The old racer’s engine was in surprisingly good condition. The metal looked new even, which shouldn’t be possible. Considering the state of the outside plating of the car and the scrap yard you’d bought it from. At first you were surprised it even started but seeing its pristine engine it wasn’t that surprising.

Then you got nervous. Maybe you accidentally bought someone’s passion project without them knowing. Most of the modifications looked illegal too, which furthered your nervousness.

Your thumb swipes over the strange brand symbol branished on the front of the steering wheel before the radio unexpectedly kicks on.

”Jazz, come in Jazz.”

The door suddenly slammed shut and the engine started up.