October 14, 2065

Michael sat quietly behind the wheel of his raggedy 1993 Foxbody Mustang GT, trying to clear his mind. He pictured the down hill road he was about to race it down, an 8.4 mile ribbon of asphalt snaking its way down the mountain. He had memorized every apex, every shift, every minute twitch of the steering wheel he needed to make to ensure he made it to the bottom of the mountain as fast as possible.

Michael turned the key in the ignition. The Mustang's engine snarled to life, 5.0 liters of pure American made steel and fury, 8 cylinders arranged in a V, pistons pushed up and down within them by the powerful explosions of oxygen and high octane fuel. The engine settled into a grumbling idle, its deep snarling sound filling Michael's ears with a mechanical symphony.

Michael counted silently in his head..

3, 2, 1 Go!

He slammed his right foot on the accelerator pedal, and the engine roars, the rear tires squeal and the Mustang barreled forward, leaning back slightly as its weight transferred to the rear wheels. The engine's note rose, and when it hit its mechanical crescendo, Michael let off the throttle for a split second, tapped the clutch, and moved the shifter into second gear.

There was a sharp turn ahead, a steep, downhill, 90 degree left.

Michael had driven this road thousands of times, from making package deliveries to the hotel at the top of the mountain, so he knew exactly what to do here.

Let off the gas. Clutch. Downshift, first gear. Hard on the brakes, around 3/4 pressure, to keep the brakes from locking up... Michael thinks to himself.

He felt the car's weight transfer to the front wheels, and carefully rotated the steering wheel left --his hands as still and precise as those of a surgeon- and guides the car around the turn. Michael was pushed to the right of his seat violently from the inertia of turning as the car negotiated the turn, and as soon as it was pointing in the correct direction, he quickly pressed on the gas all the way to full throttle, accelerating out of the corner with incredible speed.

Full throttle. Off throttle. Clutch. Second gear. Full throttle to redline, off throttle, clutch, now shift into third gear. Next turn, sweeping right, take it flat out, lift off the gas a little in mid corner, into narrow straight, move to outside line. Next turn, 180 right.

Michael slammed on the brakes, downshifted twice, and flicked the steering wheel left, then forcefully spun it hard right, the sudden weight transfer forcing the car's rear tires to snap into a slide. He swiftly pulls the hand brake causing the rear tires to lock up for a split second, and the Mustang whips its rear end around the corner in a graceful arc drift, its rear bumper millimeters away from kissing the the guardrail.

Full throttle. Accelerate up past 4th gear through tunnel. Sudden swerve, avoid those accursed AutoCabs blocking the racing line.

Michael fired the Mustang down the mountain road, driving as fast as humanly possible, masterfully taking every turn as he'd always known how.

Accelerate as fast as the car can go. Brake as late as possible. Turn. Hit the apex. Stay on the road. Stay. On. The. Road.

Fight for every second.

Viewed from above, you could see the glow of the headlights poking through the tree line, in the clear night air, you could hear the squeal of tires, the scream of brakes, and the snarl of the engine echoing off the mountains surrounding the city below

Michael was in the zone. He was operating on pure instinct alone. Nothing mattered but this road and this car.

Before he knew it, he was at the bottom of the mountain. He crosses the unofficial finish line, passing by a pre-Drive Net road sign with a Racing Authority sticker stuck to it. He pulled the hand brake, causing the raggedy Mustang to screech to a halt in the middle of the road. Michael leaned back, breathing heavily from exhaustion. He gazed around the interior of the car, which had been heavily modified with race car inspired amenities, such as a half roll cage and bucket seats with five point harnesses for safety, and the rear seats had been removed for weight reduction and increased cargo space.

After he calmed down, Michael unbuckled himself, opened the door, and got out of the car and stretched out

Michael was tall, with straight, black hair and clear dark blue eyes. He had symmetrical features and a piercing gaze. He was 16 years old, and spoke with a deeper, quiet voice.

He wore a red T-shirt, worn black leather jacket and black jeans. Girls at school found him very attractive, until they realized he hardly spoke and was always too busy with his own thoughts to notice them.

"Dude, park that thing somewhere else. It's my turn for a run," A familiar voice said.

The voice belonged to an extremely pretty girl Michael's age. She had the same color eyes as Michael, as well as similar facial features. She was around his height as well, but had a curvy, more slender body structure. Her name was Michelle, Michael's twin sister.

"What was my time?" Michael responds indifferently.

"'34.9... new record! But I'm going to break it right now. I just remapped my ECU. My Subie's making 39 more horsepower! That puts me at 327, 15 more than your Foxbody!" Michelle said excitedly. Her voice was too a little deeper than most other girls her age, but unlike Michael, she spoke loudly, and often.

"You won't. It's not power you can use on a tight course like this. What you need is good torque and instant response, not laggy top end." Michael hastily argued.

"Says you... my turbo BRZ will eat your big American V8 for breakfast..."

"Is that a challenge!?"

"Ok then. The downhill. I'll lead. Don't want that ancient crowd killer slowing me down. I'm still going to beat that time."

Michelle got in her dark silver 2015 Subaru BRZ, and started it. It was a small 2+2 curvy looking sports car, with a reproduction Rocket Bunny widebody kit that she had 3D printed herself in the fabrication class at school, which extended the fenders with bolt on flares to accommodate a wide set of tires and deep dish rims. It had been 'stanced' too, meaning the car's suspension had been lowered as much as possible, and its wheels angled with heavy amounts of negative camber to aid with drifting, and more importantly (at least to Michelle) look much more stylish.

Michael could here the faint whistle of the aftermarket turbo charger bolted to the engine as the BRZ's boxer-4 engine settled into a buzzing idle.

Michael's​ Mustang was a fading matte grey in color. It had a boxy, blunt shape, and a fastback roofline. On the outside it looked mostly as stock as it had left the factory 72 years ago, save for pieces of duct tape on the fenders and headlights to keep them together in case of a light impact, in addition to custom LED taillights. On the inside however, its engine and suspension had been completely rebuilt. It also had custom rims, and a straight pipe exhaust system.

Michael got in and started the Mustang, which snarled to life. He followed Michelle at a leisurely pace up the mountain, the two rounded bright red taillights of the BRZ leading the way. When they were at the the top of the mountain, they turned around and stopped at a lookout point.

Michael's SmartWatch lit up, displaying a call from his sister. He answers it by flicking his wrist.

"Film and time this run! I want the internet to see me loose you!"

Michael rolls his eyes. His sister was so demanding. She always wanted to one-up him. Always reminding new acquaintances that she was 4 minutes older. Michael knew why. When their father got them running the deliveries to help pay for rent, Michael seemed to possess something that made him faster. He wasn't a better driver in terms of technique, (although their cornering styles were completely different), but he won more often than he lost in their races between each other. Michael supposed it was quicker reaction times, perhaps.

Michael sighed and switched on the ancient GoPro affixed to the dashboard via copious amounts of tape.

"You know no one watches our videos, right sis?" Michael said.

"You never know! I could be famous. We got 20 views on our last race!"

"I'm pretty sure that was just you watching it over and over."

Michael sighed once more, and revved the Foxbody's engine, anticipating his sister yelling for them to go.

Then something unusual happened. Michael heard a third engine, this a song-like wail.

Another car was coming. Another proper street racing car, that moved via internal combustion and controlled by a human pilot. Michael had never seen a car on these mountain roads, even after 7 years of experience.

Michael barely had time to look in his rear view mirror before a bright red Lamborghini Huracan blasted past where Michael and Michelle were parked, charging into the next turn, braking hard. It's driver was clearly an enthusiast who had plenty of experience. Not only that, a Lamborghini was an incredibly rare, expensive, and most importantly, extremely fast vehicle.

"Was that a- a... Lambo? Dude if we beat this guy... " Michelle squealed excitedly

"Uh, I don't think he wants to-"

"GO GO GO!!!!"

Michael and Michelle stepped on the gas simultaneously. The Mustang growls, the BRZ buzzes angrily. They charged into the first turn at blistering speeds.

While Michael brakes early and takes the corner traditionally, Michelle waits to the last possible microsecond, then flicks the steering and brakes hard, causing the BRZ to slide out wide in a masterful drift, spitting flames from it's big bore exhaust as its tiny 2.0 liter turbocharged engine redlines. Michelle maintains a slightly higher speed mid corner, but Michael caught up with a quicker corner exit speed.

They drifted in tandem around the next hairpin, the Mustang taking the inside line, nearly tapping the BRZ with its rear bumper. Michael glanced out his window. He could see the angular wedge shape Lamborghini a few corners below, it's LED headlights casting a bluish glow on to the crisp, shiny black asphalt. They sped into the next section, the BRZ pulling away on the straight, but loosing all it's time gained in the next braking zone as it drifts through the long sweeping corner. Michael ducked the Mustang behind BRZ, using the slipstream from the air resistance of the BRZ to reduce the aerodynamic drag on his Mustang , allowing him to close the gap between them down the short straight, a technique known as drafting.

The Huracan was only a corner ahead now. They were closing in. Michelle began to get excited. Michael could see it in her driving style. Her driving line was all over the place, her drifts wider and her shifting sloppy. Michael remained indifferent, his steering smooth and his cornering effortless.

A few more corners passed. They were on the same straight as their mysterious opponent now, having gained on them through fast cornering. Michael could now analyze what the Huracan was doing.

It would pull away a little bit on every straight. That was obvious. The Huracan's V10 engine made twice the horsepower, it had traction from all wheel drive, and it weighed less than Michael's Mustang... Yer it was slower in the turns.

That meant the driver was inexperienced with this particular road. He or she was braking too early, and not using full throttle out of the turns. The driver was competent, but afraid of loosing control of the car on an unfamiliar road.

"Sis, move to his outside line after the next five hairpins. Don't argue just trust me." Michael said gruffly.

"Why would I- I'm trying to get past him" Michelle retorted.

"Exactly. We can both get past him if we work together."

Michael and Michelle drifted in tandem around the first two of the hairpin turns, blowing tire smoke, creating a thin fog in the forest air. The Lamborghini was really slow through this section, and Michelle's BRZ was within inches of tapping its rear bumper.

"Dammit! Get out of my way!!" Michael heard Michelle scream from his watch.

Just like he suspected. This guy didn't want to be embarrassed by two sixteen year old kids in junk tuner cars, and he wasn't going to make it easy for them to get past.

Michael pushed the Mustang hard. He was in the zone. He came out of the next two turns equal with Michelle, racing side by side with her. He could see the thin taillights of the Lamborghini entice him whenever Michelle drifted the BRZ wide enough. He wanted to catch them. They came out of the hairpins, and onto a long straight. Sure enough, Michelle moved towards the outside line like she was told.

Time seemed to slow down for Michael. The Lamborghini pulls away effortlessly​, Michael could see it's short carbon spoiler glint in his headlights... Headlights! Of course. The driver of the Huracan could only see them because of his Mustang's massive oval headlights.

Michael switched off the Mustang's headlights and moved moved towards the inside line. The thing was he could still see. The light from the Lamborghini and the BRZ allowed him to see the apex of the next corner.

The Huracan moves to block the BRZ, and hit the brakes early. Michelle swerved to avoid it, going for the overtake... leaving the inside line wide open... Michael braked as late as possible, pulled the hand brake to induce a drift, jerked the steering and applied throttle. The Mustang slides gracefully, passing the BRZ under braking and drifting millimeters away from the Huracan, its rear bumper practically touching the Huracan's passenger door, and pulls ahead on the corner exit. Michael switched the headlights back on, just as Michelle used the Huracan drivers shock and distraction to follow him through the opening.

They had both just beaten a Lamborghini through sheer skill alone, in spite of their cars' performance, not because of it.

They pulled away in the next few turns, and stopped on the side of the road at the finish line. It was at that point Michael remembered that the GoPro was on the whole time. He reached over and shut it off.

"I think it's best we head home." Michael said quietly after Michelle parked next time him.