SEONG1X-0.0.1A/MYAS.2.593


Blood spilled, hardening quick under the setting Sun, giving life to the aseptic white boots upon the asphalt. They hardly moved but move they did, rising in time to a shallow breath rested awkwardly on a car trunk. In time, with a grunt the breath rose higher, straightening as far as possible, pushing a hand against the blood flowing into his jacket and stumbling to the open passenger door, slumping into the seat. He stared into space sitting there, unmoving, almost dead, eyes dropping shut for a good long minute until life jerked back into him, pulling in his right leg, drawing the door shut, shuffling into the driver's seat. The engine rolled over and the meaty car pulled away into the sunset, leaving behind the remains as a familiar synth came on through the radio. He drove, battered, alone, for hours even as Selene overtook the sky when perhaps in another life he could've been with his sweetheart, greeting him on his return. But there's nothing left for the scorpion once he's crossed the river.

"The name's Drive Driver," came the voiceover, "and I drive."

She blinked. Pink cursive on black overtook the screen, columns of names fading by as the sting in her eye became apparent, as well as the grains of pepernoten between her teeth and the tension in her back. Maybe it was a bad idea to stare at a screen in the dark. For over an hour.

Clearing her eyes, stretching, gulping down the last mouthful and sighing, there was no thought but one behind her green eyes. In a way, it was unreal to consider, blasphemous even, for so long she had indulged in the arts of the Orient as her only respite that those at home were demure and dull by contrast. Yet there was no denying her feelings.

That was awesome.

An impulsive decision but well worth it. Every minute seductive, abound in style and character, barely words spoken and yet so much said, action sparse but so tense, interspersed by music eerily nostalgic. A solemn ending sweetly bitter.

And then there was him.

Cringe as it was to say, Light Yamagi was her idol. Charismatic, intelligent and nearly possessed in his mission of a perfect world, conniving his way out of any problem and playing everyone like mere figures on a board. He was inspirational, so cool, calm, clever and collected, for as long as she could remember she wanted to be just like him.

But when it came to him... she didn't want to be him. She was him. She had to be him. There was no other way around it, everything about him was reflected in her, his aloofness, personal distance and...

Well, maybe not everything. Actually, she could only claim social awkwardness as their bond, unlike him in his stoicism, strength and striking aura she was nervous, weak and small. Selfish. Unfocused, unaccomplished, unsophisticated.

Unworthy.

She threw her head into her hands. Of course she wasn't anyone special, to think she ever could be is laughable. Simply a pipe dream, nothing she ever did amounted to much and she could never keep to a goal. What a joke.

But that familiar synth continued, cushioning her ears. It slowed her heart and her shoulders softened, almost to a point of melting. Looking up yielded nothing little than the pink cursive but a soft caressing voice, making gentle assertations of confidence and capability. It wasn't talking about her, no way, but maybe she could take something out of it.

What would he do...


Author's Note: I may be a Mayabro, but fuck was she hard as shit to write. There's nothing to work with, I swear, Massa is a true master to be able to wrangle Maya's character; don't really know if it meets my standard. But yeah, I decided to write this after having watched Drive (2011), remembered "Anon Wants To Be Driver" by That Guy With A Voice and thought it'd be fun sort of inverting all the "she's literally me" sentiments. Either way, this is the last of the bunch, hope you enjoyed, more will come eventually, now get back to reading Ludonarrative.