This time, he’d arrived first. Hayden climbed out of his car and his eyes scanned the area around him. The street was empty, almost completely dark were it not for the single working street lamp. They really oughta fix those sometime, he thought to himself, before reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.
He lit one, and waited. Soon, a car arrived and parked on the other side of the road. Hayden watched intently as the driver opened the door, and stood up from the seat. The cigarette unceremoniously dropped from his lips as soon as he noticed who it was.
The same racer from before. The one who died on TV.
“Hey,” Zack said with a wave.
There wasn’t a single coherent thought in Hayden’s mind as he silently walked towards Zack. He didn’t know how he should feel. Was he relieved to see him alive? Confused? Betrayed?
It all culminated when all of a sudden, Hayden’s fist connected with Zack’s jaw.
The force of the punch pushed Zack away, and his body slammed against the car he’d just gotten out of.
“Oww…” he said as he rubbed the sore spot on his face. “What the fuck…?”
Hayden didn’t answer as he grabbed Zack by the lapels of his jacket.
“What the fuck are you?” he snarled.
“What? Dude… what do you mean?” Zack said. “It's me, remember? I bought juice from you like, a month ago!”
“I saw you on TV…” Hayden began, trying to make sense of his scattered thoughts. “Your body… you were dead!”
Zack struggled out of the grasp, and Hayden let him go.
“Holy shit, so it was that bad, huh?” Zack said. “Listen, I know it sounds hard to believe, but… I never died, okay? I'm not a ghost or whatever the fuck you think I am.”
Hayden was barely paying attention to him. He pressed one of his hands against his own forehead, as if the mere act of thinking was painful.
“I don’t understand…” he said. “Is this... is this why you need the oxycodipine?”
Zack nodded. “Yeah…” He seemed to be overly cautious in his movements, like a rookie zookeeper dealing with an enraged animal. Hayden supposed he couldn’t blame him.
“Listen, if you want me to explain it, I can tell you everything,” Zack continued, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. “Just… chill out, okay?”
Hayden swallowed. He hadn’t noticed but his heart was racing, almost to the point where it worried him. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.
“Okay,” he said.
“Alright…” Zack sounded a little unsure, wary that Hayden would assault him again. “So, first things first… yes, I am alive,” he began.
Hayden kept watching him intently, at first the anger and confusion still burned inside him, but its embers gradually turned into guilt as he listened to the man in front of him. He couldn’t tell what had made him so angry in the first place. There was something muddled in the swarm of emotions that had formed in his chest.
“The juice you sold me,” Zack continued, slowly regaining his confidence. “That’s what it was for. That crash would have killed me if it wasn’t for it.”
“How is that even possible?” Hayden said, incredulous.
“It just is,” Zack shrugged. He gave Hayden an apologetic look, perhaps wishing he had a better answer to give. “I try not to question it.”
Hayden sighed. It seemed that as hard as it was to accept, the reality was that the man in front of him had survived a fatal car crash. All thanks to a drug that until this very moment, he had believed to be of recreational use only.
He remained silent, mulling over his thoughts. Zack must have noticed this because he suddenly piped up:
“I know it sounds hard to believe, but it isn’t as miraculous as it sounds,” he said.
With that, he began to take his jacket off, and by the time Hayden noticed what he was doing it was too late to stop him.
“What are you doing?” The words left Hayden’s mouth almost involuntarily as he watched Zack lift his shirt up. He was about to complain that he shouldn’t be doing this on the outdoors, but the sight of the man’s body had him at a loss for words.
There were still some bandages left from what Hayden assumed must have been a pretty extensive recovery process. But it was hard to notice them amid the grotesque view of what surrounded them: Zack’s entire torso was covered in stitches, making him look like a patchwork doll of some kind.
Several of them were located on his thorax, and Hayden assumed that something must have punctured the skin there. Whether it had been caused by some stray metal or his own ribs, it was hard to tell.
The sight of it was almost hypnotizing, and Hayden found himself subconsciously reaching out a hand to touch one of the many scars littering the man’s body. Part of him wanted to flinch away, an instinctive response as his brain tried to imagine the pain Zack must have gone through. But there was something else that wanted to get closer to him, to touch his skin just to see if he was actually real.
Just as his fingers were about to brush against the skin, Zack pulled his shirt back down.
“Hey, this isn’t a petting zoo,” he said. “Just for your information: yes, it does hurt when you poke it.”
Hayden suddenly felt his face going hot, and he hoped his dark skin would’ve hidden his blush.
“Right, sorry,” he said as he immediately retreated his hand away.
Thankfully, Zack didn’t seem too offended by it, simply raising an eyebrow in response.
Hayden cleared his throat.
“So, you convinced me,” he continued, trying to push everything away from his mind and focus on his job. He pulled a small paper bag from his jacket. Part of him hesitated before handing it over to Zack. “Is this… okay?” he asked.
Zack took the bag and looked inside. “Yeah, it seems like everything is here,” he replied.
“I mean this,” Hayden gestured vaguely in Zack’s direction. “This thing you’re doing. Why would you ever want to do it again?”
At first, Zack didn’t say anything. He gave Hayden a cold stare, one that made him immediately regret asking.
“Why should you care, you’re getting your money out of it anyway, aren’t you?” he eventually responded.
Right, of course. Hayden couldn’t even pretend to be surprised. As long as he got paid, it didn’t matter what happened to this dude. Or anyone else who bought an obscene amount of these drugs. That’s how things are supposed to be.
He lifted his hand towards Zack, as if expecting to be given something. “You’re right. I don’t care,” he lied. “The price is the same as last time.”
For a split second, Zack furrowed his eyebrows. It might have been his imagination, but Hayden thought he looked offended. Hurt. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it as Zack placed a roll of bills on his hand.
“There you go,” he said. “It was a pleasure doing business again.”
Hayden nodded as he began to count the bills. It seemed like it was all there, which was good. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Zack turn around to climb back inside his car.
“Hey, Zack…” Hayden blurted out before he could stop himself.
Zack stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned his head towards Hayden. He remained silent, waiting.
“Have you ever tried nitro?” Hayden asked.
Mist had to scrunch up his face as the sun blared its endless light directly into his retinas. He ignored the sweat rolling down his back as he surveyed the arena. Or what his poor sensitive eyes could make of it.
He weaved among the crowd, the smell of beer and bacon grease hanging in the air. It did not deter him, though. Soon enough, he was able to reach the main building, the one that would allow him to access the VIP area.
Naturally, he’d been wearing a disguise. Mist hadn’t come here as a pilot, but rather as a guest. The current race was a minor league one, and as such he’d been invited to watch by none other than the manager of Eranis himself.
The man was notoriously difficult to get in touch with, which was to be expected as the manager of the top ranking team in the entire death race sport. Receiving an invitation from him could only mean one thing: being invited to join the team.
Mist’s face was as impassive as ever under his sunglasses and cap, but his accelerated heartbeat betrayed just how he felt. He couldn’t even think about fucking this up.
His eyes landed on the reception desk, next to which there was a row of metallic stanchions with red cordons between them. They were being manned by a pair of security guards, who were on the lookout for anyone with an official lanyard to be let through. Team managers, media people, celebrities or otherwise anyone who had been invited to watch the race from the VIP booths.
Mist took a few steps towards the reception, but stopped as he heard someone call out from behind him.
“Uhh, excuse me, sir?”
He turned around to spot a group of three young women, one of them holding what seemed to be a tape recorder of sorts. He raised an eyebrow at them, hoping that whatever they wanted would be resolved quickly.
The girls’ faces lit up however, when they recognized his face.
“It is him! Oh my gosh!” one of them said, from behind the leader of the group.
The girl holding the tape recorder took a decisive step forward. “Hello, Mist! I’m Stella, and I work for a… sports themed… podcast.” she began, a slight stammer in her voice as she blurted out the greeting. “We were wondering if you’d be up for a quick interview?”
Mist stared down at the girls for a few seconds in silence. His brain took a moment to catch up to what was going on. On the floor above them, the manager of Eranis was probably sitting on his fancy chair by this point, waiting. Mist pushed the image out of his mind, and let a warm smile form on his face.
“Of course,” he said.
Right. Maybe he should start getting used to the fact that he had fans. Although he couldn’t help but to find it strange that these girls would find interest in such a violent sport. Maybe times were changing after all, although he couldn't be sure if this was a good change.
The leader of the group, Stella, pushed a button on her tape recorder before speaking into the microphone:
“You’re still a newcomer to the death races, what made you interested in the sport?”
Mist’s smile turned from practiced to genuine. The question was almost endearing. Of course, none of them would like the real answer, but luckily it was the sort of thing he had prepared for. It took work to keep his lies consistent.
“It was something of a coincidence,” he said when the microphone was offered to him. “I had always wanted to be an athlete, but I’ve never had the chance. Until I started driving, and my uncle started working for a man who was really into death races. He saw me and told me to get in touch with one of the teams.”
Stella nodded with a smile, satisfied with the answer. She brought the mic back towards her mouth.
“There has been a lot of talk about the rivalry between you and your fellow pilot Nick, and recently you’ve said that he now, quote: ‘finally has someone to keep him in place.’ Did you know him before you started racing?”
Mist’s face remained impassive, the shadow of a smile lingering on his features. It wouldn’t be fair to blame this poor girl for asking a question like this, as he was the one who had brought it upon himself. Maybe interviews were a bad idea after all.
"I did," he began. His story was something he had practiced, but still he hoped Nick himself wouldn't challenge it at some point. "I met him during my training as a professional pilot, he was one of my classmates, so to speak."
Granted, something told him Nick was just as interested in keeping his own past a secret from the media. Mist was pretty much doing him a favor by coming up with this.
He continued with his story: "I always made him out to be an arrogant man, but much to my chagrin, he was a good pilot. Is a good pilot." He paused for a brief moment. "I have respect for him, all things considered."
He felt no need to lie about that last part. His eyebrows furrowed in a somewhat sorrowful expression, one that he accidentally let through. But he quickly recomposed himself. All the respect he still held for Zack was but a tiny drop of water amidst the ocean of grudge he held against the man.
Stella's voice snapped him back to reality. "Alright, thanks for agreeing to this interview!" she said. All things considered, she seemed satisfied. A little too satisfied, but Mist paid it no mind.
"It was no trouble," he said, and nodded at her. "Now I must apologize, but I have to meet someone here."
"Right, of course, sorry for keeping you," Stella said.
With that, Mist left the small group and headed back towards the reception. He approached one of the security guards by the stanchions and quickly flashed his lanyard at him. The man nodded, an unclipped the belt from its holding place, allowing Mist to pass through.
Once he was in, he headed towards a small elevator, which would take him up to the highest floor in the building. He quietly pondered if taking the stairs would be quicker, seeing as there were only three floors, but the elevator seemed to arrive fast enough.
The third floor was sleek and clean, almost more so than the rest of the building, and Mist could see some people milling about by the massive windows. It would be the perfect viewing port, a nice view combined with plenty of air conditioning to keep the oppressive heat away.
Mist had no eyes for them however, as he made his way towards the opulent double doors at the end of the hallway. He knocked twice, and then opened the door, knowing that he was expected to come in.
He was greeted by a large man in a suit, leaning over a black glass table. The man's eyes were cast down, but they snapped towards the door as Mist closed it behind him.
"Ah, you're here at last..." the man greeted him.
Mist quickly walked over to the table and took a seat across from the suited man. "My apologies for the delay, Mr Eranis," he said. "A group of fans stopped me for an interview, and I didn't have it in me to decline."
Eranis raised an eyebrow. "Stopping for an interview on the way to an important meeting..." he began. "You concern yourself with your public image, then. A good trait to have."
He offered his hand. "Please, we have much to discuss."
Mist nodded and shook the man's hand. "I'm eager to get to it," he said. "So, what is this all about?"
Eranis smiled, almost as if trying to hold in a laugh. "I believe you already know." He gestured to the window, out of which Mist could see the track outside. It seemed that the race was about to begin.
"These rookies, for many of them this is their first big race," Eranis continued. "Straight out of training camp these ones, but they'll all get to taste their own blood sooner or later. You know exactly what that feels like, I imagine."
Mist focused on his own breath, lest he give away his true feelings on the matter. Keep it steady. He felt his teeth clench, his nostrils flared ever so slightly, but he stopped the movement before it could turn into a snarl. Now was not the time to fuck this up.
Instead, he nodded at Eranis, hoping the man would continue his enigmatic monologue.
And continue it he did: "Every time there's a race on the minor leagues, I sit here and watch 'em. You never know what kind of talent is hiding in there." He paused, and shot Mist a look. "But if that's the case, how come I've never seen you there?"
Mist smiled. "I never had the chance to race on this particular league."
The entire table shook as Eranis slammed his palm into it. Mist worried for a second that the glass would break, but the laugh that followed snapped him out of it.
"You just skipped the mid level league entirely!" Eranis barked out in between laughs. "I didn't even know that was possible!"
Mist waited for the man's outburst to finish with a polite smile on his face. Eranis wiped the tears from his eyes, and then his face suddenly became stern.
"Son, I saw your last performance," he said. "You're wasting your time racing for any company other than mine."
His heart was beating so fast, Mist could practically hear it drumming in his ears. His smile didn't waver though. "I take it you have an offer," he said.
"I do," Eranis continued. "I am willing to put you on my team on the next season for the big leagues. That should be next month, if memory serves."
Mist nodded. "That would be right," he said. "I've memorized the date, the next race is for the A league. It should be a big one."
Eranis smiled even wider. "What a way to debut you, then! I like it!"
"Do I have to sign somewhere?"
Before Mist knew it, a small stack of papers was placed in front of him. He took his time to read through them, a force of habit. He clicked the pen that was given to him and signed his name on all the required spots. He then slid the papers over to Eranis, who latched onto them like a lion about to eat its prey.
There was a moment of silence as the man skimmed through the signed contract, and then he placed the papers on the table before shooting Mist an intense look of satisfaction.
"Welcome to Eranis."