"You said something about weapons? Handheld ones?" I asked, eyeing Pinky with suspicion. Isn't she scared of those? Why's she talking about them? "What did you mean?"
Tyler perked up, excitement creeping into his voice. He began driving toward an open lot where cars were lined up, organized by burly men in bandanas who directed the drivers. "Yeah, the point of racing is to not crash or get caught by the cops, so we use safety measures to take out our opponents. There's stuff like guns, batons, spiked chains, and sometimes we tinker with our cars to have secret weapons. Isn't that cool?"
"No! This isn't fucking Mario Kart! You'd get killed, you idiot!" I scolded, clenching my fists as I felt my stomach churn. "That shit makes racing, like, three times more dangerous than it already is!"
