(Man to Lamborghini Countach)

“‘Flow Racing’! It’s the sport that’s taken the nation by storm, and tonight I’m here with one of the top drivers, Jason Devlin!” The perky twenty-something of a reporter spoke with a huge smile, holding her microphone uncomfortably close to Jason’s face.

“Em… Yeah.” Jason looked at her, desperately wishing he was somewhere else. But no, part of his contract stipulated one pre-race interview… He ran a hand though his close-cropped brown hair, looking at the woman. “So, what is it you want to know today?”

“Well, it’s not what I want to know. It’s what the fans want to know! What’s it like to Flow Race; to transform into liquid, then merge with a car?” The woman grinned.

Jason blinked in surprise, a pleased smile on his face. He hadn’t expected that; usually reporters asked him dumb questions like what fame felt like or if he was single. Those always had the same two answers: ‘like normal life but with more money’, and ‘none of your business’. This time he actually had to think about his response.

“It’s… Well, it’s almost indescribable.” He breathed, an easy-going grin on his face. “I mean, the melting is just amazing; you wouldn’t believe how hard it is to keep track of your form when it’s an amorphous liquid. Controlling it is another matter entirely, which is why people usually tend to leave it to the pros.”

“But isn’t Flow Racing completely safe? For the drivers, I mean.” The reporter smiled as well; evidently she was a fan of the sport. “From what I understand, if you get into a wreck, then you’ll simply ooze out from the vehicle. Since you don’t reconstitute until you’re back at your garage, doesn’t that make you pretty much impervious to harm?”

“It does, but lately I’ve heard that some kids are doing it on normal streets. Most people still drive traditional, and I’d hate to think anyone got hurt because of the sport we love.” Jason chuckled as he spoke. “Not to mention the fact that your car’s not invincible, so there’s always the risk of damaging it. And insurance doesn’t cover Flow Racing… Or Flow Driving in general.”

“Oh?” The reporter smiled again. “That sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

“Well… Let’s just say that I wasn’t one of the brightest kids in the bunch. A little too…”

“Headstrong?”

“That’s a nice way to put it, Miss…” Jason became acutely aware that he never asked the woman her name.

“Andrews. Katie Andrews.” The reporter smiled. “One last question for you before I leave you to business... Have you ever tried to Flow into something with someone else?”

“Um, I’m sorry, but I haven’t.” Jason’s face colored a little bit. “That seems to be a little, you know, intimate.”

Miss Andrews laughed at his response. “Good to know you’re a man with his sensibilities in order. That’s all for now, Katie Andrews signing off.” She motioned to her cameraman to leave and the man rolled his eyes, walking out of the garage.

Jason blinked at the woman’s actions, arching an eyebrow in mild surprise. “I’m sorry, is there something else you wanted?”

“There is, as a matter of fact. That wasn’t just a rhetorical; it was an invitation.” She smiled, running a hand down his shoulder. “I don’t normally do this, but I’m a long time fan, and I figured… What’s the harm in asking?”

Jason’s heart started to hammer in his chest as he realized just how attractive the woman was. “Well… I think that there’s no harm at all, Miss Andrews.”

“Katie.”

“Katie.” He swallowed nervously. “What were you thinking? I don’t think it’d be a good idea to take you along for this race.”

“Of course not. But afterwards… What do you say? We take a few laps around the track… Maybe even Flow into something a little slinkier than a car…”

Jason’s face turned a beet-red, and Katie laughed at him with a wink. “I’ll meet you in your garage after the race?”

“Call it a date.” He said nervously. “But… If you wouldn’t mind, I really should be getting into my car.”

“Ah, right!” Katie smiled excitedly, looking to the race-issued vehicle with a knowing grin. “I’ll be watching you, Mister Devlin.”

“Jason.” He called after her, watching her sashay out of his garage.

There was a moment’s pause, then an exasperated male voice broke the tension. “Jesus Christ, Jason. I try speed dating, websites, even bars. Nothing. And here you go, picking up a reporter without any effort at all!”

Jason laughed, turning to his technician. “Well, what can I say, Bobby… You ever try finding a speed dating place where the people would be into you. No offense, but…”

“One time. I go to a straights-only night one time and you won’t let me live it down.” The bearded man laughed, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

Bobby Moran was an odd sort of man, but that was exactly why Jason liked having him around. The two had met a few years back when Jason was just starting his first racing circuits. Bobby had gone from hitting on another driver’s head tech to demonstrating that the man’s techniques were flawed.

Luckily for Bobby, Jason also didn’t much like the other head tech. One bar fight later, and they were the best of friends.

“So, today you’re going with the Lambo, eh?” Bobby looked down to his tablet; then to the covered car. It was common practice for drivers to keep their vehicles a secret until the race had begun, and so Jason had gone the extra step of covering a printout of what he’d become.

Now that Jason and his technician were the only two in the room, he was able to remove the trap and unveil an image of a cherry red Lamborghini Countach. V12 engine, 5-speed manual, and around 450 horsepower. This car was a beautiful monster, and he couldn’t wait to become it.

Bobby whistled lowly. “Damn, a car like that could make a man into a motorphile.”

“As if you’re not one already.”

“Eh, good point.” Bobby shrugged, looking down to his tablet to key in the specs needed for the change. At first, people had done Flow Racing without technicians on hand… Right up until someone noticed that tailoring the transformation lead to better performance for the driver. Before technicians, drivers could reshape cars, but not the inner workings. With technicians, almost anything was possible.

And Bobby was one of the best techs out there, a man who loved cars and Flow transformations alike. He keyed in the last of the information, sending it to the ‘transformation tube’ with a smile. “Flow Chamber’s prepped for you.” He smiled as he spoke.

Flow Chambers were where the magic happened. Initially developed as a means of teleportation, the technology was first thought to be a complete failure, only liquefying the user. However, the second it was discovered that the liquid user could reshape and control inanimate objects, the world of racing was forever changed.

Jason stepped into the glass tube, closing his eyes. “Ready to sync.” He said calmly, his heart hammering at the prospect of taking over the Lamborghini. His pulse quickened as the machine revved to life around him; then came the dizzying sensation of liquefaction.

His body simply melted into itself, gaining a smooth chrome hue as he became a puddle on the ground. It was like something out of a science fiction movie, and only Jason’s prior experiences with change let him believe such a thing was possible.

In just a matter of seconds, he was a puddle on the cool floor of the tube, swirling around its confines. Then he felt a suction pulling on his body from below, and the tube’s built-in vacuum deposited him on the four-door sedan he’d been issued with.

Jason could feel himself flowing over it, his liquid form stretching to cover it like a tarp. His body flowed into its every nook and cranny, merging with it and beginning to reshape it. Already he could feel bits of age and rust dissolving within his cool liquid form, an odd bubbling in his body. But that wasn’t the best part.

With a mental flex, Jason found himself updating the car completely, hugging it tightly with his body to alter the chassis, compressing parts in some places, expanding others. He could feel the unwieldy car begin to get more streamlined below him, molding to his thoughts and to Bobby’s extra coding.

His body heated up, warming the car as he began to flow into it. It was the strangest unison of senses; becoming one with a car. Bur it was also one of the main reasons why Jason had gotten into the sport to begin with. It was far too good to transform; to feel yourself becoming something else, and make that something else into something yours.

The sedan’s engine changed from an old four-cylinder to a throaty twelve-cylinder beast, and Jason could feel its pistons—his pistons aching to be used. Not yet, he reminded himself. He had to wait for the transformation to fully complete before he could bring this car to life; to bring himself to life.

By now Jason was the car, and the car was Jason. His two wipers became a single sweeping blade; then even that disappeared into his body. He smiled mentally at that; Bobby must have thought that the device would just cause extra drag. Indeed, he could feel the telltale slickness of a hydrophobic coating forming over his panes, eliminating the need for wipers.

Bobby was a genius for the little details like that. Already Jason could feel small parts of his flowing form become grease, lubricating each and every one of his new joints. Some drivers didn’t think of that, and usually had mechanical failure by the end of the first straightaway.

Jason’s rear expanded into a sleek bumper, and he felt a hitching click from his backside as his spoiler formed. The racer could picture it vividly in his mind: a sloping, sleek red spoiler for a gorgeous Lamborghini.

Red! The thought passed through his head, and he could feel his liquid form better covering the car, gripping it tightly and leaving a sheen of paint behind. No, it wasn’t that he was gripping it—he was being absorbed into it, the last changes starting to occur.

His frame shifted and altered beneath him, suspension and axles retooling themselves for a superior vehicle. His seats changed from cheap cloth to fine leather. Best of all, his automatic transition clicked and clacked, rewiring itself to be a manual shift.

With a last few pops and groans of sheet metal, he fully integrated with his car, seeing out of a pair of sleek headlights. Well, that was his main sight; at least. He could see from every light; every window; every mirror on his new body. That was the most difficult thing to get used to: the almost insect-like compoundvision.

Some drivers chose to isolate themselves to one viewpoint at a time; sometimes including the rear headlights to get a look at oncoming racers. But Jason wasn’t ‘some drivers’. He owed his success to the ability to process all of the new inputs throughout his body: the gift of knowing when a car was close to him was worth more than the car he’d just become.

Bobby wheeled out a large mirror, bringing it in a slow circle around the car to let Jason admire every inch of himself. “You good in there, chief?” He asked with a grin, knowing the answer.

Jason toggled his lights once: a definitive ‘yes’. He could speak through the radio, but that was far too human. When racing, Jason kept himself in the mindset of a vehicle. He was a car. He was a Lamborghini Countach. He was the best damned racing machine on the track, and he’d kick all of the other drivers’ asses.

With a roar, his engine came to life, all cylinders firing as he turned himself on. It felt better than he’d imagined; there was so much more life in this vehicle than he’d first thought. It was like he’d had a horse’s heart put in his human body: pure adrenaline flowed through his body, and he knew that he’d made the right choice in becoming this car.

Bobby laughed, walking to the front of the garage and clicking the door open. “Then go kill ‘em out there, boss!” He laughed, sidestepping as Jason drove himself out.

It felt good to have the garage’s tiles beneath his tires, but Jason knew that the asphalt would be so much better. Sure enough, the second his treads met the gravelly feeling of the paved ground a wave of pleasure wan through him. It was like his treads were hugging the ground, and the ground was hugging them back.

He wheeled up to his position, looking at the other cars. There were an abundance of Ferraris—the Philistines. Some people only went with the flow, going with whatever car was featured in the most movies. Their lack of taste astonished Jason, as always.

Then he caught sight of a Tesla P85D. The car didn’t look like a racer, but Jason knew that looks could be deceiving. Under that gently curved hood lay a 691 horsepower engine, capable of tearing up the track. That said, it didn’t have any spoilers to help reduce lift, so car would have to throttle itself down.

He felt a slight pang of unease at the sight; knowing that this race would likely boil down to a matter of skill. Of course… He felt a pang of professionalism settle into his chest. That only meant this was a real competition, not the slaughter he’d anticipated.

Jason roared his engine and the tesla whined in response, its own electric motor sounding almost conceited to him. But he knew that it could back up its nasally tone, and their real worth would be settled on the track.

The starting horn blared and Jason kicked his engine to its fullest, letting go of the brakes on his tires. His treads bit deep into the ground, and with a squealing of rubber, Jason was off. Using his full view, he was able to blur past his fellow racers with just inches to spare.

After barely a matter of seconds, he had torn away from the other drivers in a crimson blur. Or rather, he’d made it past most of them. As expected, the Tesla was keeping the pace with him, its owner no doubt a skilled driver themselves.

No matter. Jason smirked to himself, feeling the wind whip past his windshield. He was unstoppable like this; a sleek machine built to race and win. He checked his internal odometer to find that he was going well over three hundred miles per hour, and he grinned mentally, his engine roaring his laughter.

He’d actually considered going in this race as a Formula One speedster. To think what would have happened were that the case! As it was, he was already half the track ahead of the rest of the group, with one notable exception.

As expected, the Tesla had put on more and more speed, blurring well ahead of him on the straightaway. But the curved section of the course would prove a different story entirely. Already he could tell that the car was slowing, no doubt unused to such an obstacle.

Jason simply revved his own engine, the added speed helping him blur past the offending electric car. Of course, such speeds came at a risk, and he quickly moved tight into the turn, gunning his throttle. As expected, his smooth frame helped him stay as low to the ground as possible, and he turned widely, perfectly in place for the next turn.

The Tesla was coming on from his side, clearly having no intention of losing this. Too bad for it, it had already been defeated. Jason killed his throttle on the next few turns, his body grinding close to the inside of the turns, feeling his tires scrape away at the ground underneath himself.

Jason kicked the clutch at the last turn, his wheels spinning freely once more at his sides. He knew his undercarriage wasn’t too fond of what he’d just done, but he knew the tough metal could take it. Axles grinding slightly, he once more entered the straightaway and the ugly sound of his body’s protests dimmed away, back on its home element.

To his surprise, the Tesla crashed into one of the hard walls behind him, its attempt to match his tight drifts foiled. Wrecked, the car shimmered back to its original beaten state, a liquid silhouette of a person forming on its hood to rub its head dizzily.

Jason laughed, his horn honking loudly with derisive amusement. Wind whipping all along his ruby body, he spun his tires faster, letting another honk from his horn as he neared the finish line. He whipped through it once, the first lap of three done. But he knew the race was as good as over.

Indeed, the other two laps were like a refreshing stroll through the park. The other drivers must have been relatively new to transforming, and they swerved away from him as he came up from behind at twice their pace.

Apparently they didn’t use every window at their disposal, and were afraid to hurt themselves; the amateurs. Even though this was an exhibition match, Jason still had expected a little more from the competition. But a win was a win.

Jason lapped the crowd of sports cars once more for good measure, tearing through the finish line. He raced to the winner’s circle, kicking on his brakes and slewing his car to the left, spinning it lazily in a performance for the audience. They loved it, the crowd cheering with raucous applause to his victory.

Jason responded to their roars of approval with one of his own, his engine throatily opening up and filling the air with a car’s exultant cry of victory. It was days like this where it was good to be both the best driver and the best car on the road. And, judging from the looks a certain reporter in the stands was giving him, the night would only be better.