No matter what I did, my foot wouldn't move. It was as if it had locked in place. I couldn't feel it, couldn't move it. Since I couldn't pull my foot back, the speed kept climbing and it had already passed 170.
I had maybe two seconds left before I'd be flung onto the highway. I had to decide fast. Either accept my fate and become one with the road, or try to survive.
I jerked my left foot into action. Lifted it and slammed the brake pedal to the floor. My hope now rested entirely on the car's braking system.
Yesterday's events had taught me one thing: the human brain is far faster than we realize. In moments of danger or excitement, it processes survival instincts quicker than any computer ever could. And right now, mine was doing exactly that.
A detail I'd seen in a video about this car made me act. Like other supercars, it had a failsafe: if the brake and gas were pressed simultaneously, the braking system would engage. That was the thing I needed the most.
I wanted the car to slow down but I'd made a mistake. The speed was too high. No car could stop at this distance. It was impossible.
The worst part? Slamming the brakes at this speed would make me lose control. I knew that. But I had no other choice.
After stomping the brake, I wrenched the wheel to the right, toward the bridge. The sudden turn in the left road scared me off from that lane.
I veered onto the bridge. The car was finally about to stop.
I was starting to calm down slowly but suddenly I heard a loud noise.
Bang.
"What?" I screamed without thinking.
I didn't understand where the noise had come from. A thought flickered in my mind, but I prayed it wasn't true.
I didn't even need to check the panel to see problem. The engine's roar told me everything. The braking system had failed and car was speeding up again.
I didn't know what to do. My right foot was still useless, and pressing the brake with my left was pointless. I had to think fast but think what? What do I have left to do now?
The speed had dropped to 50, but now it surged back up, nearing 80. Clutching the wheel, I'd planned to ease the car to a stop after crossing the bridge.
But that plan was falling apart. Because halfway across, I spotted a sign on the right. A road work warning. I knew what it meant. This was a sign indicating that there was road construction.
I had to stop the car. But how? The speedometer climbed again like it wasn't slowing down before: 90… 100… 130. If I pulled the handbrake now, I'd lose control completely. I had to bail out before the crash, but how?
I squinted ahead, searching for damaged parts of the road to avoid it if possible. What I saw made my blood freeze.
Only the part of the bridge I was standing on was complete, the rest wasn't finished yet.
"How the fuck can I even enter this bridge if it's not finished yet?" I screamed at no one. Just to let my emotions out.
I didn't know how much more fear I could take. A second ago, I was about to crash. Now, I was going to fly off a bridge.
My foot was still locked, numb. I had no options left. My final resort was the handbrake. Pull it, slow the car, then lift my foot off the fucking gas.
I grabbed the handbrake first. There was no time to hesitate. The speed was already past 110 and rising. In desperation, I yanked it all the way up. I knew it was wrong. To stop a car with the handbrake, you're supposed to pump it. But I had no time. I needed to stop now.
After pulling the handbrake, I swerved right on a whim. Maybe changing direction would help. It didn't.
At this speed, yanking the wheel and handbrake made the car skid sideways like a drift. But it didn't stop.
I knew that the Brugati Salyon wasn't a drift car. It was built for straight-line speed. But I had no other chances left. I had to try everything I could.
The car reached the edge of the bridge, where the drop began. The left side lurched downward. We were airborne, spinning.
I clung to the wheel, but what good would it do? The car flipped, and since I hadn't buckled up, I was thrown around inside. For now, I'd avoided a serious impact. No broken bones, no blood.
"A dream," I muttered.
I remembered. This was a dream. If I crashed, I wouldn't die. I'd just wake up.
Not getting hurt yet was pure luck. My next move needed the same. If I took a hard hit now, I'd wake up and lose my chance!
I squeezed the wheel, shut my eyes tight. What did I want? To go somewhere? For the crash to never happen? Maybe the amusement park? The arcade? Or maybe—
Wait. What am I thinking?! The car could smash into the ground any second!
"I'm in the neighborhood, I'm in the neighborhood, I'm in the neighborhood," I shouted, eyes closed, visualizing home.
My grip was failing. Any second, I'd lose hold, get thrown against the roof, and wake up. Sure, this has become nightmare more than a dream but I didn't want to wake up. There was a lot I could do.
"Neighborhood, neighborhood, neighborhood…" I kept repeating.
Then, suddenly, my strength gave out. My hands slipped from the wheel.
"NO!" I screamed while my eyes flew open.
"Oh" I said with calmer expression after seeing what happened.
The car had stopped and I was in the neighborhood.
It worked. I'd made it back without crashing. My pulse steadied; my breathing slowed.
I shoved the door open and exited the car. While standing next to it, I started to straighten my clothes. Then I glanced back at the car.
"Enough of this shit," I muttered, slamming the door.
I wasn't fully recovered, but there was no time. I hadn't woken up yet. So what else could I do? Fly?
[Note!]
As you already know, the car mentioned here is a fictional version of Bugatti Chiron. I didn't want to use the original name of the car just in case.
As you read, the break failed in our chapter which is nearly impossible to happen to the actual Bugatti Chiron. Actual brakes of the car can stop it even if you are going at 400 km/hour which is unbelievable but real. So, Sorry Bugatti, I had to nerf you because it also ties into "Who Am I" in the story.