Claire Miles had a dream; the dream to be the fastest street-racer in the country. She dreamt of winning high-stakes bets in highway races, of taking home cars that right now, she could only dream about, and she most certainly dreamt about the day that Corey Strickland finally grew tired of her shit, and chased her.
Every morning, she burnt rubber flying by the tiny, decrepit café he wasted his life at, sometimes deliberately revving the engine to ensure he heard her. And every morning, he waited until she stopped in the fuel station to place her under arrest, her speed great enough to warrant being brought in.
Today, while she pulled on her usual get-up of jeans and a white blouse, tying her hair back in a long, thin braid that ran down her back, her Mid-city apartment aglow with the sunshine of the usual five AM sunrise, she stared herself down in the mirror, pictures of her and her friends stuck to the glass surface with adhesive putty and tape. Their most recent photo, at a Mid-city street-race, had ended up in the local paper with an additional photo in the corner showing their speed, Strickland giving a short, sharp speech about how he did not condone street-racing in the slightest, and was doing his best to cut down on it as quickly as possible, including a hunt for the infamous 'Triple Digits', the street-racer who was blowing people out of the park.
That had been two weeks ago, and he still sat at that stupid table every morning.
So much for cracking down on street-racing.
Adjusting her sunglasses, blowing a kiss to her reflection in the mirror, Claire 'Triple Digits' Miles, sauntered out of her apartment, down three flights of stairs, and got into her car...
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Triple Digits
Mystery / ThrillerClaire Miles is Triple Digit. Elusive, dangerous, and Mid-City's most wanted Street-Racer, she's been tearing up the tarmac of the small city for years, winning race after race, and building a name for herself in the underbelly of Mid-City's racing...
