Chapter 256: The Hell's Kitchen Death Race Begins!
"Ladies, gentlemen, everyone in between, and everyone who doesn't fit any of the above — good evening! I'm your host for tonight, Xuan Yin! Welcome, one and all, to the Hell's Kitchen Grand Prix, brought to you by the combined sponsorship of Stark Industries, Oscorp, and Hell's Kitchen itself!"
Xuan Yin stood in a slinky white slip dress, the hem catching the wind like a falling star cutting across the night sky. Black fishnets ran up her legs, a sharp contrast against the white fabric — striking, sultry, unforgettable. Every gesture, every glance she threw the crowd, held the audience captive.
Viewers at home and streaming online had already lost all patience, comment sections flooding with hype for the race. This wasn't just a car race, and everyone watching knew it — this was a full sensory spectacle.
The live crowd was buzzing even harder. People had claimed every balcony and rooftop across Hell's Kitchen hours early, desperate for a front-row seat to the chaos about to unfold.
As Xuan Yin's voice rang out across the night sky, the crowd roared back, cheering the race on before it had even started.
Riding the crowd's energy, Xuan Yin's smile widened. She took a breath and continued. "Given the limits of our track space, the organizers put a lot of thought into this — we've landed on exactly one hundred cars for tonight's field. The race runs in two stages: first, a brutal qualifying round, one hundred cars cutting down to ten."
"Those final ten will then go head-to-head in the championship round for tonight's crown! Now — I know tonight's going to be wild, but let's all try to keep casualties to a minimum, yeah?"
"So without further ado — let's welcome our hundred brave racers to the starting line!"
The moment she finished, the energy in the crowd exploded.
Deafening cheers rang out from every direction, loud enough to feel like the whole neighborhood might shake apart.
And then — engines. From every corner at once, a wall of sound that swallowed the crowd whole.
Car after car came screaming onto the track like arrows loosed from a bow — sleek, brutal, bizarre, each one radiating its own distinct menace.
The crowd's eyes went wide, terrified of missing a single second of it.
As more cars poured in, the whole neighborhood seemed to catch fire with noise — engines roaring, tires screaming against pavement, the crowd's blood pumping right along with it.
"This is insane! Why is there an actual armored vehicle in a street race?!" someone shouted, eyes locked on a hulking, armor-plated car rolling past, like he was trying to see straight through the steel plating.
"Look at that one! There's a chainsaw bolted onto the front of that car!" another voice yelled, pointing at a vehicle with a snarling, aggressive front end — chainsaw teeth glinting cold in the light, enough to send a chill down anyone's spine.
"Oh my god, is that a rocket launcher mounted on that car?! Is that — that can't be real, this is supposed to be a street race!" a woman in the crowd gasped, hand clapped over her mouth, eyes wide with disbelief.
Amid the chaos, one modest little AE86 caught the crowd's attention for entirely different reasons. "Somebody actually brought that ancient thing to a race like this?" someone laughed.
Even funnier — the car had "Fujiwara Tofu Shop" painted right across the side.
"A tofu delivery guy signed up for this?! That's hilarious. Does this dude even know how to drive?" the crowd murmured among themselves, equal parts amused and baffled.
While the crowd traded commentary, the racers themselves were sizing each other up on the field, eyes full of confidence and open challenge, each one silently daring the others to try something.
They'd come from every corner imaginable — grizzled veterans, wide-eyed rookies, everything in between. But whatever their background, they were all standing at the same starting line now, ready to fight tooth and nail for the win.
Among the field, one car in particular stood out — red and blue paint, a web pattern splashed across the body.
Inside sat two extremely nervous young men: Tobey-Peter and Garfield-Peter.
"Should've never agreed to this. Everyone here looks terrifying," Tobey-Peter muttered, eyeing the competition, hands white-knuckled on the wheel, sweat already beading on his forehead.
"Relax, we're just here to have fun," Garfield-Peter said, trying to settle him. "Besides — we've got Peter Carker with us! We should trust him."
Right on cue, the car let out two chirpy little beeps, as if answering directly.
Because their unassuming little racer wasn't just a car — it was alive. Spider-Man Peter Carker.
Peter Carker hailed from an entire world populated by living cars, and the moment word of the tournament reached him, he'd volunteered without a second thought.
Parked right next to the Spider-Mobile sat our own Family Man, Dominic Toretto, alongside his crewmate Roman.
Roman was in the middle of a full meltdown. "Dom, I told you I shouldn't have listened to you! This is Hell's Kitchen, man! Did you SEE those cars?! Those people aren't here to race, they're here to kill somebody!"
He deeply, deeply regretted letting Dominic talk him into this. Two million dollars was tempting, sure — but not if he didn't live long enough to spend it.
Looking at the field around them, Roman was more and more convinced none of these people were exactly upstanding citizens.
And then there was Dominic's own face, still purple with bruises. If even their crew's leader had gotten worked over that badly, Roman had a sinking feeling this wasn't going to end well for either of them.
"Screw this, I'm out! I'm going home! You drive it yourself!" Roman yanked hard at the door handle, glaring at Dominic.
"Door's locked. I modded this thing myself — only opens from the driver's side. Relax, you don't even have to drive. Don't you trust me? Trust the power of Family. Nobody's ever beaten me in a straight race." Dominic flashed his signature sly grin.
As far as Dom was concerned, every other racer out there was small fry. With Family behind him, he was unbeatable.
Tonight, every eye in the city would be on him.
He was going to win this thing — and then he was going to make Ethan get down on his knees.
Meanwhile, up on the platform, Xuan Yin's voice rang out again: "And now, let's bring up our host for the evening, Mr. Ethan Cross himself, to say a few words — and kick off our countdown!"
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