I'm a dragon! I'm a dragon! I'm a great big fucking-woahhh, turn into the skid, turn into the skid!

  I may have gotten a little overeager just now. It had been about half an hour since leaving LA, which meant I was now a little over halfway through my trip. The vehicle swerved back on course just as some power metal singer finished yapping about dragons and whatever other generic fantasy crap. The car handled my mistake pretty well, and I was back to rocketing along the coast in mere seconds. Holy traction.

  I'd been hoping that my route would also include an epic sunrise over the ocean, but as the sky lightened, I soon remembered that the sun rises in the East. Bummer. The Pacific was beautiful nonetheless, and it was hard to complain about the view when I was racing along a rocky cliff at least several dozen feet above it. It was a sheer drop in many places, lending a thrilling sense of danger to an already fun route. The road was super wiggly in both the vertical and horizontal directions. It was also generally low traffic, which all made it an excellent strip for going on a reckless joyride.

  That being said, I wasn't even going that fast. I'd never seen the needle rise above seventy, and I remembered from my time playing racing games just how slow that felt. Those games were usually in kilometers, though—so, that would be like 110-ish, right? Okay, better than I thought, but still kind of pathetic. I wasn't even getting up to that speed most of the time—on average, it was probably closer to sixty-slash—ninety? The exact number didn't matter. What mattered was that I could definitely push it way higher.

  Let's set some goals. Milestone one—let's see if I can get over a hundred. That still sounds reasonable.

  It wasn't a question of what the car was capable of. On a straighter roadway, we'd be talking about top speeds easily double that. And, while I wasn't foolish enough to think I'd be getting anywhere near the quoted top speed on a road like this, it could still do better. I was sure of it. Yeah, yeah, yeah, American cars are great until you have to turn. Haha. We're not talking about a seven ton drag monster, here. The next track in the playlist came on—oh hell yeah, Eurobeat!

  I floored it.

  "Oh yeah. Now this is more like it." Talk about acceleration—I'd made it past one hundred well before the next major bend in the road. Okay, get ready to brake a little. Don't think we should try taking this one at full speed. I knew enough from my gaming days to understand just how bad of an idea that was. I was also confident in my ability to brake effectively, though, and I'd bring it down just enough to skirt around the loop while maintaining a healthy dose of speed. Now!

  I was right—the car and I both had what it took to bleed off most of the speed. That being said, I soon realized I'd made approximately two critical miscalculations. Real life doesn't let you hotkey-quicksave!

  The other big issue was the other guy cruising around the bend. In my attempt at minimizing the effective required turn radius, I'd crossed over into the other lane. The intention was to start from the far side, cut close to the inside of the turn by crossing the center, and then straightening back out in the outer lane. It even would have worked, had I not failed to account for a dastardly combination of the fact that I was driving North, the fact that Americans drive on the right side of the road, and finally, the convex nature of the particular bend ahead of me.

  Still, it would have worked, had the moron in the other car trusted me to cut back into the proper lane. Instead, they took it upon themselves to dodge, with the result that I was now trapped in the outer lane, which in turn had the effect of tightening the radius of the effective turn I had to make. I tried to bail out by slowing down even more—but it wasn't enough.

  "Well, this fucking sucks."

  It was the second time in a single morning that I found myself in freefall. The cliff wasn't nearly as high, but I didn't just have to worry about myself this time. Eject! Eject! Boy was I glad that I still had the top down. I was less glad to realize my past self had been a believer in seatbelt safety. It's like that scene in Top Gun—and I was Goose. I was also a heck of a lot stronger than a Navy pilot, now, so I solved the problem by ripping myself free with desperate, brute force.

  And just in time, too. It was a second at most before we smacked down into the Pacific ocean. Ow. I'd always heard people say that from the right height, hitting water was like hitting concrete. I could say with full confidence that it was a lie. Having now experienced both, the concrete was a lot worse. It was also less dependent on your specific orientation. I ended up striking the surface roughly feet first both times—this time by pure chance—and I was essentially unhurt.

  Sure, I would attribute that to my newfound Anathema durability, but the point remained. Hitting solid stone did fuck up my legs for a minute, give or take. I probably would have felt a bit of pain if I landed on my stomach, though. The water wasn't at all deep, so I was able to stand with my head well above the waves. The water was pretty calm, too, and I hadn't landed far from the shore at all. All of that was good, because I wasn't keen on having to do any kind of swimming.

  My car had landed even closer to the beach. For several seconds, I just stood there, staring at it. Then I hustled my ass over to the shore, in the opposite direction from the car. I didn't want to be close if it ended up exploding or something. I didn't know how likely that was, but I did know that alkali metal fires were nasty. There was a crap ton of Lithium hidden all over the bottom parts, and I didn't trust the fact that it hadn't done anything yet to mean that it was safe. I didn't stop when I made it to the beach, only looking back when I was another thirty or so yards down the coast.

  It still didn't look like it was going to do anything. It also looked like a hunk of scrap metal. Ruined. Completely fucking ruined. Silently fuming, I checked to see if my phone still worked. I was thoroughly soaked, so I just had to hope that the alleged water resistance wasn't bullshit. It turned on, at least, so I shook it out with my hand. I didn't have any dry cloth to rub it on, and sticking it in dry sand felt like a worse idea than doing nothing.

  It also had a bunch of notifications. It had been buzzing intermittently for the past fifteen minutes, but this was the first time I got to see what it was about. Oh. David. There was no point in trying to unlock it, since the touchscreen wouldn't work properly when both it and my fingers were still wet. I could see the beginning of the latest text, though, and it looked like my adoptive pseudo-father might be a bit angry. In fact, it was kind of obvious.

  Alex. Where the HELL are you??

  Uh oh. I realized I'd forgotten to leave a note or send him a message or anything. David was a stupidly early riser, so there was a decent chance he was already starting his morning exercise routine while I was fucking around on the roof. I also realized he hadn't seen me since two days ago, before I was drugged and kidnapped by Anathema cultists or whatever. My bio dad, Daniel, had probably filled him in on part of what happened.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Emphasis on part. Who knew how much the guy understood about the situation? I bet he was going to let me sleep things off, then badger me with questions and whatever other crap as soon as he knew I was awake. From his perspective, there was a decent chance I was bleeding out in a drainage pipe somewhere. Oops.

  It wasn't like the dude didn't actually care about me. It was a little hard for a relatively normal person to spend twenty years raising a child without developing some kind of attachment. He did give me more space than I thought was typical, but that just made him feel like some kind of adoptive uncle. Also, he was going to be massively pissed. Looking back at the utterly mangled corvette, I winced.

  Part of me was already fuming about it. There were multiple reasons to be angry—one of them was the fact that I'd just obliterated a very expensive vehicle for no reason—while doing something flagrantly illegal, no less. There was also the way the whole situation played perfectly into the very cliche that already pissed me off. So you act all annoyed at the mere thought that other people might see you as the spoiled brat who wrecks a Lambo, but then you literally drive a Corvette off a cliff. Way to fucking go, Genius.

  It formed into some kind of psychological feedback loop that left me absolutely stewing. I was starting to actively resist the urge to dramatically chuck my phone into the ocean like a wall street executive first beginning to learn the importance of family values. That wouldn't make anything better, though, so I just tightened my grip and marched off in the direction of the cliff face. This is such a fucking disaster. I had no idea how I was going to handle this. I knew I needed to do damage control, but—I probably can't just buy another one and act like nothing happened, right? That didn't sound very practical.

  I knew that I needed to start planning something, though. I couldn't let David find out what happened. I still had to deal with him being pissed that I'd disappeared on him, and having him already angry and worried because of that would only magnify the level of shit I would be in for this incident.

  I was also pissed at the guy who blocked me out of the proper lane. I was certain it would have been fine if I could have still cut across the bend like I originally intended. But no, of course he had to do that thing where you're walking the opposite direction as someone else in a hallway and the two of you keep stepping over to the same side. And now look what you've caused me. Fucker ended up running me off the road. I was only getting more upset as time passed, not less. God, I just wanna beat someone to death with a rock or something. Sounds cathartic, you know?

  I put my anger to work climbing the cliff. It was a sheer, vertical drop, but it was also rough and bumpy, with plenty of natural hand and footholds. And even if it hadn't, it wouldn't have been a problem. My new, superhuman strength would have been enough to dig my fingers straight into the rock, even if I hadn't gone ahead and coated them in metallic claws.

  It took maybe a minute and a half to reach the top. Part of the edge started crumbling when I reached for it, and I had to quickly throw myself up and over before it could fall apart. I still had to scramble a bit, and I felt something crunch in my hand. Rolling to my feet, I realized that I wasn't alone.

  The other car was parked a little farther down the road. Looking back in the other direction, towards the bend itself, I saw the driver. It looked like he'd parked, gotten out, and walked over to look over the edge. He must have just gotten there, I realized. I didn't remember seeing anyone peering down at me, and something about the general way in which he was peering over what remained of the railing gave the impression that he was seeing it for the first time.

  Fat lot of good that railing did. I definitely wasn't bitter about that. I was starting to get a grip on my seething resentment—well, up until I realized I'd inadvertently crushed my phone. Oh you have got to be kidding me. Somewhere along the way up—probably when the edge started falling apart on me, if I were to guess—I seemed to have squeezed it a bit too hard. It wasn't folded up like a slip of paper or anything so ridiculous, but the metal frame was still seriously bent. The screen was also utterly shattered, but I doubted that was the biggest issue at this point.

  This time, I really did chuck the damn thing out into the ocean.

  I wasn't sure how to interpret the feeling of watching the glittering rectangle disappear into the distance. It wasn't quite satisfaction, but it came close to it. I'd never punched holes in the wall, but I imagined it would feel similar to that, just without the immediate regret. Unlike a shitty plaster wall, the damage had been done already. I'd also put everything I had into the throw. Tipping back like a baseball pitcher, I'd used my whole body and every bit of my strength.

  I didn't know if it would be impressive to a pitcher, but it was impressive to me. There was no way I could have thrown something even a quarter of that distance before yesterday.

  That made me feel a little bit better. It didn't change the fact that I was now missing a phone, on top of all the other bullshit. It didn't look like the idiot who'd put me in this whole mess had noticed that I'd climbed back up. He was still looking over the flimsy metal railing, and it looked like he was fumbling around for his own phone. That gave me an idea. I had no idea how far away the nearest proper town was, so at the very least I wanted to know where I was and how far I might have to walk.

  There were a lot of other things I might need to do that would require a cellular connection. God, I hope this guy isn't going to be a total jackass. There was only one way to find out, and I'd gauge how to proceed by the way he initially reacted. He looked like he was calling someone now, so I reached over to tap on his shoulder. Ostensibly, that was because he was calling someone. In reality, I just didn't want to start things off by spooky him with my freaky Anathema voice.

  He only got a little startled by my touch, thank God, and turned around to face me at the same time as his call went through. Midway through giving me a little wave of acknowledgment and beginning to speak, he froze. His eyes widened in shock and—fear? Why is he—I realized what he was reacting to. I'd forgotten to shift my hands and face back to normal.

  The guy, who looked like he was somewhere in his late twenties, tried to sidestep away from me. I started to panic a bit as well. Who is he calling? I can't let him—fuck! Without really thinking, I curled my claws into a loose fist and bludgeoned the side of his head with it. I succeeded in knocking the phone away—and seemingly also knocking him unconscious. Acting on reflex, I forgot to adjust for my massively increased strength—that, as well as the fact that I probably shouldn't have hit him at all.

  It was too late, though. And worse, the blow sent his unconscious body tipping over the edge. I tried to reach out, but that was also too late. Sighing, I resigned myself to crouching down and watched him plummet. Three or four seconds later, he smacked down on the sand. His phone went tumbling over the edge as well, spinning on its side and burying itself in the sand a few yards away. It was also away from the waterline, and I could even see the call screen was still lit up. Dude had a high quality case.

  I stared for a little bit longer. Then, I stood up and looked in both directions down the roadway. It was still early in the morning, and I didn't see anyone else coming. The only car in sight was the one that used to belong to the dead guy fifty something feet or so below me. The headlights were on and the driver door was actually open. I guess he got out in a real hurry. Wow. What a good Samaritan. I frowned. Wouldn't that mean he also left the engine running?

  Looking back down at the guy and his still-working phone, I laughed. "Jesus fucking Christ. Talk about solving one set of problems with another one."

  blindness. It's more like a total immunity to suffering from any form of guilt or cognitive dissonance.

  is on Pinocchio's shoulder, but Pinocchio doesn't feel any shame or suffer from ignoring it; he thinks stringing the cricket along is funny.)

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