Be the fastest

The Race

Today was the day of the year. 

The grand final competition in the Sanctum, main quarter of the metropolis. The winner would get it all. 

Until deep in the night I had continued working on my motorcycle, updating the hyperspeed generator and putting fresh tires on. 

My friend and only co-worker Jimin said I was crazy to work until late in the night before the race, but there was no way I would let the other competetors win the most important contest ever, especially not Kim Taehyung. 

I took a deep breath, ignoring the distant feeling of nausea in my stomach. The sun started to rise up over the city right now, all the skyscapers throwing long shadows over the streets, blocking a major part of the natural light. 

The skyscaper I was living in was standing at the outer cycle of the metropolis, my small apartment just effortable with the prize money I got from smaller races. But if I would manage to win the competition today, I definetly wouldnt have to worry about paying my rent at the end of the month anymore. 

Slowly, I put my outfit for today on. Firstly tight, black leathern pants, comfortable and giving some sort of protection. I had saved almost a year on them. 

I had found top boots on a junkyard when I was on a race for training, probably a woman of the higher society throwing them away mindlessly. They had been perfect in size for me, with a small heel, loops on the frontside and raking up from the foot to the end of my shin. Jimin had modified them when he saw how happy I was about them, putting carbon plates on the sides of the top boot to increase the protection in case I was falling off the motorcycle at some point. Honestly, it had saved my legs some times already. 

For the top I got my most appreciated and favourite clothing part. I had to agree to a sponsorship for a year, the top being my reward. To be completely honest I hated sponsorships, the adhesion contracts mostly having some kind of hidden claims normal racers like me, without any advocate, couldnt identify. Some good racers went downwards because of those contracts, getting involved in trafficking with illegal substances or with gangs in general, getting them into prison or killed at some point.

Only those who were lucky enough to have enough money to get an advocate got the best sponsorships by the millionaires of the Sanctum, who were getting even richer when their contestants actually won the racing bets. 

It was turning to a neverending circle of the richest getting even richer and the poorest getting even poorer and because of that the metropolis was turning into a bubbling volcano. 

I stripped the tight sleeves over my arms, the material adjusting to my skin. Then I pulled the deep lilac shirt all over my head, pushing the end deep into my trousers waistband and soon after I felt the small adjustments the material itself  made at my chest, waist and hip area , forming tightly on my body. The material was unknown to me, but the tailor said it would protect me from any kind of impacts. I had tried it out at home by cutting through the material with a knife. It didnt work, the knife only getting stub and making sounds as if it got teared over a chain shirt. 

The collar went all the way up my neck, ending at the passage to my head. The last item was the jacket, the same material as the shirt but in thicker. The shoulders had leathern pads which flowed down to where the shoulder blades were, almost looking like small wings. The material was extra hard at my back and down to my hips, an integrated kidney belt giving an additional buffer.

I heard the beeping of my door code and before I reached the doorway Jimin was already shouting my name. 

An exciting grin spread over my face when I stepped out of my bedroom, the young man starting towards me, ruffling my hair into pure chaos.