Episode 3: After Dark Stakes
The dorms never slept. After a hundred-player race, the day belonged to repair shops and tuning garages, but the night belonged to sin. Music throbbed through the halls like a pulse, bottles smashed on the floor, smoke lingered in the air, and laughter mixed with the sound of engines idling beneath the towers.
Zoom X leaned against the hood of his Evo, now dripping with silver and streaked in black veins, its new form more vicious than ever. His second victory had already set the school ablaze with whispers. Some called him the Coma Racer. Others called him a freak who bent the rules of leveling. But what burned the most was the way women stared at him now.
It wasn't subtle. Every girl that passed gave him a second look. Every older woman tilted her drink just to watch him move. Even women who were already with someone else. Especially those.
The voice of the school's announcer cracked through the loudspeakers, booming across the borough-sized dormitory.
"Attention, Racers. Tonight: After Dark Race. Stakes are chosen by the racers. Glory, money… or flesh. Sign up begins now."
The crowd erupted in cheers and catcalls. After Dark Races weren't official. They weren't for levels. They were for humiliation, lust, and power. Lose a race, and you lost what you put up.
Zoom's smirk curled as he slid into the driver's seat. The Evo growled, its new body humming like it wanted to be unleashed.
⸻
The Offer
The race gathered under the Brooklyn Bridge, the city skyline burning above them like neon fire. A hundred cars lined up under the steel, headlights casting long shadows. The crowd swarmed around, men and women drunk, high, wild with hunger for spectacle.
Jason Hiro was there, leaning against his black GT-R, arm wrapped tight around a girl with raven hair and sharp eyes. She was beautiful, draped in a short leather jacket, lips painted red. Jason kissed her in front of everyone, then locked eyes with Zoom.
"This is how it works, Coma Kid," Jason spat. "You think you're hot now, you think women drop for you. Let's put it to the test."
He shoved the girl forward. She didn't resist. In fact, she glanced back at Zoom with a look that made Jason's jaw clench.
"Win against me tonight," Jason growled, "and she's yours. Lose… and I'll take whatever girl's stupid enough to touch you."
The crowd screamed, hollering, thirsty for blood and sex.
Zoom said nothing. He only opened his car door. His silence was an insult in itself.
The Race for Flesh
Engines screamed into life. The announcer shouted over the chaos:
"Five laps around the borough circuit. Manhattan, Queens, Bronx, Brooklyn, Staten Island! Winner takes the prize!"
The countdown hit.
3… 2… 1…
Boom.
The cars launched like bullets. Jason's GT-R ripped forward, raw power in every gear. Zoom's Evo answered back, silver steel growling low as it slipped into a ruthless drift on the first corner.
Crowds lined the streets, throwing bottles into the air, cheering every near crash. Racers slammed against each other, scraping paint and sparks. But Zoom was in his own world, the car like an extension of his veins.
Lap after lap, Jason fought dirty, cutting lanes, slamming his bumper into Zoom's, trying to shove him into barriers. But Zoom never broke. Every hit, every shove, he absorbed, turned into fuel. His Evo snapped sideways in corners so sharp it looked impossible, yet he came out faster every time.
By the final lap, it was only them. The others had wrecked, spun out, or given up.
The finish line tore into view. Jason roared, pushing his GT-R beyond reason. But Zoom's instincts flared, every second in the coma now awakened into precision. He cut inside Jason's final drift, Evo scraping paint, sparks raining as the cars kissed metal—
And he shot forward.
Zoom crossed the line first. Jason slammed his fists on the wheel, screaming.
⸻
The Claim
The crowd went feral. Bottles shattered, fists pumped into the air, and chants of "Zoom X! Zoom X!" shook the night.
Jason stumbled out of his car, face twisted in rage. The girl he had staked didn't even look at him. She walked straight to Zoom, lips parted, eyes shining with hunger.
The Evo purred behind him as he leaned against the hood, smirking down at her. Jason reached out to grab her wrist, desperate.
"No—you're mine. You've always been mine!"
She ripped her arm free. Her voice was low, dangerous, permanent. "Not anymore."
The crowd howled. Jason's face went pale, then red with rage, but he couldn't move. Losing an After Dark Race meant the stakes were law. His girl was gone.
She leaned into Zoom, pressing herself against him. He said nothing—he didn't have to. He pulled her by the wrist, leading her past the roaring crowd. She followed willingly, her heels clicking against the concrete, moans spilling the moment the door closed behind them in the dorm.
The sound echoed faintly into the hall. No one questioned it. Once a girl gave herself to Zoom, she was gone forever. His.
⸻
The Fallout
Hours later, Zoom stood by the window of his dorm room, shirtless, the girl asleep on the bed behind him. Outside, the city still throbbed with music, racing, and sin. His Evo sat parked below, glowing faintly silver and black, its veins pulsing like it was alive.
Every race, every win, made him stronger. Every level pulled more people into his orbit. Every woman who gave herself became permanent.
And every victory painted a bigger target on his back.
Because in another dorm, Jason Hiro was drinking himself into a blackout, surrounded by hangers-on who whispered in his ear. He wasn't just angry. He was planning.
Zoom X had humiliated him in front of everyone. Stolen his girl. Beaten him twice.
Jason's fists bled from punching the wall, but his voice was steady when he spoke:
"Next time, Coma Kid… it won't be a race. It'll be your life."