拉力賽. . .
He knows only the night.
The underground comes alive when the sun goes down, when everyone else is at home watching whatever reruns are on television. There are nights when he yearns for a life like that; one where he doesn’t have to deal with his own reality, but tonight isn’t one of them.
The air is hot and humid - breathing is like sucking down steam - but he’s safe within the carbon steel and aluminium confines of their Skyline GTR.
His brother is in the driver’s seat tonight, propelling them toward the industrial district. He leans against the door with his head against the glass.
“How much do we have on this one?”
The buildings outside pass by in a blur, eventually dwindling to one here, one there, and then there’s only warehouses. The perfect setting for their favorite activity.
“Five hundred sixty-one thousand? Odds better be stacked.”
The hum of the engine feels like home.
“Didn’t ask for a name, did they?”