And there he went, flying out the corner of the race. Him and his motor disappearing into a dark alley, with no one even batting an eye to check on him.

He was sat against the wall, his helmet besides him. His hair messy, his mouth bleeding. The motor he drove laying at the side scratched up. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

You stood infront of him, holding your hand out. To his surprise, he looked up exhausted.

"Wha-" he tried to talk but only managed to cough up some blood.