Mercedes Dantés [ Top-Rated ✪ ]

You don’t shoot him. You don’t ram him. You reach out your window and press your palm against his window.

You draw alongside him in the tunnel’s final straight. For a moment, your windows align. You see him—sweating, terrified, clutching a manual wheel he never learned to use. He sees you. A phantom in a Kevlar coat. A woman with legs made of war. mercedes dantés

You brake. Turn around. Walk back to the wreck on your singing, servo-whining legs. You don’t shoot him

You are .

You let go.