There was a touch of snow on the ground, with the estimates for the weather being a nice, round -10 degrees. Wearing a set of driving gloves, breath visibly condensing in the air, the two racers flashed each other a quick glance. The spectators were all bundled up nice and warm, and considering how fast they had appeared out of practically nowhere, he was surprised at how organised they had been. Banknotes were waved about, last minute bets going through, before a man walked onto the road, the pedestrian crossing he had been standing on beeping loudly.

He held up a makeshift checkerboard flag and raised his arms up, hyping the crowd up. It was too cold for scantily clad women- a shame, but what could you do- and then he shouted the four magic words. "Racers! Start! Those! Engines!" The words had barely left his mouth before engines began to rev. He made a last minute adjustment to his wing mirrors, taking the opportunity to see if the fact that some dipshits had keyed his ride was obvious. Thankfully, it was not, the silver streak barely visible. The rest of the car was painted a rich red, with a single black stripe running through the middle of it, looping around neatly.

The car he was racing in was his baby. Ostentatiously a 2017 Dodge Challenger, inside it had been torn up and redone almost entirely. Everything that hadn't been needed had been chucked, the engine had been souped up, and a few more personal touches had been added besides the paint job. The supercharger for one- the intake whirring away beneath him. Then, as the countdown began, his finger hovered over a switch. "FIVE!" "FOUR!" "THREE!" "TWO!" "ONE!" He revved his engine and flicked the switch at the same time. Nitrous oxide was pumped in, and perfectly timed too- the roar of the extra fuel almost drowning out the "GO!"

Bring it bitch.

It was a nice morning, just the time for a race. I had my ushanka on, balaclava and glasses on as well. I had my signature adidas tracksuit and jacket on today. It was going to be a show. I got in my VW Golf. 1200 horses in this baby. It was going to be ever so exhilarating to be in this once again. To beat this would be a nice notch on his steering wheel. His opponent was in a debil capitalist car, much worse than his Blyat Mobile, his baby. He grabbed his 3 stripe steering wheel, and turned up his hardbass, pumping to the rhythm of the music. The turns would be done with the beat, that's why his drifts always look so smooth and timed perfectly. It was all on a clock. He looked down New Arbat Ave. and planning the route in his head. They were to go down this street, turn, and go around the center of The Red Square, and come back. It was all planned out, it was to be perfect.

He saw a local go into the middle of the road, his starter. He revved his engine, and could hear the ever perfect purr of the engine. This bliss was interrupted by the capitalist scum's car. Damn Cyka. He glanced at his friends in the crowd, with their speaker, pumping to hardbass, and rooting me on. This was my time. I went into the zone, barely able to hear the announcer. He worked into his massage beads, that he put on his seat, and leaned out of his window to see his Adidas styled paint job. Solid black with 3 white stripes down the middle. On the back, metal letters spelling out Blyat Mobile. The exhaust came out, and he was ready.

3,2,1 GO!

He slammed on the gas, and his clutch, shifting into first gear, and pressing on the nitro pedal he put in custom. He went flying, with superior acceleration and top speed. The world blurred around him, and all he could see is the road ahead, and the car to the side.

That's all that mattered.

Youb T'voyou Mat' Capitalist Scum

The two cars shot off. Whilst at straight speed, he doubted the VW could match him, corners and congestion would be what could really trip him up. He had been practising his drifts, but even so... Never knew how things could go. Within thirty seconds they had merged with civilian traffic, and that was when the fun really started. He threw the wheel to one side, and then the other. The car was in front wheel drive, so the back end skidded out a little bit, allowing him to clear the nose of the first car he was overtaking. The nitro he had pumped in was leaving his engines, the speed he had gotten from the oxidisation wearing off- speedo creeping down ever so slightly.

Handbrake turn, onto Red Square. His wheels squealed and he spared a look up at the sights, before flashing a glance in his mirror. Where was his opponent...?

@Irredeemable (Front wheel drive can't drift btw, only rwd and awd. Fwd can only power slide)

Pumping to hardbass, I flew through the Russian traffic as, rolling my window up. The first turn was coming up fast, my rwd VW was lacking behind. The opponents had superior top speed, but I had the acceleration on my side. His opponent had a fwd surprisingly, as it turned, and skidded into the middle of the street, gaining traction a small amount later. That was a big mess up, and he was going to pay. I turned to the beat of the music, lifting the handbrake and turning towards, than against the turn. My rear wheels got traction much faster, and I was turning in the drift. Most of my speed was kept, and I was facing the right direction. I looked at my opponent who was lacking behind a surprising amount and laughed as I took a shot of vodka.

Debil capitalist, it was a mistake even challenging the master of the Red Square.

He growled as his opponent shot ahead. Alright, no messing around. He put pedal to the metal and the engine roared in response, weaving through traffic like it wasn't even there. Unfortunately for the VW, it was hard to really compete with close to one and a half grand of American built muscle car. It was noisy and guzzled fuel like beer, but dammit if moments like this weren't worth the hassle.

He slammed down hard on the horn as another driver almost got himself killed, before pulling closer and closer to the VW. Facing his opponent again, and without taking his eyes off the road, he reached forward and adjusted the radio. As if to challenge the hardbass, his own music blared out- Classic Rock.

"I'M ON THE HIIIGHWAY TO HELL!" And with that, one single finger was raised.

(Sorry I was dead for a little bit)

His opponent was catching up on him from the corner, he didn't need to check the mirror to see that. He mumbled, "Let's see how you'll react to this, Debil"

He drifted towards the right side of the road, and went down a branching road, hoping his opponent would follow. These streets were known better than the back of his hand, living and growing up here is something you never forget. He pumped to the hardbass, and took a sip of the kvass in his cupholder, and licked his lips, as he went left and right down the narrow streets. This would be a slight waste if he never followed, but it was something that wouldn't set him too far back.

The best part of the hardbass came on, and he was ready.
Tri-polosky Tripo Tripolosky
The energy of the 3 stripes flowed through him.

He watched as his oppponent drifted into the side roads. Pfft. Was he so stupid as to think he would follow? Perhaps the side raods were a shortcut, but to him, it wasn't worth it. Instead of taking the bait, he revved his engine and continued, weaving to and fro between traffic. "Fucking ruskie idiot..." Another turn... Dammit, he was understeering. That was the issue with front wheel drives. Luckily though, this wasn't his first rodeo- oh no. Handbrake on again, causing the back wheels to lock in. Then he yanked hard on his wheel, releasing the handbrake as he did so.

Not bad, but he needed to be more careful.

Blyat! His opponent didn't fall for the bait. That would be a few seconds lost, but it was worth a try. He turned back into the main road, and tried to entice his opponent to come nearer. His opponent fishtailed in the road. Debil. They were getting close to the 1/4 mark, and not much progress was made, he'd have to try faster. He flew threw the gears, shifting as fast as possible, burning a small amount of nitro he had saved from the beginning. That was the last of that. He drew closer to the Capitalist Scum, and came to his side, rolling down his window, and flipping him off. The opponents speed overtook him, but it was worth it. He's going to get mad, and make a rookie mistake soon enough.

The plan
All just a game of chess

He gave a little growl at the flip off, but hey, he had done it too. Adjusting his grip on the wheel, he continued bearing down on the road, traffic still blurring by him. This little spat was not going to end in him loosing. Hell if he was letting that happen.