Name:  Sherie Ambrose<br/>Time: 3:55 p.m.<br/>Location:  Northbound on the main freeway.  Driveway.  Sherie's room.<br/>Target: Jessica (NPC, friend from college)<br/><br/><br/>Sherie held her seatbelt and door handle with a white-knuckled grip, and her strong thighs pressed firmly against the floorboard as the white 2011 GT350 rocketed past one hundred miles per hour, and approached one-thirty easily.  Her friend, Jessica Brenner always used her father's car on Fridays, and the end result was always the same.  A couple of guys would see two cute girls in a custom made Mustang, assume that the driver was incapable of handling the 500 horsepower (at least 500 Jessica would always say with a mischievous smile) and, inevitably, get an education.  Jessica could drive.  Her father was a professional at it.  He taught her.  Hell, he taught the cops.  If he knew that she was driving his prize possession like this, though, he'd kill her.  If they were stopped for excessive speed, street racing, reckless endangerment, or any of the other host of moving violations a policeman would be able to tack on, she would just be bailed out and the charges would get dropped.  If Sherie were taken to jail, she would probably be shot in the backyard for daring to bring attention to her family.  Jessica was a bit of a scofflaw.  Sherie was terrified by it.<br/><br/>Jessica didn't dig the accelerator out of the floor pan until the GT350 had passed the one hundred and fifty miles per hour mark.  Sherie slowly allowed herself to relax, and it took a while for the week's victims to catch up.<br/><br/>“Yeah, you got nothing,” Jessica said as she slowed the car to exit at an off ramp.  “So, you gonna let me stay with you tonight so I can hang out with these cute brothers of yours?”<br/><br/>“You can't do that,” Sherie answered.<br/><br/>“Why not?”<br/><br/>“Because.  I can't go to jail.  Do you know what would happen to me?  I don't care if we wreck.  That can be blamed on you.  If I go to jail, my character judging abilities come into question, my own character comes into question, my family gets fucked with by the media, and I lose a massive amount of anonymity that I have from being a middle child.  Nobody cares what I do.  I like that.  You don't have to show that you have a bigger dick than everyone else when you're driving this car.”<br/><br/>“Okay.  So what about your brothers?”  Jessica turned the white car into the driveway at Sherie's house.<br/><br/>“Gah!  I don't know.  I'll...see what I can work out.  I'm serious, though.  One fifty is jail, Jessica.  If I go to jail, they'll call the news.  I will be shipped to Siberia.  What about tonight?”<br/><br/>“Downtown, probably.  I'll call you,” Jessica said.<br/><br/>“You bringing this out,” Jessica said, as she closed the door to the car.<br/><br/>“Oh, no.  It's a Charger night!  Sixty-Nine, baby!”  Great.  Eight hundred horsepower.  She never stopped talking about the Charger.  Why can't she just drive a Camry?  Sherie watched the Mustang grumble out of the driveway, hang a left, and speed off back towards the freeway.<br/><br/>She walked into the house, and up the stairs to her bedroom.  There, she stripped her dress off, and changed into a pair of gray running shorts and a black tank top.  She opened her music player on the computer, selected her playlist, and began her stretching routine.