The truck's cab was a prison of chaos. My hands were clenched tightly around the steering wheel as I fought to keep the vehicle from careening into a streetlamp—or, you know, actual people. I couldn't hear the roar of the engine or the screech of tires, but I didn't need to. I could feel the vibrations rattling my bones.

 You're fine. 

You've got this. 

You've totally got this.

The blaring red and blue lights reflected in the side mirror weren't helping my already fraying nerves. Police were definitely onto me now, which was, frankly, the least shocking development of the evening. 

Oh yeah, let's put a random kid behind the wheel of a truck that doesn't work. 

Great plan, guys!

My foot pressed harder on the brake pedal for what had to be the twentieth time. Still nothing. Just that unsettling, useless resistance under my shoe. The brakes were as dead as my social life.

Me: "Come on, come on..." 

I muttered through gritted teeth, wrestling with the steering wheel as the truck swerved yet again.

That's when I noticed movement outside the window. 

A shadow? 

No, it was a person. 

A flying person.

What the—?

I turned my head, squinting against the flashing lights and city glow. And there he was: Hawks, grinning like this was just another friday evening, keeping perfect pace with the truck.

For a split second, I thought maybe I was hallucinating. Like, maybe my brain had finally short-circuited from stress. But no, it was him—blond hair, ridiculous goggles, the whole hero look.

He pointed at the window, gesturing for me to roll it down.

Uh, buddy, I can't hear you.

I ignored him, eyes snapping back to the road as the truck jolted over a pothole. The last thing I needed was to lose focus and drive this thing into a building—or off a bridge.

But Hawks wasn't giving up. He knocked on the window again—or at least I think he did. His hand moved like he was knocking, but I couldn't hear it. Not that it mattered; I wasn't about to look at him.

Me: "Go away."

He knocked again, more insistently this time.

I still didn't react. What did he expect me to do, exactly? Signal to him with interpretive dance? I couldn't hear him, and I wasn't about to let go of the wheel to mime my predicament.

Then Hawks did something that nearly made my heart stop: he flew directly in front of the truck.

Me: "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" 

He waved at me, motioning for me to stop.

Me: "I CAN'T STOP!"

I yelled at the windshield, fully aware he couldn't hear me. 

Me: "BRAKES ARE DEAD, YOU IDIOT!"

My foot instinctively slammed on the useless brake pedal again as if sheer force of will might suddenly make it work. Spoiler: it didn't.

The truck kept barreling forward, and Hawks stayed right there, casually hovering in its path.

Me: "MOVE!"

 I shouted, panic twisting in my gut. 

Me: "GET OUT OF THE WAY!"

Of course, he didn't. 

Why would he? 

He was a pro hero. 

Pro heroes didn't run from danger.

Meanwhile, I was a kid, and I was terrified.

Desperate, I yanked the steering wheel to the right, causing the truck to lurch and skid dangerously close to the sidewalk. Hawks veered to the side, narrowly avoiding the truck's grille.

Me: "ARE YOU GODDAMN CRAZY?!" 

I shouted, my voice cracking.

Hawks was back at my side in an instant, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. He pointed at the road ahead, then back at me, mouthing something I couldn't make out. Probably something like, "Calm down," or, "I've got this."

I didn't have time for reassurance. The truck was still out of control, and we were rapidly approaching what looked like a police barricade.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

Me: "YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!"

My heart pounded as Hawks darted forward again, his wings spread wide as he gestured for the officers at the barricade to move aside.

The barricade loomed closer, and my chest tightened. There was no way I could stop this thing in time.

Me: "Hawks, DO SOMETHING!" 

I yelled, even though I knew he couldn't hear me.

At the last possible second, Hawks swooped down, his feathers shooting out like a net to guide the truck's trajectory. The vehicle swerved sharply, skidding to a halt just inches from the barricade.

The sudden stop threw me forward, the seatbelt biting into my chest. My head slammed lightly against the steering wheel, and for a moment, I just sat there, stunned.

It was over. 

The truck had stopped.

I let out a shaky breath, my entire body trembling.

Then the driver's side door flew open, and there he was—Hawks, looking far too calm for someone who had just played chicken with a runaway truck.

He leaned against the doorframe, his signature smirk firmly in place. 

Hawks: "Rough ride?"

I stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless. What was I even supposed to say to that?

Before I could form a coherent thought, Hawks reached out, his hand steady and sure. 

Hawks: "Come on, kid. Let's get you out of here."

For a moment, I just stared at his outstretched hand, my mind racing. Could I trust him? Did I even have a choice?

With a reluctant sigh, I unclipped the seatbelt and took his hand. Hawks pulled me out of the truck, his grip firm and reassuring.

As my feet hit the pavement, the reality of what had just happened finally began to sink in. I was alive. Somehow, I was alive.