The Midnight Dragon

Time: Around Midnight
Location: somewhere along I-75 southbound.


It was late at night and there was hardly a soul on the road, and for street racer Drake Jacobs, it was the perfect time to hit the road. But he wasn’t the only one the out on the Interstate this night. He had been watching more inexperienced rich kid racers who were looking for a cheap thrill for some time now, and a few nights ago he hook up for a run, and did some recon on them. They liked to do time trials along a five-mile stretch of road that was not patrolled by the cops. It was perfect, as Drake waited at the exit of the rest areas along the route in his Black and red Shelby Mustang, waiting for one of the ‘kids’ to roll by at high speed. He didn’t have a long wait either, in the drive side rearview mirror, a pair of headlights were coming fast.

“To easy” he muttered and waited for the car to pass before he himself dropped the clutch into first gear and gunned it. The 5.4 L (330 CID) Modular 500 hp (370 kW) supercharged V8 roared as he switched from First to second, and then third. In front of him, the small sports car was getting closer, he guessed it was Mazda or something small like that as he switched to fourth gear. “Never thought you see this coming rookie.” Drake said to himself out of habit. When he dropped the larger muscle car into fifth gear, he was quickly overtake the smaller, under powered import, and he hadn’t even hit the button for the two 10-lbs Nitrous tanks in the trunk. The end of the ‘safe’ zone was two miles ahead, meaning the finish was still a mile and closing fast.

When two green roadside flares on either side of the road started to get closer, Drake smirked and really put his foot down, putting as much distance between him and the other guy. In his mind’s eyes, he saw him or her swearing up and down, curing him as his tail lights got further away from them. No doubt a few phrases were along the lines of ‘I’m going to kill that driver when I get my hands on them.’ Or something likes that. But he didn’t care. They had second rate pieces of shit for racecars that he could beat any day.

In a flash, the black Shelby cross the invisible line marked by the two flares and Drake was quick to reach down and pull the hand break. With practiced precision, he turned the steering wheel first left, then sharply to the right, swinging the large American made car a full 180 degrees with out leaving the inside lane. Stopping just in time to see the other driver cross the finish and come to slow stop in the lane next to him. The other guy lowered his window, screaming at the top of his lungs, but Drake just released the breaks and threw the clutch into reverse, he wasn’t hear for cash. With another practiced move, a J-turn to be exact, Drake was moving southbound again. Leaving behind a shocked crowd and another angry driver in his wake.

A few mile down. Drakes’ almost emotionless features suddenly broke into a wicked grin. “The ‘dragon’ is still breathing flames, and leaving a raging inferno in his wake.” He muttered with a chuckle. Yes, it was good night to let the beast flex its muscles and feed its need for speed. He just hoped that the next time he’d run into a real challenge. It was just too boring blowing rich kids dinky cars away.