Mike Zephyr: Split/Second

Chapter 3 - Every Fire Needs A Spark

      It had been a few days of preparing for the first race of mine before the event had finally arrived. It was a Sunday now, so consider this event a Sunday Drive for the entire show. It didn't take me long to get in my Mustang and drive through the island streets to get to where I wanted to go. The island was much bigger than it looked on the outside, so it was easy to confuse it for a few entire states combined into one single island. The breeze gently kisses my furred face as I drove with my windows down, just cruising my way down the racer-congested streets.

It didn't take me long to find the starting grid for the race track, set within a small but sizable construction yard, connecting to a small part of the city and through a single underground tunnel in something of a simple shape of a letter B. It consisted of one challenging set of two u-turns and one curving long straight. There were no shortcuts in this race, just a simple track and nothing but speed and skill. Everyone had different cars that they picked out at the starting line, unique and suited for their drivers in their own ways. The smell of gasoline filled the air as the racers rev their monstrous engines, with an attractive curvaceous female cheetah in booty shorts and a crop top to match her brown pony tail and spotted fur steps in front of the racers, cat-walking the whole way until she turns to face us while standing at the starting line of the race. She held a single revolver with a blank bullet in the chamber of it up towards the sky, as well as a megaphone in her other hand. At the same time, the cameras focusing on the racetrack began to record, with live footage coverage and commentary to keep the action flowing. I know because I could hear it on the show's radio station. We were live and ready to race.

"RACERS," she shouts through the megaphone. "START. YOUR. ENGINES!"
In immediate response, we all let our machines of fury fill the air with the roar of our engine, signaling to her that we were prepared for the first of many rushes of this racing season.
"WHEN I FIRE THIS GUN, YOU WILL BE GIVEN THE GREEN LIGHT! ON YOUR MARKS!"
I clutch onto my steering wheel as if my life was about to depend on it, staring ahead at the flag-keeper and at the paved road ahead of me as I took slow breaths to steady my nerves. I had experience with this field of racing, after all, I used to do illegal street races long ago. This shouldn't be too difficult. The worst that could happen would be a wreck. Why would they booby trap their own race, right? It didn't take me long to grasp the gearshift of my muscle car, as it was a manual, gripping the leather wheel in my left hand.

"GET SET!"
"... GO!"

With that, she fired the revolver with a loud gunshot, and the race had begun. I was in the back of the entire pack, so I would have to work extra hard in order to take the lead. Stomping on the gas as I shift into first gear, I allow my wheels to spin, burning rubber into the pavement before I take off, leaving the flag-keeper as well as many of the filming crew members in the dust. Gripping the wheel with my fingerless and studded black leather gloves on, I take the first long straight of the track while trying to avoid any of the other racers as much as I can. The more damage you take, the slower you go and the bigger the chances are for you to be turned into nothing but a chassis, broken glass, and missing car body parts. You would break several bones if not dead already. Only a very lucky few come out unscathed from car wrecks in the sport of racing. In front of me, I can already see two cars slamming into one another, battling for their positions as bits of their paint scatter across the track. Finally, one slams the other into a set of parked cars on the side of the road, wrecking the racer and forcing them out of the race.

The first U-turn was coming up now. Like the other drivers, I pull the emergency brake and swerve on through, overtaking some racers from the inside of the curve before swerving through the next curve, letting my tires burn into the tarmac through the turn. Once we hit the straight again, all that remained was one last chicane before we complete our first lap. Taking full advantage of this, I push the button on my steering wheel for my nitrous, and let my exhaust pipes emit a flame of blue before I speed past the other racers, already boosting myself up to the top 10 out of 25 other racers in only the first out of 3 laps.

Since I was driving a muscle car, I had to turn and brake earlier than a sports car would have before the turn, but with all of that power, I could just blast through the turn without losing as much speed as the others may have. We take the challenging chicane turn, whizzing past the starting line, completing a lap. I could hear the spectating commentators on the show making positive remarks about my current performance so far, forcing a slight smirk upon my face. No time for a victory dance yet though, I still had this race to win. Hitting my top speed of 157 miles an hour, I slowly pass through some more racers until I reach the top 5. Making sure to grip the wheel until my knuckles could possibly bleed the entire way, pushing this machine's extent to surpass every other racer in the competition.

It was quite difficult to keep up with the remaining 5 racers, as they have been able to smoke everyone else except for me as of yet. I would have to pull some serious racing if I were to win this race. Knowing this, I made sure to use my rechargeable nitrous in every straight that I possibly could, making the sharpest of turns that I could pull off. Eventually, I had made close passes and moved up to the top 3 by the final lap. This was where it had to come down to. This was it. It was all or nothing for this now.

      "Come on, Mike, you've done racing for years before, you've got this. Just focus," I would tell myself, as my sky blue eyes focus on the road ahead of me while my surroundings rocket past me in a blur of speed, the Mustang's V8 engine being the only music to my ears while I stay close to the rear of my next opponent's vehicle, using this cover to pick up speed since they were deflecting some of the oncoming wind, allowing me to obtain a slight advantage for acceleration.

He wasn't letting me pass very easily though, often blocking me off with every opening I try to obtain. During the two U-turns, I attempt to overtake him from the inside, but he closed in on me, forcing me to use the brakes to avoid being slammed into the walls. Frustrated, I make one final attempt by using my nitrous boost in the straight. Finally, I get a clean pass on their car. I pass 3rd, 2nd... And finally into 1st place just as the leading car attempts to ram my back tire in a sideswipe, but fails due to my acceleration and slams into the wall, spinning out before beginning a messy roll across the tarmac while I cross the finish line. They had wrecked themselves, and I had won the rookie race. Striking a fist into the air after crossing the finish, a grin is left on my face out of victory.

"And Mike Zephyr crosses the finish for his first win! He will be moving on with the remaining 15 racers to the next event. He looks like he's got potential, too. Let's just hope he can keep up! My name is Brian Leon, and this is Split/Second!" The commentator spoke over the radio before their theme song plays. Swerving my car to a stop on the side of the track, I step out of my vehicle and let the sun kiss my red and white furry face as I took a big sigh of pride. I never usually win in anything, but racing was one thing I was at least good at. This show looked promising for me.

I then wondered what would come next as I step back inside and strap myself in before heading to the sidelines for an interview and more footage for the crew to take for their show. Nothing too special, just the typical questions for my win and the first race of the season, how did I do it, blah blah blah. I gave them my reasonable answers and left to go get myself some lunch on my own, thinking I could perhaps also take a walk alone and enjoy the island's weather to clear my head, and relax, too. After all, I do think I earned myself a little time to kick back. What do you think?