He felt the engine overheat. A warning light blinked. Coolant low . A cop was tailgating him at 120 mph. A roadblock was forming two miles ahead.
A synthetic female voice purred through the surround-sound system: "Serial authenticated. Pursuit Profile: EXTREME. Seacrest County dispatched." NEED FOR SPEED HOT PURSUIT ACTIVATION SERIAL
Alex aimed the Porsche at the median barrier. The barrier was concrete. But fifty feet past it was an unfinished on-ramp, a concrete spine leading down into a construction site. It was a jump. He felt the engine overheat
The first cruiser appeared in his rearview, a tiny diamond of light. Alex grinned. This was the chorus of his song. He drifted left, clipping a newspaper stand, sending a cascade of paper into the wind like confetti. Behind him, the cop swerved, buying Alex a tenth of a second. A cop was tailgating him at 120 mph
The Pursuit was over.
This was his lifestyle . Most people lived in static spaces—offices, couches, grocery stores. Alex lived in the delta between his gas pedal and the brake. His living room was the interstate. His art gallery was the trail of sparks his chassis threw off as he scraped a guardrail. His meditation was the two seconds of silence between the whoop of the police siren and the crunch of a roadblock.