I caught up to him at the construction tunnel. Two lanes narrowed to one. The walls were exposed rebar and concrete teeth. This was where games ended.
He was brave, but he was greedy. He tried to bank a drift off the left wall to gain a half-second. That was his mistake. I didn’t go for the pit maneuver. I went for the kill .
I hit the gas. The Ferrari screamed—a high, Italian wail that flattened into a turbocharged roar. My HUD flickered: PURSUIT MODE ENGAGED. The road was a black mirror. Speed was the only language the road understood.
On my PC, the menu screen glowed. Two options: COPS or RACERS . PC - Need for Speed Rivals
Because in Redview County, the only thing more addicting than the law was the fall from it. And tonight, I wanted to see how fast I had to go to finally feel something real.
Tonight, the objective was simple: Intercept a hypercar known as “The Ghost.” Rumor said its driver was a former cop who’d snapped. He didn't race for money. He raced to erase his own heat signature. Every mile he drove, he vanished a little more.
Then: RESPAWN IN 3... 2... 1...
And I switched sides.
I was back. The Ferrari, pristine. The clock, reset. The chase, continuing as if the fiery death had never happened. That was the cruelty of Rivals . You never really lost. You just tried again. And again. And again.
I pulled alongside, door to door. 190 mph. I could see his helmet—a matte-black skull. He turned his head. Even through the visor, I saw the emptiness. He wasn't a racer. He was a ghost already. I caught up to him at the construction tunnel
"Suspect eliminated. Heat level reduced to zero," Zephyr announced. "Return to garage."
I tapped my right bumper. ESF—Electro-Static Field.