- 3,401
- Pennsylvania
- Darkdeeds427
This is an adaptation to the (sorta) successful original thread from last year. http://gtplanet.net/forum/showthread.php?t=45748. It's a bit more plot oriented in its telling, but you can see hints that I actually played the game here.
The doctor willingly sat down into his chair, a grim expression engraved into his aging face. I involuntarily fell into the chair across from him, overcome by dizziness and nausea. He sighed, "Your father suffered blunt force trauma to the facial area, the neck, and the chest. He injured his C1 and C2 vertebrae." I gasped. He’s paralyzed?! "In a word, yes, which has brought me to why we are speaking." He paused and began fidgeting with his pen. "In his will, it firmly stated that if your father reaches a paralytic state or is dependent upon a machine, he wished to be set ‘free’." He paused again. "You can still see your father, he is in Room 513." The doctor got up and proceeded to the elevator.
Inside the room, my father received his last word by the priest and was then anointed. The nurse gave a nod, and I watched as the doctor pressed the off switch. Slowly, each plaintive wheeze grew weaker than the last, until the room finally became silent. "Time of death: 18:42 PM," the nurse stated. I couldn’t take anymore, I ran out of that room.
The next few days mulled over as if they were one and I did not sleep at all. It was the fourth day that a feeble man showed at my door. "Mr.….uh….Black?" Yes, that’s me. "Hello, I deal with inheritances. Your father has left you much." I welcomed the man in, and right to business he went. "Your father was very much a legend in the racing world," he mused. "He left many possessions to you. First off is this mansion." I interrupted. This place is mine? He pursed his lips and continued. "The tri-level garage is yours, as is $100,000." I glanced. "But, there is a catch: you have to receive all of your racing licenses before you receive the $100,000, and, the money is only meant for your first vehicle. Various vehicles in the garage will become yours over time, as well."
Many months had passed until I was able to go for my licenses, but, once I did, I attained them with relative ease. Something was in my blood. I magically, perhaps genetically, picked up my father’s racing ability. The $100,000 shortly thereafter became mine, plus the $10,000 I had saved up in the first place towards a car. Time to go shopping. The cars laying at my disposal left me speechless, but one firmly stood out: the 1970 Dodge Charger R/T. Something about the brute force the American cars had from that era intrigued me, as well as my father. The Charger cost $75,000, but she was my first car, and I will never sell it. The remaining money was used towards upgrades.
I stared at the skyscrapers around me… Wow. My first race in the Big Apple. So much to see, but this trip from my home is Bristol, England to this place was no trip for fun; there was business to be done. The grid had tough competition: A Buick Special, A Corvette 350, I almost cried when I saw another Chevelle, another Charger aside from mine, and a small 327 Corvette The Charger made 468 horsepower with the few upgrades I had bought, but I doubted it would be enough. I may have my father’s driving talent, but his tuning ability was lacking in me. That huge brick swayed side to side in the 90’s of New York. I spun out, tire life was gone, but managed to make fourth. Two of those drivers ahead of me were guys I have known since about forever: Andy Colbert and Charlie Kane, both from when we were karting as six-year-olds. How they had managed to get a Buick Special and a Corvette is beyond me.
Many tries went into that series, until I mastered that Charger and the aggravating New York street course. I won it though, fair and square. The next day, that little old inheritance man showed at my door. "For your first series win, you receive one of your dad’s most prized vehicles: The Plymouth Superbird." My jaw dropped. Th-th-the Bird’s mine?? Indeed, a very powerful, historical machine. That engine with the hemispherical heads, all of 425 horses, rudely loud, insanely huge. One of 1,920. I had it flown from the tri-level up home and took a gander. It looked so impressive in it’s Alpine White, but those rims had to go.
More to come, once I can write it.
I have the same flashback every day; it haunts me every time I look at the mangled remains of a Chevelle, quietly tucked into a portion of my garage. That flashback is the one of my father dying; killed by what he loved. I watched from the sidelines as my father came out of the 3rd turn and Reggie "Bottleneck" Brookes lived up to his moniker and pinched my father into the wall. I watched as he slid, corrected, lost it again, and careened towards the pit wall. I watched as it hit the wall dead center and almost split the car in half. The Chevelle rested on its haunches now, half being held in the air by the crumbling wall. Paramedics flooded the scene, and the car was pushed off the wall. Immediately they worked into sawing the landau roof off and peeled it away like a ripe orange. They pulled the body out and strapped him to a backboard. There was blood everywhere and one paramedic carried the dripping helmet back to the ambulance slowly, as if already giving in all hope. I took this all in calmly, as if in shock and slowly sat down on the pit wall. The crew chief patted my then-fifteen year old back and said, "Just pray." The doors slammed on the ambulance and it sped to the infield care center.
The doctor willingly sat down into his chair, a grim expression engraved into his aging face. I involuntarily fell into the chair across from him, overcome by dizziness and nausea. He sighed, "Your father suffered blunt force trauma to the facial area, the neck, and the chest. He injured his C1 and C2 vertebrae." I gasped. He’s paralyzed?! "In a word, yes, which has brought me to why we are speaking." He paused and began fidgeting with his pen. "In his will, it firmly stated that if your father reaches a paralytic state or is dependent upon a machine, he wished to be set ‘free’." He paused again. "You can still see your father, he is in Room 513." The doctor got up and proceeded to the elevator.
Inside the room, my father received his last word by the priest and was then anointed. The nurse gave a nod, and I watched as the doctor pressed the off switch. Slowly, each plaintive wheeze grew weaker than the last, until the room finally became silent. "Time of death: 18:42 PM," the nurse stated. I couldn’t take anymore, I ran out of that room.
The next few days mulled over as if they were one and I did not sleep at all. It was the fourth day that a feeble man showed at my door. "Mr.….uh….Black?" Yes, that’s me. "Hello, I deal with inheritances. Your father has left you much." I welcomed the man in, and right to business he went. "Your father was very much a legend in the racing world," he mused. "He left many possessions to you. First off is this mansion." I interrupted. This place is mine? He pursed his lips and continued. "The tri-level garage is yours, as is $100,000." I glanced. "But, there is a catch: you have to receive all of your racing licenses before you receive the $100,000, and, the money is only meant for your first vehicle. Various vehicles in the garage will become yours over time, as well."
Many months had passed until I was able to go for my licenses, but, once I did, I attained them with relative ease. Something was in my blood. I magically, perhaps genetically, picked up my father’s racing ability. The $100,000 shortly thereafter became mine, plus the $10,000 I had saved up in the first place towards a car. Time to go shopping. The cars laying at my disposal left me speechless, but one firmly stood out: the 1970 Dodge Charger R/T. Something about the brute force the American cars had from that era intrigued me, as well as my father. The Charger cost $75,000, but she was my first car, and I will never sell it. The remaining money was used towards upgrades.
I stared at the skyscrapers around me… Wow. My first race in the Big Apple. So much to see, but this trip from my home is Bristol, England to this place was no trip for fun; there was business to be done. The grid had tough competition: A Buick Special, A Corvette 350, I almost cried when I saw another Chevelle, another Charger aside from mine, and a small 327 Corvette The Charger made 468 horsepower with the few upgrades I had bought, but I doubted it would be enough. I may have my father’s driving talent, but his tuning ability was lacking in me. That huge brick swayed side to side in the 90’s of New York. I spun out, tire life was gone, but managed to make fourth. Two of those drivers ahead of me were guys I have known since about forever: Andy Colbert and Charlie Kane, both from when we were karting as six-year-olds. How they had managed to get a Buick Special and a Corvette is beyond me.
Many tries went into that series, until I mastered that Charger and the aggravating New York street course. I won it though, fair and square. The next day, that little old inheritance man showed at my door. "For your first series win, you receive one of your dad’s most prized vehicles: The Plymouth Superbird." My jaw dropped. Th-th-the Bird’s mine?? Indeed, a very powerful, historical machine. That engine with the hemispherical heads, all of 425 horses, rudely loud, insanely huge. One of 1,920. I had it flown from the tri-level up home and took a gander. It looked so impressive in it’s Alpine White, but those rims had to go.
More to come, once I can write it.
👍
that's a good result from a car that's almost twice of my age, and has mere 600 bhp+.. in GT4, such speed requires atleast 700-900 bhp and almost perfect aerodynamics.
going well..
Pretty nice beginning....I almost cried
