The screams were muffeled at first warped by the thick walls of concrete and the roars of the engines coming from above.
Oslo sat in the driver's waiting room his elbows on his knees and the dim lights hanging above his head.It was always like that the same moldy and humid room he always sits in before going to the arena and like the many other times the room was eeriely silent and pure chaos on the outside.
Oslo lifted his small gourd filled with vodka and drank from it- before it used to burn but now it almost felt like water.
And at that moment another scream cut through the walls but it was clearer this time.Someone chanting. Someone roaring and others losing their minds before the night even started.
Oslo didn't even flinch-almost like he's used to this he slowly let out a sigh and sipped the last drop of vodka before getting up.
"...Let's do this." he muttered, barely louder than a breath.
He stood up, his joints cracking softly from sitting too long, and reached for the keepsake around his neck.The faint glow from the dim light brushing over the engravings , he pressed a kiss to the worn surface of the keepsake.
"Wish me luck, Evelyn." he murmured.
Then he stepped out of the room.
The tunnel to the arena strechted long and dark being lit only by the old lamps buzzing like dying inscets.
The blinding neon lights swallowed him as he stepped out of the tunnel.
The arean roared to life when the saw Oslo come out of the tunnel and a tidal wave of voices came crashing over the metal barries and neon-lit track .The underground pit was full of cars and the engines screaming like wild animals waiting to be unleashed.
And the crowd ? They were even louder than the cars.
"There he is!" "Lo! Lo! Lo! You better win tonight!"
"Show them how a real ghost drives!"
"Immortal Lo! Don't you dare die on us!"
But Oslo didn't smile.He never did ,he just walked towards his matte black car,scarred from the previous races and the hood still dented from last week's crash.The keepsake around his neck glowed faintly as he climbed in.
People pressed against the railings, shouting over each other.
"That's him, the guy who survived the Spiral Drop!"
"He drifted through a burning tunnel blindfolded, I swear!"
"No one else pulls stunts like that and lives!"
"He's not human , man. That's why they call him Immortal!"
Rumors.Myths and exaggerations but in 2083, people needed legends and false stories more than truth.
Oslo tightened his grip on the wheel. The alcohol warmed his chest. The screams vibrated through the metal frame of the car.
He exhaled ever so slowly.
"…Let's hope I make it out alive today," he whispered.
The engines around him revved crazy and the lights dimmed. The crowd held its breath.
In 2083, drifting wasn't just sport.
It was survival, spectacle, and the only sport the world had left.