The engine coughed once, then twice, before falling dead with a pitiful sputter.
"...Are you fucking kidding me?" Ryan slapped the steering wheel, the dashboard lights flickering out as the car rolled sluggishly to the shoulder of the empty highway.
The night was still, save for the chirping of crickets in the grass by the roadside. Ryan shoved the gear into park, muttering curses at the metal box that had carried him this far.
"Great. Just great. Millionaire by twenty, self-made, and I'm still driving a goddamn piece of shit that dies on me in the middle of the night."
He fished his phone from his pocket, thumb scrolling through contacts until he found the one name worth dialing at this hour. The ringing dragged on, long enough that Ryan started grinding his teeth—then finally, a groggy voice answered.
"...The fuck do you want, man? Do you know what time it is?"
Ryan smirked. "Relax, I wouldn't call if it wasn't important. My car just gave up on me. Dead as hell. Think you can drag yourself out of bed and help me out?"
There was a pause, then a heavy sigh. "You're lucky I owe you, bastard. Where are you?"
"Highway 9, near the old gas station."
"Give me fifteen. And Ryan…" The voice hardened. "You're buying me breakfast tomorrow."
Ryan chuckled. "Deal." He shoved the phone back into his pocket and leaned against the car, staring out at the empty road.
---
The silence left room for his thoughts to creep in, uninvited.
Twenty years old. College dropout. Orphan. Everyone said I'd end up on the street—or in prison. Guess I proved them wrong, huh?
A bitter smile touched his lips as he ran a hand through his dark hair. The world had tried to bury him after his parents were murdered, leaving him nothing but a crumbling house to call his own. But he had clawed out of that grave—scammed, hustled, fought, and built himself into something. A rebel against every rule. A man who made money bleed out of opportunities no one else dared to touch.
Freedom. That was what he'd bought. Not just wealth. Not just power. Freedom to live on his terms, no chains around his neck.
He let out a soft laugh into the night air. "I made it, old man. Mom. I actually made it."
---
A flash of blinding light tore through his thoughts.
Ryan squinted, turning his head just in time to see headlights barreling toward him. A truck—massive, uncontrollable—hurtling far too fast, its roar splitting the night.
His chest tightened. His body moved too slow. The truck veered, metal screaming against asphalt as it came directly for him and his car.
"...Fuck."
.
.
.
.
..
The world shattered in an instant. The impact crushed steel and bone alike, folding his car like paper. Pain came sharp, then vanished in a blink as the blinding light swallowed everything.
The crash site was a canvas of ruin. Shattered glass glittered across the asphalt like broken stars, twisted shards of metal jutting outward from what once resembled a car. The smell of burnt rubber and leaking fuel clung to the air, thick and suffocating.
Ryan's body was pinned beneath the warped frame, his legs crushed into mangled shapes by the weight of twisted steel. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and warm, soaking into his clothes and spreading over the road in sluggish streams. His chest rose in short, desperate jerks, each breath rattling with the wet gurgle of blood climbing up his throat.
---
First POV
I opened my eyes, heavy as hell, like someone had dropped a mountain on top of me. My legs… I couldn't even feel them. Just fire, pressure, and then—nothing. The copper taste of blood filled my mouth as it trickled out in thick streams, choking me with every breath.
"Come… on, man…" I coughed, spraying crimson across the dashboard. My voice cracked, trembling. "I should've… listened t—to Trevor… kept it maintai—ed…"
A hollow laugh rattled in my chest, quickly breaking into another fit of coughs.
"Shit…"
The edges of my vision blurred, dark creeping in from all sides. My eyes kept flickering shut no matter how much I fought it. Finally had my shit right and this… bitch… I cursed, though the words were only in my head now—my tongue too heavy, throat too clogged with blood to push them out.
My body felt weightless, slipping.
I forced my eyes open one last time. Above me, past the cracks in the crumpled windshield, the night sky wavered. Bright lights flickered—distant, shifting in and out of focus—like someone was carrying stars in their hands and moving them back and forth.
Then… nothing. Just blank.
.
.
.
.
.
....