Control
The engine howls as you slam the pedal—skidding around a rain-slicked corner, rear tires spitting smoke, the stench of burning rubber flooding the cockpit. Sirens claw at your ears, red-blue strobes slicing through the fog in the rearview. You weave between jackknifed trucks, horns blaring, fishtailing past storefronts where neon signs bleed color across wet asphalt. A cruiser lunges from an alley, grille snarling—yank the wheel hard, metal screaming as you sideswipe dumpsters, sparks cascading like fireworks. The radio crackles with panicked cop chatter: *"Suspect heading east—cut them off at the bridge!"* Downshift, surge into oncoming traffic, headlights blinding, mirrors packed with snarling black-and-whites. Your knuckles bleach white—the bridge’s steel girders loom, half-built barriers ahead. Grit your teeth, floor it. The car bucks over rubble, suspension screaming, chassis scraping concrete as you vault the gap. Behind, a chorus of shrieking brakes and crumpling metal fades into the night. But you’re not clear yet—up ahead, helicopters swarm like angry wasps, spotlights carving the darkness. Every alley, every tunnel, every heartbeat could be the end. Outdrive them. Outthink them. **Survive.**
c
Engines scream as you blast down asphalt—sirens wail behind closing fast. Grip the wheel till your knuckles bleach, swerving through barricades as choppers circle overhead. Snatch nitro boosts mid-drift, trigger EMP pulses to fry pursuit tech, hoard coins to supercharge your engine between heart-pounding heists. Outmaneuver spike strips, outrun chopper spotlights, outdrive every cop in the state. Upgrade tires, armor, acceleration—one wrong turn ends everything. How long can you burn rubber before the cuffs snap?
