"Untie him," Death Fury commanded.
The man with the mustache moved quickly, cutting through the ropes with a knife. Racer01's wrists screamed as the pressure released, blood rushing back into his hands in a painful flood of pins and needles.
"Get him into the Mustang," Death Fury said. "The one he repaired."
No.
The word was a scream in Racer01's mind, but he couldn't force it past his lips.
The mustache man grabbed him by the arm—not roughly, but with the kind of firm grip that brooked no resistance. Racer01 tried to pull away, tried to plant his feet, but his legs were numb from being bound. They buckled beneath him, and he nearly fell.
"Please," Racer01 managed to whisper. "Please, I don't—"
"Quiet," the mustache man said, not unkindly.
They dragged him forward. Racer01's eyes were still adjusting to the light, but he could make out shapes now. A warehouse. Concrete floors. And there, gleaming beneath the floodlights like a predator at rest, was the Mustang.
Blue and white.
His breath caught in his throat. It was identical to the one his parents had died in. Not just similar—identical. Same year, same model, same color scheme. It was like looking at a ghost.
"No," he whispered. "No, no, no—"
The mustache man opened the driver's side door and pushed him inside. Racer01 fell into the seat, his body hitting the leather with a soft thud. The smell of the interior—new leather, engine oil, something metallic—filled his nostrils and made his head spin.
The door slammed shut behind him.
For a moment, there was silence. Racer01 sat frozen, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. His breathing came in short, sharp gasps. The interior of the car seemed to close in around him, the walls pressing inward, suffocating him.
Through the windshield, he could see Death Fury standing in the floodlight, still backlit, still faceless. A silhouette. A shadow.
The window rolled down with a soft whir.
"Here's what's going to happen," Death Fury said, his voice carrying clearly into the car. "You're going to drive this car. You're going to take it to the Celestial God Speed Elite Race track. And you're going to race it in my place."
Racer01's mouth opened and closed like a fish pulled from water.
"If you win," Death Fury continued, "if you cross that finish line first, then you and your family walk free. I'll consider my honor restored. A new champion will have emerged, and the world will move on."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"If you lose," he said, "if you fail me the way your repairs failed me, then I will personally ensure that your uncle and your sister understand what it means to cross the Death Fury. I will make sure they suffer in ways that make death look like mercy."
Racer01's entire body began to shake. Not the tremors of fear anymore, but full-body convulsions. His teeth chattered so hard he thought they might crack. His hands clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel.
"You have two choices," Death Fury said. "Drive, or die. Right now. In this car. I'll put a bullet through your skull and dump your body in the river. Your family will never know what happened to you. They'll spend the rest of their lives wondering."
He let that sink in too.
"So what's it going to be, Racer01? Are you going to drive?"
Racer01 looked down at the steering wheel. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely see them. His heart was hammering against his ribs so hard he thought it might break through.
Drive or die.
Win or watch his family suffer.
Get behind the wheel of the very machine that had killed his parents, or condemn the only people he had left to a fate worse than death.
The choice wasn't really a choice at all.
With trembling fingers, Racer01 reached for the ignition. The key was already in the slot. All he had to do was turn it.
His hand hovered there for a moment, suspended in the space between his old life and whatever came next.
I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry, Dad.
Then he turned the key.
The engine roared to life beneath him. The whole car vibrated, alive and hungry. The sound filled his ears—deep and throaty and powerful.
And then—nothing.
His hands locked on the wheel. His foot hovered over the gas pedal but wouldn't press down.
Move. Just move.
But he couldn't.
The flames. The screaming metal. His parents' faces through the smoke-filled windows.
It all came rushing back.
His breath came in short, sharp gasps. Sweat beaded on his forehead. The steering wheel felt like it was burning his palms.
"What are you doing?" Death Fury's voice turned sharp. Dangerous. "Drive."
I can't.
"I said DRIVE!"
I can't. I can't. I can't.
His body betrayed him. Locked him in place. Every muscle seized with terror that had nothing to do with Death Fury and everything to do with the ghosts sitting in the passenger seat.
Death Fury's face appeared at the window. Cold. Furious.
"You're useless."
He pulled something from his jacket. A small device. A detonator.
Racer01's eyes went wide. "Wait—"
Death Fury smiled. "Should've driven when you had the chance."
He pressed the button.