Octane

It's a dark winter night in Merzen. Full Bone chill sorta cold night. The only people out and about are Fire and Ice mages or those with proper AC in their vehicles. Tzaya was waiting for one of these nights because these nights draw in the very elusive crowd of racers that seek out the thrill of death. Identities of all of them are unknown but they are considered the best racers in Merzen. Our local young mechanic wants to get in on that, to experience the sub-zero races that almost always end in at least one death. She manages to find the spot where they start. No one is out of their cars, no one is really doing anything except waiting in spot with their wicked machines of varying aesthetics, engines running. At the front is a single person, dressed head to toe in heavy furs, mask covering their face. The only thing that could possibly identify them. With a quick flag wave, the race starts. Tzaya is almost left in the dirt with how they work but she manages. Keeping up with the others in the blizzard conditions and high speeds. 

They are likely using the longest, straightest main road they can find and with the size of the city it's probably a huge one that wraps around the city or a huge portion of it. The winter is the safest time to do these races as there is likely no one, or very few people, on it. Living on this road you'd be able to hear the cars before they peel into view. 20 cars speeding around this track at roughly 300 mph.

Word around the office says that Mal is about to deal with those damn races once and for all. Sending in the new guy with the strange machines. While he's effective, most cops who have tackled the case were met with astounding failure. Most had given up, but Tarren... he's shown some sort of mechanical knowhow. Split office, some are really hoping that the technomancer can flatten these hooligans. The other half are hoping that they continue, as they enjoy these races even though their job description says to do the opposite. When the yelling in Mal's office came to a stop, they knew the mission was on. 

The cold bite of the winter air was rough. Tarren hates the northern winters as the temperate south never got anything this bad. But on the bright side, the lack of people on the streets and his comfy mechs allow him to have a calm environment with less restrictive things to do when dealing with criminals that he is forced to deal with. With the flick of a button, his mech revs up with malicious intent. Engine whirred the snow around the vents violently, lights blaring into the deep dark of the night. It's gotime.