Dead End
by Kyatto

Chapter One

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Ever since he could remember, Zuko had always loved cars. Now that he was of age and had obtained his license, he realized he loved driving even more. Perhaps it was in his blood. His father, Ozai, ran a multi-billion dollar enterprise due to the fact his company owned several major car manufacturers. All his life they had surrounded him. The house he grew up in had three garages – one of them dedicated to housing the old muscle cars his father was fond of. While he did appreciate the classics, Zuko was fonder of the modern speed demons. The love of his life was his jet black Mercedes-Benz SLG McLaren. With the money his father had given him he had it tricked out to all the top specifications. It had what was most likely the worst fuel economy in existence, but why should he care? It was able to reach amazing speeds, and to Zuko that was what truly mattered with his cars.

Of course now Zuko had to be more careful about emptying the gas tank. A few months ago he had gotten into an accident at the hands of a drunk driver. Major complications at home occurred because of it, and he was sent to live with his uncle in the boonies. Iroh was the opposite of Ozai. He drove a small, plain, efficient vehicle; lived in a small house in a cozy neighborhood. His doctorate from the university was wasted on him with his current job as a teashop owner. If he wanted to he long ago could have branched out and had a business to rival Starbucks – but he had no delusions of grandeur. Iroh was happy with his simple life and hoped to teach Zuko how to appreciate it. It brought him much frustration that after his shifts at his shop (which he required of his nephew in order to pay for the hideous fuel bills he ran up) the first thing he did was zoom off in that fancy car of his. The boy had a one-track mind and it was focused on nothing other than speed.

Zuko could not help but feel sorry for his car, which he felt was unappreciated by the suburban streets he was forced to drive through. A fifty-miles-per-hour limit was like torture to him. Especially since he could easily do three times that and keep full control. With his status ripped from him it wasn't as if he could demand a secluded place to drive around either. For weeks he traveled the town, trying to find some spot unoccupied that he could take over and set himself free. The itch to slam on the gas pedal was stronger each day. He felt that if he went any longer he would go insane.

One day while driving into the outskirts he came across what appeared to be an abandoned track. The asphalt was worn and cracked with grass and weeds poking through. It looked to be a good mile or so around and that was good enough for Zuko. As luck would have it, a local garage was nearby. Certainly nothing would happen to his car on an empty track but it was still too convenient to not notice. After making sure the gate wasn't locked and no one was around he drove in and set himself up in the center. He popped up the emergency break and adjusted his rear-view mirror. Taking a deep breath, he got a good whiff of the sweet scent of the leather interior. Once in his zone- he shifted to drive, gripped the wheel, and slammed his foot on the gas.

As if expressing its delight at actually being driven, the car accelerated in record time. Barely a quarter of the way along his first lap his car reached sixty. Halfway through he was nearing ninety. By the time he entered his second lap the speedometer read one-twenty. This was what driving was supposed to be. Once he felt familiar with the curves of the track and didn't have to focus as much, Zuko rolled down the windows so he could feel his speed. The wind tousled his shaggy dark hair and made his face tingle. Zuko could hear his car roar as it whipped around the way it was designed for. To him his car wasn't a tool or a silly machine, it had desires and personality all its own. He could practically feel both its relief and excitement at being allowed to tear up the track reaching speeds of nearly one-fifty. The gas meter was dipping well below the half-full point and he couldn't care less.

The sound of a roaring engine and the sharp screech of breaks that cars only made when they took turns way too quickly was what distracted Jet from the car he was working on. An older gentleman had brought in his Ford Taurus for an oil change and inspection. As it turned out, there were a few loose wires and some leaks but Jet was more than happy to fix them at no extra charge. He loved cars inside and out. So it was a pleasant surprise to hear the sound of a car actually being driven. The only time he ever heard that was when he took his 1970 Dodge Charger to the abandoned track at night. Who would think to whip around such a sacred place?

He wheeled out from under the Taurus and wiped the grease off his forehead with the back of his arm. His tight burgundy wife-beater was badly stained, as were his loose-fitted ragged jeans. He wiped his hands off with a rag and casually jogged over to the edge of the property to get a good view of what was going on. He expected it to just be some silly high school kid trying out their new Camry. What he saw instead nearly took his breath away. The sight of the gorgeous shining black McLaren roaring around the track like it owned it sent jolts of happy electricity throughout his body. Damn, that was one fucking gorgeous car. The only other time he saw such a thing of beauty it was being driven by some preppy tool that attended some nearby private academy. Of course, such a sleaze didn't even know how to properly handle something so precious. However, whoever was behind the wheel this time definitely knew what they were doing.

The speed was fairly consistent. He didn't have the right tools on him, but Jet could guess the driver was clocking well above a hundred. Each turn was precise and no hair out of place. It was a stark contrast to how he handled it, for he was so into it he was often reckless. As he observed he noticed some of the driver's quirks. Every so often, when he appeared adventurous, he would drift a little on a turn. Not enough to risk going off track but it was definitely a skill worth showing off, a move very stylish and practiced. The only time Jet had seen someone pull moves like that was during a race. It pleased him greatly to see someone do their best to get their car to live up to its potential. The McLaren, while not a beast like his Charger, could definitely hold its own on the road. They were built for both comfort and speed – so long as the driver was able to handle it properly. It had a supercharger compressor for fuck's sake! Just watching this guy drive entranced him greatly. He was amazing. Who was he?

Jet stepped closer until he was able to grip the chain-link fence enclosing the track. Without a second thought he climbed it and hopped over the top. He could feel the asphalt vibrating beneath his feet. Why did cars have to be so amazing? He continued to watch from the sidelines for a few minutes until he could tell the driver was getting ready to slow down. As careful as he had been during his little speed-fest, he was in no hurry to reach zero all that quickly. Jet found that trait to be rather admirable. Though it was obvious the man was impatient, as least he was considerate enough not to confuse his poor car by hitting the brake too forcefully and too soon.

When he was getting ready to call it a day, Zuko noticed someone scale the fence and get onto the track. At first he was worried the guy was there to stop him, but the feeling soon vanished when he realized he was only there to watch him. It filled him with confidence to know he was skilled enough to impress somebody. He had been practicing drifting his turns for months. It felt damned good to give his car such a workout. Perhaps now the rest of the week at work would be less unbearable. Satisfied, once he was able to park he stepped out and went over to greet his audience.

"Hey, do you know where the nearest station is?"

"A bit farther up on the boulevard," Jet replied, pointing to the road. "Not too far. I'm sure you'll make it."

"Thanks," Zuko nodded.

"Can I just say that I'm rather impressed by what you just did?" Jet grinned, feeling no need to hide his giddiness upon finding such a skilled driver. "Are you some sort of professional?"

"Nah," the other teen shrugged. "I just love my car is all. She deserves to be taken out on the town once in a while."

"I'll bet! Though I find it hard to believe someone who can clock such speeds with that much control and drift their turns is an amateur. At least you race or something, right?"

"Race? Me? No way. I told you, I just love the car. And I love driving. Just doing what I enjoy."

"My name's Jet," Jet's hand shot out right in front of Zuko. "I work at the shop over there. When I heard you tear this shit up I had to investigate. You're incredible."

"…Li," Zuko lied, not wanting to ruin his new good reputation by admitting himself as a failed heir. He took his hand in a loose shake. "And thanks. So, you like cars too? What do you drive?"

Jet shrugged. "Nothing as fancy as you. Just a 1970 Charger. She's beautiful though, and has quite a kick to her. She takes to this track much like yours does."

"Don't knock your Charger!" Zuko frowned. "Those things were amazing during their time. I bet she's pretty incredible too. You should take her out sometime so we can compare."

"I was about to suggest the same, myself," Jet nodded with a smile. "You're not too bad either. I take it you got your scar from some epic driving, right?"

Zuko wasn't sure how to reply to that. Few people ever deliberately pointed out his scar, and it was never positive. He was still rather sensitive and insecure about it. The accident was not a pleasant experience, nor a memory he enjoyed recalling. "Eh…Something like that, I guess."

"Awesome!" Jet patted him on the shoulder. "Don't feel too bad. I've got a few myself, just not in places you can see them. I don't mind. Things like that build character, you know?"

"Thanks…I guess," Zuko shrugged sheepishly.

Jet then reached into his pocket and pulled out a joint and a lighter. He started smoking pot several years ago and had no desire to quit. Few things helped calm his racing heart after a good drive that way that stuff did. He lit it quickly and after taking a deep drag he offered it to Zuko. "Want a hit?"

Months ago, Zuko would have immediately refused. Good guys with a future in a big business had no time or need for such toxins. But Zuko was a different guy now, and Jet felt he had character. What helped character more than doing something bad every now and then? "Sure."

Jet watched as Zuko appeared trying to resist hesitation as he took the joint from his fingers and held it up to his lips. It was obvious he was a former "good boy". He could tell by the unsteady grasp and the shallow inhale. The good ones were always unsure and unconfident. He found that trait to be cute in a way. "Don't hurt yourself."

"I'm alright," Zuko coughed as he passed it back to Jet. Within the minute he could feel heat building up in the pit of his stomach and spread to the rest of his body. It turned into a light, fuzzy feeling and he found it to be enjoyable. Why didn't he try that stuff before? "It's not bad."

"Couple of my buddies, Longshot and Smellerbee, grow this shit in their backyards. They give it to me for free in exchange for pimping their rides. Not too bad a deal, yeah?"

"I've always been told doing this crap meant death. But you don't seem to be suffering too badly…"

"Don't believe everything the hags in schools and on TV tell you. Shit's ten times safer than alcohol, yet those same asses are out at clubs and bars on weekends, getting hammered and doing each other's spouses. It's a fucked up world."

Zuko nodded in agreement. "Glad I ran into you."

"Yeah," Jet smiled. "You're new around here, yeah? Perhaps I ought to show you around sometime. Show you the best places to drive around and where all the good stations are."

"I'd like that, thanks."

"By the way…" Jet looked thoughtful. The idea came to him when he took a moment to remember just how talented Li was on the track. It may not have been the best idea, but it was worth mentioning. What could it hurt? "This town is known for underground racing. I take a few laps myself, and help out with pit crew. There's a pre-race party this Saturday. Want to go with me? As much as I'd like to see you fuck some shit up with that McLaren, it'd be nice just to hang with the rest of the crew too."

Zuko blinked in surprise. The only parties he had been to had been the fancy boring kind his father hosted. What was there to do at a party for people other than suits? All he had to go by were cheesy teen movies…and those definitely didn't involve fans of fast cars. However, Jet appeared honest and sincere. Would he suggest something dangerous? Probably not. With as a casual a shrug as he could muster, Zuko nodded. "Alright. Could be cool. What's it take to get a race in?"

"You just have to give them your name and they'll let you know via text message when and where they are. However, if you give any of that shit away, they'd eat you alive. So I don't think a good guy like you would be cut out for that sort of thing, you know?"

"I know the whole 'snitches get stitches' shit, I'm not an idiot," Zuko frowned. "Try me. I want to race."

"You serious?" Jet looked pleasantly surprised. "I'll let the Ace know and see what we can manage. You'll definitely have to come to party with me then to meet everyone. And bring your girl. I'm sure they'll all want to check out her specs and see just how good of a handler you are."

"Count me in," Zuko smirked and the two guys gave each other a firm handshake.

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To be continued…

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