Speedwriter Novels & Stories

Following the lightning flashes, Courtney watched them move so fast as they darted from one point of the NASA base to another. She could make out three distinct sets of color from the flashes: green, blue and white. The white flashes seemed to be moving exceptionally faster than the green and blue. Viper powerfully thrust her arms up and down across her chest, cutting through the air and was sure she was clocking at her highest speed, moving close to twenty times faster than the speed of sound as she hurtled through the Kennedy Space Center. Her speed however, at that moment, was nothing compared to how incredibly fast Elektris was chasing after her. The goddess who shared a blood relation w

So, before the car could hit again, Shawn quickly turned the wheel and dodged. Shawn managed to dodge the second hit, but that didn't stop the car from giving up. In fact, the car immediately chased its lateness as Shawn drove fast. All right, so they needed a little speed? Even if they had a car as fast as Shawn's car, they wouldn't necessarily be able to catch up to Shawn, who was known as the number one person in the street race world. Not to mention the car chasing Shawn was a double cabin type that only wins strong in the body but lost in acceleration. They obviously didn't know their rival yet.

Vroom! The loud engine could be heard. Buck drove a modified vehicle capable of reaching speeds up to 800 km/h, while Wilbur drove a regular civilian car with a maximum speed of only 280 km/h. Therefore, even though Wilbur was flooring the accelerator, his car's speed was far slower than Buck's.

I drop my phone and I drive off. Adams speed up so fast that he causes lots of confusion on the road. When he's aware of his high speed, there is no way to stop. He has to reach on time as a sign of respect for his colleagues. Once he reaches any empty freeway he increase his speed more. This is when he wishes he had his powers. Nothing can stop him from accelerating. Until he's car hits someone and he has to stop "Shit!" he exclaims as he angrily moves out of the car. "I hope it's one of these abandoned dogs." he moves to the front of his car, angrily.

It wasn't like that and someone had to make him understand that his master's classes were disgusting. I aimed straight at his head and he at mine. When I pulled the trigger without stopping he stepped on the accelerator. I walked and he advanced the kilometers at 180 km/h. I heard them yelling at me to get over, Ryder to slow down, both of us to stop and that enough was done.

Mike's Chevy Silverado sped along the road. There had been no other acceleration in the past ten minutes. It had taken off with a quick lunch, with an ever increasing acceleration as they drove through the streets in order to flee very far away from their enemies. Now, they were sure the enemy would not even get any close to them. Even if it were a vampire , the scent of their blood had gone far beyond being perceived. Mike was not a bad driver after all. The Chevy Silverado now slowed down. It decelerated slowly to a normal speed rate. Now, the speed was neither increasing nor decreasing. It has a constant velocity. The occupants too seemed to be having the same peace with the vehicle they

I don’t care. “Faster,” I say. Voice low. Urgent. He floors it. We hit 80 on surface streets. Then 90. Then 110 on the freeway stretch. Rain lashes the windshield. Wipers flying. The city lights streak past in blurred red and white. Five minutes in, the second contraction. She leans forward. Gasps. Fingers crush mine. I start counting again. Faster. In… two… three… four… The car swerves around a slow sedan. Horns scream. The driver doesn’t slow.

“Is it fast?” “Yes.” “How fast?” “Top speed is two hundred and forty-eight miles per hour.” “Shit,” he said, drawing the word out for one long breath. “That’s fast, dude. The cops must pull you over all the time.” “It happens more often than I’d like.” “Is it your daily driver?” I rubbed the back of my neck to work out some of the kinks that worked all the way down from the base of my skull to my lower back. “It is right now, but not by choice. I have a Jeep back home.”

We shot out of the market perimeter and straight onto the wide, multi-lane expanse of the southern highway sluice. ​The speed climbed instantly to fifty miles an hour, the cold highway wind tearing through the open truck bed and ripping the grey exhaust smoke away in a single, clean sweep. Above us, the capital’s high-density skyline rose like a jagged mountain range of glass and dark concrete, its spires still glowing with the pale amber hue of the city’s electronic grid. But down here on the asphalt, the world was moving to a completely different frequency. ​Julian crawled over to the typewriter box, his fingers immediately tracking the hairline fracture on the spacebar casing. The high-sp

Jacob laughs as he bends down, looking in through the open back window. Driving like a bat out of hell is an expression I remember my dad using when we went into human towns. He would often curse the reckless youngsters driving at breakneck speeds. Oh, if only he could see me now. I easily shift between gears, lurching the cobalt blue beast into the next tier of speed. GPS is saying 25 minutes. But speed limits are just a suggestion in a werewolf’s mind. I’m also highly competitive and when it says twenty-five minutes, that just means it’s actually going to be ten. Which still feels like too long and isn't that much faster than running.