The roaring sound of engines, tires screeching, it was glorious. The city of Canterlot was big, massive even, a sprawling mega-metropolis that was a maze if you didn't know it very well, massive skyscrapers that blocked out the skyline, mountains with winding trails leading all the way from the top to the very bottom, dirt roads and tracks perfect for off road driving and taking in the lush beautiful countryside. Long highways and maze like roads were everywhere in the city and outside of it, surrounding it on all sides was a forest with several trails leading through it, narrow and dangerous.
However, we're focusing on the inner city, where a pair of racers were tearing through the streets. Their engines roared, pedestrians stopped to watch them tear on by, narrowly missing other cars and running red lights. Cars honked and people yelled as they quickly got out of the way, they didn't stop however. Only roaring on past.
The car behind the lead was a new porsche 911 GT2 Colored black with heavily tinted windows. The engine cranked as it shifted gears, trying to catch up to the lead racer. The man inside only waited, biding his time until he could pass.
The leader car, was a Mercedes C Class custom car, bright yellow on the sides with a black hood and top, with somewhat moderately tinted windows. It was in the lead, and had been for some time. The driver inside shifted the gears of his car, the engine rumbling smoothly as he drove past trucks and cars. The city of Canterlot was unlike any city he had ever seen before, and he was enjoying every second of it.
Only a few more blocks! He told himself, beads of sweat dripping down his brow. When he spotted an oncoming car, he yanked his wheel to the right, scraping the side of his bumper against the other and sending sparks flying. He grinned, he didn't lose any speed as far as he could tell, he just needed to get past the next block and it was the home stretch!
*BANG*
His car shook from the explosion, what was that?! He heard his car sputter, backfiring as the gauge started to decline. "What the hell!?" He cursed, slamming his foot down onto the petal. It did nothing, his car continued to sputter and backfire until eventually... it stopped. "Shit shit shit! No no no com on girl don't die on me now!" He begged as the roaring engine of the Porsche behind him zoomed on by, his car stopped right in sight of the finish line, and he watched as his rival drove over the finish line...
Effectively beating him.
He put his head on the steering wheel, closing his eyes.
"Goddamn it."
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" The racer of the porsche laughed as a tow truck drove up, hooking up the Mercedes to the back. The man, dressed in a leather jacket and black jeans and boots, watched the racer he beat stand by, arms crossed as his eyes locked on the car he lost. "You lost Greggy~"
Greg scowled at the man. "Fuck you, Raz." Greg barked at him, scowling at the racer across from him. All around them, other racers and people stood around, conversing and exchanging money based on bets that had taken place before the race. A few of them gave Greg pitiful looks, and he knew why. Losing your car was a harsh thing in the underground, especially if its because of a problem with the engine, which seemed to be the case with his prized custom car. "I don't need your shit, you won okay, don't rub it in."
Raz only laughed as a girl in tight clothes walked over to him, draping an arm around him and putting a hand on his chest. "That's what you don't get man, I can do whatever I want," Looking towards his new car, he added. "I can take your car, I can take your cash, if I want it, I will get it boyo." He chuckled, advancing on Greg. "Bad luck your car broke, maybe you would have stood a chance~"
Greg growled, and was about to say something more, when one of the racers ran over.
He yelled out one word that no racer ever wants to hear when they are stationary...
"Cops!"
Once that word was in the air, everyone split. Racers ran to their cars as sirens filled the air around them, Greg cursed as he realized he had no place to run. Raz ditched the girl he was with, running to his own car with one other man, both got in and sped away, engines roared as they peeled out and raced away into the alleyways and other routes. People who hadn't any cars ran into the same allays, disappearing from sight. Dust clouds kicked up around Greg and he had to shield his eyes from the pebbles being thrown at him.
He tried to make a run for it, hoping to escape down an allayway as the other people had. Only, his journey was cut short when he saw a burst of black next to me, and he was sent flying forward. He yelled as he skidded backward, sliding across the dirt and rolling to a stop. He lied on his back, the side of his body aching as the sirens drew closer. Looking over, he saw a black chevy camero outfitted with police lights and two letters on the sides, SP. The driver's side door opened up, and out stepped a man dressed in a black suit, sunglasses and an earpiece, from what he was able to make out from within the dust cloud.
Greg watched the man walk over to him, seeming almost smug. "He's the only one, Anderson." Someone else said as guns were pulled out and aimed at Greg, who put his hands up. Cop cars stopped nearby, while others chased after the racers.
He saw the cop named Anderson look down at him, "Take him away, his racing days are over."
Greg frowned as he was turned over onto his belly and the cuffs were slapped on his wrists.
After being caught, Greg was hauled back to the station in cuffs. The racer sat in the back seat of the SP police car, Anderson driving while his partner, a pretty redhead wrote down information on a tablet. Greg watched the city go by, the tall spires and twisting roadways all around him, warehouses and other buildings in the docks, where he had finished the race - just barely - and lost his car to Raz. It was humiliating to him, losing his car in such a manner. He shook his head, looking down at his cuffs, just his luck to get arrested as he was trying to get to the top.
He had driven all the way from California with the hopes of winning this so called racing tournament after hearing about it, but he had lost to the top dog immediately. He wasn't expecting to take on the top so qucikly, but the prize had been too tantilizing and now he suffered for it. He had lost his car, his means of travel... who he was. He sighed as the car eventually pulled up to the police station.
Greg watched as Anderson got out of the car, opening up the back door and grabbed Greg's arm and hauling him out. He frowned at the sight of the station, the one place he never wanted to go and here he was being delivered like a slab of meat. He was pushed forward by Anderson, who was followed by his partner. Greg was walked into the station, and was forced to go through a search, his wallet and cell phone were taken, along with whatever else he had on his person. HIs fingerprints were taken, photo as well.
He endured it all, as he had done several times back in California. Other people were brought in every now and then, either more racers, a common criminal or just someone the officers needed to question. Greg watched it all from where he was sitting, eyes going over the office. It was different from the rest of the stations he had been brought to. There was the smell of coffee in the air, and he could smell the perfume of a worker nearby, he paid her no mind however, only wishing to hurry this along so he could leave this damnable city.
Anderson sat at his desk, taking off his sunglasses and eyeballing Greg as if he were a child caught stealing from a grocery store. Greg looked anywhere except Anderson, something about him made he racer feel wary. He could see the holding cells nearby, and saw only a few people inside. He sighed, turning back to Anderson with a frown. "What?"
"You're a repeat offender Mr. Bakersfield." The officer told Greg, who scoffed. "I have your file, requested it from california state officials, seems this isn't the first time you've been caught street racing."
Greg said nothing, only glaring at Anderson. I wouldn't get caught if you cops didn't cheat.
Anderson held up a file, and turned it towards Greg. "This is your file, you've been arrested fourteen times on several counts of drag racing, running red lights, and of course, street racing." He looked up, green eyes boring into Greg's. "And they've all lacked enough evidence to effectively imprison you."
That's cause I'm careful, Anderson. Greg had thought, but kept quiet.
"if I had my way," Anderson set the file down, holding his hands together and leaning forward. "I would have you incarcerated, along with the rest of you street racing scum..." He sighed, sitting back. "But I don't have anything to hold against you."
"So am I free to go?" Greg asked, hopes soaring.
"No, you're going to be held here until tomorrow." Anderson said, and just like that, Greg's hopes of leaving the city were destroyed. Andeson nodded to one man, and he came over and pulled Greg to his feet. "You're to be kept here until tomorrow, I hope you enjoy your stay Mr. Bakersfield."
Greg scowled at the man as he was pushed through the building, past desks and other officers and criminals. He was brought down a hall with darkened walls and lights that barely lit it up, the officer brought him to a door and and pushed him through it, and into a different holding cell. Inside, Greg was forced to stand near the cells, his eyes wandering to the desk as the officer wrote down something on a clipboard before grabbing some keys and opening the cell door.
After that, Greg was forced inside, where the cell door closed behind him and locked. "Enjoy your stay scumbag." The officer saluted him with a tip of his hat, and left him alone in the holding cell.
Greg kicked the cell door with his boot, and begrudgingly sat down on one of the benches. His cuffs were taken off before he was brought into the holding cell, and so he rubbed his wrists. Sighing heavily as he leaned back.
"So." A voice started, scratchy and female. "What are you in for?"
Greg looked up, turning his head to the right, he wasn't so alone after all it seemed. He saw a woman sitting in the next holding cell next to his, she was tall, almost as tall as he was and had striking neon blue hair with light blue stripes in it and pale skin. Purple sunglasses were over her eyes as she looked at him, he felt himself seize up slightly.
"Cops don't have shit on me," Greg told her, looking away. "Just need to wait until tomorrow and I'll be out of this damn city."
The girl smiled for some reason he couldn't fathom, "Why leave?"
Greg sighed. "I lost my fucking car to an asshole, my ride is gone and now I'm stuck in this damn city until I can find a way out." He growled. He had around forty grand in the bank last time he checked, he would probably need to use it to by a plane ticket back to California.
"Lost your ride? What, you a racer?" She asked, her tone suggesting she was interested.
He glared at the girl in response. "What's it to ya."
She grinned again, "Just wondering is all," She tilted her head down, and for a brief moment, Greg saw blood red eyes. "You any good?"
The man scoffed, "course I am, I'm the best racer on the west coast."
"ehehe, that's what a lot of racers say." She replied, leaning back and pushing up her glasses with a smirk.
Rolling his eyes, Greg crossed his arms and glared at the girl. "Why do you even care?" He asked her, curious.
"Can't a girl ask questions?" She asked him in reply, putting both of her hands behind her head. "Just wondering who my cell buddy is, that's all."
"I'm not your cell buddy." He told her. "The second I'm out of this cell, I'm leaving this shit stain called a city."
The girl scoffed. "There's nothing wrong with this city, just the people in it." She sniffed once, then added. "Just cause you lost your ride, doesn't mean you have to take it out on the city, blame the fucker who stole your ride."
"... it wasn't stolen," Greg started, looking up at the ceiling as he laid back. "I lost it to him, after my car got busted during the race."
A sharp hiss, "Ooooh, that must have sucked."
"No kidding." Greg sighed again, rubbing his forehead. "Now its his ride, and I have nothing except the clothes on my back and some money in the bank."
The two sat in silence for a bit, the girl rubbing her chin before asking. "You don't have a place to stay?"
"Nope, as sad as it might sad, I slept in my car." He answered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "But eh, as of now I'm homeless." Pondering something, he sat up, looking at the girl. "Why?"
She puffed out one of her cheeks, pursing her lips in and tapping her knee. For a few seconds she said nothing, only thinking.... but eventually, she said. "If you're cool, I'll let you stay at my place." She offered. "Though, I have a few rules you'll have to follow."
The racer eyes the girl suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. "Why help me, you barely know me?"
She shrugged. "You seem like a decent enough guy," She told him, propping one leg over the other. "And why not?"
"How do you know I won't kill you and take your shit?" He asked, he wasn't against getting a place to stay, he was just curious about why this girl he just met was offering him a place to stay.
"I can handle myself," She chuckled, holding up her arm and flexing it, showing off some decent muscle. Now that Greg focused on her, she had a good body, well built, slim but not too much. She had a fair bit of muscle, enough to give her a good body and strikingly attractive looks. "I've gotten into more than a few fights." She told him, brushing the tip of her nose as she set her arm down.
Looking a bit closer, Greg spotted what looked like a bandage on her nose, among a few scratches and bruises. "Is that why you're in here?" He asked, a toothy smile on his face. "You're one of those Underground fighters aren't you?"
She returned his smile. "Ya caught me," She chuckled, cracking her knuckles. "I got done with a fight a last night and... well, got caught by that one dude, Anderson or whatever."
Greg sighed, rubbing the back of his head as he thought of the man. "Shit, he got me to."
The girl nodded her head. "He's got some major beef with The Underground, made it his life's work to root out The Underground." She chuckled again, Greg watching her as she did so. "You can't root out The Underground, it's not possible." She shook her head, sighing. "So... Underground racing?"
Greg nodded. "Yeah, been at it since..." He shrugged. "Anyway... my racing days are probably over."
A scoff. "Why are you saying that?"
"My car is gone, for one thing," He looked at the girl, hands held together. "That car was how I got it to the top of the circuit back in California, and now that Raz has it, I'm fucked." He slammed his foot against the ground, not even noticing the girl's shifting.
"I've heard of him, supposed to be the number one Blacklister in all of Canterlot." She said, nodding her head. "He's the one who took your ride?"
Greg nodded, eyes downcast. "Yep, now I'm screwed."
Silence for a few moments, then she said. "What if I help you?"
Help me? He pondered that for a moment. "You would help me? How?"
"Look, I can tell you really hate this Raz guy for snaking your ride," She told the racer, getting up and walking over with practiced steps. She knelt down next to his cell, purple shades reflecting the light. "And I can also tell you really want your car back." Clicking her tongue, she watched as she got his attention, he nodded and she continued. "So, how about I help you get your car back and take down Raz."
Greg turned away, looking forward as he steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, leaning his elbows on his knees. He thought about it, his mind processing what she was offering. I don't have my car, and she's offering to help me get it back... why? I'm just a complete stranger, a nobody in Canterlot, and here this, girl is wanting to help me get my car back from Raz... What does she get out of this He wondered, eyes flicking back to the girl. "Depends... what do you want out of this deal?"
"Huh?" She asked, tilting her head.
"You're offering to help me take down Raz, a top Blacklister, and get back a car that's worth more then your childhood home." He told her pointedly, getting up and kneeling by his bars to butt heads with her, however he only hit the bars and winced, much to the girl's joy. "What do you want in return?"
She grinned. "Simple, I have a car you can use, but-" She held up a finger, "you have to help me get to and from fight rings."
Greg sighed, rolling his eyes. "So what, I'm your own personal taxi driver?"
"Something like that, you're also going to be my getaway driver in case shit goes down and I need a quick way out." She pulled down her shades a tad, showing her blood red eyes once more. "You do that for me, and I'll get some info on the Blacklist for you, and help you get in on the races so you can get closer to Raz."
"You know what, fuck it." He held out his hand. "I don't have anything to lose, let's do this."
The girl trembled in excitement, a deep chuckle escaping her. "Awesome!" She took his hand, and the two shared a hearty handshake.
"You know, I don't even know your name." He looked her in the eyes, "My name is Greg Bakersfield, you can just call me Greg."
The gril smiled, throwing on her shades. "Name's Vinyl, Vinyl Scratch otherwise known as DJ-PON3, and don't you forget it!"
I Hope I know what I'm getting into.
