The night had grown late. Streetlights spilled pale orange light through the window of Robinson's quiet home. He had just gotten back from a so-called group project—though in truth, he didn't study much.
His hoodie was still on, shoes muddy from hopping the backyard fence. His steps were slower tonight. Something didn't feel right.
"Mom?" he called as he passed the living room.
No answer.
He glanced down the hallway and noticed her bedroom door slightly ajar. From inside, he heard faint, muffled sobs.
Robinson stepped closer and gently pushed the door open.
There, sitting at the edge of her bed, was his mother. She held a crumpled tissue in her hand, eyes red and glistening. But as soon as she noticed him, she quickly wiped her tears and forced a tight smile.
"Robinson…" her voice rose—tired, but trying to sound firm. "You're just getting home?! Do you know what time it is?!"
She sounded mad, but it wasn't like her usual anger. It was hollow, restrained—sad.
"Mom… why are you crying?" Robinson asked softly.
"I'm not," she said quickly, standing up. "Just got smoke in my eyes. Almost burned the food earlier."
She walked past him and out of the room, avoiding his gaze.
Robinson remained standing there.
His eyes fell on the small table beside the bed. A few papers were scattered on it. Something tugged at his gut. He walked over and picked them up.
He read.
And everything stopped.
> Diagnosis: Benign abdominal tumor. Risk of progression. Operation strongly recommended within one month.
Estimated cost: $47,000
Note: No active insurance.
Taped to the bottom was a sticky note in his mother's handwriting:
> "Even selling the car won't cover it. Loans denied. I'll find another way."
Robinson stood frozen.
His hands trembled. His mind raced. The Supra—the car everyone was talking about—still wasn't enough to save the one person who had always stood by him.
He rushed to the kitchen.
His mother was there, pouring a glass of water. She flinched as he wrapped his arms around her from behind—tight, childlike, desperate.
"Why didn't you tell me?" his voice cracked.
She didn't respond. She knew he'd seen everything.
"Because I didn't want you to worry… This isn't something a kid like you should carry," she said, almost whispering.
"But you're my mom," Robinson said. "If I lose you… I'll have no one left."
His mother bit her lip, holding back fresh tears.
Robinson held on tighter. And in that moment—without roaring engines, without neon lights or crowds—he realized this was the most important race of his life.
And this time, it wasn't for thrills or pride.
It was to save the only person who had always been quietly saving him.
Night had fallen. The house was quiet.
Robinson stood in front of the mirror, changing clothes—
a plain white t-shirt, black Adidas track pants with three stripes, and worn-out sneakers that had seen more pavement than they should have.
His expression wasn't angry—
but his eyes burned with a new kind of fire.
He picked up his phone and dialed the name he always turned to: Daryl.
"Yo," Daryl answered casually.
"We're doing the plan from last night," Robinson said, his voice steady.
"You serious?" Daryl replied, surprised. "I thought you'd chill out after hearing you're getting shipped off to Japan."
"There's something more important than Japan, Dar."
A pause.
"This about your mom, huh?" Daryl guessed.
Robinson said nothing. But silence was enough.
"Alright," Daryl said. "We're taking that GTR tonight."
Half an hour later, they met at their usual spot—a rundown basketball court behind the school.
Daryl came prepared with a duffel bag, wearing all black. He handed Robinson a hoodie.
"What's in the bag?" Robinson asked.
Daryl unwrapped a cloth bundle. Inside was a GPS jammer and an electronic lock bypass tool.
"Borrowed it from my cousin—he works at an underground chop shop," Daryl explained. "This thing can open any Japanese sports car made after 2010. But we'll only have two minutes before the backup system kicks in."
"That's all we need," Robinson said. "You track the GTR's location?"
Daryl nodded. "Been watching it all afternoon. Still parked behind that old warehouse near the Brooklyn docks. Looks like they haven't moved it."
Robinson smirked. "Then tonight, we take it. Not for show. Not for a thrill.
This time—it's to save someone's life."
Daryl nodded, bumping fists with him. "If you're going down… I'm going with you."
The two of them walked off into the night—
hoodies up, hearts racing—
with one goal:
Steal the GTR. No matter what.
Brooklyn Pier, 1:17 AM.
The dockyard was quiet, shrouded in a salty breeze. Pale security lights flickered over rusted containers and silent warehouses. And there, at the far end of the lot, it sat like a jewel in the dark:
A Nissan GTR R34 — deep electric blue, gleaming like it had just rolled out of a dream. The underglow LEDs cast a soft blue halo beneath it, as if the car itself were quietly breathing.
Robinson and Daryl crouched behind a stack of wooden pallets, eyes locked on the prize.
"You sure you can open it in two minutes?" Daryl whispered.
Robinson took a steadying breath. "I have to be."
Daryl handed over the key-hacking device. "Once the engine starts, GPS goes live. You've got a short window before they find you."
"I'll drive it out. You follow me on the bike. I'll ditch the car somewhere quiet, you cover the rear."
Daryl nodded. "Be careful, man. The guy who owns that GTR isn't just some car freak."
Robinson smirked. "Which is exactly why we gotta be crazier than him."
Robinson moved in fast, melting into the shadows. Within seconds, he stood beside the GTR, hands trembling—not from fear, but from the thrill kicking in hard.
He plugged the device into the car's port, tapped a few buttons, and click—the lock popped.
The door opened.
He slid into the seat, hit the ignition.
The GTR roared to life—a deep, purring growl of raw power. The dashboard glowed blue.
And somewhere far away…
A GPS signal lit up.
Across the city, in a dark room filled with monitors, a red light blinked on-screen. A figure leaned forward, grinning coldly.
"Target's moving. Poor kid thinks he can just take it."
Meanwhile, Robinson peeled out of the lot. The GTR moved like a living thing—smooth, fast, and deadly. Its LED underglow lit the street like some cyberpunk beast.
Daryl followed behind on a stolen bike, voice crackling through Bluetooth.
"Rob, you got a tail! Black SUV, two blocks back!"
"Got it," Robinson replied, swerving into a narrow alley between abandoned factories.
"Who the hell are they?" Daryl asked, speeding to catch up.
"No clue. But they sure ain't cops."
"My guess? Someone tied to that car. And not someone you want to owe."
Robinson shot out of the alley and onto a wide road, headlights slicing the dark. He spotted a tunnel ahead, hit the gas, and took a sharp turn downhill.
At the last second, he pulled into an empty underground parking garage.
The SUV overshot the turn, disappearing into the distance.
Daryl joined him moments later. The GTR rolled to a stop. Silence fell.
They had escaped.
For now.
But elsewhere…
Someone was still watching the GPS tracker. He turned to a group of suited men behind him, all stone-faced and silent.
"That boy has no idea… that car is more than just a machine."
In a dark room filled with glowing monitors, a stern man in a sharp suit stood rigid, his eyes locked on the screen showing the movements of the GTR and Robinson's location.
He took a deep breath, then muttered with a heavy, vengeful voice:
"Paul… your son has been found."
His face twisted into a cold, calculating smile, filled with hidden plans.
"I've been searching for him all this time, watching his every move."
He turned sharply toward a younger man standing behind him.
"You will pay for everything, Paul."
Meanwhile, across the city, Robinson and Daryl hid the electric blue GTR R34 in a dimly lit underground garage. The soft light made the car shimmer with a mysterious glow.
Robinson stared at the car silently.
"There's something wrong with this car, Dar. Like… there's a secret inside it."
Daryl nodded, serious.
"We need to find out what we're dealing with before it's too late."
The man in the dark room kept staring at the monitors, preparing to unleash his next move.
Meanwhile, the fates of Paul and his son, Robinson, were beginning to intertwine in an unexpected web of danger.