"Shit!"
He didn't think or even hesitate.
There was no time to.
Instinct slammed into him like a freight train. His foot hit the gas. Hard. Tires screamed. The world blurred.
His mind emptied, body moving faster than thought, powered by adrenaline and whatever edge the system had baked into his muscles. The second that car crossed the divider — that exact, shattering second — his foot also slammed the accelerator.
The engine roared, hungry and sharp, echoing the sudden shock in his chest.
His hands flew, fingers gripping the wheel with a violent, practiced precision as he shifted gears. The car responded like a beast awakened — tires screeching, metal straining.
He moved faster than he thought.
Faster than reaction.
A precise and brutal dance of instinct and muscle.
His hands spun the wheel in a tight, ruthless snap, cutting across traffic with inches to spare. Tires screeched, horns flared, someone yelled something behind him — none of it mattered.
