What started with a random number (BXB) (GAY)

Impact zone

The collision was violent. A truck going 45 ramming directly into an SUV going 40. 

The impact zone of the car Emory was in—the side hit by the truck—was smashed. The passenger's door absorbed the hit, causing it to break inwards, and the windows shattered with it, sending glass across the interior.

Skidding to the left, across the intersection, the frame warped after contact, scrunching up underneath the car. Meanwhile, on the top of the vehicle, the roof buckled slightly as the truck clipped it, causing the right side to crash inwards. 

It spun slightly, facing sideways instead of frontward. From Emory's viewpoint, he could no longer see the truck or the damage that occurred to it. His phone had fallen into the passenger's seat, and the screen was fully cracked, completely turned off as glass from the window laid on top of it. 

When the impact initially occurred, the angle of the hit caused Emory to be thrown sideways into the driver's side door, his seatbelt locking as his body twisted, putting extra strain on his left shoulder. When the glass flew across the car, some of the shards hit his face, arm, and other parts of his body. 

On contact, the airbags deployed, slamming into his chest with 2,600 pounds of force. His shoulder absorbed most of the hit once again, as when they had been deployed, he was turned to face the incoming truck. 

He didn't feel anything, the adrenaline coursing through his body as he shakily opened the door and unbuckled his seatbelt, stepping out of the car. He breathed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he looked over the car, taking in the damages.

It appeared totaled, and as he walked around, he saw that the entire right side was totally fucked. 

He now ran both hands through his hair, exhaling slowly. "Red's gonna fucking kill me," He muttered, caring more about Red's reaction than his well-being.

He couldn't even call anyone; his phone was shattered. As he continued to walk around the SUV, his eyes traveled the truck. The man was stood outside it, crossing his arms over his chest as he too seemed to analyze the damage caused to his car. 

It wasn't as bad of damage as Emory's. The headlights were shattered, and the bumper was compressed inward. The engine was smoking slightly, but he didn't seem to pay much mind to the damages. He didn't seem hurt either, with no visible injuries. 

Emory, however, had blood running down the side of his face, a deep cut under his eyes, and a cut along his cheek. He also had a trickle of blood running down his arm, but it was from a single graze. 

He didn't realize it until he felt the sensation of a liquid on him. Reaching his hand up, he wiped away some blood from his face, pulling his hand away with a pool of blood. 

Even though he was bleeding, it didn't feel like it. His senses were deprived of the shock of the crash.

Suddenly, the man turned around and narrowed his eyes before yelling, "What the fuck? Look what you did to my truck!" He angrily took a step forward, walking to Emory and stopping before him. 

Emory furrowed his brows and then scoffed. "You ran a red, dude, how the fuck is that my fault?" 

"Maybe if you were a more aware driver, you would've recognized me and stopped before getting in the fucking way!" The truck driver's voice was continuously raised, and with each word, his volume grew. 

"When I got out, I was kind of hoping you'd be dead, but unfortunately for me, you're perfectly fine. I mean, I'd be happy with you having at least a broken arm or something," Emory complained, rolling his eyes as he took a small step forward, inching closer.