| Ok so I'm bored at work. VERY bored. So I got to daydreaming.. With every hobby, people like to work in a niche.
Remember with PCs? You got the overclockers, the quiet pc folks, the home theatre Pc, the case modders.
With cars you have the drag guys, the drift guys, and the show and stereo guys. Well how about the "Law Enforcement Evasion" concept? Follow along.
Imagine you're cruising down the open highway at 2am. Nothing but starlight. The occasional passing car
shines its headlights at you - but they see nothing. When every inch of your car - body, underbody, wheels, mufflers, trim, license plate is
painted flat nonreflective black, it's hard for anyone to see anything but your headlights.
All of a sudden, a police interceptor pulls up behind you and lights you up. You're not surprised - afterall you're already doing a buck ten. You slow down to about 60 mph and pretend to start moving over. And thats when the fun begins. You turn off your lights. You throw a switch. The 300zx centerpanel flips up to reveal half a dozen high powered camera flashes - all triggered to go off one at a time - providing 3 seconds of sequential pupil dilating light. Push a button and a cleverly plumbed reservoir dumps diesel fuel into your red hot catalyst, sending billowing white smoke a hundred yards wide across all four lanes of the highway. With the officer temporarily blinded, you downshift to 4th and mash the throttle. Ballbearing HKS twins spoolup and 600+rwhp send you flying,
tires frantically seeking purchase on the highway pavement. Away from the glow of streetlights and without the aid of headlights, you're in dark territory now - which is why you pull on your nightvision goggles. Seconds later, you're cruising at 180mph and the officer is not even a twinkling in your rearview. You know your luck is running thin. You've watched the news. People always run. And the cops always find them. You've already passed three onramps that will usher in a dozen squad cars a few moments later. More switches are flipped. A solenoid clicks in the same plumbing that created the smokescreen and jets in your rear bumper spew motor oil as you swerve back and forth to ensure "liberal lubricative coverage" across all lanes. Another switch is thrown hundreds of tire shredding caltrops are deployed behind you, tinkling into the night. You're now at 200mph with a white-knuckled deathgrip on the steering wheel and shifter. There's always the helicopter. The damn helicopter with the several million candlepower "nightsun" spotlight. You chuckle. Even the chopper will have a hard time locating your unlit flat black 200mph speeding bullet. They will, however, eventually spot you on the open highway. "You can't beat a radio", they always say. Sooner or later, you'll run into a spike strip up ahead. Which won't matter because you're running on a set of runflat tires. A quarter mile down, you see another exit. You slam on your brakes to slow you down enough to negotiate the turn. You brake as long as you want - the brake light kill switch has been flipped, and you remain unilluminated. At the junction, you choke down the urge to make a right turn and haul ass. Everyone, when in the panic of being chased, will make a right. A quick glance down the road shows a narrow-streeted residential neighborhood. You're feeling particularly brave. The sense of bravado is intoxicating. This is why you built your car, this is where you get your kicks.
You yank on the ebrake and flip a 180. You slam it into first and rocket back up the OFFRAMP heading back down the highway going against traffic - which, to your relief, is nonexistent at this hour. By now the police scanner is awash with chatter. There's a lot of crosstalk, but you pick up the phrases "suspect in black.. some kind of car", "dispatch helos", "units down", "send an ambulance", "set up roadblocks", and "suspect is armed." WTF? Armed? They must be pissing their pants now. Once again, your speedo is pegged. The only indication of speed is by the display on your laptop datalogger. By now, you can HEAR the choppers. You can SEE the spotlights combing the streets like the Eye of Sauron. Up ahead, you see half a dozen sets of headlights and blue-red sirens heading towards you. They don't even see you coming. You turn the knob and the HID projectors up front blink and come to life. Immediately you hear the screech of tires as police interceptors are swerving out of your way. The go pedal buried, you take a tight, fast, 200mph line through the middle of the pack. And then your memory hits you. Slippery oil. Hundreds of sharp metal objects. Aww crap, my boss just called. Gotta go.
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