He crossed the finish line first, the crowd erupting into cheers that were quickly drowned out by the distant sirens of the RCPD.

"Prove you can handle the drift, and maybe Eddie will actually look at you," the message read.

The location was the industrial docks, a graveyard of shipping containers and slick asphalt. Ryan arrived to find a crowd gathered, their breaths visible in the cool air. The smell of burnt rubber and high-octane fuel was thick. He lined up his car, the neon underglow casting a poisonous green shadow on the pavement.