Long after traffic had dwindled to a trickle, abandoned industrial roads transformed into something altogether different. Headlights carved through darkness, engines rumbled with restrained impatience, and the air carried the familiar perfume of overheated rubber, gasoline, and adrenaline. Spectators crowded behind makeshift barriers, bets were placed, and competitors idled side by side, each convinced they would be the one leaving everyone else in their dust.
Knock Out lived for it, rolling in with effortless grace. Beneath the scattered floodlights, his cherry-red plating gleams as though he had polished moments before arriving. His engine settles into a smooth, confident purr as he eases into his starting position. A few appreciative glances from the crowd didn't go unnoticed. Naturally. There was little point in attending an illegal street race if he couldn't make an entrance.
Adjusting his side mirrors, the Aston Martin surveys his competition, wondering if any of these humans — or the roads — might prove remotely challenging. His attention drifts forward as one of the organizers steps into position to signal the start.
It's enough of a distraction to keep him from noticing the headlights suddenly blooming in his rearview mirror. There's no warning, only a terrible crunch. Metal scrapes against metal, shattering the anticipation in an instant as the impact rocks his frame with a sharp, jarring lurch.
Knock Out freezes, the world becoming impossibly quiet.
"...No."
Holoform flickering to life, he steps out with measured deliberation, his movement painstakingly controlled despite the growing indignation simmering beneath the surface. His gaze sweeps over the driver's side, taking in the fresh scrape marring his pristine finish, the dent beneath it, and the shattered taillight that completed the offense.
His expression twists into one of terrible disbelief as he turns toward the vehicle responsible.
"You hit me!"
@citrustei
