Michael put the credits voucher and trophies in the back of the Foxbody.

Michael didn't feel the joy of victory at all. He thought the urgency and stress of the past couple week would dissipate. Instead he felt worse, like the weight of his reality had gotten all the more heavy.

He reached in the car, released the handbrake and pushed the car by himself away from the finish line, ignoring Amelia's offers to help.

"Can't she get disqualified or somethin' for that?" Amelia said, as Michael put the car up on jacks.

"I guess not. Her crew owns this area."

"Oh ye, that's right."

Michael tried his best to pump the lever on the jacks to raise the car, but he found he could barely make the thing budge. He had only blown a tire once before, and that was years ago, on the way to school, from simple wear and tear. He already kept a solid rubber spare on a steel rim in the trunk just in case.

He assumed the jack lever jammed or something, because try as he might he couldn't move it.

But then after a minute, he realized his arms were in intense pain. Or rather they had been the entire time. He had run out of strength. Michael finally collapsed, lying on his back, his field of vision starting to become light at the end of a dark tunnel.

Amelia ran up to him in shock.

"Oh my... are yeh... well you're clearly not."

"I'm fine... don't worry..." Michael muttered, desperately clinging to consciousness.

"Oh dear...Can we get a medic!"

Medic. Medic could mean a blood test, which could lead to the discovery of an active meta gene...

"No! No! I'll be fine!" Michael shouted, just as he fainted.

********