McQueen drives through downtown Bayview to the Hotel Plaza district after receiving a multimedia message about a race in that location. The song "Riders on the Storm" – the Snoop Dogg remix – was playing on the car radio. Suddenly the screen flashes; it's Rachel calling.
"Hey, Lightning! Enjoying the car?" Rachel asked.
"Hey, Rachel. I'm really enjoying it. You set it up great."
"That's good to hear," Rachel said with a smile. "But now I need my car. I need it to come to the car lot on the coast. It's on the corner of South Market and Stadium. And you better not have scratched the paint, otherwise..."
McQueen doesn't wait for Rachel to finish speaking and hangs up, speeding towards the Hotel Plaza. Arriving there, he finds another crowd and three other cars: a modified Toyota AE86, a Honda Civic, and a Mazda Miata. As soon as he arrives, one of the racers approaches him.
"Hey, bro? So you're the rookie Rachel told you about? We're going to welcome you. So, got the cash?" said the driver.
McQueen pulls out a wad of bills, the proceeds from the previous race.
"Ah, so you've been racing around here before? Good, that means we won't have to go easy on you. I'll send you the track map. A race from here at the Plaza Hotel, through downtown to Fort Union, at the entrance to the airport. Good luck, rookie."
"You're going to need it," replied McQueen.
The cars roar furiously and line up at the entrance to the "S" of the district. Each acceleration made the chassis vibrate; everyone waited for the light to turn green. McQueen adjusts the station, the music starting to play "In My Head." The traffic light flashes red one last time, then explodes green.
The four cars take off like rockets. The Toyota AE86 driven by the driver who spoke with McQueen leaps ahead with a perfect drift through the first corner of the "S," the engine roaring loudly as the rear wheels belch white smoke. The Civic, lower and glued to the ground, accelerates hard down the initial straight, the turbo hissing like an angry snake. The Miata, light and agile, dances between the two, trying to find space to overtake.
McQueen floors it. The 350Z's engine responds with a deep, clean roar. He passes the Miata in the first sequence of curves, his bumper almost grazing the opponent's. The Civic tries to block, but McQueen is already on the inside, brakes smoothly, turns the steering wheel precisely, and exits the curve accelerating hard, gaining second place.
The crowd at the Plaza Hotel erupts in shouts and honking. Cell phones film everything. Neon lights reflect on the sweat-soaked hoods of the night.
"He's really fast..." murmurs the AE86 driver, looking in the rearview mirror. "Rachel wasn't lying."
The course enters the center of Bayview. Narrow streets, lampposts, pedestrians jumping onto the sidewalk, trash flying with the air displacement. McQueen maintains the pace: smooth braking, progressive acceleration, ideal lines. He doesn't push too hard, but the handling is perfect.
On the main avenue, the AE86 attempts an aggressive overtaking maneuver on the outside. McQueen closes in calmly, without touching, just enough to force the other car to lift off the throttle. The Toyota slides slightly, loses traction, and McQueen takes the lead.
Now it's just him against the Civic, which is right behind him, its high beams flashing, trying to intimidate. The entrance to Fort Union is right there: a long straight before the sharp turn for the airport access. McQueen takes a deep breath, looks in the rearview mirror and smiles.
"Let's see what you're capable of, Civic..."
He floors it. The speedometer climbs quickly: 140, 160, 180 km/h. The wind howls in the half-open windows. The Civic responds, but the Nissan has more power at the top. On the straight, it opens up about a five-second advantage.
The turn to Fort Union appears. McQueen brakes hard, throws the car sideways, executes the drift perfectly, downshifts and accelerates again. The Civic tries to follow the same line, but misses the braking point, locks the front wheels, and goes straight, scraping the guardrail.
McQueen crosses the finish line alone with the Miata right behind.
The other cars arrive seconds later, their engines coughing from the effort. The crowd rushes closer. The driver of the AE86 gets out of the car and extends his hand to McQueen.
"Wow, rookie... you're not just anyone. You'll do well here."
McQueen turns off the engine, opens the door, and gets out slowly. The console vibrates. A message from Rachel:
"Go to the car lot... Now! I want my car back! You better show up there as fast as possible or I'll spread the word that you can't race anymore until I tell you to. I'm warning you, come quickly!"
McQueen stares at the console screen for a second, the smile still frozen on his face. Rachel's message flashes like a red alert. He lets out a short, almost amused sigh and puts his phone in his jacket pocket.
"Looks like the boss's mad," he murmurs to himself, while the crowd still vibrates around him, shouting his name, banging on the hood of the 350Z as if it were a trophy.
The driver of the AE86 approaches again, still panting from the race.
"Hey, man, you won fairly. Here's the cash," he hands over a thick envelope.
"Thanks, but I have to go now. I have an appointment," McQueen replies.
He gets into the car, closes the door with a firm click. The engine wakes with a low, almost lazy rumble, as if it knows the night isn't over yet. He adjusts the rearview mirror, sees the headlights of the crowd receding in the mirror, and steps on the accelerator. The 350Z glides smoothly out of Fort Union, leaving behind the smell of burning rubber and the echo of screams.
The route to the dealership is short: South Market and Stadium. Streets lit by yellow lampposts, low buildings with neon signs flashing "Open 24h," "Tuning & Parts." McQueen drives fast, but controlled—no unnecessary drifts. He doesn't want to give Rachel any more reason to explode.
The dealership was a place you really couldn't miss—a low building that took up the entire corner—McQueen arrives through the main gate, and as soon as he arrives, the gate opens for him to enter with the car before he even honks or anything like that.
Inside, Rachel was waiting for him.
—Finally! I'm glad you arrived in one piece. And the car looks... okay, I guess. Now, let's put you in something that's yours. Go ahead, take a look and choose one. It's on the house... for now.
Inside, the hall was filled with the cars in front of him: a Nissan 240SX, a Toyota AE86, a Mazda Miata, a Ford Focus ZX3, a Peugeot 206, and a Honda Civic Si. McQueen thinks for a moment, then approaches the AE86, sliding his hand along the hood.
"I'll take this one," he said, opening the car door.
Rachel watches McQueen settle into the Toyota's driver's seat. She crosses her arms, leaning against the dealership's glass counter, with a look that mixes skepticism and admiration.
"The AE86, huh?" Rachel gives a wry smile. "A classic. A lot of people underestimate this car because it doesn't have the engine of a Skyline or the traction of a Mitsubishi, but in the right hands... it works miracles."
She hands McQueen a folder with the documents and a magnetic card.
"The insurance covered the basics, so it's officially yours. But listen here, Lightning: it's completely stock. If you go to a street race now with that factory engine, you'll eat dust even from delivery SUVs."
McQueen starts the engine. The sound is sharper and more restrained than the 350Z's throaty roar, but he feels the lightness of the chassis as he engages first gear.
"I know, Rachel." — McQueen looks at her through the open window. — But that's exactly what I want. I want to build this car from scratch. Piece by piece.
— Then your next destination is the Performance Workshop across from the Stadium — Rachel points to the exit. — Go there, since there's not much money left, removing the top speed limiter chip is a good start. Start from the bottom. And McQueen... — She pauses, her tone becoming more serious. — Bayview isn't Olympic City. Here, the gangs don't just play for respect; they play for territory and big money. Keep an eye on your rearview mirror. Not just for the other racers, but for those watching from the shadows.
McQueen nods, feeling the weight of the warning. He releases the handbrake and leaves the dealership. The white Toyota AE86 glides smoothly into the Bayview night.
The radio tunes to a new station. The beat of Lean Back begins to echo softly as he heads to the first workshop. Lightning is officially back in the game, and this time, he has everything to prove.