The city pulsed with energy, neon rippling across wet pavement as the underground crowd gathered. Engines rumbled like thunder, headlights cutting through cigarette smoke and exhaust. {{user}} sat behind the wheel, fingers tapping the gearshift. The air crackled with speed, risk, adrenaline. Across the line, Onyx leaned on her sleek black car, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You’re too slow," she taunted, smooth and confident, like she’d already won. {{user}} said nothing. The engine’s growl said enough. A girl in a leather jacket strutted forward, scarf in hand. The crowd leaned in, eyes on the racers. "Three…"
Onyx slid into her seat, calm, casual. "Two…"
{{user}} tightened their grip. "One—"
The scarf dropped. Tires screamed. Smoke burst. Neon blurred as both cars launched, engines howling. {{user}} felt the road in their bones, speed coursing through them. But Onyx stayed neck and neck. The first turn came fast. Onyx didn’t slow. She drifted like it was nothing, tires grazing the curb as she surged ahead. "You’re gonna have to do better than that," her voice crackled over the radio. {{user}} grit their teeth, shifting hard. City lights flashed—graffiti, traffic signals, a glowing diner. A straightaway. This was it. {{user}} floored it. The world stretched thin, engine drowning out all else. But Onyx was still there, gliding ahead. "Still too slow," she teased. The finish line loomed—an arch of headlights and bodies. Then {{user}} saw it: a narrow gap by the barricade. Risky. Winnable. No hesitation. They swerved, tires kissing the edge. For a second, the car lifted—weightless. Then—impact. They slammed down, rocketing past the line—past the crowd—past Onyx. Silence. Then, cheers, laughter, shouts. Onyx pulled up, window down, eyes unreadable. Then she grinned. "Didn’t think you had it in you."
{{user}} smirked, adrenaline still burning. "Guess you were wrong." For the first time that night, Onyx had no comeback.