The Collision Course
1046 Words
Rain doesn’t fall in New York. It attacks.
By the time I hit the Velocity Run starting line, the sky was losing its mind — thunder growling like an angry god, lightning tearing veins through the clouds. Every raindrop turned to bullets on my windshield. Neon lights smeared across the wet pavement like someone painted the world in chaos.
The bridge was alive — engines roaring, bass shaking the steel, the crowd a monster made of noise and glow sticks. Everyone here came for blood or glory. Sometimes both.
Zee’s voice crackled through my earpiece, high-pitched chaos as usual.
> “Vega, are you seeing this? Rogue’s in the roster. Like the Rogue.”
I smirked, heart hammering hard enough to hurt.
> “Good. I didn’t come here to babysit amateurs.”
Zee hissed. “Girl, your death wish needs therapy.”
I gripped the wheel tighter. Leo’s old Mustang wasn’t pretty — the paint was chipped, the seatbelt frayed, the dash held together by prayer and duct tape. But it was mine. Every dent was a war story. Every rattle, a heartbeat that refused to quit.
Engines revved all around me, snarling beasts waiting for release. And then—he arrived.
The Corvette slid into position beside me, matte-black and lethal. The crowd went feral. Phones up. Money waving. Whispers turned to shouts. Rogue.
He didn’t move like a racer. He moved like gravity bent for him. His car purred — no, hummed — with that effortless confidence only legends had.
Then I saw his eyes.
Through the visor, silver like stormlight. Cold, alive, unreadable. The kind of eyes that could watch the world burn and not blink.
A voice cut through my comms — low, distorted, smooth enough to make my pulse skip.
> “Don’t die trying to impress me.”
My mouth curved. “Don’t blink, legend.”
A pause. Then a low laugh, like static wrapped in sin.
The signal lights started their descent.
Red.
Yellow.
Green—
And the world detonated.
Tires screamed. Wind slammed into me. The Mustang surged forward like it remembered what freedom felt like. Rain blinded me, but my body moved on muscle memory.
Cars sliced through the storm, their engines howling in pain and triumph. Sparks flew when a Porsche kissed the guardrail. Another car hydroplaned and spun out — gone in a heartbeat.
I didn’t flinch. I couldn’t.
“Come on, baby,” I whispered. “Show them your teeth.”
The Mustang growled back, like it understood. I shifted gears, hit a drift so sharp my stomach hit the roof of my soul. The rear fishtailed, corrected, and shot forward again — perfect chaos.
Through the blur, Rogue’s taillights glowed like red eyes ahead of me. Steady. Untouchable.
Zee’s voice returned, breathless:
> “You’re second. He’s watching you, Luna. Like he’s studying how you breathe.”
“Then he better take notes,” I growled.
Lightning flashed — and he braked.
“What the—”
He was baiting me. Testing if I’d flinch.
“Not tonight.”
I downshifted and took the inside lane, water exploding from my tires. But the bridge slicked with oil and rain — the Mustang jerked sideways, metal shrieking.
“LUNA, YOU’RE SLIDING!” Zee screamed.
I fought the wheel. The world spun — headlights, guardrails, chaos. My pulse screamed louder than the crowd. I slammed the handbrake, twisted into the drift—
—and the Mustang snapped back in line, slicing the corner in a perfect sideways arc.
The entire bridge roared.
> Zee: “Holy hell, you just drifted death itself!”
I didn’t answer. My focus tunneled — all I saw were those red taillights ahead. He was faster. Cleaner. But I was hungrier.
Half a lap left.
Rain hammered the hood. The Mustang coughed, begging for mercy. Rogue’s car glided like it was born in the storm.
Then he did something I didn’t expect — he looked back. Our eyes met through mirrors and lightning. And for the first time, I swore I saw hesitation.
Maybe he wasn’t untouchable. Maybe he was just human.
I floored it.
The Mustang screamed. Sparks erupted as my fender scraped his bumper. For a moment, we were one — two beasts locked in the same heartbeat.
Zee’s voice blurred into static. “He’s trying to pit you out!”
“Let him try.”
I yanked the handbrake, jerked the wheel, and slammed the gas. The Mustang roared — spinning out of his block, throwing water in his face. The crowd exploded.
I saw the finish line ahead — red smoke, lightning splitting the sky, the world blurring into adrenaline.
> Zee: “You’re neck and neck—”
“I know! And damn I'm loving this game the best ever! I screamed.
Rogue edged closer, his car brushing mine. I could almost feel him through the metal — that controlled fury, that pulse under the silence.
I leaned forward, every nerve burning. “Then blink first, legend!”
Engines roared. Tires shredded. The line flashed beneath us.
Then — nothing. Silence.
The world held its breath.
And then the loudspeaker cracked.
> “Winner… Luna Vega!”
The crowd went ballistic. Fireworks exploded over the bridge. I killed the engine, chest heaving, laughter breaking out of me like a sob.
I stumbled out into the rain, trembling, alive, reborn.
And then — him.
Rogue stepped out of his car. Rain ran down his helmet, his suit gleaming like oil-slick armor. For the first time, he wasn’t moving to leave. He just stood there. Watching me.
The storm screamed around us, but between us — stillness.
He tilted his head.
> “You drive like you’re trying to forget something.”
I swallowed hard, voice shaking but sure.
> “You watch like you already know what it is.”
He didn’t answer. Just turned, got back in his car, and disappeared into the thunder.
The crowd chanted my name — Luna! Luna! Luna! — but it all sounded far away. Because I wasn’t hearing victory.
I was hearing a promise.
This wasn’t just a race.
It was a declaration of war.
And I had just caught the attention of a ghost who didn’t lose.
- Writer
