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Vol 3: The Racer

There is a dread felt when you hears the words, “I don’t exactly own this car” from your driver, as the police lights flash up behind you.


“Buckle up,” you’re told, as you find your heart starting to race, and you realize that you are able to feel the world change around you. You are no longer in your world. You are in the Racer’s.


The moment the police officers exit their cars, the stolen vehicle jerks forward, reaching speeds that you’re not prepared for. The Racer is now silent in concentration, their face masked to prevent identification. Music pumps through the vehicle beating as hard as the adrenaline pumping through your veins.


A sharp turn, speeds so fast you feel like vomiting, the Racer is accustomed to it. They are a god of the road, and the police bow to their greatness, even as four cars give futile chase before the inevitable conclusion.


There is only once that you ever feel like the racer may lose, a quick corner and a cop car is sitting there waiting. But the Racer keeps their cool, spinning backwards and reversing out smoothly. The joy felt from the brief escape is fleeting as multiple cars appear in the rear-view mirrors. The pursuit is not over yet.


The rush is unlike anything you’ve felt before as the winds whip into your face through the window. When the final lap of this fruitless race comes to an end, the wail of the sirens fades away to nothing and you are left alone with the Racer, who is grinning ear to ear with their own feelings of elation.


Now you understand why they do what they do, why they risk everything for that thrill. It’s not just about the money or the glory among the criminal underground. It’s about that gratification that comes from the escape of a hunt.

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