"I swear to God, that idiot Alec's brain must be filled with shit," Ken Mittelbaum said, his fist pounding on the steering wheel with force, causing the horn to blare through the quiet alley.
"Ken, I didn't expect Alec to schedule us be on Christmas duty either. Maybe his dear mom dead just now or something. I wanted to get laid with Jolene Wavell on Christmas also," Eddie flicked his cigarette, the ember flickering in the dimly lit car as ashes fell to the ground slowly.
"We've been slacking off for too long. If Alec patrols by and sees us bad-mouthing him, we can kiss our paychecks for the week goodbye," Ken took a sip of his opened can of Red Bull, shaking it gently as the liquid inside sloshed against the can.
"Police car no.22! Police car no.22! Illegal street racers spotted in the Mit district, heading towards your patrol area!" the police walkie-talkie boomed with the sound of wailing sirens in the background.
"This is Officer Eddie Scott, Unit 22 responding. We will assist in the interception," Eddie picked up the walkie-talkie while Ken pressed the button for the siren, pulled the handbrake, and slammed the gas pedal down to the floor.
"Probably that little shit Muller's organization again," Ken cursed.
As they reached the end of the alley, a sloping ramp awaited. The Dodge Charger's flashing police lights illuminated the alleyway.
Piercing sirens wailed as the Dodge Charger shot out of the alley at 120km/h, sparks flying from the car's chassis and the asphalt. The streets were silent except for the sound of Roman-style streetlights casting a deep yellow glow.
Ken was muttering curses under his breath ,until when Eddie yelled out, "Ken!"
In the green of Eddie's eyes, the red Mitsubishi Evo was growing larger by the second, like a balloon expanding rapidly. Then came the deafening roar, like thunder.
Ken's last words, "Where is it?" remained eternally stuck in his throat. He would never have the chance to say it again.
Time seemed to slow down before Eggy's eyes, as the countless shattered window glass fragments of the Dodge Charger vibrated in the compartment, reflecting a fierce glow like countless stars in the sky. The bright yellow liquid that was not drunk from the Red Bull can spilled out, as well as Eggy's unsmoked Marlboro cigarette, both floating in the air.
The Mitsubishi Evo, boosted by nitrous oxide to a savage speed of 310 km/h, slashed into the Dodge like a blood-forged short sword, unleashing a massive impact that instantly flooded the NOS gas cylinder installed under the passenger seat with a mix of oil and nitrous oxide. The flammable mixture created a plume of blue and purple flame more than half a person high, enveloping the Korean driver Zhao Xianming in the Evo.
The burning Evo continued to push the Dodge's carcass into a white Honda Civic parked by the roadside. After a brief silence, a giant red mushroom cloud roared into the sky, shattering the glass of a convenience store on the street with the shockwave. The scorching heat wave swept through half the block.
The Siren-like red-purple flames burned quietly on the wreckage of the three cars. The tongues of flame licked greedily at Eggy, Ken, and Zhao Xianming sitting motionless in the car seats, their bodies slowly turning black.
In the next moment, the gusty airflow generated by the explosion made the flames sway wildly. Dozens of cars raced past the wreckage like shadows, their high-speed engines roaring through Berlin, and sirens wailing in the air. The blue and red flashing police lights overflowed throughout the Mitte district.
"Calling Berlin Control Center! We need backup! We need backup! There have police officers are injured near the 109 highway! Call 112! There is an explosion in the Mitte district!"
The EC145 police helicopter hovered over the Mitte district, whirling its rotor blades and flying north. The pilot marked the different types of cars one by one and transmitted them to the intercepting police cars' onboard terminals.
But the pilot failed to notice that three cars deviated from the stream of vehicles directly below the helicopter. Those cars were having a cat-and-mouse game in the labyrinth-like alleyways.
The Ford Mustang, Mercedes-AMG, and Nissan GTR had turned into three blurred colors of orange, silver-grey, and cherry blossom in the narrow alleys, like three ninjas pursuing each other on the roofs of ancient temples and torii gates.
The Mitsubishi Evo's collision and explosion in the Mitte district had been broadcasted in real-time on the Youtube and Twitch platforms by a drone flying overhead, igniting a new wave of comments. The number of viewers on Youtube had surged to over 150,000, while the peak number of viewers on Twitch reached over 100,000.
That Indian guy who had been spamming the chat before the race was no longer paying attention to the race, more interested in the live broadcast of the police chase and the potential fate of the racers if they were caught.
"Is this a movie? Can someone answer me? Is this like a movie, like 'Fast and Furious'?" he exclaimed, but nobody bothered to reply. Others focused on speculating about what might happen to the racers if they were caught by the police.
Santos stared ahead at the pink GTR in front of him, its tail lights stretching out into the distance due to their high speed. His eyes were filled with rage, and the bumpy terrain felt like a ship sailing fiercely on tumultuous waves.
AMG, Ford Mustang, GTR - these cars were designed for racing on broad tracks, not chase in the narrow alleys start death racing . But the die had been cast – moments ago, when Gotoh had initiated a drift and plunged into the alleyway with Muller and Santos trailing behind, they had sealed their fate in this labyrinth of one-way streets.
Santos felt a sense of disrespect from the Japanese bastard in the GTR, whom she had considered beneath him. Despite coming close to crashing into the tail of the GTR several times and almost being able to reach out and touch the vertical "GTR" emblem on the license plate above the trunk, Gotoh Se always managed to evade his accelerating impact with bizarre sideways drifting.
Santos glanced at the rearview mirror to find an empty road behind him, with the powerful blue halogens of the Mustang nowhere in sight. He no longer cared about what Muller's ultimate goal was - all he desired was to force her GTR to a halt and fuck that bitch Gotoh Se and force her GTR to a halt.
Just like in Brazil, where those Japanese whores he despised were nothing but dirty and inferior insects in his eyes, these people would always be nothing more than scum in front of him.