The race continues in the second instalment of an account where you can see the dangers of what life is like as a WipEout HD pilot...
It's a mistake to believe the overzealous Press and assume Charon is actually psychotic given her extreme weapons bent. True, she maybe a little unhinged and she'd have problems in a no-weapons Racebox tournament, but given she holds the record for largest number of eliminations in our current League, there's no doubting the method in her supposed madness. And both madness and method were forcing my ship's energy levels down to a dangerous nub.
Swerving wildly, I managed to avoid the latest shots of high impact energy looking to end my race early, hitting another speed chevron in the hope of increasing my distance from her. The sight of the front two racers filled me with optimism, only to have that silenced by the shrill cry of my early warning alarm again. A pulsating ball of dark purple plasma passed, creating a shuddering after-effect that crackled into the course's barriers. Far too close. If I was going to get anywhere it meant taking care of Charon before she did any more damage to something other than the track.
My HUD's pointer told me she was closing in, and from the right. Charon's Piranha was fast, but that's not always a good thing. I slid directly in front, hoping to goad her into action. She quickly bit on the bait, shadowing in what must have been an attempt to ram me - because had she possessed any weapons this tactic wouldn't so much backfire badly as it would leave me somewhat, well... dead. With my eyes flitting from the track to the indicator letting me know her position, I waited to approach the hairpin... and then made my move.
More specifically, a sharp move to my left, slamming down my airbreaks to accommodate the hairpin bend and dodging a speed chevron. Now, most speed pads on this track work to give you a well timed boost, while others should only be taken with good preparation as hitting one at the wrong time can just throw you straight into a trouble. Which is exactly what happened to Charon. Too close to react and realise my sleight of hand, she hit the chevron at full tilt, unable to apply breaks in time. Her Piranha raced straight into the track's barriers, forcing the ship to jolt and jerk to a near halt. I pushed on, wishing the wall and Charon a happy future together ...
The track ahead of me seemed to change colour, breaking my reverie and forcing me to blink several times. Tired old eyes. Charon may have been left behind, but it seemed like everything else was catching up with me...
"Daniel? Your vitals just jumped, what's wrong?"
Breathe. "I'm good." I would have sounded more convincing had I not hit a track-pad which allowed me to activate a short term but proficient auto-pilot. I tried hard not to sigh in relief for the temporary break. This wasn't the first time I'd zoned out but I admit this one felt different. Previously the Chief put it down to the practice lap sessions in the Zone - and all the extra neon sheen gloss they've added to the courses. Makes it more of a spectacle for the special resolution screen watchers at home. They've never had to race in it though. First-hand experience is always different. Sometimes worse, sometimes better... sometimes...
...Hypnotic...
The auto-pilot disengaged throwing destiny back into my clammy hands so quickly that I nearly steered too hard into a bend.
"Dan, focus. Not far to go. You're closing."
Barely ahead I could see the race leaders, jostling sparks for that all important first place. Hopefully ignorant of my approach as I squeezed the throttle to its zenith.
I should have known better.
There was barely any time to swerve from the deluge of mines unleashed from the second place holder, exploding with a popping crackle and forcing my race line into a spaghetti scrawl. Regaining composure, I bared down on the two scrapping ships eager to eliminate each other with aggressive nudges but unable to commit due to the twists and turns we sped around.
The track apparently changed colour again... seeping blue...
...Vibrant...
And then everything went bright and hot.
One of the latter placed pilots must have used a Quake weapon, sending a seismic shock rippling across the track and throwing me and my two scrapping rivals into momentary disarray. Which would have been fine if the Low Energy alarm wasn't deafening me with its high pitched death rattle. Great. Both ships ahead looked worse for wear, but neither sported the telltale sparks of a condition as bad as mine. Another shot, bang, bump... pretty much anything, would put me out of commission. Stupid. Stupid old man.
"-iel... -in... -ease..." the comm. spluttered, failing to get anything more than half words and sounds out in-between a crackling staccato.
"You're breaking up, Chief, can you read me? The Quake pulse did damage can you-"
"-itals... -nd... -ive... -ose..."
Murphy's Law - official sponsors of Daniel Tsarong's ailing FX-350 League hopes. I surged over a weapons pad, missing a speed chevron in the process. Turbo. Ordinarily of use, but not when I still have two ships in front and not enough space to overtake at that sort of speed. The choice was clear - either reroute the Turbo into my ship's energy cells to potentially save myself from further harm or save it for the upcoming final stretch in the hope that between the speed chevrons and the Turbo I could pip the still duelling leaders.
I gambled on the latter, ignoring the energy critical beep ringing in my ears. This is what it comes down to. All or nothing.
The final expanse hit me with unexpected speed. The track shaded into a painful red... things started to blur...
...am I going faster...?
"-ake... up... -iel..."
So close... If I could just hit those last few speed chevrons...
So, so close...
(Everything is red.)
Had I passed them? The Turbo kicked in and the neon blaze of the track enveloped me. I embraced its warmth.
(Everything is red.)
I think I can see the finish line... cheering?
(...It's so beautiful...)
I see gold...
...and then...
...then...
Black.
"-aniel?"
