Flooring it, rounding the turn. Pedal to the metal. Neon car flying into mine, its driver’s eyes rolling back. Engine fuming. Spinning out. Crashing. 2,000 pound paper weight, steel crunched. Tumbling. Fifty feet, parts flying. Brand sponsorships bashed in. I touch the track with my head. Helmet slips away. Next flip. Vision covered by red. Out I go.

​

    Their cameras track me endlessly after that. Black and white suits dance around me, molding a false competition into reality. The suits shout at me—at us—until we can’t take it anymore. The black and white, crafting stories to—

​

 

“Wake up! Hey, wake up, Cain!”

​

    “What the—” I grab the wrench next to me, breathing rapidly.

​

    “Woah, dude. Calm down, it’s me.”

​

“Lucas?” I trace the scar slithering up his arm. “What are you doing here?”

​

He furrows his brow. “Waking you up, I guess. All the racers got a press report in two minutes, so get up.”

I slide off the cold seat. I was asleep in my car. Everything is where I left it. “Um, sure. I’m coming. Give me a minute.”

​

He can tell what I’m thinking. That scar of his pulls the emotions out of me—like a snake sliding down my throat. It’s too much—it’s a scar that we share.

​

“You were dreaming of the accident, weren’t you?” Lucas searches for the switch to open the garage door.

I open the palm of my hand. The marks of the steering wheel’s sharp creases are still imprinted there, burned into my skin.

​

“Listen, I’m passed it,” he says with an air of sarcasm. “You have to let it go. We were in a race, and I was a little too…elevated. It ain’t your fault, bro.”

​

“Yeah, sure.”

​

“I sneak substances into my game all the time. It’s what I do, old timer.”

​

“Yeah, sure.”

​

“We’re racing against each other again today, but I promise I won’t hurt you. Long as you don’t rat me out.” He dons a dirty smile.

​

“Yeah, sure.”

 

“Can you stop repeating the same two words over and over?”