Chapter Text
It was always the thrill of the chase for him. The perfect combination of sweet burning rubber with the symphony of hard rhythmic beats and squealing tires as it filled the block. It was so much more than just a meet up with strangers who shared a love for the fast life. It had to be more than that. That's what Jax would tell himself. Having a steady job and climbing the corporate ladder—that was such an impossible feat, despite it being the only way to survive in Circuit City. To him, life was about making unit moves without having to really work for it— you just had to be good at something. For him, he spent more time fine-tuning his— officially named— precious baby. A 1996 Skyline GT-R R34 that was as blue and purple as royalty, with a holographic effect and rims with a silver finish. The interior was a comforting shell he could retreat to whenever he wanted. Blackened fabric with a Mahogany Teakwood fragrance and carpets so soft, you might as well drive the car barefoot. And yes, he had thought about it before.
He gazed at his baby in glory, a deepened and long anticipated sigh escaped the bars between his teeth, "And she's all mine."
It purred in front of him as if it heard the choir of his pride. He was gonna do it. He was gonna return to the scene as if he had no reason to. Before doubt took an opportunity to steal this moment, he slid into the driver's seat, revved up just for the fuck of it, and drove off into the streets. Let all of Circuit City know that The JackRabbit has returned.
~~~
Blaring mufflers and good vibrations ran rampant through the streets of Industry Lane. Tonight was unlike any other— the occasion was truly unique. Tonight's meet was promoted with promises of a pleasing show that would be talked about for weeks on end. James Deeker, known as Deeks, was on top of his game. Every bet, some hitting the near thousands, was all thanks to him. Word spread like a disease about tonight's car meet on a social media platform called Salem, cluttering DMs with promo content. Certain street-named competitors were entering the race to Carter's Way. Not a soul wasn't hyped for the event.
Except for one brooding Pomni.
It was becoming repetitive, really, and she hated that she felt that way. This used to be fun. She used to revel in seeing rides that were decked out to the driver's personality. She once felt the exhilaration of entering the race and going more than 120 mph on the mile. Why was it suddenly so draining to be here? Ragatha, her friend, caught her gazing off into the distance again.
"Hey," Ragatha nudged her, "you still here?"
With a soft and reassuring grin, Pomni held the ragdoll's hand. "I'm still here."
"You seem out of it."
Hearing someone say it out loud made her former assumptions a reality– she was feeling out of it. The menace of not knowing for sure who would be at the meet tonight was peak dread. For the most part, it was who she didn't want to see that made her swell with suppressed emotions. She told herself before she got dressed that if she saw him, she would leave. End of story. Just thinking of the name 'JackRabbit' caused the temperature in her veins to rise. But that name hadn't made an appearance in months; it was highly unlikely that he would make one tonight. Everyone in Chatroom knew he owed Brokker a fuck ton of units. Entering this street race would only sink him lower. Remembering these noted ideas, she relaxed, and suddenly the only thing on her mind was the concert of tire screeches.
Just then, she could see that more people were rolling in with their customized cars. She recognized one of the racers— Dawn Roselia, a wolf hellbent on making any female that entered without her permission miserable. There were several accounts made by bystanders that she was always at the scene of the crime whenever someone got hurt. Pomni recalled a time she went head-to-head with the wolf. To Dawn's satisfaction, Pomni was looking to get out of the fast lane anyway.
It was like watching fractious cats hissing at each other as Dawn's car pulled past them.
Disgust left as soon as it came.
Averting her attention, Pomni resumed searching the crowd, hoping to see the rest of her friends.
Soon, Zooble and Gangle came hurdling up to them with looks of the same eagerness they held since their plan to meet up.
Ragatha greeted them first, noting that tonight was the first time they had really hung out in a while. Upon first glance, Zooble wore their black leather jacket and combat boots. A distinct blue and green button clung to the hem of their jacket, reading 'I'm Still High' in bold white letters. They shuffled through hidden pockets in their jacket before they found their shades, blocking out the lot's high beam lights.
Gangle was hidden in the background. She wore her comedy mask today. Pomni moved around so she could see her and waved.
"It's packed here tonight," Zooble gazed around the spacious lot. Nearly every individual here was on something— drunk, high, or both.
"Yeah, did you see the Chatroom?" Ragatha chimed, "They were talking about the top-ranked drivers returning. My coworker was talking about it."
The Chatroom was a communication hub on some mysterious account on Salem that was private to the public. The account worked as a pager; it dinged anytime it was time to move out. To become a member, you simply had to request to follow. Someone who recommended you would let the user know that you were legit. After that, a whole new world was opened to you, and Thursday nights became a 'hate to miss' event. At some point, the mystery was revealed that the account was run by a member of the Martinelli gang. That's when car meets became a subtopic of conversation. The Chatroom was also a hub for dealers and plugs to serve the streets of potential customers. Units flowed like water through the cracks of the unkept city sidewalk. It was also infested with low-ranked gang members that were sub par to the city's rival families trying to stay in the game. It was the only way to get your hands on the sweet drug called Merida's Sap.
Stupid sauce.
Zooble pondered over the revelation of everyone returning. "Does that mean we'll see..." they spaced out the further they thought about it, feeling a mix of rage and exasperation gripping them. Despite the noise, memories and what-if scenarios plagued the recesses of their mind.
"Maybe we won't see him," Ragatha coached them when she saw the group spiraling. Who was she kidding?
"Let's look at the lineup-" Zooble pulled out their phone with the intention of switching topics. The cracks on their screen made it hard to really see the details, but it was enough to see the names on the roster and the live stream.
These car meets were heavily attended. Brokker, a pig-pottomus hybrid, managed the races and made sure that by the end of the night, the Martinellis got their units. If you wanted to race, you had to bet. And, no, it wasn't like you were betting just a hundred units. If you wanted presence, you had to gamble on more than that. Even if you weren't in the game, choosing a winning racer was all part of the fun, and you got a huge payout at the end of it if your bet placed first. Patrons were careful to do so, however— if your racer loses, you paid Brokker. There was no negotiation or bartering or working to change your fate. Everyone seemed to understand that— well, mostly everyone.
The entire event was filmed and streamed by Brokker's second, Deeks. The rat talked and ran faster than the cars he was bragging about to his viewers. His role was collecting bets, setting up the live streams, and selling the good ol' sweet sauce. The hairs on his neck and back stood up as he thought about getting his shifty hands on some of the product while no one was looking. Everyone seemed too occupied to see him slip out a vial.
But that idea was quickly dismissed when he saw the crossed look on Brokker's face from where he was standing behind the DJ booth. Deeks reminded himself that he still owed a fuck ton of units and that the only goal right now was cleaning up his reputation with his boss. Since the late summer of last year, he was accused of doing sauce on the job and costing the Martinellis a fortune by not pulling his weight during a heist and interrogation. That was the highest the rat had ever been then. Brokker questioned many laws after that— and how this man was still alive.
Deeks made his way over to the last car that pulled into the lineup. The car was a real beauty: a black and red two-striped Miata with an interior of red leather seats and red rubber mats. Updating the online stream and roster, Deeks recorded the driver's name and offered a sip of the sap. He carried no further conversation when the offer was declined. In and out.
Pomni watched the encounter with some reminiscence of her first race when she moved to Circuit City. It didn't take long for her to figure out that this town had a reputation. Depending on who you were and what you did with your life, you were either at the bottom or had enough connections to be at the top. Call it whatever you want, class or chain of social hierarchy, it doesn't matter. If you had enough units flooding your wrists, you had the privilege to do whatever you wanted without fear of losing it all.
Your whole life and earnings were stored in a microchip literally in your wrist, something inserted at birth. The chip held your name, race, state status, and unit credits. A simple handshake, and you can exchange information about the user or units from person to person. It was developed back in the 60's when Human Hybrids and Eternal People were at war with each other over citizenship and status. The government, along with some rich scientists, came up with a device to keep track of who was a mainlander (Human Hybrids: human crossed with animals and abstracts) and who was not (Eternal People: blue-skinned Adelianians and red-skinned Sabbians).
All while units flowed like blood in this world; it was the only way to stay alive and keep your belly full every night. Just like every other unforgiving city, not even sympathy was handed out– that was a luxury. The ones in power used units to control people and resort to stuff like this. It was fun to make a mockery of those who didn't have it— it was like they were watching victims go at each other in the arena. And somehow, the world accepted this way of life...
If you could find a way to rid yourself of your debt or make enough units to leave behind a pathetic life, wouldn't you bow down and do whatever it takes?
And there she was again— dissociating and trying to remove her mental presence from being here entirely. She didn't want to come tonight. It had been a while since she last raced at one of the meets. Not because she wasn't any good. The streets knew she would air out the competition. But that wasn't her anymore. It was a dying game— something she told her friends and herself from time to time.
"Pomni," Zooble called out excitedly, "did you know Shadow was racing tonight?"
She hadn't known. She felt out of touch with racing, but definitely not with reality. "No, is he on the roster?"
With a pointed finger, they traced the name Shadow (1969 red and black Charger). Yep, that was him.
"I bet you're excited to see him." Ragatha playfully elbowed her and wriggled her crimson eyebrows for extra implications. Pomni couldn't deny she was elated to see her boyfriend, Wren Anthony.
Wren, a wolf hybrid much like his little sister— to Pomni's misfortune— Dawn Roselia. If things got any more serious between them, she would make him sign an agreement to make sure Dawn never came near them. It was a miserable in-law feud to say the least.
Just as she read the name, the very car from the description rolled up to them. The group surveyed the automobile as his tinted window cascaded down far enough for him to see her.
Women swooned around him, but never paid them no mind.
The wind blew in all kinds of directions, but seemed to focus on blowing Pomni's hair perfectly to reveal those deep sunset eyes. When he smiled at her, it felt like a light shone directly on her. It was her body that betrayed her as an escalation of heat rose into her cheeks. He was so fine to look at. That elevator look from the top of her head to the line at her waist. Something about the way he threw his head back to say 'what's up' had her ready to do anything. How could she resist?
She strolled up to the door and smiled sheepishly. Her mind was deceitful when it told her that she was playing it cool.
"I didn't think I'd see you here tonight." His voice was raspy and bassed with a particular accent thicker than a hard coat. His hands nearly leapt from the steering wheel to reach for her smooth, small hand. In an instant, he tugged her closer so that he could plant his lips next to hers. The warmth teased the hairs on the side of her face.
When the couple pulled away, there was a disorganized lust in his eyes— was the rush for her or for the race?
"Well, I couldn't seem to say no," she paid tribute to the amount of pleading Ragatha did for her to come out here, and how it would be the end of the world if she said no.
"You never do," his tone was too seductive and husky not to notice. It made him seem like he was always turned on or too confident.
Pomni guided her hand along the sides of his face and he instantly caved into it. Her hands were like silk sheets and that reminded him of the ones he loved to fuck her in. The mischievous smile that glided across her small face made her look so sweet and innocent...
Swiftly, he stopped himself from the fantasies of what he could do to her. It would distract him from the real prize besides her.
"You're not racing?" he questioned when he saw that she didn't have her 1998 red Camaro.
"No," she sighed passively. He tried not to be surprised, but then again, she had been complaining for a long time that she was absolutely done racing. The last few races before her retirement were hers; she had cleared every board. Everyone at that point knew who The Jester was; there was no contest. Wren's sister, as far as he knew, studied to be like Pomni. She viewed each race over and over again from previous live streams, but to no avail. For some reason, she just couldn't cut corners as The Jester did.
"Maybe one day, I'll get to see you clear the competition and maybe race me," Wren wrapped his long, clawed hand around her small waist. With that self-assured smile, he pulled her more into the window of his car.
It wasn't long after the anticipation had settled in that something had to rob their peace of mind. The crew saw that notorious Skyline before she did. Bad vibes were relapsed by the view of the very rabbit they were begging the gods not to see. Ironically, though, you couldn't see his face. As he rolled into the scene, his windows were visibly overtinted, and if they didn't already know who was driving it, they would've had a field day trying to guess.
It made no effort to stop as it crept to the white spray painted line. Deeks was there in seconds. "Name?"
As the window coasted down, the whining machine noise was nearly impossible to ignore. "JackRabbit," said the driver with a cocky, cheek-to-cheek smile.
Deeks normally didn't make an effort to pay attention to who he was entering, but hearing that infamous name made him finally look up from the lightweight tablet he was lugging around. "JackRabbit?" he chortled, amused that someone would have the balls to say it tonight. To his delight, he saw the purple rabbit with golden teeth and eyes confidently peering down at him. His two strand bangs hung and breezed in the wind in an unmanaged way. Some of the women who passed his car whistled at him and winked. "There is no way— "
"Ah, c'mon," The JackRabbit rolled his eyes playfully, "this time is gonna be different,"
"No!" Deeks quickly shut it down, "Brokker will kill you AND ME if I let you race,"
"Not if he doesn't know, Deeks," the rabbit's mischievous tone rang through the rat's large circular ears, splitting his head in two.
"No way, man. I am not getting iced out for you," Deeks was about to turn away and move on when Jax hopped out of the car.
"Look, I'll cut you a deal," he tried his best not to sound desperate.
"A deal with you is as good as your word."
"I'll give your viewers a damn good show. Everyone will be tuning in."
Deeks tapped his foot impatiently. There were still customers to serve the sauce to; this was a clear waste of his time.
"And when I win, I'll give my earnings straight to Brokker to clear my debt, ride out with the rest, and you will NEVER see me again." The animatedness was a final act of desperation to prove that he was serious. Deeks couldn't help but laugh while also curiously examining the vehicle. It was a good car and looked like it would do what the driver said it would do— win. But this was The JackRabbit. Though he was among the best, he hadn't been in quite some time. Something happened that caused him to lose focus and once you lose that, you lose pretty much any race.
"Alright, you ass. I'll add you to the lineup. But you cannot say I didn't warn you," Deeks reluctantly pulled out his tablet and opened the Jet Mist app he engineered to report the roster, stats, and ranks of the racers at the meets. "How much are you betting?"
"Ten thousand units,"
Deeks nearly chucked the device into the crowd and walked away. Perhaps he misheard, "What?"
"Ten thousand. That's enough to clear the 5k that I owe and allow me to leave this hellhole with the rest. Now, if there's a bonus for saying I told you so, I'll take that as well." The tone in his voice was too playful for someone who owed so much. So, surely he was not being for real.
"Yeah, this I have to see," Deeks turned and chuckled, adding the bet while knowing the purple rabbit's fate.
Pleased and finding ease, Jax returned to his car. Just as he was about to reach for the handle, the whites of their eyes summoned him. From afar, he noted that his old crew, the Circus Crew, was still hanging out long after he stepped away. Guess it wouldn't hurt to say hi, right?
Yet, they winced when they saw him coming up. Not for themselves or any of the rigid feelings they had, but for the girl with the short cut hair glaring at him. As he made his way over, she forged her in mind that he was going to walk right past her.
The air around them grew thicker and it wasn't because of the humidity steaming from the people bunched in the crowd. Maybe coming over here was a bad idea. In his mind, he told himself he wouldn't linger long anyway, "Are any of you in the lineup?" He said when he was within distance.
Skipping hello was enough to tell them that he wasn't approaching them with pleasantries. Gangle retreated behind Ragatha, not wanting any part of the interaction. Ragatha noted it and also retreated with her. Zooble, however, held their ground and was even ready to make him feel their wrath. "What's it to you?"
"Nothing really," he said arrogantly, "I just wanted to say good luck in case you were."
"Well then," Zooble chuckled, acknowledging what was to come for him by the end of the night, "Good luck."
Jax felt the sting of having been humbled and turned to head back to his vehicle. In doing so, he found himself locking eyes with the person he hoped wasn't going to see him. Her eyes were like the red and blue carnival flowers accessorized with long lashes of a unique pattern. Jax tried his best to draw his attention away from her, but memories flooded his mental without an alert. Now, he was just staring at her.
Pomni returned to Wren, who was already glaring in disgust at the purple rabbit. Words failed to appear to her as she tried to change the subject of him being here. Before she knew it, Jax had already walked up behind her. He wasn't here for her, though; in fact, he didn't even acknowledge her.
Good.
"Good luck on the mile, Shadow," he taunted the wolf.
"I should be saying that to you, my friend," Shadow stifled a laugh. There was no question that he was laying eyes on a dead rabbit. Jax said nothing more and fully retreated.
Betting that ten thousand was the only thing that would get him to his happy ending and he couldn't wait to rub it in all their faces.
Shadow eased up on the starting line beside the Skyline with Pomni striding along next to it. Jax tried his best not to watch them interact, but it was impossible when curiosity prompted him to see how much she had changed after all that time.
He heard her say to Wren, "You got this." Her voice was so tender toward him that it was like she actually cared. "And when you win, we'll celebrate."
Wren licked his lips, already salivating over the sweet victory, "I've already won."
Pomni chuckled in amusement and planted a swift kiss on his cheek before turning away and re-emerging into the crowd. Jax shook off all the useless thoughts and feelings that tempted their way to the surface.
Just win and go home, was what he told himself.
Deeks made his way to the sideline near the start. He tallied all the bets and made contact with all the different points of view on the race. There was a cameraman on every turn of the ten-mile course and at the finish line. The stream had 2.4 million viewers and counting as the race neared the start. As if on cue, the music at the booth turned up on the bass while fireworks cracked and lit the sky. The moment was his now; everyone had their eyes on him.
"Marking the start," Deeks declared over his walkie to Brokker.
"Marked," Brokker responded.
Every racer on the roster was now lined up. Two of them were newcomers, some who heard about the event and signed up. The other three were returners: The JackRabbit, Shadow, and Swift Blade.
Now, seeing Dawn Roselia, Swift Blade, aim for first over her brother was always a spectacle to tune into. The sibling rivalry was enough to get the crowd going— but when JackRabbit appeared on the roster with his Skyline at the start, the crowd lost their fucking minds.
"Dude, no way JackRabbit is in the entry right now," said someone from the gathering who was too high to even believe what he was saying.
"He's gonna lose and Brokker is gonna be on his ass," a woman taking a sip of sauce mocked when she saw the name. The conversation was unavoidable to any ear it fell on.
"Jax?" shrieked as a voice from the starting line. Jax finally tuned in after ignoring all the comments about him not being able to race. The familiar voice hopped out of his car and darted for him to see this phenomenon for himself. "Say it isn't so."
"Scrub," Jax said and nodded casually, not making eye contact.
"Ya know, I really thought that my ears were deceiving me," Scrub, son of the owner of the Squeaky Stool, made his way to the driver's side. Jax sank deeper into the seat, hoping that someone, anyone, would call for mark. "You must have a death wish."
"As always," The JackRabbit said dismissively. Amusingly, he glanced over at the young deer-Adelianian hybrid and the car that he entered into the race. He wasn't the only one taking heat tonight. Jax faced the starting line ahead of him and scoffed, "Does your mom know you have her car?"
Panicked, Scrub snapped his neck to see his mom's 2000 gold Camry, gleefully idling as it was being utilized. The poor thing hadn't been driven since the twins came about, but he had to earn dough somehow. "She won't know,"
"You do know she watches the live stream...right?"
The most vicious drop in his stomach occurred to him. Flashes of the things his crazy, strict soldier of a mother would do ambushed him, but it quickly faded. The units flooding his wrists from the bet he placed were enough to soothe the anxiety building up inside. His mother would be in debt to him and hail Scrub the man of the house— a hero!
"Anyways," Jax continued, "you should get back to your car. We're about to start."
"You are a dead rabbit walking. Roadkill." Scrub laughed hysterically before returning to his mom's car.
Nothing anyone said mattered to Jax as ambition started to seep in. There were more important things he had on his mind. Knowing this, he adjusted his mirrors as he envisioned the glory he would get from the I told you so's. His slightly clawed fingers gripped the wheel as he placed his oversized foot on the brake. The cloth bandages on his forearms tightened as the tension in his muscles stretched them.
Focus.
Deeks did signals that no one understood and readied the racers at the start. The modded cars revved their engines to signal they were ready. A red fox with a revealing top and shorts came out in front. Cat callers and whistlers trickled down the sidelines when they saw her. The fox woman already had an attitude and soon they would know why. Instead of her checkered flag with the Jet Mist logo on it, she was forced to use a white handkerchief. The iced out glare she gave the little rat was daring him to be grateful that she still agreed to do this.
She stuck to her routine: she held up the makeshift flag, waited for Deeks signal...
The flag flinched, thinking it was time, but her arm remained in the sky.
A Camry jetted forward, but quickly came to a halt and reversed when he saw that he was the only one who crossed. A cluster of people near the start broke out into boisterous laughter.
"False start," came the announcement from Deeks, "Five hundred units off,"
"Fuck," Scrub complained, realizing that maybe he was in over his head.
The woman did the routine again, waiting for Deeks to signal. Deeks checked for the last time that each camera was set up correctly and then finished with a simple nod. The fox dropped the flag and dragged it behind her cheetah print stilettos.
And the race was on.