Engines roared under the city lights. The heat from the underground circuit was unbearable, but Axel felt cold. Not from fear—but from focus. Tonight wasn't just another illegal race. Tonight, he was racing for something more.
Redline, the reigning king of the Blacklist, had finally stepped down from the shadows. His custom-built Nissan GT-R glowed under the dim halogen lights of the abandoned tunnel—midnight black with streaks of burning red like fresh scars. He had never lost. Not once.
"You're not ready," Redline sneered, leaning against his car. "This isn't some street-level drag. You're stepping into hell, boy."
Axel didn't flinch. His own ride, the rebuilt Dodge Viper codenamed Inferno, purred beside him like a lion about to kill. It wasn't the fastest car—but with Jett's custom mods, it might just be enough.
Rhea stood nearby, arms crossed. She wasn't wearing her usual confident smirk. "You don't have to do this."
"I do," Axel replied, looking at her. "Not for the title. For truth."
The crowd of spectators—gang members, ex-racers, and adrenaline junkies—closed in around the track. The bet: 100,000 credits. The stakes: everything.
The girl with the neon baton stepped to the line.
"On my count. Three... two..."
Engines howled. Turbochargers screamed.
"ONE!"
They launched.
Axel's Viper leapt forward, tires shrieking as they gripped the broken asphalt. Redline's GT-R pulled ahead instantly, all-wheel drive clawing into the tunnel walls. But Axel stayed on him—tight, precise, like a predator stalking prey.
Halfway through the tunnel, Redline triggered something—an illegal nitro injector. His GT-R rocketed forward with an ear-shattering boom.
But Axel was ready.
He flipped the override Jett installed. Inferno's custom supercharger kicked in, forcing compressed fire through the veins of his car. His body slammed back into his seat.
"C'mon, baby," he whispered.
The two cars shot out of the tunnel into the open freeway like twin comets. Rhea watched on the monitor feed, heart pounding. Beside her, Jett's eyes widened.
"He activated the flame core. That's suicide."
"No," Rhea said softly. "That's Axel."
The final turn was a death curve—a narrow flyover bridge with no rails. One mistake meant 40 meters down.
Redline veered left to block.
Axel didn't brake.
He downshifted—spun the wheel—and drifted.
Inferno's rear tires kissed the edge of the void. Sparks flew like fireworks. Time slowed.
Then he passed him.
By an inch.
Across the finish line.
The crowd exploded. Someone screamed. Others were too stunned to move.
Redline slammed his fists into his wheel.
Axel had done the impossible.
Rhea ran toward him, breathless. "You're insane!"
Axel stepped out, smiling for the first time in days. "And I just earned my place."
But far above, in a glass-walled skyscraper, another man was watching the race feed on a monitor. His face was obscured by shadow, but the voice was cold.
"So... the boy survived."
The camera panned. A familiar emblem glinted on the man's ring.
The Black Viper Syndicate was watching.
And they weren't pleased.