FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Author's Note

_ Compared to a lot of stories that you've seen from me, this one is a lot more on the serious side. This one involves real world events set to furry characters and situations, and while that's all fun and good, I'd just like to say something very important here._

_ Many of the events in this story will be near exact of what they were in real life, to the very letter of how they happened. I won't spoil anything, but you'll see exactly what I'm talking about. Be warned._

_ For this story, since I'm using original characters set in a real life environment; I'm not going to put any disclaimers other than one, and that's that one of the characters that I will be using was not my creation; this character was made as a fursona by my incredibly wonderful friend Kyle. I do have permission to use him for this, and for that I thank him._

_ Also, this story was partially inspired by a comic that I was linked to and read by Jay Naylor called "Better Days". It was an incredibly well written and plotted comic, with lots of heart-wrenching moments and humor to balance it all out. I must give my thanks to him for such a wonderful comic and some of the inspiration to write this story. While I had wanted to write a story involving my new fursona, I hadn't had a clue what exactly to write until that comic hit my eyes._

_ Other than that, there isn't much else to say. Obviously there are disclaimers that I should probably put, but we all know that I don't own anything that is already owned by someone else and I don't take credit for it at all, such as the Nissan Corporation and movies and/or movie franchises. So please, take a seat and enjoy what is to follow; the story "From Day One"._

Chapter One-When Hell Broke Loose

September 11, 2001; a day that the world will never forget. Some say it was the day that the world changed, others say it was the day America changed. In truth, they're all right.

It was early in the morning, around a quarter 'til nine AM. Most furs at this point had already reached work; others were caught in traffic, horns honking and some yelling at one another, though nothing was really out of the ordinary. New York City was a bustling place nearly twenty-four seven, and no one paid too much mind to a lot; rather, they minded their own business, bustling about and trying to get their errands and such for the day over with. A few looked up as they heard a jet engine in the sky, and a police officer who'd pulled over a passing car for speeding was handing out a ticket to the driver looked up as he heard the same thing.

"What the hell?" a man uttered, looking up in the sky as a plane flew overhead, right over downtown Manhattan. He turned and watched the plane flying, way too low for it to be normally. "No, no, NO!" he screamed as he watched, other people stopping on the sidewalk and looking in the same direction just in time to see the plane crash into the North Tower of the Twin Towers, effectively causing an explosion of epic proportions and smoke to immediately start pouring from the skyscraper.

"FUCK!" the officer yelled as he watched the events unfold, running to his patrol car and dropping his ticket pad, not caring if the driver drove off now; this was much more pressing. He reached into his car and grabbed the radio frantically. "Officer Blazkovich to dispatch! Send all available units and emergency responders to the World Trade Center, North Building! A plane has crashed into the building! I repeat, a plane has hit the North Tower! Send all available help ASAP!"

"Copy that, officer," the dispatcher replied, her voice sounding frantic as well, which was a sign that this was an incredibly serious matter. "We've had several reports and nine-one-one calls already coming on the lines, we're dispatching everyone available and redirecting all units in the immediate location."

"What the fuck is going on?..." the driver of the car who'd been stopped breathed, watching the smoke pour from the building as he stepped out of his car, not caring if he got in trouble for doing so. "T-There's no way that was an accident..."

"Sir! Back in the car, now!" the officer yelled as he opened the door of his patrol car, turning on the siren. "Get out of this area, now!" The driver didn't hesitate for a moment, getting back into his car and pulling away as fast as he could, the police officer not far behind as he headed straight for the incident site.

Across the country, phones were going off the hook with calls from relatives and friends in New York to their family and acquaintances in other states. News helicopters and reporters were already responding, reporting the incident nationwide and interrupting morning programs across all television channels and radio stations. It had only been ten minutes since the plane had crashed and exploded inside the tower, but it was obvious that the casualty count was high and increasing, the smoke pouring from the building pluming up into the sky. Civilians ran rampant through the streets, trying to figure out what was going on and what they'd just witnessed; was it an accident? A plane gone down that hadn't been able to steer from its course? An attack on the United States? The question had no answer...

Three thousand miles away, it was only just turning to six AM in the town of Auburn, California. The phone inside the Hendriks residence suddenly began ringing, waking the wife of the household. She fumbled around for a moment before grabbing the phone, her husband stirring beside her.

"Ugh... hello?" Mrs. Noelle Hendriks groaned into the phone, glancing at the bedside clock; the time read 6:01 AM.

"Noelle, it's Linda. Wake up Baylor," a voice on the other end said. "Turn on the TV. Right now."

"Linda, it's six AM...," Noelle replied softly, looking at her clock again. Six o' two.

"Don't fucking backtalk me, just do it, right now," Linda said on the other end; she sounded panicked, frightened. Noelle began to have a bad feeling rising in her chest, and she shook her husband in the bed beside her as she grabbed the television remote.

"Baylor... wake up...," she whispered to him. He flipped over and sat up slowly, opening his eyes as his wife turned on the television at the front of their room.

"Urgh, what is it?" Baylor grunted, looking to the TV with his wife.

Both watched in absolute silence, seeing Manhattan Island in panic, smoke pouring from WTC Building 1 as a reporter was saying something unintelligible, a loud jet engine noise blocking out her voice. The camera panned out and to the South Building of the World Trade Center in time to witness another 767 passenger plane fly directly into it, disappearing before a large explosion filled the camera, a fireball blowing out of the other side of the tower as more screaming and yelling began sounding from the TV.

"Noelle? You still there?" Linda asked on the phone. Noelle brought it back up to her ear for a moment.

"Linda... I'm... gonna have to call you back...," she said into the phone before hanging up, her eyes still glued to the TV. Noelle and Baylor looked at each other, their expressions saying everything. "...That wasn't an accident...," Noelle whispered as they turned their heads back to the TV, but that's right when the door to their bedroom opened, and their son walked into the room, groaning as he rubbed his eye.

"What the hell was the goddamn phone ringing for?" he asked, clad in a pair of shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. He looked to the TV and saw the smoke pouring from the buildings, and his eyes widened. "...No..."

"I-It's in New York...," Noelle told the teenaged Belgian Shepherd standing in the doorway, but he began backing away. "Planes crashed into the buildings... i-it looks like an attack..."

"No... fuck... t-this shit can't be fucking happening...," the dog said under his breath, his mind racing as well as his heart, his left paw going to cover up his right shoulder. "N-Not after Columbine..." He continued stepping backwards, the paw that had been on his shoulder now reaching into his pocket, and suddenly he bolted down the hall and thumped quickly down the stairs, and Noelle quickly threw the covers off of her, tossing on a robe as she ran after her son. She heard the front door slam shut as she hurried down the stairs, and just as she got outside she saw the shepherd getting into his Nissan, and she yelled at him as he started it up and frantically pulled away the house.

"RUDY!!!" Noelle yelled after her son as she heard his car hitting rev limiter as he sped away down the street.

"Let him go, Noelle...," Baylor said from behind his wife; he'd come down the stairs after her, and he was now standing in the entryway of their front door, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants. "He'll be back, he's just gotta cool off. He went through a very traumatizing experience back there in Littleton and I'm sure what he just saw is bringing back bad memories..." Noelle sighed, staring off into the distance where her son had gone.

"I know..." she whispered, looking at the tire marks that he'd left pulling away from the house. "I just... I'm worried about him..."

"He'll be back in a few hours, and if he's not, we'll call his friends," Baylor said. "He'll be with one of them."

-

"...details at this time are a bit scrambled, but we do know that the suspicion for the attacks has fallen on the terror group al-Qaeda, led by former Mujahideen member Osama bin Laden. There are reports that the planes were hijacked after takeoff, all bound for California, and rerouted to their targets," the anchorman on the news was reporting; the attacks were all over the news, almost every channel switched to live news reports and updates on the strikes against America. "There were three successful strikes reported in total today, two on the World Trade Center in Manhattan, New York, and one on the Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia. There are no reported survivors of the plane crashes. There is word that a fourth potential strike was being routed but was headed off in an unknown way and the plane was instead crashed down in a field in Pennsylvania. Emergency services and rescue operators are currently digging through the remains of the Twin Towers and the rest of the surrounding area of the World Trade Center; as of 10:28 AM Eastern time, both towers that were struck have fully collapsed due to fires caused by burning jet fuel, which caused structural damage to the buildings."

"I can't believe this is happening...," Noelle said, her head in her hands as she sat at the table with her husband, a mug of coffee in front of her; it was completely untouched. On the contrary, Baylor's own mug was completely empty, his eyes glued to the television in the kitchen, watching intently.

"It's going to be okay, Noelle, it's going to be okay...," Baylor told his wife, reaching a hand over to gently stroke her shoulder.

"All airspace in the United States is shut down, all flights are cancelled and any that had taken off were told to land immediately, most in airports in Canada or Mexico due to the uncertainty that there may be potential hijackers on board," the reporter was stating. "Phone calls that were received and reported by civilians appear to claim that flight attendants, stewards and passengers were attacked with pepper spray or tear gas, some being stabbed by knives and other sharp weapons that were acquired through unknown means..." Baylor tuned the TV out for a moment as the phone rang, and he stood up and walked over to the handset, picking it up.

"Hendriks residence, Baylor speaking," he said into the phone.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hendriks?" a voice on the other end asked.

"Yes," Baylor responded.

"This is Sergeant Allen with Beale Air Force Base," Sergeant Allen's voice came through the phone. "May I speak with Major Hendriks, sir?" Baylor looked to his wife, who was still sitting with her head in her hands.

"Um... I suppose. Hold on a moment, Sergeant," Baylor said, pulling the phone from his ear and looking over at Noelle. "Honey? It's for you. Sergeant Allen, with Beale." Noelle looked up for a moment, her eyes slightly red from tears. She then slowly stood, walking to the phone and taking it from Baylor's hand, speaking into it.

"Major Hendriks," Noelle said into the phone.

"Major, this is Sergeant Allen with Beale Air Force Base," Allen said on the other end again. "Ma'am, I know it's early and an inconvenience to you and your family, but we need you on base. It's a state of emergency about the attacks." Noelle looked to Baylor for a moment, sighing softly.

"I'll be there as soon as I can, Sergeant," Noelle said. "I have to get in uniform and then I'll be there."

"Roger that, Major," Allen said. "We'll be waiting for you, ma'am."

"Thank you for the call. Goodbye." Noelle hung up the phone then, and she looked to Baylor. "I have to report to base... they need me down there."

"It's alright," Baylor said, standing up and going over to his wife. He placed his hands on her hips gently, looking into her eyes. "This will all be over soon. You do what you have to. I'll let you know when Rudy comes home." Noelle looked away for a moment, but Baylor tilted her head back up to face him. "Hey... I love you." He then leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

-

"Rudy, what the fuck are you doing here?" the young California raccoon asked his friend, leaning in the open passenger side window of the dog's 240SX. "My parents ain't home and you know I can't have visitors when they're away..."

"I-I'm freaking out, Quentin...," Rudy said, getting out of his car with the keys in his paw. "T-The fucking World Trade Center just got attacked, dude... I-It's what would've happened to Columbine..."

"What the fuck do you mean, 'what would've happened to Columbine'? That's bullshit, dude, come on," Quentin responded, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket as he knew that Rudy was going to want one. "Those two only shot up the school, they weren't gonna fly fuckin' planes into it."

"They were planning to BOMB IT, Quentin," the shepherd told his friend, motioning for the pack of smokes. Quentin handed it to him as he continued. "There were propane tanks made into bombs in the cafeteria that failed to detonate. They were going to blow up the school, not shoot it up... I read up on the facts of the shooting after it happened, it was pretty self explanatory..."

"Look, man, whatever it is, you can't be freaking out about it," Quentin said, tossing Rudy his lighter as Rudy took a cigarette from the pack and put it between his lips. "It's happening in New York, you have nothing to do with it, and you're not gonna get hurt this time, alright? I don't care if I have to sit here with you for six hours and smoke three packs with you until you get it into your head that you're gonna be fine." Rudy lit his cigarette and took a long drag on it, blowing the smoke out through his nostrils.

"I'm sorry, man... I just... I haven't gotten over what happened there...," Rudy said, holding his smoke between two of his fingers. "I was 15 years old, watching innocents get slaughtered in that library. They just walked in there and started shooting them. They were laughing, shouting, saying all sorts of shit." He took another drag on his cigarette, dabbing it afterwards. "For fuck's sake, I could've died in there..."

"But you didn't. And that's what counts. You're still alive and you're here talking with me, right now. Just take it easy, okay? That whole attack was probably executed by a bunch of radical terrorists who're out of their fucking minds anyway."

"That doesn't make a goddamn difference! There are people out there dying! Thousands of them, dude! Do you even fucking care?!"

"For all I fucking know my father could be dead right now! He was supposed to come back from New York today, so you bet your fuckin' ass I care! Both your parents are here with you, your brother's in college in Colorado, and your sister's in God knows where in the UK, and you're standing here arguing with me over this?! For fuck's sake, get a hold of yourself! This isn't Littleton, Rudy. This is Auburn. I've been standing up for you since you moved out here. I shut down rumors around school, I defended you from those assholes making fun of you for the scars, and I even got in fights for you."

"Look, Quentin, I know... but I can manage myself, man." Rudy puffed on his cigarette again; the motions and having something to do was calming him down. "I'm glad I had you to defend me when I first came here... The entirety of sophomore year was hell because of what had happened in Littleton. And it wasn't right that the others were bashing on me for that kind of shit... I survived the worst high school shooting in America, man, and no matter what you might think, that was the most traumatic experience I've ever been through and probably ever will be through. I'm just glad that you know what it's like..."

"Listen, when we were in those situations, we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dunno why that motherfucker broke into my house, but whatever. He got a bat to the face even if I could only use one leg, heh."

"Hey... I know you're not supposed to have friends inside, but your parents never said anything about being with friends, right?" Rudy asked, dragging on his cigarette again, which was nearly down to the filter by now.

"As far as I know, they're fine with me going places, yeah; I'm just not allowed to have anyone in the house with me," Quentin replied, lighting a cigarette of his own. Rudy looked down at the keys in his hand and then to his car before turning back to his friend with a tiny smirk on his face.

"Wanna go find some trouble?" he asked the raccoon, though he didn't wait for an answer; he grabbed the raccoon's wrist and pulled him to the car, practically shoving him into the passenger seat. There weren't any noises of disagreement from Quentin and Rudy took that as a good sign as he walked to the driver's side, dropping and crushing the remains of his smoke under his left foot. He then opened up the door and got in, starting up the car and revving it up before pulling away from the curb, flooring it down the street.

It wasn't long before the two were at the high school, where a couple of others were currently hanging out with their cars as well. The ones who were already there looked at the sleek silver S13 coupe as it rolled into the parking lot. As it slowly rolled past the others they continued to eye it up, one of them dabbing a cigarette he had between his thumb and index finger.

"Isn't that Rudy?" one of them, a cougar, asked an otter standing beside him.

"Yeah," his friend responded. "Don't race him, it's a bad idea. I did, I lost $400 because of that car he's got."

"Well what the hell's he got under the hood?" the cougar asked. "I mean, it's a 240, doesn't it only have a little NA four cylinder?"

"Nah, he swapped it to a turbo straight six," the otter replied. "He usually uses it for drift racing but it's fast as shit, don't race it. When this car can't conquer it," he tapped the bumper of his Lexus IS300 for emphasis, "then I don't think anything we have you can throw at it will win."

"Eh, probably true," the cougar said, looking back at Rudy's car as he parked it. He then saw him and a raccoon get out of the vehicle and walk over to where the group of others were, the dog lighting a cigarette while the raccoon was already smoking one.

"What's up, Rudy? Quentin?" the otter asked them as they walked up; he knew both, and though he wouldn't call himself a friend of either he wouldn't call himself an enemy either. He was more of a neutral party when it came to that topic.

"Not much, Vic," Rudy said, pulling his cigarette out from between his lips and blowing out the slightly gray tinted smoke. "Did you hear about what went down at the WTC?"

"Shit dude, that's why I'm here," Vic responded. "My whole family's here right now and all of them saw it happening on TV, and they flipped the fuck out. I needed to get outta dodge so I hightailed it down here with these guys."

"I can tell," Quentin commented, flicking his cigarette butt over towards the edge of the parking lot. He then looked about at the cars in the parking lot, from Rudy's to Vic's and then to the other car, a Honda Prelude. "Jesus, this lot looks like the beginning of a Fast and Furious style car meet." All of the furs in the lot laughed a bit.

"Nah, I don't think we're gonna suddenly have undercover cops in Mitsubishis show up to try and bust us for heists," Vic said, still laughing a little. "But I wouldn't be surprised if that dumbass Baker shows up with his car. He thinks it's so fast."

"Doesn't he only drive an auto Galant?" Rudy asked, starting to laugh at the thought of the beaver in question rolling up in his car, which was, as those in the car world would put it, riced out. "Shit, dude, even if I still had the KA in my car I'd kick his ass. Hell, if I had my Civic with the stock D16 I'd kick his ass!"

"True that," Quentin said, chuckling a bit. "Man, what the hell we all doin' here anyway? Rudy said he was lookin' for trouble and he came here."

"Well if you're looking for someone to race, it ain't me," Vic said, holding up his hands. "You already proved that your car is fast, I don't wanna get fucked out of something more than $400 this time."

"Aw, sure ya don't wanna put those pink slips on the line?" Rudy asked a little snarkily, a little smirk on his face. "C'mon, I know you want a shot at my S13..."

"Nope, you ain't gettin' me with that shit this time," Vic said. "Maybe if you had your Civic, but I know that thing's got a '98 EK9 Type R motor and tranny swap with turbo. Don't even try me."

"Man, you're no fun," Rudy said. "Pussy think's he's gonna lose his ride, heh. No balls, Vic."

"I have no shame in pussing out on this one," the otter responded. "I'll do some burnouts with you if you want though. No objections to doing some sort of dumb shit." Rudy smirked and pulled out the keys to his car, walking back over to it.

"Oh shit, here we go...," the cougar from earlier whispered to himself as Vic walked to the driver's side door of his own car.

"Shut up, Kenny, we aren't gonna get busted," Vic said, having heard his friend's remark. He then started up his car and lined it up with Rudy's own, which he'd already placed in the middle of the lot. The group of teenagers stood behind both cars, but Rudy stuck his head out his open window and called out to the group.

"Might wanna move, guys, it's gonna be loud and my car spits fire sometimes!" Rudy yelled, and the small crowd moved over to one side as they heard the two loud cars rev up and then they saw Rudy's S13 take a tiny jump forward before the tires began spinning and producing smoke, Vic's IS300 following suit shortly after. Indeed, as Rudy's car hit redline, flames spat from the exhaust pipes as the car backfired. The smoke from the tires of the two cars was beginning to make a huge white cloud behind them, and the tiny crowd of kids began to cheer as flames shot from the exhaust pipes of Rudy's car once more, but that's when they all heard sirens above the exhaust notes, and Quentin turned about to see a police vehicle barreling towards the parking lot.

"FUCK, IT'S THE FUCKIN' COPS!!!" Quentin yelled out, causing Rudy and Vic to stop their burnouts and look to the small group as they all dispersed, Quentin running for Rudy's 240SX, Kenny and two others hopping in the IS300 and the remaining three getting in the Prelude, which peeled out of the parking lot shortly after. "FUCKIN' HIT IT, DUDE!!!" Quentin yelled at Rudy as he quite literally dove into the open window of the car, and Rudy did just that; he slammed down on the gas and dropped the clutch, causing the car to peel out with the IS300 following suit as the cop car followed them.

"Where the fuck did he come from?!" Rudy yelled as he shifted gears and Quentin righted himself in his seat, putting on the seatbelt.

"I don't know, but get us the fuck out of here!" Quentin yelled as they heard the siren of the police car following them and Vic's own car. Rudy looked in his rearview in time to see Vic drift down a sidestreet, but the cop continued to pursue Rudy, which made him curse.

"Hold on, I'm about to do something really fuckin' stupid!" Rudy warned, but before Quentin even had time to react the shepherd ripped the E-brake and spun his steering wheel to the right, spinning the car in a perfect 180 degree turn and then slamming on the regular brakes. The police car that had been following Rudy was caught off guard by the maneuver and was forced to swerve to avoid him as he came to practically a full stop in the middle of the street. As Rudy took off in the other direction, the police cruiser attempted to make a similar turn around maneuver but failed, crashing into a lamppost. "HA! Fuckin' idiot doesn't know how to drive!" He sped back past the school and took the corners quickly, arriving back at Quentin's house within minutes.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Rudy, did you really have to get in a fuckin' cop chase?!" Quentin said, his voice sounding exasperated and his paws gripping the seat.

"Aww, do the cops scare little Q-tip here?" Rudy teased, poking his friend's head. "C'mon, one cop ain't shit. It's when they come stormin' your house that's scary."

"Shut the hell up," Quentin scoffed, shoving Rudy away from him before getting out of the still running car, shutting the door behind him before putting his head back in the open window for a moment. "You'd better garage this thing so the cops don't see it sitting in the fuckin' street, otherwise they will storm your house and I ain't helping you get away."

"Oh, hush," Rudy shot back snarkily, a little smirk on his face as he pulled a cigarette from the pack that he kept in his car, lighting it up and taking a puff on the tobacco stick before hanging his hand with it out the window. "I'll see you around, man. Thanks for being around to help me out today."

"That, I will do for you anytime," Quentin said, standing up from the window. "Keeping you away from the cops, however, is your job, not mine." Rudy just laughed and said a last "see you later" to his friend before pulling away from the curb and heading back across town to his house. He did what Quentin had told him, moving his other car, a 1995 Honda Civic, out of the garage and onto the street and putting his 240SX in the garage. He then walked into the house, his father turning and looking at him as he walked in the door.

"Rudy, why did you run off like that?" Baylor asked his son sternly, standing in the kitchen, still with only the pair of sweatpants on.

"I needed to talk with someone, get all of my feelings off of my chest," Rudy responded simply, sitting down at the kitchen table. "I went to hang out with Quentin to calm down."

"You didn't go and smoke pot with him again, did you?" Baylor asked, a little smirk on his face. Rudy groaned.

"Dad, he smokes weed on his own time, I don't smoke that shit with him," Rudy answered. "He knows not to smoke it around me, too, I made that very clear to him."

"I know, Rudy, I was kidding around, bud," Baylor said with a little smile on his face. "But try and stay away from the cigarettes."

"I only smoked a couple, don't worry about it," Rudy said, leaning back in his chair.

"Well how about the one in between your fingers?" That question caught the young shepherd off guard, and he looked at his left hand to discover that, yes, he still had his cigarette from earlier in between his fingers, though it had burnt out and needed to be relit.

"...Got a lighter?"

-

"Rudy?" Rudy's dad's voice came from downstairs. It'd been several hours since everything had happened that morning, from the attacks in New York to the car chase that Rudy had, and the evening was just beginning.

"Yeah?" Rudy responded from his room; he'd been sat on his bed, his CD player on and the music up loud through his headphones as he'd tried to play the guitar along with the music. He'd only just barely heard his father calling for him.

"Can you come down here? There's someone here to ask you about that Honda CBR or whatever that's sitting in the garage," he heard his dad call. He slowly sat up and took off his headphones, setting the guitar aside and grabbing the keys to his 1988 Honda CBR250R sport bike which he'd acquired from a friend who had come overseas, had brought the bike with him but no longer had a need for it. He walked down the stairs and into the kitchen to see his father talking with a Siamese cat who was probably around his mid 20's, wearing a dark leather jacket that was unzipped, revealing a blue T-shirt underneath, and a pair of jeans as well. "Ah, here he is," Baylor said as he looked over and saw his son come down the stairs. "Rudy, this is Brandon. Brandon, this is my son Rudy."

"Nice to meet you," Brandon said to Rudy; his voice was calm, collected.

"Good to meet you too," Rudy responded. "Here for the bike, I heard?"

"Yeah," Brandon said. "I saw the ad in the paper. How much are you asking for it anyway?"

"We'll talk about price here in a bit, let me show you it first," Rudy answered. "It's in the garage, c'mon." He led Brandon over to the door to the garage and out into it, turning on the light and opening the garage door itself so that the early evening sunlight could flow in. His 240SX was the first thing that came into his vision, and then, just to the right of it was the bike. It was a beautiful blue color, obviously not stock, though the rest of the bike looked to be fairly straight, completely untouched as far as modifications went. "That's it right there."

"Not bad, not bad," Brandon said, walking to it and walking around it for a moment. He then looked to the 240SX with a little curiosity. "That yours too?"

"Yeah," Rudy responded as he walked to the bike, keys still in his paw. "That's been my project for a while, still working on it really."

"Whatcha done to it?" Brandon asked, turning back to the bike but referring to the S13.

"Swapped out the stock KA for an RB20DET, upgraded the turbo and intercooler kit with Greddy parts, installed a custom turbo manifold, larger wastegate, boost controller, upgraded the struts to KYB and dropped it two inches on Eibach lowering springs, three inch straightpipe all the way from the headers and welded the diff because I didn't feel like buying a limited slip differential yet," Rudy listed off, looking over his car before turning back to the bike. "Anyway, the bike is completely unmolested. Totally stock, about 1,500 miles on it, pretty much brand new everything. Used it as my transpo when I didn't feel like putting gas in my cars."

"So it's one hundred percent stock?"

"The paint isn't, but the guy I bought it from had it painted just before I got it. If you wanna take it for a little rip around the neighborhood I'll let you, I'll just follow you in my car."

"Which car?"

"Not this one, I parked it for a bit, needs a little work. It's gonna be that Civic out there." Rudy pointed to his Civic out on the street, which Brandon looked at for a moment before he looked back to the 240SX and then to Rudy.

"Okay, I'm gonna be straight with you here," Brandon said. "I'm an undercover cop. They sent me here because that cop that got in the chase with you today ran your plate back at HQ and found your address. They sent me to come and get you to bring you in, but you seem like a smart pup so listen to me." Rudy shook his head, a little smirk coming across his face as a chuckle rose from him.

"I knew you weren't here for the bike," Rudy said.

"What's funny, actually, is that I do wanna buy this bike from you now that you've shown it to me, heh," the cat responded, a little laugh coming from him as well. "But for real, listen when I tell you this. One more stunt like you pulled today and they're issuing a warrant for your arrest. And they'll be relentless. They have all of your cars' plates, they have the plate on this bike and they have your address. You pull dumb shit again and get caught doing it but get away, they'll come here and arrest your ass without telling your parents why. So don't be doing anything fucking stupid anymore, got it?"

Rudy was a little surprised at that. He'd only ever done those burnouts and gotten a couple of hefty speeding tickets, but he had no idea that he was that close to getting arrested. He understood completely.

"I got it," Rudy said, nodding.

"You better," Brandon said sternly. "I don't wanna have to be the one sitting across a table from you with you handcuffed to the fucking chair." He eased up a little, turning back to the bike. "Now, about this bike..."

"I thought you said you weren't here for it."

"Doesn't mean I don't wanna buy it. Like I told you, after seeing it, I kinda want it, but first, I wanna know what you did with that Civic out there, it looks pretty modded."

"It's a '95 Civic EX EJ1. Swapped the stock D16Z6 with a B16B that I bought from a company that imports JDM motors to the states along with the Y21 Type R tranny for about $500, another custom turbo manifold and I put a 76 millimeter turbo in it, full wastegate and blowoff valve and front mount intercooler from HKS, three inch downpipe to a two and a half inch exhaust with a Megan Racing catalytic converter, resonator delete and HKS high flow muffler, put it on Megan Racing coilovers and right now she's sitting two and a half inches lower all around."

"Not bad, not bad."

"Why are you asking all of this anyway?"

"I used to mod cars before I got into the force. Had a '95 Eagle Talon TSi all wheel drive that I built for fun. I still have it but seldom drive it." He looked around the bike again, putting his paw under his chin. "So how much do you want for this thing anyway?"

"Honestly?" Rudy asked in response. "Whatever you wanna offer, I'll tell you if it's good or not." Brandon pulled out his wallet for a moment and peered inside, then looked back up.

"I think I've got about three grand in this wallet. That good enough?"

Rudy didn't say a word as he tossed the key to the bike to Brandon.