"Mackie," I said helplessly as the bikers circled around our vehicle. My worst nightmare was playing out before my eyes. The Rippers had found us. But how?

"Stay calm, stay calm," Mackie said, oddly in control of himself.

The whole situation stank like a set up, but I knew the truth was a lot simpler than that. The same chance that landed us all the money from the heist was the same chance that brought a biker scout down our street at just the wrong time. Bikers don’t go into the city, we said, but they had. It was a million and one chance they’d find us, but they did. Nothing profound about it. Just a run of bad luck. Now, the house had come calling.

"What now?" I tried to keep the tremble out of my voice.

"Just stay calm. They aren't gonna do anything without the money. Just don't do anything stupid, alright?" Mackie seemed aware of the danger. His eyes were widened like a deer’s in the maw of a tiger, but he was also oddly calm. An exit plan was forming in his head, wrestling with the anxiety, I could tell.

His confidence didn't help relax me at all. My hands shook, and each second brought me closer to punching the gas pedal down to the floorboard, come what may.

Meanwhile, the last few bikers to enter the garage blocked up the exit with their bikes.

"Mackie. We gotta get out of here," I begged without any real idea of how.

"Yeah, and how do we do that?" He asked, annoyed like I had interrupted his thinking.

"By driving as fast as we can," I went for the shift, pressing the break. Mackie grabbed my hand.

"No, don't do that. Whatever you do, don't do that. Just wait. I got this."

"Mackie, whatever plan you have, I'd really like to know what it is."

Suddenly, a chopper sliced through the crowd, pulling to a stop a couple meters away. It was Rigger. I could tell by the gurgling engine.

"I got this, amigo. I'm telling you, without the money, they won't touch us. I know these guys. Let me handle this my way. You got that?"

"They aren’t here to talk, Mack."

We were entirely surrounded now, their bellowing engines roaring in the empty space. The bikers were dismounting, talking, and laughing at each other over the cry of the engines.

Headlights shone on us, blasting through the windshield with blaring brightness. The light casted shadows of old raindrops over our faces.

"Alright," Macky suddenly went for the door. I grabbed his arm, my grip tight on his jacket sleeve.

"What? Mackie, no. What’re you doing?"

“They aren’t getting us this easily, not after what we’ve been through. I’m gonna talk to the fucker and sort this mess out.”

“Huh? Out there? Are you nuts?”

“Come on, Sleeper. I can handle this. Let go of me.”

“If you step out of this car, they’re gonna kill you.”

“They won’t. They still need us. Don’t worry, hermano. I’ve talked my way out of worse situations. You aren’t the only one with charm,” he said smiling, his gold teeth flashing in the headlights. “I’ll get you out of this.”

“Mackie, don’t…” I begged him. He looked me in the eyes with sudden lucidity. Before he spoke, I could see how serious he was. No fear. No excitement.

He grabbed my hand to loosen my hold.

Gingerly, he said, “It’s alright. I'm not scared, Sleeper. I'm not afraid." The look he gave me was one a man on death row gave before the sentence was withdrawn. His words were supposed to mean something to me but… He pulled loose from my grip and stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind him.

I was in disbelief. "What the fuck…" I said to myself. I couldn't even imagine what he meant by that.

Voices started: muffled, harsh, and spitting.

Bikers were everywhere. Pipes, knives, machetes, brass knuckles, all manner of shiny and sharp things used to bludgeon or stab. Some even had guns.

They were wolves, and we were lambs caught in a snare. They licked their chops while we struggled.

I heard Mackie's voice through the car door. He raised his arms when he spoke.

"You got us, Rigger. What the fuck, man?" Someone spoke back. Something about money… or funny. I couldn't see shit through the misty glass.

"You sent us a death squad…" Then I heard explicitly the words fuck… and don't move. Mackie boasted so loud in return, his voice echoed in the car park. He simply said, "We don't have the money," as if that settled the dispute.

Suddenly, a flash lit up the garage and a bang cracked the air like a hammer. Mackie's head jerked back, blood splattering on the passenger window, then he fell out of view.

My heart dropped.

Dead. Mackie was dead. I was dead. They were coming. Nothing makes sense anymore.

Images of death flashed through my imagination. Memories, distinct and old, came flooding back, all those old WarZone memories rising like ghosts, reinforcing what was about to happen to me. Things unspeakable. Death would be a lucky end.

But it wasn’t over yet…

Instinctively, I punched the shift into gear. Pedal to the floorboard, the Charger’s tires squealed, smoke spiraling off behind the vehicle. The car lurched forward.

I zoomed towards the far wall of the parking garage.

Gangers shouted and warned each other, some rushing towards the car, others scrambling to get out of the way. A couple gangsters smacked the vehicle's tail end with heavy blunt weapons just as I passed by.

Suddenly, a mohawked ganger cracked the driver side window with a lead pipe. I winced. Then the Charger broke away from the crowd.

I sped up the parking garage floor, careening towards the dead end wall at the other end. What now?

My blood was both cold and boiling. The only exit was far behind, back past all of the gangers. In a moment, I’d run out of garage. To save myself, something crazy had to be done.

Just before I met the far wall of the garage I gained the speed I needed. With wild abandon, I broke to one side hard, swinging the car's back end around. The Charger spun, squealing horribly, until the car twisted all the way around, the hood pointed back towards the exit… behind thirty hardened men, women, and their bikes.

From now on, I was a wounded animal, pushing straight forward without regard to safety or logic. The exit. Come hell or high water, I would make it to the exit.

After a courage hardening gasp of air, I punched the gas pedal to the floor, the tires spitting white smoke. The car jumped forward, barreling down the parking garage floor once more.

At first, brave Gangers rushed head-on into the car's path until they realized I wouldn't stop. Then they scattered like roaches, some jumping wildly over each other to get out of the way.

One remarkably dumb ganger attempted to jump on the car's hood but landed so hard that she broke her sternum, rolling off the top end and spiraling painfully to the concrete. Then, after boldly facing me down, a ganger fired off a round from his .45 before hopping out of the way.

A hole the size of my thumb punched through the glass, the bullet spiking into the onboard computers. The displays whined, glass and plastic shattered everywhere, smoke erupting and filling the cabin.

Just ahead, at the exit, a few gangers had pushed their bikes into the way in an attempt to block it off, waiting nearby for me to slow down or crash. They preemptively dashed out of the way though when they realized I wasn’t slowing down.

The car shook, metal shearing apart with a horrible cry as the Charger smashed through the bike barrier. The vehicle harshly bounced over the bikes, completely destroying one of them; the sound of grinding metal was deafening. One motorcycle was tossed clear across the street. A second was dragged on the hood of my car for a meter or two before falling away, spinning in a swirl of debris.

Then, I was free.

I couldn’t tell how bad the damage was to the front end, but it wasn't good. The engine sputtered and skipped as I bolted down the street, rumbling dangerously every time I tried to speed up. The Charger was building speed but dangerously slowly. And there was a hiss under the hood that brought smoke creeping through the vents of the car and gaps of the hood.

Come on. Stay with me. Keep going. I urged the car on. It was slower than I liked, but the Charger steadily climbed in speed.

I was pissing myself. My heart pumped so vigorously my head was pulsing. I could feel the jaws of the biker gang closing down around me. If I can get on the maxway...

Just ahead, a steep ramp built haphazardly between two office buildings called to me like angel's horns. The maxway… Fuck if I knew how the maxway was going to help me, but the word speed kept repeating in my head.

Thankfully, the streets were still empty.

However, like the dread in my stomach, the call of motorcycle engines swelled behind me. Through the murky red glass of the rearview window I could see two bikers speedily approaching.

One was far faster than the other, riding a neon red Japanese motorcycle riddled with barbed wire and greasy decals of guns, skulls, and women. The biker's bare head was studded with silver balls and a starch dried buzzhawk. In one hand, he carried a sawn-off double-barrel shotgun.

That shotgun would punch through this car like a fist through paper, shredding everything inside. I stomped the gas pedal fruitlessly. Come on, you piece of shit. Faster!

The second ganger’s bike sputtered closer too, like a choking baby. Its driver was in full black, sleeveless, with chains all over his clothes. His machine was also a Japanese sports bike, with the plastic covers removed so the machines beneath were bare. He was just behind the other, but catching up fast.

These bikes were quick on a normal day, but with the state of the Charger as it was, there was no problem catching up to me.

I was helpless as, with ease, the first of the bikers slid up behind me like a snake on the water's surface. Catching up on my right side, he was near the tail of the car. I could see him through the back windows, trailing alongside me. I cursed the Charger again for accelerating so slowly. But there wasn’t much time for it as the biker lifted his gun, pointing it at me. Oh shit.

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I ducked my head beneath the seats expecting the headrest to be blown away. Through the side mirror, I saw the shotgun lurch in his hand, a flash of smoke trailing from the barrel. The sound cracked my ears, even over the engines.

But no pellets went over my head.

Instead, the car lurched sideways as the back wheel exploded. Then, there was the sound of grinding metal. Pulling hard to the left, I shot up in my seat, swerving instinctively to bring the machine back under my control.

The Charger was impossible to steer. It struggled this way and that and I strained to keep it straight, finally bringing the Charger back under my thumb after a few tense moments. But, the biker was still on me, and his gun still had another shot.

I could see it like I was staring down the barrel. I had to do something, and quickly.

My blood boiling, I acted, jerking wildly on the steering wheel, pulling to the right, attempting to ram my car into his bike.

The biker saw it coming and tried to brake, the motorbike wheezing underneath him. But, he wasn't fast enough.

The back end of the Charger tagged his front wheel and like a spell was broken, the front wheel twisted and gravity abandoned the machine. The bike's back end shot up into the air, tossing the biker to the street, before skittering and rolling over the harsh asphalt. It was completely trashed by the time the wheels stopped spinning.

The maneuver had taken its toll, though. The car jerked back against me, starting to spin out of control. The tires squelched, the back end and the front end trying to move opposite ways. After a few close calls, I brought the machine back under control, but lost a lot of speed in the process.

The Charger whined and sputtered but dared not stop. The back wheel ground against the street with a horrifying noise.

It was too hard to turn now. The vehicle would need wide swinging births to move anywhere but straight. But the onramp was just ahead. If I could make it there, then… I don’t know. Maybe luck had an extra one up her sleeve for me.

Speaking of unlucky, losing speed had cost me. The second ganger wasn’t just hot on my ass. In the side mirror I could see him sliding up the left side of the car. Goddamn it. Give me a break.

The biker coasted right up to the driver side window like we were on a leisurely country drive together. But, instead of waving at me, he gripped a black nine millimeter from his waistband, and pulled it out, cocking back the hammer.

It crossed my mind after they blew my tire out that I was worth more alive than dead, but after seeing what I’d done to the other biker, it seemed this guy wasn’t keen on capturing me anymore. Now it was shoot to kill.

I stomped the gas pedal furiously as he came closer, knowing it was fruitless. The car refused to accelerate like it was supposed to. Whatever the problem was, it couldn’t be fixed by smashing on the gas pedal. This is it. I’m gonna die.

I ducked away from the window, leaning as far into the car as I could, as if that would somehow help me. The car wouldn’t survive another bash attempt. If I turned the car sharply in either direction, I’d lose control.

In another second I'd be dead, though. I could smell the burning exhaust from the bike, he was that close. My heart pumped blood like a pressure hose. What now? Think.

As the biker closed in on the driver's side door, he aimed at me through the window, his pistol dropping to meet my wide eyed gaze. A pull of the trigger and it would all be over. In a moment of panic, I wrenched my door open, the door catching the biker's front wheel.

The machine whined as its front tire jerked one way and its back wheel jerked the other, tossing itself onto its side. The bike's back end thumped against the Charger, leaving a thick dent in the back door. Then, with metallic punches, it bounced seat over wheels across the asphalt. The biker was caught underneath and crushed before rolling across the road, disappearing from view.

“Fuck!” I shouted to no one as the Charger roared away. I hadn’t even thought that one through. It just happened. “Too close. Too close,” I breathed, hyperventilating.

Finally, I roared onto the onramp, heading up into the chaos of the maxway.

Regardless of the danger, I broke into the thick of traffic. Cars surrounded me. Honking broke out. Brakes squealed. Unlike below, up here traffic was heavy and fast.

To immerse myself in as many cars as possible, I ripped the steering wheel into heavier traffic, nearly bumping my hood into the car in front of me. Near inches separated us. But then I was around them and picking up even more speed.

It was so difficult to keep the wheel steady after turning that my arms almost gave out trying to straighten it. If there hadn’t been so many lanes, and my speed was any lower, the Charger would’ve spun out of my control and crashed. I thanked whatever creator there was that it didn’t.

But the vehicle was on the edge, in bad shape. The sound of the back wheel grinding against the road was excruciating, and the car rumbled and bounced vigorously as it bounded down the maxway. I stayed my course, putting as much distance between me and my pursuers as possible.

Though I was fast, and still slowly gaining speed, I knew the limitations of the Charger. Not fast over long distances, and that was before it was nearly totaled. Regardless, soon they'd catch up to me. To stay hidden, I buried myself in as much traffic as possible. But it wouldn’t last.

Eventually, it happened. The burning engine of a warhog grew in the distance.

Looking back, I could see it: a roller biker, a motorcycle with a fat front wheel, pulled-back handlebars, and a laid-back seat. Clunky, but fast in straight lines.

Killers rode those bikes, and they’d earned their reputation through action. He was alone, it seemed, outrunning his hungry comrades.

The biker spied me early on and weaved through traffic with the expertise of a trained predator. In just a few short moments, the ganger was nearly caught up.

I took risk after risk, drifting around cars to put as many bodies between us as I could, but the bike was too fast and small. He fell through the gaps in cars like a breeze through fingers.

Soon, he was close enough to see.

A black helmet with "Kill me" written in white marker across the front. A biker vest covered in red shotgun shells. A bike of shimmering chrome with a headlight covering molded into the shape of a skull with a crown of thorns. He was a killer alright. Stone cold.

And, it was clear from his cold body language he had taken plenty of victims before, probably too many to count, and all his hunts ended the same… as notches on his belt. He knew it was only a matter of time before his teeth wrapped around my throat.

He mercilessly cut through traffic, sliding up behind me with ease. Carefully, I put a car between him and me, making sure to stay on one side of it as he approached. The biker watched me cautiously, pulling up on the other side of the vehicle. He was eyeing my strategy.

The driver in the car between us eventually noticed the two of us. At first, they tried to speed up to escape us, but we both matched their speed. Then, they tried to slow down, but again, we matched them. Ultimately, they resigned to their fate, carefully watching both sides as the biker and I eyed each other off.

After a moment, the biker decided to make his next move and drew a black pistol from his hip. As if there was nowhere to run, he took his eyes off me and sped ahead of the car between us who cautiously let him pass. Thinking, I breathed for a moment, slowing down so I fell behind the car.

I had no idea how I was going to get out of this.

Briefly, I thought about running the car off the edge of the maxway. If it was going to end... But, I put the thought out of my head.

The biker slid into the position I had been in and I into his. How long could I keep this going? The biker didn't want to find out because suddenly, he pointed the gun at me through the windows of the separating car. Then…

Three flashes and three successive shots sprayed smoke over the roadway. Glass cracked open and spurts of blood splattered on the driver side window of the vehicle between us.

I gasped. It felt like someone had just sucker punched me in the gut. He killed them… Dread set in as the car's tires squealed and the vehicle spun out, falling away. …because of me…

My heart broke watching the car fade behind us, but I had to put my feelings aside quickly. Now, there was nothing between me and the biker and he was coming in for the kill.

I stomped on the gas pedal again to no response. Shit. This was it. The end of the line. The Charger was at its max. My gun was in Mackie’s pocket. And there was nothing between the assassin and me now. What was I going to do? In a few brief seconds, he would start laying into me with his pistol.

...But he was between me and the guardrail at the highway's center, which split traffic. An impact like that would surely kill the Charger, but… fuck it. If this was the end, then so be it. This would be the end of the line for this fucker, too.

“Alright, you bastard. You want me? Come and get me,” I muttered through gritted teeth. I pressed the brake lightly so the two of us would line up better.

As intended, the man on the chopper slid right up to the Charger, placing himself just beside me for a clear shot. I could see his features now. He wasn’t concerned. There wasn’t much I could do anyways, right?

The biker lined up his shot with a greasy look of confidence on his scarred face. Unknowingly, he’d also lined himself up for me, perfectly. I gripped the steering wheel.

“This is for Mackie.”

With a quick flick, I threw caution to the wind and yanked hard on the steering wheel. The Charger uttered protest, but jumped at my command.

The biker, sensing the danger, swerved, dropping his aim and hitting his brakes. The bike fell back, growling, wheels spewing smoke as they ground against the asphalt, but again, the bike was not fast enough.

Too late. I slammed into the guard rail hard, the car jumping on its wheels. My head slapped against the roof of the car, rapping against the driver's side window. Meanwhile, I could feel the bike being crushed between the car and the guardrail.

The Charger bounced away from the railing as quick as it impacted, sliding and skidding back to the middle of the maxway. The wheels squealed as the vehicle slid out of control. For a moment, I thought it was over, as the Charger spun, narrowly missing a passing jeep. Then, to my surprise, I brought the vehicle back under my thumb.

The biker was rolling and rumbling away behind me in a mess of sound, smoke, metal, and flesh. Kill that.

I survived. The Charger survived. I couldn’t believe it.

I checked behind me through the red mist. Hewas definitely dead. I couldn't tell very well, but the roads seemed clear too, of bikers at least. The others hadn’t caught up yet. Although, on the maxway it would be easy. The Charger clicked and whirred too, begging for a break.

Suddenly, fliers appeared overhead, sirens blaring, whipping past my car in the opposite direction. I caught my breath. Thank god. Luck had just kissed me on the forehead.

It wasn’t over, but even with this busted up car, gangers garnered more attention in the city than I would. And there was a whole gang of them somewhere back there. It would be a nice little web of chaos to disappear into.

Maybe the gangers would pull off once the cops started chasing them. Knowing gangers though, they'd be stupid or crazy enough not to. But they wouldn’t be able to get to me now, not without a fight with the police. Even they weren’t ballsy enough for that.

No matter the situation, it was best I get off the maxway at the next ramp, now that I had some space. Driving a damaged car like this, I would stick out eventually. And it would be difficult to explain why my back window was covered with blood.

I took the next exit I could, rushing back into the bowels of LowDowns once again. Only when I came to rest in a LowDowns back alley, sure that no one was tailing me, only then did I sigh a breath of relief.

The sun was up when I pulled into the abandoned alley on the border between WarZone and the LowDowns. Everything was still moist from the rains last night, but the rain would dry up soon, evaporating last night's sins with it.

My knuckles were white when I unclasped the steering wheel. The Charger had been parked for some time, but I hadn't moved. Not an inch. Now, a sticky noise followed each finger I peeled from the leather wheel.

My heart still throbbed. My hands trembled while I watched them. A random car horn erupted in the streets. A siren overhead dissipated into the cloud line…

Where was all my feeling?

Beside me on the passenger's side window, Mackie's blood had spread out into a spider web. Blown by the wind, the red streaks sparkled in long, spindly trails. I couldn't look at it.

The smell of smoke from the burning computer burned my nose, and the worn-out engine still hissed as it decompressed. The noise was nauseating, and the smell sickening, like oil and plastic burnt and boiled. It reminded me of the industrial zone.

I opened the door and, on shaky legs, stood up in the alley. The Charger seeped thick white mist from the creases in its hood. It wouldn't start again. That's alright. I don't need it anymore–

Suddenly, the pain welled up too much inside to contain.

“Fuck!” I shrieked into the alleyway until my lungs burned and my knees buckled. The cry was haunting, climbing up from my broken heart and echoing up through the alley. With it was carried my pain, confusion, my sorrow and frustration, my anger… all away into the city.

I wasn't sure if I was crying, but I wiped my face anyway. Then it was quiet.

And I was alone.

Late morning had rolled around when I stepped off the bus in LowDowns. I jogged the rest of the way back to the parking garage.

The streets were still vacant. Just hissing pipes and far away city noise... Every so often, a dull engine would roar. That would stop me in my tracks, making my head swivel and my ears perk up, but it always was nothing. With how quiet the streets were, it was like the events of this morning never happened.

Slipping in through the parking garage windows, I kept my presence light. But there was no one around. An abandoned bike lay on its side near one of the exits. It was totaled entirely, having bent almost in a half circle.

I kept my head on a swivel, just in case, but even the ghosts were gone. Searching in haste, I returned to where we had been parked hours earlier. No bodies, no cars, no ambushes or sneaking gangers. Instead, in the spot where Mackie had been gunned down, there was a wide black spot… and nothing else.