The Sanders Sides

1 - The Accident

The rhythmic pulse of the motorcycle engine thrummed beneath Roman as he sped down the deserted highway. The cool night air whipped through his hair, and the city lights twinkled like scattered diamonds in the distance. He was late, later than he'd ever been for their movie night.

Suddenly, a flicker of light in the distance caught his eye. It wasn't the soft glow of a streetlamp, but a harsh, garish white that pulsed with a worrying urgency. His heart hammered in his chest as he slowed down, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach.

As he drew closer, the source of the light became clear: a crumpled car, its mangled form sprawled across the roadside ditch. Police cars cast long, eerie shadows across the scene, their flashing lights painting the night a gruesome red and blue. A crowd of onlookers huddled at the periphery, their faces lit by morbid curiosity.

Roman felt a primal surge of fear course through him. He couldn't see the make of the car, but a terrifying possibility clawed at his mind. He slammed on the brakes, the screech of the tires echoing in the night as he brought the motorcycle to a shuddering halt.

Ignoring the curious stares of the bystanders, Roman ripped off his red helmet, throwing it carelessly onto the asphalt. He pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes scanning the wreckage with a frantic urgency.

A horrifying gasp escaped his lips. The car, a dented and twisted mess, was flipped precariously on its top. Its windshield was shattered, jagged shards of glass glinting in the harsh light. And inside the mangled vehicle, a figure slumped motionless, a face streaked with blood illuminated by the flashing lights.

Roman's breath hitched. "Virg-" The word died in his throat, a choked whisper lost in the cacophony of sirens and buzzing voices.

His mind reeled, refusing to accept the horrifying image before him. This couldn't be real. It just couldn't be. But the sickening metallic scent of blood and the eerie stillness of the figure in the car confirmed his worst fear.

Panic clawed at his throat, threatening to suffocate him. He pushed forward, his movements erratic. He needed to see Virgil, needed to know if he was alright.

But a strong hand clamped on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. It was a police officer, his face grim with concern.

"Sir, you can't go any further. We need to secure the scene."

Roman ignored him, his gaze still fixed on the car, on Virgil. "That's my friend," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

The officer's grip tightened. "Sir, I understand, but it's too dangerous. We'll get him out as soon as possible. You need to stay back."

Roman felt a surge of rage, a helpless fury at the situation. "Don't you understand? He could be..." He couldn't bring himself to say the words, the terrifying possibility hanging heavy in the air.

The officer's gaze softened slightly. He saw the raw fear and desperation in Roman's eyes. "We're doing everything we can," he said gently, but with a firmness that left no room for argument.

Trapped, helpless, Roman was forced to watch from a distance as paramedics swarmed the car, their movements urgent and efficient. Every agonizing minute felt like an eternity.

The night stretched on, a tapestry woven with fear, uncertainty, and a silent prayer for his friend's life.

The beat of Logan's sports car echoed through the night, the air thick with tension. Patton fidgeted in the back seat, his usual chipper demeanor replaced by a worried frown. He shot a look at Deciet, who was hunched over a laptop, a glare.

"Why do I have to sit back here with HIM?!" Patton hissed, gesturing towards Remus, who was sprawled across the backseat, his green and grey hair a stark contrast to the sleek black interior. Remus, ever the embodiment of apathy, simply smirked and flipped a page in his worn copy of "Moby Dick."