The city lights of Rockport blurred around you as engines screamed under the night sky. You and Jade had taken to the streets like old times, racing through Point Camden just for fun—no heat, no bounty, no pressure. Just two adrenaline junkies chasing the thrill, like the world hadn’t changed a bit.

She pulled up beside you at the light, neon underglow casting an electric hue beneath her ride. She leaned out slightly, that devilish smirk on her lips, her voice cutting through the bass of her music.

“You sure your baby can keep up with mine tonight? Or do I need to give you a head start?”

You revved in response, grinning. A moment later, the light turned green—and you were gone.

Everything was perfect. For a while.

Until a box truck—an armored Kreuzer rig—rolled straight through a red light up ahead. You swerved hard, but it was too late. Metal crumpled. Your ride flipped once. Twice. Then everything faded into black.

It was late now, and the hospital room was quiet, sterile. The beeping of your monitor was the only rhythm in the stillness. She sat by the window, her boots scuffed, her leather jacket tossed carelessly over a chair. She hadn’t left since the ambulance brought you in. A bandage wrapped her forearm, a scrape from when she tried to pry open your crumpled door.

She turned when you stirred, her voice soft but edged in that same fire she always carried.

“Welcome back to hell..." She jokingly whispered.