The smells of oil and coolant were almost overwhelming this close to the track, where burning rubber laced every breath and the whole combination could leave a man light-headed in seconds. Tools clattered dully in the pre-dawn, muffled by sea fog and that early morning lifelessness that seems to inflict itself upon such things.

Jäger sighed, scrubbing one hand through his pale hair as he placed the other in the small of his back and bent backwards, the cracks strangely sharp in the monotony as he twisted. His mismatched eyes slid shut, head moving from side to side as he tried to work the stiffness out of his body.

Two feet away and Razer was doing the same, albeit with more finesse – his broad shoulders shrugged just once in the powder-blue fabric of his top, one hand clenching tight around the spanner that had previously been dangling listlessly between two fingers – standing propped up against his vehicle, studying the track with his too-bright green eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

His mechanic grunted, sweeping a wrench from the tarmac before burying himself headfirst into the bundle of wires he had unearthed behind a side-panel on the Havoc V12. Razer shot him a glance at the sound, one eyebrow arching. “Something wrong?” he asked, strong accent giving the words a strange lilt as they rolled off his tongue.

The younger man grunted again, half his body obscured by the thick metal panels as he leant further in – “Something loose, boss. Will have it in a second.” His voice was muffled, distorted by the confines of the space he was occupying, but yet his accent was clearly somewhat thicker than the racer’s; strangely clipped, as if the vowels were somewhat different, though anyone would be able to pick out the common link between them in seconds.

Razer smiled, tipping his head back and running one oil-stained hand through his dark hair, taming the strands that had flopped down into his eyes. Shooting a glance at his barely-visible mechanic, the racer sighed contently and flicked his gaze over the sprawling path of asphalt spread out under his feet, idly rolling an unlit cigarette between two of the fingers on his free hand as he thought.

Ignoring the low mumbling of his companion the older man stared down the straightaway, silently plotting his course – there would be no opponents this time, no obstacles to overcome but the walls of the track itself; it would be drift through the first and second corners, a slight slide through the third and fourth…

It had been months since he had been allowed the liberty of a solo run with the modified version of his Havoc, and even longer since someone hadn’t jumped down his throat for having specialized turbo-tanks installed in the vehicle. But there was nobody left to beat – even Jak, for the ratio was balanced between them now – and he had waited long enough for his chance to just… let loose.

Besides, he wasn’t even breaking any particularly important rules anyway – this not being a proper race and all, he was entitled to infuse his car with as much turbo as he wished, though in this particular case it was barely legal. Still, he was never one to flinch at stepping over the line outside of the racing syndicate.

In fact, technically his mechanic was only banned for real races, not quick sprints through the track.

Smiling, Razer produced a lighter and flicked the cache, spitting flame into the damp air. Taking a long drag on the cigarette he pushed the small metal device up under one glove and turned his attention back to the man beside him, sprawled on his belly against the cold tarmac with oil dripping from his un-gloved fingers.

“We’re ready.”