Bit of an experiment, but shout out to team brittana vietnam on facebook. No idea whether or not any of you are reading this, but if you are, hi ;)

All I wanted for my senior year was a good, fun, memorable school year. Y'know, doing the lame senior ditch day, having great sex with my girlfriend girlfriend in every possible room in the school, making fun of the fire hazard on Mr Schue's head (and Blaine's). WAS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK. Sure, I did say memorable, but I sure as hell didn't mean stealing a police car and driving down (in the wrong direction, naturally) one of Lima's busiest streets with possibly the whole Lima PD in hot pursuit. Granted, they're the worst police force in the country and have the competency of a 2 year old trying to recite Shakespeare, but still, we're just a couple of high school kids.

"Step on the gas, Santana, are you trying to get us killed?" A newly able to walk blonde has the nerve to scold me from the back.

"Well, Lucy Q, why don't you get your pretty little ass up here and drive this thing yourself. I do recall you had no problems stealing the keys. Or shooting the previous driver of it twice straight in the chest." I glare at her through the rearview mirror.

Oh yeah, we've also got a dead guy in the trunk, courtesy of our resident blonde serial killer, Lucy Quinn Fabray.

"I haven't gotten my driver's license yet, you know that." Oh, now she's worried about breaking the law. How decent.

"Guys, I could be wrong but with the speed at which we're driving and the speed at which they're driving, plus the trajectory speeds of the two cars in the next 2 and a half minutes, not accounting for objective stops such as red lights and stop signs which the police are forced to obey but we're not. Then there's the fuel we have left and the rate at which we're going through it at the moment, not accounting for-" Mike announces, and the only reason I concern myself with trivial details such as his name is because he happens to be Brittany's second favorite dancing partner (behind me, of course). He didn't change much, since...well, 2 weeks ago, I guess, considering his 4.0 GPA is still at 4.0.

"Shut up, man Chang, and tell me what's gonna happen."

"They'll catch up to us within the next 5 minutes 40 seconds. 44 now."

Shit.

"Stop the car." Brittany speaks up all of a sudden.

"No! Brit, I can't. Didn't you hear him? They're gonna catch up to us," I tell her exasperatedly, still focusing on the road ahead. The only reason I'm still driving and not just dump everyone on the side of the road is because of her. Quinn somehow dragged my otherwise innocent girlfriend into all of this. I have to protect her. No matter the cost.

"Do it, Santana. Stop the car," Brittany repeats, firmly this time, "Put your foot onto the brakes pedal and press downwards. Do it."

And by the time I know what's going on, the car's come to a slow stop. I've braked.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Quinn all but yells straight into my ear, "Drive the fucking car."

"No." I find myself saying harshly. "No."

All of a sudden she pulls out a gun and points it directly at Brittany's temple. "Drive it or I blow her brains out."

I can see from the side mirror that the cop just chasing us has now gotten out of his car and is walking to ours.

"Drive NOW." Quinn presses, pulling the safety. I've known her since kindergarten. We practically grew up together, Quinn and I. Best friends. I lied earlier. Keeping Brittany safe isn't the only reason I'm driving this car. I'd never leave my best friend behind. But this. This person sitting in the backseat of a stolen police car. This killer. This isn't Quinn Fabray. Whoever or whatever this is, she's going to kill Brittany.

BANG. It's a gunshot.

A gunshot. And my heart plummets. The first syllable that comes out of my mouth is "Brit..."

I spin around, dreading the worst. I will make sure Quinn burns to the ground because of this.

But...

"What was that?" Quinn's the first to speak, staring around dazedly. Then she notices the object in her hands and drops it like she's burnt her hand. "I don't..where..." she looks between me, Brit and the gun now sitting like a nasty bruise that won't go away on the backseat, between the two blondes.

When her eyes catches mine. I come to the realization. It's her again. It's Quinn. My best friend Quinn. She's back.

"I...I don't know, Q," Brittany replies, bewildered, but not because she's just had a gun pointed at her.

"Um, ladies. Looks like we have a visitor." Mike breaks the silence, gesturing outside the window. He looks like he's trying to remain calm, but his hands are shaking. I don't blame him.

I look outside, and there's a girl standing there. There's no longer the siren of the police cars.

She gestures for me to come outside. I decide I should, because what's the worst that can happen, but not before making sure the girl knows I've got a gun firmly in my hand. Technically it's not my gun, it came from the glove compartment, and I don't even know how to use one properly, but it's better than going out defenseless.

I carefully open the driver's door and get out. I turn around quickly to see my friends, dare I say, still sitting safely in the backseat.

Then my attention shifts to the girl with the slightly eccentric fashion sense. Nobody clothes conscious would ever dress like that to go outside. And the ones that aren't clothes conscious wouldn't be standing in front of her right now. As for the policeman who was pursuing us, he's nowhere to be found. I don't know if this is a good sign or not. I don't intend on sticking around to find out.

"Um, hi." Yes, Santana. Way to go and start this conversation. Sue Sylvester would roll over in her grave (when she dies, or if she dies. God knows that woman could be immortal) if she saw her head cheerio acting like this. Ugh, why am I thinking about coach right now. How relevant.

"Hello." She waves, "You can come closer you know, I won't bite." Now how do I know that for sure. There's been strange enough things going on lately.

"Do I know you?"

"Not yet," she says, shaking her head, "but you will. In time."

I raise my eyebrow. What's that supposed to mean?

"I won't hurt Brittany, or Quinn, or Mike."

I take a step backwards. Who is this girl.

"You have to come with me now. Get into the driver's seat and let me drive you all to a safe location."

I would've laughed had it not been for the serious expression on her face. She expects me to trust a total stranger with not only my life, but the lives of my closest friends?

I point my gun at her, my hands don't shake.

"How about no? And what the hell are you wearing?"

"More police are coming. You're all accomplices to a murder and Quinn's looking at a life sentence," she explains, almost eerily calm. "Trust me, I'd know." That last part is barely audible, but I caught it.

I glance back at the car, weighing up my options. This girl's right. If we get caught, that's it. We're all done for. I'mm too hot to go to prison and Britt...No, I can't think about that. I won't.

"If you're lying. Trust me, you'll be begging me to put a bullet through your skull." I mean it, and it scares me. "Do you understand?"

The girl nods.