That morning at Garage 17, the smell of coffee and toasted sandwiches filled the air. Marcus sat casually in a workshop chair, eating breakfast with his girlfriend flipping through a car magazine beside him.
The garage door swung open.
Paul stepped in quickly, his expression tense.
"Marcus!" he called sharply.
Marcus looked up.
"Yo, morning. What's up with you?"
Paul got straight to the point.
"Did Robinson stay here last night?"
Marcus wiped his mouth with a napkin and shook his head.
"No. Remember? He messaged me last night. Said he was crashing at Zashiro's place—said it's safer after what happened. You forgot?"
Paul frowned slightly, trying to recall. Then it clicked — Robinson had messaged him:
> "I'm staying at Zashiro's tonight. I'm good, don't worry. Just… don't tell mom, okay?"
Paul let out a slow breath.
"Yeah… right. I just—feel uneasy."
Marcus stood up and stepped closer.
"You're worried he's getting pulled in too deep, huh?"
Paul gave a slow nod.
"He was chased last night. And that explosion… it was too coordinated. If Race Vault is already pulling him in, this isn't just about fast cars anymore."
Marcus patted Paul on the shoulder.
"Relax. Zashiro's solid. And Robinson's not reckless—he's smart. But yeah, we'll keep an eye on him."
Paul looked out through the open garage door.
"From now on, we move first. They've opened the door to a much darker world…"
At Garage 17, Paul stood alone in the surveillance room. He glanced down at a small tracker in his hand—just activated.
"That watch isn't just for style, Rob…" he muttered.
A signal blinked on screen, moving fast.
"They're on the highway… and speeding."
A Nissan GT-R roared across the highway. Zashiro was calm behind the wheel, left hand gripping the steering wheel casually, foot easing toward full throttle.
Robinson, riding shotgun, glanced nervously at the side mirror.
"Uh… is that a cop?"
Zashiro looked briefly, then smirked.
"They've been tailing us for a while."
Robinson panicked, sitting upright.
"We're screwed. They're gonna pull us over—or worse, check our IDs."
Zashiro didn't answer. He bit his lip, then slammed the gas pedal, making the engine roar like a beast unleashed.
"Hold on!"
The car darted forward, weaving through traffic and cutting off a large truck. Robinson yelled, caught between fear and excitement:
"WHOO!! I LOVE YOUR STYLE, BRO!!"
Zashiro chuckled, keeping his eyes locked on the road. The car danced between lanes, leaving two cop cars far behind.
The sirens faded... and were gone.
Robinson leaned back, breathless.
"Damn…"
Zashiro replied, "Standard. City cops aren't even close to our world."
Robinson turned to him, confused.
"What do you mean?"
Zashiro steered into a side road leading to an old warehouse district.
"You'll see… Our next stop isn't just a hideout. It's the gateway to a world where Zero Divide looks like child's play."
Zashiro's GT-R finally pulled up in front of an old, three-story warehouse, lit with blue neon strips and covered in wild street racing murals. Hidden cameras watched from every corner. The gates opened automatically, revealing the Race Vault headquarters — a fusion of elite workshop and underground street den. Trap music hummed softly beneath the low rumble of tuned engines and the faint scent of oil mixed with expensive cologne.
Robinson stepped out, scanning the scene. Inside were six other street racers, most of them in their late twenties, dressed with edgy styles and cold expressions. A couple were tinkering with engines, others leaning back, eyeing the newcomer.
"They think they're cool," Robinson whispered to Zashiro, glancing at the group.
Zashiro smirked. "They just don't know who you are yet."
Just then, a strong, silver-haired woman waved at Zashiro. "Zashiro. Come with me."
Zashiro gave Robinson a nod. "Be right back."
As Zashiro walked off, a tall man in a black leather jacket approached. His face was emotionless, but his stare was razor-sharp. This was the Boss of Race Vault. Immediately, the other racers stood at attention.
The Boss scanned the room, stopping in front of Robinson.
"New guy?"
Robinson gave a simple nod.
The Boss turned to the entire group.
"You all ready for your first mission?"
Everyone nodded silently. No one dared crack a joke.
He raised a hand, pointing at a large screen.
A photo of a large steel container at an abandoned dock appeared.
"One package. Location: Dock 9, old harbor. One item, heavy. Don't mess with it."
He looked at each racer.
"Whoever gets it back here first levels up. More access, better cars, and a special reward from us."
One racer asked, "What's inside?"
The Boss replied calmly but sharply,
"None of your business. Your job is to pick it up and deliver it. But be careful. You're not the only ones after it. Corrupt cops might show up too."
He gave a thin, dangerous smile and added,
"The game has started. You ride tonight. Be ready… or be crushed."
In the back room of the Race Vault headquarters, the silver-haired woman stood before a large metal barrel with flames inside, surrounded by newly recruited street racers.
"First rule of Race Vault," she said firmly.
"Shed your old identity. Here, the past doesn't exist."
One by one, the racers handed over rings, bracelets, lockets, even old photographs. She tossed them into the fire, which roared and snapped with heat.
When it was Robinson's turn, he hesitated. In his hand was a black digital wristwatch—simple, but meaningful. A gift from Paul. He stared at it, then mumbled,
"Can I keep this? It's... personal."
The woman stepped closer, slow and deliberate. She leaned in, her voice a low whisper near his ear:
"I saw it... the tracker in your watch. A tiny red light under the band. You're being watched."
Robinson's eyes darted to the underside of the watch. He pressed the side.
Sure enough, a small red light blinked rapidly.
Paul's tracker.
The woman continued, her whisper sharp:
"If you don't want this place burned or raided before we even begin… hand it over."
She stared him down. The pressure was heavy. Robinson closed his eyes briefly, then slowly unstrapped the watch.
He handed it to her. Without a word, she tossed it into the fire.
The red blinking light vanished in the flames.
She looked at him, voice low but commanding:
"Welcome to our world. Now you're truly free... or completely trapped."