the entire build, so money’s no option." The torch went on, and the cutting began.
First off, the entire car was stripped down to the unibody frame. The first thing to do was to strengthen and lighten the front end to hopefully achieve a better weight distribution. The first part of this was the rebuild of the suspension. All new hand-bent aluminum upper and lower control arms were installed along with a set of Tein coilovers on all four corners and ’95 Toyota Supra crossdrilled brakes. Overall, this lightened the front end by 100 pounds. The next thing to tackle was the drivetrain. The Cosworth engine was rebuilt from the bottom up. The engine was strangely in great condition. They started with a bulletproofing of the engine with a fully rebuilt Dart bottom end. The next thing was to tackle the cylinder head. The valves were given a look-over, and oddly enough seemed very advanced for thirty-year-old cylinder heads. The cams were next. A special set of cams was designed by Deuce, and built in the very old-school way of cam grinding in which a mechanic physically grinds away the metal from the cams themselves with a grinding wheel. After the rebuild, Deuce installed a new EFI system that looked very similar to the old set of throttle bodies, and gave the car a substantial power boost with a wide range of performance and efficiency fuel curves.
The next trick was to balance out the rest of the car. Dru figured a clever way to do so by taking the rear 6-speed transaxle of a ‘97 Corvette and substituting it for the original independent rear suspension’s differential. Next, a cut down torque tube was installed, and thankfully the original size Spitfire driveshaft fell into place. They used this as a template to make one out of aircraft-grade aluminum. After all was said and done, the car was dyno-tested, creating over 270 rwhp via a set of deep-dish dark-bronze Watanabe RS8s that were covering the Supra brakes.
* * * *
The car was ran hard for about a year. It still wore its old and chipped highway-sign green paint. It was quickly being known around the Garden State as the other Jersey Devil. It ran the mountain passes of High Point as well as the Jersey Turnpike and the Garden State Parkway in the infamous Exit “60-0” races. After a year of running, Dru sent her back to Deuce for some new lightening techniques and regulation-specifications to compete in his local SCCA races at the new Thunderbolt Speedway. He headed up to Chicago where Deuce lived to have the work done. During the time, Dru headed out to California and ran into Keisuke Takahashi, an up and coming Japanese muscle car racer in Irwindale. He met him again after the Spitfire was getting ready to be painted. Now he was tearing up the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia on the Skyline Drive, getting ready for the battle that would make him or break him.
|Posted by: wing_0 May 8 2008, 06:41 AM|
|Good work on covering Dru's past so far. Keep it up. And btw, I've thought that the Cosworth would be a Sierra or an Escort. But well, guess the Vega Cosworth fits the fic more.|
|Posted by: Meteor May 8 2008, 07:59 AM|
| Another nice update. Keep 'em coming
But I think you forgot a double-apostrophe around here:
Anyway. As is usual, I'll be looking forward to the next chapter.
And I'll especially be looking forward to the most probably action packed battle between Keisuke and Dru.
|Posted by: Drew May 9 2008, 07:36 PM|
| Yeah, thanks for catching that one, Meteor. (goes and makes changes, which were really done about 8 hours ago lol)
And I gotta warn you, the finale will be very, very, very long. (Tail of the dragon race=2-3 chapters)
|Posted by: Meteor May 9 2008, 08:04 PM|
That's relatively short actually. I've seen races that go over 4 chapters.
|Posted by: Drew May 12 2008, 07:29 PM|
| Neux chapter to post and expect moar to come at a faster rate; I'm done my spring semester, and hoping for at least a 3.7 GPA (damned chem'll be a high-B if I bombed my final )
Chapter 16: Fireworks
Two Months Later; July 4th 7:15 PM
It was a relatively warm July by the time Keisuke had come to Wildwood. Driving through the midsize shore town, he went down Pacific Avenue. At the recreation center, people were gathering for the monthly hardcore revue. All the hotel parking lots were filled with SUVs that had license plates from as far as Canada. “Feh,” he thought as he stopped at the last light on the street turning on his left turn signal, “Americans and their damned hemi-powered SUVs; they’re the only reason the world’s in an oil crisis.” The small 302 gurgled as he cruised down past the convention center. People were walking down the street wearing patriotic clothing. His Paxton supercharger whistled in a very low tone as he passed them by. A small kid looked at Keisuke’s car and pointed in joy at its sight.
He eventually parked in a small lot next to a water park. The walk was not as long as he thought; he was right next to the amusement pier that Dru was talking about. “Where is he?” Keisuke thought, looking around the booths. “Yo!” a familiar voice said in a happy tone from behind. “Hey,” Keisuke replied with less enthusiasm. “What’s the matter, man?” Dru said about Keisuke’s serious look. “I’m just ready to take you out,” he said with ambition, “That’s all I’m here for.” “Dude,” Dru said in a lax tone, “Ya gotta chill out a bit, man! C’mon! I’ll take you around here and show you the sights. We can deal with the rivalry later.”
The first stop of the tour was the boardwalk. Dru, who was with some of his friends, started showing Keisuke everything that he held near and dear to his heart. The two eventually got a little more friendly and ended up talking about their past races. “Man,” Keisuke said, “I remember back in Japan I raced this guy who was so well-versed in throttle controls that they called him the ‘God Foot’. I barely beat the guy and his BNR34 Skyline.” “No kidding, huh?” Dru said, “Well there was this one time that I smoked this guy in a Chevelle SS. I beat him by fifteen seconds in a battle at Bethlehem Pennsylvania.” “Y’know what,” Keisuke said, as the group walked down the boardwalk, “You’re not a bad guy after all. I’ve got a question for you, however.” “Go ahead,” Dru said. “Did you know of anyone by the name of Ryousuke?” Dru’s face suddenly changed expression; he had become much more intense. “Why?” he replied. “He’s my brother,” Keisuke stated. More silence as the rest of the group walked ahead and the crowded boardwalk began to thin out. “It’s settled then,” Dru said, “I won’t hold back one bit; not against someone who’s related to my hero.” “How do you know of him?” Keisuke asked. “It was one day in June five years ago,” Dru said, “He came through here and decimated a 1000-horsepower Supra with his 13B-powered Miata in a highway battle out on the Garden State Parkway. It was like a sign when he exploded past the Supra at over 150 mph with me on the sidelines in awe. Afterwards, I bought my 240SX, customized it for racing and began to research everything about Ryousuke Takahashi.” “Then why didn’t you ever hear of me?” Keisuke asked. “I was so focused on Ryousuke,” Dru replied, “That I didn’t even pay attention to your stats.” “Well then,” Keisuke stated, “How about we check out your car?” “Sounds like an idea,” Dru replied as they continued walking down the boardwalk.
Getting off at the Convention Center parking lot, Keisuke got a chance to see the car he would be facing. It was small; some sort of British car as Keisuke could guess to the best of his abilities. The British racing green shimmered in the dusk time sun. A white stripe broke the car down the middle as before, but now it had the number 13 in the middle of a circle that was placed on the stripe. The bumpers, which where carbon fiber, made Keisuke wonder how truly serious his opponent was about his lightening to such an already small car. The top was off, which revealed the 4-point roll cage, black Sparco buckets, and wheel-less steering column (Dru kept the wheel in the trunk). Down the side of the car close to the bottom was a stripe that Keisuke didn’t see the first time he saw the car in Chicago. It was white also, but on the upper stripe was the lettering “COSWORTH TWIN CAM” in bold lettering. As he continued looking down the car, he saw the 4-outlet racing-style exhaust. Looking at the wheels, Keisuke saw some sportier crossdrilled brakes poking through the holes in the wheels The bronze rims were the same design as the ones on Takumi’s AE86. The front wheels had some negative camber, but nothing truly ridiculous like on a VIP car. He thought he saw it all until Dru pulled the carbon-fiber clamshell front clip forward. Under the hood, there was the Cosworth engine. It sat in the engine bay as if it was a jewel with two Tein coilovers and tube control arms serving as guards. The exhaust was a flat ceramic-plated bronze as with the injection stacks. To Keisuke, it was official. “This guy ain’t dicking around at all,” he thought, “Putting this much money into such a car? He must either be an idiot, or a madman behind the wheel.”
As the two sat and marveled at the car, the sound of high-revving engines came in as a crescendo in from Pacific Avenue. “Ah shit!” Dru said, “It’s these guys.” “These guys?” Keisuke repeated in question form. “If it’s who I think it is, then they’re known as the “Proto-Hyphs of Philly. They swear that they are the greatest racers in all of the Delaware Valley. They’ve never even approached me, well that is until tonight.” As soon as he said that, one Suzuki Kaktana and two Kawasaki Ninjas came through, acting as an escort to the big blackl Escalade-frontended van. They stopped their bikes in a very classy fashion, pulling three stoppies right in front of the group. At this time, Dru went over to the side and was making a phone call. Behind the van, there were four high-profile sports cars. The furthest to the left was a pearl white Ferrari 360 Modena. The rims matched the car, and the sounds of some Hip-Hop track were playing from a very loud sound system. The middle left car was a blackberry-colored Nissan Skyline GTR R34 V-spec II. It had all the cliché mods done to it; widebody kit, blowoff valve, nitrous fogger, deep-dish “JDM-tyte” rims, and a ridiculously huge rear wing. The mid-right car was another cliché “JDM-tyte” blood red Mark IV JZA80 Supra. The furthest right car was a dark-blue Lamborghini Diablo SV with a weird set of aftermarket rims on it. The Escalade van pulled up and unloaded its cargo. It was an orange and green Mazda RX8 with a full-blown Super-GT style bodykit on it. The engine was loud, obnoxious and gave Keisuke an uneasy feeling in his stomach.
“Yo, Dru!” an obnoxious twenty-something Italian-American man wearing an overload of gold jewelry said getting out of the passenger seat of the van, “You ready to get spanked, buddy?” “With what?” Dru said, looking at the strange Mazda RX8, “That thing?” “Mm-hmm,” the man said, “This’ll shut you the hell up with your little British piece of shit.” “How about you put your money where your Mafioso mouth is, Vinny?” Dru said. At this point, a crowd who responded to every word that fell from these two’s lips surrounded the group. “Y’know what,” Vinny said, as the crowd died down with their “oh shit”s, “Damn”s and “ooooooooooooooh!”s, “I figured that this would be taking it easy on you with my RX8. I could’ve had you run against my 1000-horsepower Supra.” “Puh-leez,” Dru said, spitting on the ground, “That’s the wrong model that you’re racing, bub. You should’ve realized that since you were destroyed by Davey and his A70 in the Pine Barrens five years ago.” “That shit’s ancient history,” Vinny said, trying to save face, “How about you put your money where your mouth is?” “Okay,” Dru said, “How about a circuit race. We start here, run into Cape May, up the parkway, and back here before the fireworks.” “You serious?” Vinny said, laughing, “Well then, let’s start, bucko!”
After the two pulled up to the makeshift line at the end of the boardwalk, Dru looked over to Keisuke with a smile. “Hey,” Dru said, seemingly laid back before the race, “Why don’t you come with me on this race?” “Won’t I be a hindrance to you?” Keisuke replied. “You’ll be my navigator,” Dru said, “And I just want to show you something, too.” “Show me something?” Keisuke wondered as the announcer yelled for the drivers to get into their cars. “You’re taking your boyfriend with you, Dru?” Vinny said, smoking a cigarette. “You think you gave me the handicap,” Dru said, “But it is I who really has the advantage over you.” “W-w-w-whoa,” Vinny said, “Way too fancy-schmancy language for me, buddy!” After getting into their cars, the two began revving their engines as the light was red. It changed, and one got off the line very well. Dru’s Spitfire exploded off the line as Vinny smoked the RX8s tires for at least 75 feet before getting grip. “N-no way!” Keisuke said in shock, “I-It’s like a rocket!” The two headed full-throttle down towards the peninsula of Cape May.
The two cars dodged the heavy holiday shore traffic with ease. As soon as they got to the bridge that went into Cape May, however, the traffic thinned out. This is where the fast RX8 could fly past the Spitfire with ease. It did, and Keisuke watched as it screamed by with the 13B yelling. “His upshifts are terrible,” he thought, “This man is not worthy of driving a rotary!” He looked across at his pilot. “He’s smiling?” Keisuke wondered, looking at Dru carefree countenance as he upshifted into fourth, “How can he be smiling now?” Keisuke saw exactly why; about a ½-mile ahead of him the drawbridge was just beginning to close, and Vinny was slowing his Mazdaspeed-style RX8 down to avoid falling into the ocean. “I see,” Keisuke thought, “He’s gonna blow past him as soon as the drawbridge closes!”
At the drawbridge, Dru flew past Vinny just as the bridge shut. “This guy’s good,” Keisuke said, “The only way he would’ve known what to do was to actually know the bridge’s closing time. He must be some sort of a math whiz to figure out the top speed he had to maintain. It also doesn’t hurt him that he’s got no fear; the bridge is split in two by the toll, and he just flew right by Vinny on the left. This guy; he’s scary.” And Keisuke still hadn’t seen Dru’s true potential; that would have to wait until the Garden State Parkway portion of the race.
“Keisuke-san,” Dru said as the Spitfire began to slow down to allow the RX8 to catch up, “When we get to the freeway, I want you to focus on the speedometer. As of right now, the calculated top speed of that RX8 is 185 mph just based on his flyby earlier.” “Why are you slowing down, Dru?” Keisuke said, “You’ll lose the race.” “AS I was saying,” Dru spoke, not straying from his original statement, “With this car, an odd thing happens after the opponent gets a certain distance away from me.” “What’s that?” Keisuke said. “The engine I have,” dru said, as the headlamps of the RX8 barreled down upon them, “can gain over 50 horsepower at will when I’m over 1000 feet behind someone.” The speedometer read 95 mph as they got onto the parkway. The RX8 was a blur of light as it passed the Spitfire.
“As it is now, my car’s top speed is around 170 mph,” Dru said, smiling, “With the extra 50 horses, it can do 190 easily.” “But won’t I slow you down?” Keisuke wondered. “I’ve already calculated for that incident,” Dru said, upshifting into sixth, “Without you inside, it can do 200 easily.” The car then exploded as soon as Dru mashed the accelerator. A violent surge of power hit Keisuke like a 20-lb sledgehammer, shoving him into his seat. The speedometer needle began its climb “100…110…120,” Keisuke thought, watching the needle jump as if it was a tachometer for his hi-revving FD3S. By the time it hit 150 mph, the small car was about three car lengths behind the RX8.
Keisuke was white with fear. He was inside a small car that was pushing 175 now, and was still accelerating. “It is true,” he thought, “He’s amazing; handling such a small car at these speeds!” The Spitfire then blew past the RX8 about a half-mile from the parkway exit. Before Dru hit the brakes, the Spitfire was up to 181 mph. The brakes came about three seconds later than Vinny’s RX8. “His braking’s even worse than I thought,” Keisuke thought, putting his hand over his face due to the shame that was brought upon the rotary gods by Vinny’s terrible driving. The last half was a full-throttle race down Pacific Avenue into the parking lot. Dru had gotten there a good fifteen seconds before Vinny. Keisuke got out, and was still in shock. “How was that?” Dru said. “It’s official,” Keisuke thought, watching the fireworks, “These will be some insane battles; no doubt about that.”
End of Pt. 2__________________________________>
|Posted by: Meteor May 13 2008, 05:27 AM|
| GG Dru! You sure showed that poser!
|Posted by: Drew May 18 2008, 05:59 PM|
| New chappy, everyone!
Chapter 17: The Scenic Route
10:00 PM; Front Royal entrance of Skyline Drive, Shenandoah, Va.
It was a warm July night as the crowds packed into the park, waiting for the street race. Usually, Shenandoah Park had campers in the boundaries at closing, but the officials stated that there would be a “training exercise” going on in the forest that night. It was actually the start of one of the most memorable street race series known to man. It had already been four months since Keisuke left for the United States, and in the process, he was chased by the cops, involved in a highly illegal over-the-road race and stopped a criminal with a sexy bounty hunter of whom he turned around and broke her heart. Keisuke had also made a new mechanical ally in his grabber blue 1969 Ford Mustang Boss 302, and made some new friends across the country. It had all come down to this, however. Sitting in the light of his Mustang’s high beams looking at the park entrance, he was still wondering if this was part of his brother’s training or if he had veered severely off-course.
It was about fifteen minutes later that Dru came. The sound of the Cosworth Devil Twin Cam crescendoed into the valley as it came closer. The crowd began cheering as they saw the small British sports car pull up to run the race. Dru stepped out, dressed in a Phillies Chase Utley jersey with a fierce look of determination. “His aura,” Keisuke thought trying to keep a poker face demeanor, “It’s really strong. I didn’t notice this the other night. Was he trying to hide his true potential from me?” “Yo,” Dru said to Keisuke, “You ready for this?” “As I’ll ever be,” Keisuke said as he got into his blue Mustang.
The two lined up for the beginning of the race. The crowd, which differed strongly from the composed Japanese race fans, was whooping and hollering. Heavy metal blasted from some car’s expensive sound system. Out of the crowd came Deuce with a large flashlight, who was showboating for the people. “You all ready for the race?” he yelled. They responded with a din of yelling. “Alright then, we’ll start this b*tch when I turn on my flashlight. You two ready?” Both Keisuke and Dru nodded from their cars and began revving their engines. The flashlight turned on, and the two blasted at full speed into the valley.
When Keisuke was looking at the map for this course, he found out that it was over 100 miles long. The section that they were running however was about 5 miles. Its profile was much more hilly and lower than any road Keisuke had run before. The turns were also very high-speed with some mid-speed hairpins thrown in. It was really like a Grand Prix-style touge. First, Keisuke thought he would pass Dru and leave him behind, but what Dru said about the engine when he rode with him made him think again about doing so. “If I get too far ahead of him,” he thought, quickly downshifting into 4th while making a mid-range downhill left turn with Dru only a small distance behind him, “He’ll become much faster. It’s only 50 horsepower, but the power-to-weight ratio will go up so much more that he’ll probably match the acceleration of my Boss. I’ve got to keep him in my sights for now until the mid-speed section.”
“He’s falling for it,” Dru thought, smiling, “He’s gonna try to stay a small distance behind me, hoping that I won’t pass him. He thinks that’s my only trick. When this thing is behind for a good 2 miles, it gains about 25 horses that stays with the engine for the rest of the race. The 1000-ft rule only applies until you pass the opponent. The 2-mile rule works for a good mile after you pass. Well then, let’s do this.” He downshifted into third to take an upward right-hander at over 70 mph; right now was not the time to push it against Keisuke; He’d have to wait for a few more turns to do that.
While Dru sat waiting, Keisuke kept looking back in his rearview. “I know you would be killing me for this, aniki,” Keisuke wondered, “but I’ve gotta keep my distance pretty close. It’s really hard to feel his aura right now. It’s as he’s suppressing it for the meantime. What are you planning, Dru?” The two swung through another uphill mid-speed left-hander. The rear ends of both cars broke free from the boundaries of grip and begun spewing smoke out into the valley from the squealing tires. The two engines also roared in protest to the loss of grip as they regained control. They were performing textbook drifts through each turn as they finished the first two miles of the course.
“Okay, now!” Dru thought, mashing his foot down out of the last turn and upshifting into third. The car just reached a new level of performance that started to make Keisuke worry. Dru was beginning to gain on him at an alarmingly increasing rate. “How,” Keisuke said, looking in his rearview at the headlights that were closing in on him, “How the hell did he catch up so quickly?!” After a half-mile, Keisuke began to notice a faint energy that was growing. “His aura,” Keisuke said to himself, “It’s gotten stronger. Is there something else about that engine that makes it so powerful?” The two continued their battle down the mountain, now in a real competition for the first win.
|Posted by: Wheels84ss May 19 2008, 03:27 AM|
| the writing is outstanding and the story is absolutely driving... But I have to correct something here...
There was no transaxle or torque tube in 91... They didn't move the tran to the rear till the C5 in 97. Even the bad ass ZR-1 used the ZF tranny mounted directly to the LT-5.
|Posted by: Drew May 19 2008, 04:55 AM|
|Thanks for spotting the error, Wheels84ss. Just corrected it.|
|Posted by: Wheels84ss May 20 2008, 09:29 AM|
|Not a problem... I'm pretty good with domestic muscle Great story though... can't wait to get to conclusion...|
|Posted by: wing_0 May 20 2008, 10:00 AM|
Nice chappy, good work. Stuff sure is getting intense out there! Though one thing bugs me, you know, staying behind to avoid getting passed. Well, if you're behind, then you are passed. Unless of course, you're referring to one of the Devil Cosworth's rules, then sorry, my mistake.
|Posted by: Meteor May 20 2008, 06:12 PM|
| Another well done chapter. Keep it up!
This battle is gonna be intense! No question about it.
|Posted by: Drew May 20 2008, 06:15 PM|
| OMG new chapter!
Next round; mullholland Drive. Famed racing grounds of Steve McQueen
Chapter 18: Passed
“We’re at the third mile marker,” someone said over their phone, “Keisuke and Dru were just in a dead heat here.” “Well, you won’t believe it,” the one on the other phone said, “But Keisuke’s just been passed about a half-mile from where you are.” “No way!” the man at the third-mile mark said. It was true; Keisuke Takahashi was passed. However, the terms of the move were still very cloudy even to the people who witnessed it.
* * *
(3.25 miles into the course)
“I’ve just gotta hold on a bit more!” Keisuke said, shifting his Mustang into 5th down the long uphill straight. The green Spitfire was still on Keisuke’s tail, waiting to make a move. “The next turn’s going to be a braking battle,” Keisuke thought to himself, “If I brake just a millisecond slower than him, he’ll pass me. Please say that these Brembo brakes can hold out just a little bit longer!” About 300 feet from the turn, Keisuke began to brake. Dru however was going in so fast that he had to brake further back on the course to avoid flying into the valley below.
As the two cars swung around the corner, Keisuke noticed something strange. “He’s gone?” Keisuke panicked, “No! He’s in my blindspot! Dammit, he’s got me!” In the Spitfire, Dru waited patiently to smash on the gas; do it too soon, and he’d lose power too early, do it too late, and Keisuke might have too much momentum to win. “I’m going out on a limb here,” Dru said, downshifting and swinging the detachable racing wheel to the right, “and pass him at the three-and-a-half mile marker.” As they rounded the corner, Dru saw it shine from the glimmer of their headlights. “Checkmate,” Dru said, smashing down on the gas. The Spitfire roared into life, rushing past Keisuke at a blinding pace. “No!” Keisuke yelled as the green Spitfire flew past him, “I can’t give up!” Keisuke said, watching the square taillights of the Spitfire disappear into the night. He then gunned the engine, and went at a higher rate than he had previously in America. He still wasn’t all-out, as Ryousuke told him never to do so unless he’s in a final do-or-die situation. It was now Keisuke’s job to catch up and pass.
Dru, who just a week ago ran up here for two weeks straight, knew what was next. “It’s the half-mile mid-to-low-speed section after the 4th-mile marker,” the thought, “There, Keisuke’s power won’t matter. It’s my win for now.” When the Spitfire passed the 4th mile marker, Keisuke was still about a second behind. “The power should be cutting out right as soon as I get out of here,” Dru thought, “By then, he ought to be so far behind that it won’t matter how fast he runs in the mid-speed final half mile.”
To Keisuke, this was do-or-die time. He had conserved his tires well for the first half of the course, but started ripping through them in the last mile. “I’m hoping to win in the last half mile,” Keisuke thought to himself braking hard and downshifting into second, “This isn’t over yet; not by a long shot!” The big 302’s supercharger whizzed as he gassed the engine out of the turn. He was beginning to see his rival up ahead. “Even if it’s just for a second,” Keisuke thought while he caught the tail lamps trailing into the next turn, “I can still see him. I’ve just got to see him for more time now as I continue on.”
By the time they got out of the mid-low speed section, the two were only a half-second apart. “Never underestimate a touge driver,” Keisuke said, hoping to still catch a victory. “This is bad,” Dru said, “With this small of a distance between us, I don’t think I can win. I’ve just gotta hope that his tires are worn pretty damn thin.” The two went almost tandem into a wide right-hander. “He’s lost power,” Keisuke thought with more hope coming into the picture for him, “I can pass him!” As they went through the turn, though, Keisuke’s car began to drift closer to the guardrail. “Shit!” he thought, “This is what I feared was gonna happen. I’ve got the power, but no grip whatsoever! Dammit, I shouldn’t have panicked when he was catching up!” The race was now in its last quarter-mile. “Ah, f**k it,” Keisuke said, “Now let’s try to pass him, worn tires or not!” He smashed on the gas at the straightaway hoping to pass him long enough to brake into the turn and still keep the lead.
“He’s lost grip,” Dru stated to himself after seeing the erratic Mustang’s movement, “It’s a straight right now, but the last section of course is a mid-speed right-hander. If he passes me now, he still can’t beat me.” The blue ‘stang passed Dru on his left. His lead then increased to a carlength into the turn. “Not good enough, bud,” Dru said slamming on the brakes, “It’s over.” Keisuke’s car was so out of whack, that the loss of grip had caused him to scrape into the guardrail in a last-ditch effort to win the race. Sparks began to fly as they went into the last 300 feet in a dead heat. Dru passed Keisuke however by half-a-carlength in the end. It was round one to Dru, and now Keisuke was playing catch-up.
|Posted by: Meteor May 21 2008, 02:18 AM|
| Still going great. Keep it up
Round 2's up next. Time to see what happens then.
In other words: MOAR PLZ!
|Posted by: Drew May 22 2008, 07:01 PM|
| Ask and ye shall receive.
Oh, and btw, I'm going to try and finish this before the beginning of June; I've already got the second chapter done, and am currently writing up the third.
In the future, I'm gonna be working on three fics; Initial Ski, and two possible collabs that I'll keep secret until we post the fics up.
Chapter 18: Mulholland Madness
Two weeks later; Mulholland Drive, Los Angeles
The battle at Skyline Drive had decimated Keisuke. This decimation, however, made him even more determined to come back from behind to win the tournament. He had gone back to LA the next day and met up with Gene and his buddies who helped set up Keisuke’s Mustang for the battle at Mulholland. By the end of the first day, Keisuke had made 50 passes down the mountain. All the data they collected on the first day allowed Gene, Jon and Daley to set up the Mustang for the intense turns of the famed LA highway where the famed Steve McQueen once drove down in his classic Jaguar. By the end of the first week, Keisuke was getting closer to the track record. It seemed that everything was working In his favor for this one.
Every night that Keisuke went out, it seemed that someone in an exotic European supercar wanted to take Keisuke on. He turned all of them down, causing them to chase him down the road in anger and out of disrespect. Keisuke just left them all in the dust. One day however, Keisuke saw some young kid in a white FC, which reminded him of his brother’s Mazda that was slammed into the touge’s stone wall, ending his life. The sight of the white Mazda sparked a fire in Keisuke. “I won’t lose,” Keisuke thought, “This is all part of my brother’s plan, I can feel it. I can’t lose!” By the end of that night, Keisuke shattered the original track record by two seconds. He kept improving up until the day of the race. He was ready to take Dru down hard.
The day of the race; everyone who was a serious car nut in LA (and there were a lot of them) showed up to watch what would be the best race in the Drive’s history. From West Ventura Boulevard to the beginning of Mulholland sat a massive number of spectators on the sidelines. Ironically enough, the cops were too busy with their annual Gala to really even pay attention to the race. Even the local broadcasters played in on the act, stating that Mulholland would be closed due to re-surfacing of the road that night. Some local DJs and TV personalities were there, too. Down the four mile course sat some of the most diverse vehicles in all of LA. You had ’32 rat rod Fords, blown Hemi Cudas, Civics, Corollas, and other tuners, high-roller Mercedes, exuberant Lamborghinis, and elegant Ferraris all lined up down the famed drive. They knew what was going down tonight; one of the greatest street races in LA’s history.
The first to show was Dru in his Spitfire. The engine revved like an angry wasp, ready to sting its final blow to take down its prey. Next was Keisuke in his Boss 302 followed by Gene’s Nismo-tune 350Z, Jon’s red ‘stang, and Daley’s Astro Van with Gene’s uncle’s “Maglio Speed Shop” on the side. The four pulled into the lot. Opening the van, Keisuke and Gene grabbed a computer out of the back. They then began going over technical details involving the best way to beat Dru. Keisuke developed the entire scenario in order for him to get an advantage against the British sports car. It seemed like when Ryousuke died, Keisuke took his brother’s analytical skill with him. This time, Keisuke was prepared for that haunted engine’s tricks.
After the briefing and final checkup of the Mustang, the two cars lined up for the race. “Keisuke,” Dru said, “Since you lost last time, you have control over the rules of the race.” “We’ll start in single file,” Keisuke said, “You can go ahead out front, and I’ll be in the back. If I pass you by the finish line, I win. If you are much further ahead of me at the end of the race, you win. If we are close at the end, we go again. If that does happen, we switch places.” “Sounds fair,” Dru said, trying not to sound shocked by Keisuke’s decision to run behind. The two got into their cars, and waited for the signal. The signaler dropped his hands, and the two were off.
“What are you planning, Keisuke Takahashi?” Dru wondered, as he tried to increase his lead, “When I’m out in front, I don’t have any advantage unless I get angry. Shit, he got me.” He smashed on the brakes as he headed into a hard left-hander, “I bet he’s just conserving his tires, waiting for the end of the course to pass. I should have never underestimated his mind. He has truly outwitted me on this course. Now I’ll show him my skill as I pull away.” After he said that, the car was engulfed in white light. “H-his aura?” Keisuke wondered, still conserving his tires, “It’s visible! There are only two people I know who actually have that happen to them; Takumi’s father and now this kid!” As soon as the aura became visible, the Spitfire began pulling away. “Now I’ll show him what true speed is!” Keisuke thought, pushing the envelope as they rounded a mid-speed right-hander, “No one defeats Takahashi Keisuke in a shutout!”
Looking in his rearview, Dru was stunned to see the ’69 Mustang in his rearview. “He’s damn good!” Dru thought, gassing out of the left-hander, “He must’ve done his homework on this track. Well at this pace, the battle will be decided near the end. If I conserve my energy until that point, we’ll be side-to-side and ready to battle the last quarter mile in a drag race after the turn. I’m counting on you to pull me through this thing!” The Spitfire then began to drift through the turns, with Keisuke following suit. It was a tandem drift battle with both drivers now switching places at each turn. The crowd roared as they swung through the turns, barely missing the guardrail or the solid rock walls.
The battle continued into the area home to the rich and famous. The many celebrities and executives ad heard about the race. Most headed out before the race started, but some decided to set up shop outside their houses and watch the race, using it as an excuse to hold lavish parties. At one of these houses, some famous pop singer who had too much alcohol in her blood, was walking out to her Land Rover to go home. “What the hell are you doing?” someone said. “I’m, going home,” she said in a drunken stupor, “I’ve gotta go home and rest up for my concert!”
Starting up her SUV, she pulled out right in front of Keisuke. “Shit!” he yelled, swinging the Mustang into the dirt to avoid the idiotic drunken starlet. After barely getting away, he was passed by Dru. “Now it’s settled,” Keisuke said, “We’ve got about three-quarters of a mile left, so I’m done conserving my tires! Time to go full-throttle!” At those words, he smashed down on the accelerator, ready to do battle with the infamous Dead Man’s Curve being the battlefield that would either make or break his chances of winning.
|Posted by: Meteor May 22 2008, 09:08 PM|
| Another nice update. Keep at it.
Hurrah for drunk drivers interfering in the battle
I request MOAR.
|Posted by: Drew May 25 2008, 05:41 PM|
| Kinda short update, but still all good in da hood.
Chapter 19: Flaws
At this point, both Keisuke and Dru were dead even; Dru behind by a carlength with Keisuke in front. If Keisuke could hold on for a bit longer, he might have a shot at victory. However, he wasn’t sure if the Spitfire had any more tricks up its sleeve. “I can’t fall for any more of his moves, “ Keisuke thought, braking hard. As of right now, Keisuke was braking much later in order to compensate for the lagging heated brakes. Dru, whose car was much lighter, broke much further, but he couldn’t pass Keisuke. “So it’s also fatiguing in the brakes, too,” Keisuke pondered as he took the hard right. Unlike Skyline Drive, Mullholland was a very twisty road much similar to the touge that Keisuke was used to. It was an easy road to run, but it was very hard to master.
The first few times down, Keisuke spun out in a few turns due to he not being used to the muscle car’s weaker braking. His FD (which he horribly missed for both the braking and downforce) would’ve been able to brake at 90 mph into a turn from a good 150 feet away. The lightweight chassis allowed him to do so. The Mustang would take the same kind of curve at the same speed due to the well-built and robust custom suspension, but the mass was too strenuous to make the braking range the same. His Mustang needed the slotted and crossdrilled Super GT style rotors to make sure it came to a complete stop at a red light. Now Keisuke was able to sympathize with GTR owners and their braking issues.
As of right now, they were just a quarter of a mile from the infamous Dead Man’s Curve. Dru was also facing a few problems with his car, too. First off, Dru realized a major weak point of the Spitfire; the weight. Sure the car was under a ton, but that weight could be both a blessing and a burden. It allowed him to accelerate to sixty mile an hour in under five seconds at the lowest horsepower setting. It also allowed him to corner at over 1 G on the skidpad due to the weight, too, but there was a dark side to having a light sports car. When racing in Shenandoah, there was a strong front coming through the valley. A few times, Dru was wishing he had put a few dumbbells in the car to prevent it from being taken into the sky by a rouge gust like a kite. He didn’t even put a GT-style wing on it, because scaffolding would’ve made it look like a wannabe Porsche GT3. He was regretting those words every time a gust hit his car while he was going 50 mph over the speed limit. He saw the Youtube video of the Porsche racer that pulled a backflip due to the wind. He didn’t want to become the first classic battle-ready Spitfire to fly without wings.
The weight also was a problem for Dru if it rained. Even before he built up the Spitfire, his lightweight 240 had a nightmarish incident on Route 73 during a torrential downpour. While making a lane change, Dru hit a puddle and begun hydroplaning. In a heavier car, this would be easy to correct, but by the time Dru corrected it, he was in the opposite lane facing the grille of a black Peterbilt longnose tractor-trailer. He was able to save himself by swerving to the left, but he lost control again and ended up in a drainage ditch. After that, Dru put in a $3000 two-thousand-watt sound system, all-weather tires, and a backseat after he repaired the car in his boss’s body shop. With the Spitfire, he tried to get the weight down because it was a strict racecar for the track; he never had any intentions of running it on the street as a daily driver like his 240.
The other problem was what Dru feared the most before Dead Man’s Curve. His brakes were beginning to give out due to his occasional lack of common sense. “Shit!” he yelled, as he pulled back allowing Keisuke to keep his lead, “I forgot to replace the pads after Skyline Drive!” This was a common thing for Dru; he seemed to forget some sort of major important detail that would eventually come back to bite him in the ass. All Dru needed now was for the pads to wear down to metal and screw up his brakes. They were easy to replace, but he didn’t have time to break them in; the next race was a week away in Tennessee and North Carolina. That would give him only about 1500 miles on the brakes even if he vigorously practiced for the four days he would be down there. “I’m gonna have to!” Dru said angrily, “If I win, I won’t have to worry about the brakes! Ah, shit! Why am I so stupid?!” By this point Keisuke was about five carlengths ahead. When Dru pushed down on the accelerator, the engine roared to a new level that is only reached when the driver is clearly pissed off. “Yes!” Dru thought, “Now I’m ready to decimate you, Keisuke!” The car then exploded faster than it ever had during the race, closing the gap quickly. It was once again a dead heat.
“He closed the gap?” Keisuke thought, shocked because of the dramatic change, “He hasn’t been more than 300 feet behind me the entire race! He must be really pissed, because I’ve never seen it go that fast. It won’t matter if I can block him for a few more turns!” To Keisuke, the race was finished, but just like at Gettysburg during Pickett’s Charge, it ain’t over ‘til it’s over; flaws or no flaws.
|Posted by: Meteor May 26 2008, 01:26 AM|
| Holy. . Can Dru keep going with those worn brake pads?
Keep going yo.
|Posted by: Drew May 28 2008, 06:07 AM|
| Chapter 20: Dead Man’s Curve
There were only a few more turns left. Dru stuck to Keisuke like an angry wasp. The Spitfire had gained an extra 100 horsepower due to Dru’s frustration. It was frightfully approaching over 400 horsepower. At those numbers, the lowly Spitfire could do 0-60 as fast as a Ferrari FXX and could pull a top speed that equaled the Lamborghini Diablo. However, the brakes were going on both cars, so Dru couldn’t fully uncork the true power of the car until the last eighth-mile stretch. The car was truly a deathtrap being driven by a suicidal genius.
Keisuke was also beginning to feel the pressure. “I can beat him!” Keisuke said, “It’s going to be a braking battle again, and I’ve got to hold out as long as I possibly can. I’m gonna get as close as I can to the mountain face!” The two flew past the timer, and he was amazed at what he was seeing. “I-Impossible!” He said over the phone, “That’s impossible!” “What is it?” Gene said on the other line. “At the rate they are going,” he said, “Keisuke will have shattered the course record by six seconds!” “Is that so?” Gene spoke again, “How did their brakes look?” “They were glowing red, and it seemed that Keisuke’s front right was sparking when he slowed down going into the curve before Dead Man!” “Okay, thanks for telling me that,” Gene replied, hanging up.
“What’s going on?” Daley queried. “I want you and Jon to go down in the Astro and meet Keisuke at the finish line,” Gene said, walking over to his Z, “It could get pretty hairy on the way down, so watch out for anything odd at Dead Man’s, got it?” “Understood,” they both said in unison as they headed over to the Astro. “This is not good,” Gene said, thinking on the hood of his Z while the Astro puttered down the hill, “I designed the Boss to be used for high-speed runs, not heavy duty mountain pass running. Shit, Ryousuke; I hope that both are okay. I mean, Dru was your friend, right?”
The battle had just about reached it’s explosive climax. The two cars, Keisuke’s blown and bright blue 1969 Mustang Boss 302 and Dru’s possessed Cosworth-powered 1975 Spitfire 1500 rocketed towards Dead Man’s curve. “Okay,” Keisuke said, swinging the car to the right just before the turn, “Wait for it, wait for it, NOW!” He punched on the brakes, and the Mustang began its run through the turn. “C’mon!” Keisuke said, trying to fight the failing brakes, “You can do it!” His brakes seemed to give up however, and Dru’s petite Spitfire was now right next to the big Mustang. “Shit!” Keisuke yelled, “Not good! C’mon, baby! Push it a little bit more! I can’t lose, I CAN’T LOSE!!!” Exiting the turn, it was an eighth mile drag of sheer desperation to the finish. “That’s it!” Keisuke thought with a last glint of hope as he got off the brakes and smashed the gas pedal to the ground, “He may be better with power-to-weight, but I’ve got tons of torque!” As he accelerated out of the turn, Dru started to lose control from his brakes seizing up. The Cossie engine, however, roared to life and broke the brakes loose, causing it to explode forward. The two were now even down to the line. It had become a battle that would be decided by the fates rather than by one driver’s skill.
“They’re roaring down here from Dead Man’s!” Someone yelled at the finish line. “That aura!” Dru said, looking over at Keisuke’s rainbow aura that erupted around the massive car, “He’s so much better than I am! I still can’t lose, though! I won’t! YOU AIN’T GONNA WIN, YOU SONOFAb*tch!” The two cars crossed the line almost at the same time. The verdict came after someone with a camcorder caught the finish; it was Keisuke by a front wheel. The crowd cheered, and enveloped the blue monster in it’s sea of bodies. It still wasn’t over yet. Now it was time for the overtime at the Tail of the Dragon in the South!”
|Posted by: Meteor May 28 2008, 08:42 AM|
| That was pretty darn close. .
I humbly request MOAR.
|Posted by: Drew May 29 2008, 03:48 PM|
| Chapter 21: Fourteen Miles of Pain
One Moth Later: Deal’s Gap, North Carolina; 7:30 PM
In a month, both Keisuke and Dru rebuilt their cars. After calculating the error, Gene rebuilt the Mustang for this last run. However, the brakes were still not back to full spec. Dru’s spitfire was also under the same conditions. The rear end, however, was close to coming unhinged from its brackets. Both sides tried to reinforce the cars at their weak points to the best of their abilities. Unfortunately, both teams were amateurs, not professionals. Keisuke was also getting ready to head back to Japan. He still had vengeance on his mind against Kyo Batuyonai, the man who killed Ryousuke in their ill-fated Akagi match. He was also looking for another muscle car for him to run in Japan. He even called up Fumihiro just to talk.
“Hello?” the man said in Japanese. “Ohayo!” Keisuke replied over the payphone at the rest stop, “It is morning, right?” “What?” Fumihiro said, in shock, “Keisuke-san! It’s good to hear your voice! How are you? Where are you?” “Yeah, same too, Fumihiro-san,” Keisuke stated, “I’m in the states. It’s kind of a long story, so I’ll tell ya when I get back.” “We’ve been looking all over Japan for you, Keisuke-san!” Fumihiro replied, “Super Autobacs is looking for someone to race for them, and they’ve already got Takumi interested!” “Nani?” Keisuke replied, white as a ghost, “The Super Autobacs?!” “Hai!” Fumihiro stated, “So you better get your ass back to Akagi in a week!” “I will, Fumihiro-san! You can count on that!” he said, “Ja ne!” he hung up, much more excited to be joining such an exclusive team like Super Autobacs.
“Heh,” Dru thought as he pulled in to the parking lot in Tennessee running the course for one last time before the race, “The rear-end is still weak. If I trailer it back to the start, it’ll be fine. I just don’t know what this does with training. You leave, stating that you’ll be back before I know it, and then you end up dying on me! Then your brother comes here and challenges me to a race, and I do exactly as you told me to! You said if I had the skill, it’d come down to this last course! I don’t know if I can do this, Ryousuke-san!” After loading the car up onto the flatbed, Dru began the trek up the road to the start, “If I win, what’ll happen? I guess this is what you meant by taking on the fastest from your team if something ever happened to you.”
Keisuke sat as the flatbed pickup came up the hill with Dru driving. “so this is what you meant by ‘going all out,’” he thought as his mind raced with both the upcoming race and the chance to run with Super Autobacs. He recalled back to the video will that was left to him…
“Keisuke-san,” Ryousuke said on the DVD, sitting at his computer all calm as if he was already dead and in a better place, “This tape was made in order for you to know what to do after my death. While forming Project.D three years ago, I had to think of what would be the all-encompassing goal. This led to me to make my drivers self-sufficient in all aspects of racing. This development of the racers was the cornerstone behind Project.D and what the Initial D stands for in our team name. Even though I am no longer with you on earth, please go to America for me and follow the instructions in the envelope. A word of warning; don’t ever open it until you are on the ground in San Diego. Also, don’t mention this to anyone who knows me until you are in America for over a month. Think of this as a partial break from heavy-duty racing until you join a team.”
“You will, however, face your toughest opponent ever. I taught him when I was still the White Comet. It was from my leave of absence at nineteen until my formation of the Red Suns. He was my first student; a prototype to you and Fujiwara to put it simply. One more word of warning; whatever you do, do it no matter what happens. If you are in fear of straying from your goal, do not worry; you will make it to your destination soon enough. Finally, after you come back, I want you and Fujiwara to race down Akina in a final race after going pro. Do this not in remembrance of me, but for your own good.” By this time on the DVD, Ryousuke was beginning to tear up, “I loved every minute of teaching you and Fujiwara, whether you noticed it or not. I will forever miss you two.”
* * *
“Alright,” Gene said, holding the air horn used to start the race, “On the third blast, you both head on out, got it!” Both drivers nodded their heads and started their engines. Keisuke’s small-block V8 roared to life along with the whizzing of the supercharger after turning the key. Dru’s Cosworth engine erupted in a din of four-cylinder bliss. The first blast; both pressed down on the clutches and shifted into first. The second; both engines revved up to launch speed. Final blast; both the cars flew off the line with little-to-no wheelspin. It was a perfect launch. Both drivers knew each other’s secrets. It was going to be a battle of the ages.
|Posted by: Drew Jun 1 2008, 06:44 PM|
| Chapter 22: Evel F*cking Kneivel
By the time they came up on the Carousel Corner at the 5.8-mile marker, Keisuke was beginning to feel the pressure. “He’s so fast!” he thought, “But I can’t get further away from him! If I go too far, he’ll pass me using that demon engine of his! Ahh, f**king f**k!” He had just lost his concentration enough to give Dru a wide-open gap. “Why won’t he f**king pass me?!” Keisuke thought to himself, with sweat beading on his forehead as the lime-green glow of the gauges seemed to taunt him, “Is he just playing games?! Shit, what the hell are you thinking, Dru?!”
Road Buster had come to watch what was going to go down that night. His record in San Fran was cleared just two days prior. He sat in the crowd next to the Hump with his big-block ‘Vette parked next to a GTO and a 1970’s-era Maserati. “So Dru,” he thought as the roar of the engines came towards the most popular place to watch the race, “It’s tied in overtime and the ball’s yours. What will you do?” He lit a cigarette, and leaned on the guardrail. “Dude,” one observer said, “Y’know when they come by here, they might take your face off, man.” “I know,” he said, blowing smoke into the night air.
Hitting the seismic wave turns that contained the Copperhead Corner, Dru was still playing very conservatively. He had not unleashed the possessed engine’s true potential yet, knowing that if he did, it would wear his tires out with two miles left. “I’ve just got to keep focused on my attack point!” he thought, “A mid-air pass at the Hump.” The Hump was an infamous spot for the motorcyclists of the area; it was commonplace that riders caught air over this hilltop. Wipeouts were common, and many people had died right there or at Wheelie Hell due to recklessness. Both Keisuke and Dru were fast, but not reckless; at least that’s what Keisuke thought. He wasn’t even ready for the action that was gonna happen at the Hump.
After flying through the Dalton Esses, Keisuke was beginning to feel a little less pressured. “If he isn’t passing yet,” Keisuke thought, “Maybe he’s too afraid to pass at all. Is it because of my car’s size?” He chuckled as they flew past the 8-mile marker. “So this is what GTR drivers do by blocking the entire road with their size.” There was a jump coming up; not like it’d faze Keisuke. Every time he ran the course, he flew over the “Gravity Cavity” like a pro rally driver on a race stage somewhere in Northern Europe or Africa. As soon as he left the airborne point, something came from the right. “No way!” Keisuke said, seeing the Spitfire fly through the air, “NO f**kING WAY!!!!!!!!”
“Watch out!” someone yelled as the two cars went suicidal by going tandem off the jump. The crowd ran like rats fleeing a sinking ship; well, except for Road Buster. He just sat and watched, still leaning on the guardrail. “So this is your point of passage?” he thought, knowing both drivers’ skills wouldn’t mean that they were out of control in the air like that, “That’s ballsy, kid. Really damned ballsy.”
The two landed right next to each other. Dru, however, was on the inside of the next turn. “No!” Keisuke yelled, banging the car back down to third as they swung through the turn. “He’s got me. I never expected him to pull such a rash move like that one. Now I’ve got the uphill battle.” AS he was saying this, Dru was pulling away faster and faster. “I guess this is the situation you mentioned I should release my full potential, aniki?” He then shifted up again as they came out of the turn. “Now I must become one with the machine!”
In his rearview, a bright explosion blinded Dru. “What the hell was that?” he thought, looking behind him to see if his competitor lost control. He hadn’t; not by a long shot. Keisuke’s aura was intensely visible as he encroached on Dru’s rear bumper. “Wow. He really is amazing.” He then turned to the gauges of his car and began talking. “Why don’t you take a break?” he said, petting the steering wheel, “I can handle it from here on out.” The car then began decelerating, but the momentum kept on going. Dru was ready to take it to his highest point in order to defeat Keisuke.
|Posted by: Meteor Jun 1 2008, 10:28 PM|
| This. Is. Gonna be freakin' awesome!
|Posted by: Drew Jun 6 2008, 06:14 PM|
| second to last chapter everyone!
Chapter 24: 100%
At around the 10-mile marker, both drivers were running very close to full-throttle. Even though Keisuke’s aura was visible, he was still holding back at least 10% of his full potential. Dru’s aura was also now visible. His symbiosis with his car had become so strong that he didn’t even need the engine’s occult trickery to win. It was now all skill for both drivers. The next turn was Crud Corner; a sharp hairpin that had a long quarter mile run known as Cooper’s straight. Both cars flew through the straight at over 120 mph; waiting until almost the last second to brake. Their brakes were fading, but the intensity of the fading was not nearly as devastating as it had been at Mullholland Drive a month ago. They both headed into the turn at around 35 mph, with Keisuke no more than three feet behind Dru. The high beams blared into Dru’s eyes along with the white-hot aura of the Mustang.
“If he keeps running like this,” Dru wondered, “He’ll lose grip or his brakes again. But there still is the possibility that he is holding back a little. His skill has increased incrementally as this race has progressed. I’d give him another half-mile until he’s at top performance. If he does that, then—shit!” It was now that he realized why Keisuke was holding back; after the 12th mile marker, there were only two turns that he had to brake hard into; the rest was all straight and high-speed corners. “I’m going all-out right now,” Dru thought in despair, “I can’t keep pushing the envelope. If my rear end snaps, I’m in the lake or the trees. Heh, you got me, Keisuke Takahashi; checkmate. Don’t think this means I’m gonna give up, though. As long as I’m out in front after the last turn, I win!”
Passing the 11-mile marker, Keisuke realized what he had to do next. “I’m gonna go for broke here,” he thought, “After Wheelie Hell, it’s all on the table. Time to end this!” He upshifted out of the turn and jammed on the gas. The 302 V8 roared in furious aggression with the supercharger sucking in massive amounts of air to feed the beast. As soon as he passed the 11.5-mile marker, something changed in Keisuke; he felt none of the g-forces that had been wearing him out so much. All the crowds to the left and right of him had vanished into the black. The only things in his range of vision were the road and Dru’s Spitfire. It seemed that all his worries about his car’s problems were gone. The brakes worked excellently along with the engine. Time slowed down as he went through corners. Keisuke began noticing the lines he needed to take in the last few corners to pass Dru. He had become one with not only the car, but also the road. “This race is over,” Keisuke said, as they passed the Crossroads of Time.
Rally Vincent, who had just got down to Tennessee, was waiting on the racers at the 12th mile marker on Route 129. “This was the first time that they shut down 129 for a race like this,” she said to May, who was sitting on the hood of the Shelby, “They said it was for a movie, so they shut it down.” “You still love him, don’t you?” May asked. “Of course,” Rally said with confidence, “And I think I’ll never love another man.” “They’re coming!” a spectator said, “Watch out everyone!” The two cars were flying down the road, side by side, and Rally could see the aura of both drivers. “Th-they’re amazing,” she said, “Both of them!” “He’s gonna pass, Rally!” May said, watching the movement of the Mustang.
“It’s over!” Keisuke said, “You lose, Dru!” The Mustang exploded past the Spitfire. “He got me!” Dru said still focusing on the road ahead of him, “He actually got me!! Dammit! I shouldn’t have pushed it as much as I did back there! I’m sorry; I have failed you.” All of a sudden, however, the car kept going constant even after Dru let off the gas. “What’re you doing?!” he said as the car seemed to keep accelerating. And then, he saw it. Up ahead of Keisuke was his final point of attack, “Of course!! The Fugitive Bridge! Why wasn’t I thinking that?!” The bridge faced the dam where Harrison ford made his spectacular dive in “The Fugitive”. For Dru, this would be his final dive into the hairy final turn of the Tail of the Dragon, just like Richard Kimble did fifteen years earlier.
|Posted by: pnoytecknix Jun 6 2008, 07:22 PM|
|damn, so suspenseful.... good stuff, bro. keep em comin|
|Posted by: Meteor Jun 6 2008, 11:15 PM|
| The Fugitive Bridge. . . . ? What's going to happen there?
And the conclusion to this awesome fic nears. . .
I'll say this one more time.
|Posted by: ?wha? Jun 7 2008, 05:29 AM|
| where did chap 23 go?? :P
ZOMG Cosworth twin cam FTW... MOAR PLZ!!
|Posted by: Drew Jun 8 2008, 06:26 PM|
| I dunno if this'll be the last chapter, or if I'll do an epilouge, so keep checking for updates.
Chapter 25: Finish Him
By the ending straightaway of Route 129, the rumors were true; both Keisuke and Dru had broken the 9-minute record that was set on this road. “No way,” Twitch said to Deuce at the finish line while sitting on the hood of his RSX. “Of course they would break into the 9-minute range,” Deuce said, “That’s what they’re built to do; Dru’s car especially. Still, I will admit that Keisuke had one helluvan uphill battle against his own car.” “That’s because it isn’t built for mountain passes like this,” Twitch replied. “Exactly,” Deuce stated with wisdom, “From battle #1, Keisuke had to adapt to the ever-changing characteristics of his car. After the first battle in which he had very little experience on the first track, he began to practice frantically at Mullholland Drive. Remember that he was still driving a car specialized for top speed and GP-style tracks.
This round, he’s finally set up the way he wants to be; it’s a fast accelerating transmission mated to a detuned 302. The suspension is even set up to handle the fast changes; Gene installed a quick-turn mechanism and re-adjusted the camber to allow for better grip. What amazes me most is adaptation; a common trait of pro racers.” Deuce then looked at Twitch with a look that stated that he wasn’t bullshitting anyone, “He’s gonna go big, just you watch.”
“He’s pulling away!” Dru said, watching the taillamps of the ‘stang disappear into the night, “If he’s going this fast, he can’t escape passing the 1000-foot mark! Why is he doing this, though?” At an instant, however, Dru had a revelation. “He wants me to catch up!” he thought, “Keisuke doesn’t want this to end here! If I’m thinking this through, at the speed we’re going I oughtta catch up to him at the Fugitive Bridge! Well, Keisuke, I’m coming for you, and I’m giving everything I have!” The Spitfire began accelerating like an exotic Italian supercar, ready to finish this once and for all.
“This is the thirteen-mile marker!” someone at the marker said into a cell phone, “They’re coming up like bats outta hell! My God, they must be suicidal!!” At the marker, there was only a two-second gap between Keisuke and Dru. They were coming up fast on the Slide, a wide left before the mid-speed Fugitive Bridge. The Fugitive Bridge was a bridge over top a ravine that curved to the left. It was the single most dangerous curve for both drivers. Their cars were worn out and losing their edge. Keisuke’s brakes were once again beginning to fade, and Dru’s rear end was so loose that he drifted through each turn. The tires on either car weren’t doing great either. If they wanted to go all out anywhere else on the course, it’d be fine, but at the Fugitive Bridge, it’d be one helluva challenge for both.
“He’s here,” Keisuke thought, glad that he would face Dru on skill alone. His pride as a Japanese Hashiriya was still on the line; he wasn’t one to win on full-blown power. He wanted to finish this like the Samurai in a Kurosawa film or the gunfighters in an old Western movie. It’d be a showdown to determine who was the best of the best. “Alright then, Dru-san,” Keisuke said, “Let’s see how well you are in this situation.”
At that, he smashed on the gas as they went through the Slide. “He’s mad!” Dru thought, “Unless he’s trying for an…inertia drift! That’s it!” Inertia drifting was the first thing that exposed Keisuke to his future that might include a racing deal with Super Autobacs. It was a fitting move to end his journey in America. Just as Dru anticipated, Keisuke let off the gas, and swung the car to the left at the three-quarter point of the Slide. “Gonna slide in the middle of an opposite turn, I see,” Dru wondered, “Well, here I go!” The Spitfire, all under Dru’s control, swung to the left at the point in which he’d be performing a straight-line drift entry. Years after the race, Dru stated that when they were both straight-line drifting parallel, it was the single greatest moment in his driving career.
It was Keisuke’s shining moments in America, too. Coming into the turn, both drivers were still running at close to full speed. Smoke was permeating the dark night as they spun the rear tires. “I got him!” Dru thought as he began passing Keisuke. Fate had different plants, though. The tires on his Spitfire were worn thin. He was struggling to keep it through the turn. “No!” Dru said, No, no, no, no, NO! Why now? Why the f**k now?!” He let off the gas just long enough to let Keisuke get a lead that was too commanding to make up in the last half of the turn. Dru was beaten; the Jersey Devil was defeated by a new legend.
|Posted by: Meteor Jun 8 2008, 08:45 PM|
| Amazing conclusion. Simply amazing.
If by some chance you're working on an epilouge, I'll be waiting patiently.
|Posted by: pnoytecknix Jun 8 2008, 08:57 PM|
|what a way to go out.... awesome conclusion, although im hoping theres at least a small epilogue of some sort...|