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Chapter 11 - ZOOM X DRIFTER PART 11

Episode 11: Hunger Without Brakes

Level: 12

The Gate still shimmered in the distance, promising infinite worlds, but Zoom X had no intention of leaving yet. New York was still ripe, still bleeding, still breaking under his shadow.

The dorms trembled like a warzone. Fistfights broke out in stairwells. Couples broke up mid-class. Girls snuck from one room to another, whispers of moans trailing behind them. Professors stopped pretending their lectures mattered, half their minds already drifting to thoughts they weren't supposed to have.

At the center of it all was Zoom.

Every race. Every conquest. Every curse he spat in another racer's face. It all stacked on itself, feeding his Evo, feeding his hunger.

And hunger didn't ask permission.

The Official Race

Saturday dawned with sirens echoing across Staten Island. The school had declared a 50-player sanctioned race around the island's massive port circuit. Ships towered like steel skeletons around the course, cranes leaning like giants frozen mid-step.

The names this time were fresh: Julio Vega, Rena Matsuda, Dante Cross, Sylvia Cain, Marcus Holt, and Amira Black.

Zoom rolled the Evo onto the grid, cigarette dangling, Veronica still clinging to him from the night before. The silver-and-black beast purred low, veins crawling thicker across its body every time he tapped the throttle.

Jason Hiro's GT-R lined up two spots down. Jason didn't look at him. Not yet.

The countdown hit.

3… 2… 1…

Engines detonated.

The circuit tore alive. Steel cranes and stacked shipping containers blurred past as cars slammed shoulder-to-shoulder. By lap two, the wreckage had already begun: Marcus Holt's Charger flipped after clipping a container corner, the explosion lighting the river red.

Zoom drifted through it without flinching. Veronica screamed from the passenger seat, but he just laughed.

"Sit tight," he barked, sliding past two rivals in one motion.

By lap five, only twelve cars remained. Jason's GT-R was in third, Dante Cross's Lamborghini in second, Zoom's Evo hunting them like prey.

The final stretch came—a tight s-curve between stacked crates. Dante panicked, braked too hard, and clipped a wall. Sparks rained as his Lambo spun out. Jason roared past, fighting to block Zoom's line.

But Zoom's Evo was faster now, sharper. The veins glowed faintly under the moon, guiding him through impossible angles. He clipped Jason's bumper, forced him wide, then exploded across the finish.

1st place. Level: 13.

The Evo snarled deeper, headlights narrowing, body darker silver like gunmetal forged for war. The crowd screamed his name.

Jason smashed his steering wheel, teeth gritted so hard they nearly cracked.

Aftermath

Back in the dorms, chaos reigned. Rena Matsuda, one of the racers he'd beaten, found him leaning against his Evo, smoke curling from his lips.

"You think you're untouchable," she spat, even as her eyes betrayed her.

Zoom smirked. "I don't think. I know."

Her protests ended in gasps hours later, muffled against dorm walls. And when she stumbled out, lipstick smeared, hair wild, she whispered the same words all the others had:

"I'll come back."

That night wasn't just Rena. Two more women followed. One was Sylvia Cain, another racer he'd humiliated. The other was Professor Knox, sneaking through shadows like a thief.

The sounds carried through the floorboards, through the vents, through the entire building. By sunrise, everyone knew.

Zoom X didn't care. He lit another cigarette and leaned out the window, middle finger raised at the dorm across the street, where Jason Hiro stared back, fists shaking.

The After Dark Race

Sunday night, the city lit again. This wasn't sanctioned. This was chaos.

Twenty racers. Ten laps through Manhattan's underground.

The stakes: girls and grudges.

The names: Andre Locke, Naomi Kessler, Yuri Tanaka, Khalid Moss, Bianca Storm.

Zoom's Evo sat at the grid, humming like a predator ready to feed. Beside him, Jason's GT-R idled, hatred bleeding through every rev.

The countdown.

3… 2… 1…

The underground tunnels screamed alive. Neon lights blurred, engines echoed, the air stank of gasoline and lust.

Halfway through, Naomi Kessler's Corvette tried to cut Zoom off. He smirked, slammed the clutch, and clipped her rear end so clean she spun into a wall of sparks. The crowd roared from the tunnel balconies.

Jason tried again to box him, screaming curses through the window. Zoom laughed, one hand on the wheel, the other dragging Bianca Storm's nails across his arm as she leaned from the passenger seat, moaning his name.

The disrespect was permanent. The crowd lost its mind.

The final lap came. Jason Hiro lunged, desperate, throwing his GT-R sideways into the last turn. But Zoom was already gone. The Evo slid like silver lightning, black veins glowing faint, and exploded across the line.

1st place. Level: 14.

The Evo howled, darker and sharper than ever, headlights slitted like predator eyes.

Jason slammed his GT-R into a wall, climbing out shaking, face twisted into rage.

The Curse Spreads

By midnight, Zoom had broken the school again. Andre's girlfriend left him, slipping into Zoom's room without hesitation. Naomi Kessler herself followed, still trembling from the crash he'd given her. And Bianca Storm? She hadn't even tried to hide it — she had screamed his name in the middle of the race.

The dorms echoed with moans all night. Crews fractured. Rivalries burned. Professors fought their own shame.

Zoom smirked at the chaos, cigarette glowing, Evo ticking as it cooled outside.

"Level fourteen," he muttered to himself. "And this is just New York."

He looked toward the Gate, humming faintly beyond the river, and grinned.

"I'll take every world the same way."

Foreshadow

Jason Hiro stood in a wrecked garage, blood dripping from his knuckles where he'd punched steel. His crew had abandoned him. His women had defected. His pride was gone.

But his rage remained.

He stared at a stolen case of illegal mods, eyes burning.

"If I can't beat you on the track, Zoom," he whispered, "then I'll kill you off it."

The war wasn't just racing anymore. It was survival.

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