Ripslinger stared at the mirror in front of him. In it he saw a young man with black hair, green eyes. He was wearing his racing suit, the same one he wore the day, Dusty had passed him just before the crossing the finish. That moment was the very last one of his racing career. It had ended in a split second. In a twist of irony, while trying to get more fame, he'd lost it all. After a few moments, Rip tore his eyes off the mirror and looked down at his hands. In them was a small pistol, the smallest caliber he could get. As his gloves were off, he could feel the cold steel of the piece. It soon warmed up the longer he held it. Rip pushed a button and the cylinder popped out, ready to be loaded. He opened a drawer containing a single round, which he loaded without hesitation. Rip then closed his eyes for a moment to reflect on all the things he did in his life. Holding the gun in his left hand, he slowly raised it, pressing the barrel next to his ear. "Forgive me, Dusty.", he whispered. BLAM!