Episode 1: The Coma Racer
The sound of roaring engines rattled the streets of New York. But this wasn't the New York Zoom X remembered. He opened his eyes for the first time in a week, his body stiff, his breath sharp and uneven. The last thing he remembered was the glare of headlights, the screech of tires, and his body thrown across cold asphalt. Then darkness.
Now, the city was unrecognizable.
Skyscrapers stretched upward, but they weren't made of stone or glass anymore—they pulsed with racing tracks carved into their sides, highways that spiraled up into the heavens. The Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island, and Manhattan had fused into one colossal racing campus. Entire boroughs were turned into racing circuits, bridges glowing faintly like arteries of some monstrous living beast.
He stumbled out of the hospital, still wearing his patient gown, and was hit with the sound of engines snarling day and night. The people… no, the racers… didn't walk anymore. They sped past in machines bound to them like second skins. Men, women, even elders—everyone sat behind the wheel. Everyone was a racer now.
A kid no older than twelve drifted sideways down the street in a jet-black Dodge Charger, laughing like a demon. A woman in her forties piloted a beastly Ferrari that shifted its chassis with every turn. What the hell happened?
Then, it came.
A voice inside his head, heavy, mechanical, and final:
"Racer detected. Age: 21. Engraving ceremony beginning."
Zoom froze as black and silver markings seared across his right arm. The veins glowed faintly—no color, no neon, just a raw metallic shimmer, silver threaded with black. Pain shot through him, like liquid steel carving through his blood. He screamed, clutching his arm.
A car materialized before him.
Stock. Plain. Almost disappointing.
A Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution X in clean white paint. No modifications, no flair. Just factory steel and a quiet engine idle.
The crowd nearby laughed. A group of racers leaned against their monstrous, fully evolved machines, pointing at him.
"Look at that trash. Stock Evo? Kid's dead before the first turn."
"Level 1 and he looks like he just crawled out of a hospital bed."
"Bet he won't last a lap."
Zoom clenched his fists. His heart hammered, but when his palm touched the steering wheel, something inside him clicked. The Evo's engine growled low, like it was alive. His body… his instincts… it was as if the car had been waiting for him.
The First Race
That night, the school announced a 25-player initiation race.
The rules were simple:
• Race through Brooklyn, over the Manhattan Bridge, cutting across Manhattan streets.
• First, second, and third place earn a level-up.
• Everyone else waits for another chance.
Zoom lined up at the start line, dwarfed by the monsters beside him. On his left, a Corvette stitched with jagged black plating. On his right, a Supra glowing faintly, rumbling with unnatural torque.
And then, there was Jason Hiro.
Jason leaned casually against his car—a jet-black Nissan GT-R tuned to perfection. His eyes were sharp, filled with arrogance. He smirked at Zoom.
"You don't belong here, kid. Level 1 with a stock Evo? Don't embarrass yourself."
Zoom stayed silent, sliding into the driver's seat. He didn't need words. The wheel beneath his fingers felt like destiny.
The countdown began.
3… 2… 1…
Engines exploded.
The racers shot forward, tires screaming against the asphalt. The pack devoured the road like hungry wolves, smoke filling the night air.
Zoom's Evo was outpaced instantly. Twenty-four racers surged ahead, their tuned machines cutting through the streets with supernatural ease. But Zoom didn't panic. He breathed. Felt the weight of the car. The grip of the tires.
And then—he drifted.
The first corner came sharp around a Brooklyn warehouse district. Most drivers slammed their brakes, skidding wide. Zoom's instincts took over. He downshifted, yanked the wheel, and the Evo slid cleanly sideways, hugging the turn tighter than anyone else. Sparks flew as his back bumper kissed the guardrail, but the Evo snapped straight, shooting past four racers in an instant.
"WHAT?!" one of them shouted, nearly spinning out.
Zoom smirked. It was like his body and car were fused. Every turn, every shift—it was perfect.
⸻
The Chase
By the time they crossed the bridge into Manhattan, Zoom was in 10th place. The city lights blurred past. Racers crashed into each other, fighting dirty—one Camaro rammed a Mustang into a wall, sparks exploding as metal tore. A Dodge spun out, flipping over into flame. The crowd watching from rooftops cheered like it was gladiator bloodsport.
Jason Hiro, far ahead in 1st place, glanced in his mirror and saw something insane: the stock Evo climbing the ranks.
"That's impossible…" Jason muttered, tightening his grip on the wheel.
Zoom weaved through chaos, his Evo sliding razor-sharp between colliding cars. Every corner was his weapon. He wasn't faster on the straights, but on every turn—he owned them.
By the final stretch, only four racers remained in his way. Jason Hiro at 1st, a snarling Corvette at 2nd, a Porsche at 3rd, and a Lexus at 4th.
The last corner came: a hairpin turn along Wall Street. The crowd roared.
The Porsche braked too late—slamming into the wall. The Lexus clipped its bumper, spinning out.
Zoom took the inside line, Evo screaming, tires smoking. He slid past both in one motion, his bumper inches from metal, but never touching.
The finish line blazed into sight. Jason Hiro's GT-R thundered in first, the Corvette in second.
Zoom's Evo screamed across the line in 3rd place.
⸻
The Level-Up
Silence. Then chaos. The crowd erupted.
"No way!"
"A stock Evo?!"
"Who the hell is that kid?!"
Jason Hiro climbed out of his GT-R, eyes locked on Zoom. No smirk this time—just cold, jealous fire.
Zoom stepped out of his Evo, chest heaving. And then, it happened.
The Evo began to change.
Silver spread across the hood like liquid metal, pulsing faintly. Black veins crawled along the body panels, streaking across the doors, the spoiler, the fenders. The headlights glowed sharper, predatory. It wasn't neon. It wasn't flashy. It was monstrous, like steel fused with living flesh.
The car growled as if alive. The crowd backed away.
Zoom stared at it, his reflection staring back in silver and black.
Level 1 → Level 2.
The world had just learned his name.
And Jason Hiro knew… this was only the beginning.