Blacklist Rush: Underground KingsChapter 1: The Call of Midnight
The neon buzz of the city echoed like a heartbeat in the dark. Midnight had long swallowed the sky, but for Daryl, the night had just begun.
The growl of his tuned-up Nissan 350Z cut through the silence of the underground lot. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead as he tightened his gloves, staring straight ahead, eyes like twin barrels locked on fate. The dashboard clock blinked 12:03 AM. Perfect.
He wasn't here just to race. He was here to rise.
Outside, the street was already alive—engines snarling, bass thumping from trunks, laughter, and the occasional crack of tire smoke kissing asphalt. The Blacklist was gathering. And at the top of it sat Raijin—the reigning king of the midnight circuits, untouchable, undefeated.
Daryl wasn't aiming for second place.
He opened the car door and stepped out, his boots echoing against the concrete. People turned. Some knew him—the rookie who came out of nowhere. Others just saw another dreamer about to be chewed up by the street.
"Yo, 350Z?" a voice snapped from the shadows. A tall figure emerged, dreadlocks swinging, shades on even at night.
Marcus, Daryl's only trusted mechanic and sometimes philosopher.
"You sure you're ready for this?" Marcus asked, voice low.
Daryl cracked his neck, smirked. "I was born ready. They just didn't get the memo."
Marcus tossed him a small black band—the Challenger's Mark. "Once you wear this, there's no going back. You climb or you crash."
Daryl slipped it on without blinking.
Outside, the concrete turned into ritual. Racers circled, engines revved like ancient drums, smoke kissed the sky, and camera phones blinked like stars. The crowd formed a half-moon around the designated strip—two lanes, no rules, just rage and reflexes.
Then came her.
Lexi. Jet-black hair. Denim jacket. A stopwatch hanging from her neck like a noose. Blacklist enforcer. The one who starts races... and sometimes ends them.
She eyed Daryl up and down, chewing gum slowly. "New blood. You sure you're not just another wannabe with a death wish?"
Daryl leaned forward, voice calm. "I'm not here to wish. I'm here to win."
Lexi raised an eyebrow, gave a half-smile. "Ballsy. I like it."
Then the crowd shifted. An engine purred louder than the rest.
Raijin arrived.
His car—midnight purple Supra with silver lightning decals—glided like a panther into position. The headlights bathed Daryl in blinding white. The crowd hushed.
Raijin stepped out, tall, lean, deadly cool. No words. Just a nod.
Daryl nodded back, heart pounding like a war drum. The Blacklist was no joke. One wrong move, and your name faded before it even formed.
Lexi stepped between them. Stopwatch in hand. Right arm raised.
"Three…"
The engines howled.
"Two…"
Tires squealed. Fingers twitched.
"One…"
Silence.
"Go!"
The street exploded.