Dogs Lives Matter
A week had passed. Norman was finally discharged from the hospital.
His strength and speed had returned to normal.
He stepped out the front doors alone, the bright sunlight hitting his pale face. He didn’t have a home to go back to. He didn’t know where to go. So, he just walked—without a plan, without a direction.
Wandering the city, he suddenly spotted a familiar silhouette across the street.
A German Shepherd.
The same one he knew from Dog Land. One of the dogs.
His heart jumped.
Norman waved frantically and called out, “Hey! Over here!”
The dog, who had just been calmly trotting beside the curb, froze. It lifted its ears. Its tongue rolled out. Its tail began wagging wildly. The moment it saw Norman, its entire body trembled with joy.
“OH YEAH, BABY!!”
The Shepherd barked and sprinted forward in full excitement.
But it was a green light.
From the side came a car—racing at 100 kilometers per hour.
The vehicle slammed into the Shepherd with brutal force. The impact launched the dog skyward—flying higher than the surrounding buildings—twenty meters into the air.
Then, it came crashing down.
“OH SHIT!!”
The dog smashed into the pavement with a sickening, final thud.
Only the head remained recognizable.
The rest of its body—fur, flesh, bones—had exploded into the ground, merging into the asphalt itself like wet clay slammed by a sledgehammer. A pool of crimson spread around the crater, steaming under the afternoon sun.
Norman’s expression twisted.
From joy, to confusion, to despair.
Then… rage.
Because the car didn’t even stop.
In fact, it sped up.
Zooming off down the street like nothing happened.
And the final blow?
The driver casually rolled down the window, lit a cigarette, then flicked the ash with a lazy hand into the wind—completely unmoved, indifferent to the dog he’d just murdered.
Norman stood there, trembling. Then he shouted:
“DOGS LIVES MATTER!!”
With that, he exploded forward—his body accelerating like a bullet.
50 kilometers per hour.
Then 100.
Then 150.
He chased down the speeding car, his fury burning hotter than ever.
Not just for the death.
But for the attitude.
For the way that man treated the dog’s life…
as nothing.
Furious Highspeed Chase
The driver glanced in his rearview mirror—just a quick sweep.
And that’s when he saw it.
A man—on all fours—racing down the street like a wild animal.
Faster than a dog. Faster than any human should move.
And worse…
He was catching up.
The driver’s car was already hitting 110 kilometers per hour, but the distance was shrinking. That man was gaining on him.
Inside the car, the young man took a long drag from his cigarette.
Without a word, he flicked the butt into the ashtray, mashed it out with a few impatient jabs, then shoved it down with his thumb until it hissed.
His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. Then, with a heavy stomp, he floored the gas.
The engine roared.
In one second, the car shot up to 180 km/h—surging forward like a rocket.
The gap widened again.
But the road was packed.
Cars ahead. Cars beside.
Every time he had to swerve or dodge traffic, he was forced to decelerate. Just slightly. Just enough.
Meanwhile, Norman, smaller and nimbler, zigzagged between cars effortlessly.
No need to slow down. No hesitation.
Little by little, he closed the gap again.
And then…
He vanished from the mirror.
The young driver’s eyes narrowed.
“Shit. Blind spot.”
He knew Norman was right beside him—he could feel it.
And he was right.
Norman had pulled up side by side, still running full speed—150 km/h—his claws scratching lightly at the pavement with each stride.
The young man rolled down his window and called out, mockingly:
“What’s up, dude? Need something?”
Norman barked back:
“You just killed a dog! How can you hit and run like that?! Fuck you!”
The man gave a lazy shrug.
“It’s just a dog. Don’t be so serious, man.”
That was it.
Norman’s fury exploded.
“That dog… was my brother.”
The driver blinked, confused.
“Wait… what? You and a dog are brothers? I don’t get it, man.”
That’s when Norman lunged—one clawed hand swiping at the open window.
The man rolled it back up just in time.
Norman’s claws scratched across the reinforced glass, leaving only a faint trail of lines. No cracks.
The car began to slow—down to 60 km/h.
Norman stayed right beside it, never missing a step.
The driver’s expression darkened. His grip tightened.
“All right then. God mode.”
He muttered it under his breath.
Both hands shifted into action—spinning the wheel, working the stick shift. His feet alternated rapidly between the gas and brake pedals.
Stunt Legacy
As the car tore through the city at blistering speed, a small gold medal swayed under the rearview mirror.
It glittered faintly under the passing streetlights.
A symbol of something distant… something proud.
Then, like a sudden breeze stirring buried memories, the timeline slipped—
Back three years.
His name was Jack.
Life hadn’t been easy.
His father had passed when he was still a kid, and their middle-class life quickly collapsed into hardship.
By the age of sixteen, Jack was already out driving Uber to make ends meet.
But behind the wheel, he found something else.
A strange joy. A raw instinct.
He had a talent for speed and control that couldn’t be taught.
Drifting. Reverse slaloms. Hairpin turns.
It was more than driving—it was a form of Kung Fu.
Three years ago, Jack signed up for a prestigious stunt-driving competition held across the city.
His event?
Aerial backflip.
Not just one—but ten full spins in the air.
He launched his car off a slanted ramp, wheels screaming, engine roaring like a beast let loose.
The vehicle soared into the sky—higher than it had any right to—and began flipping.
One. Two. Three… all the way to ten.
And when it landed, the car didn’t stop.
It kept spinning horizontally across the pavement—skimming like a stone over water.
Then came the final moment:
The car skidded to a halt in the exact center of a large painted design on the ground.
A perfect match.
The symbol was the competition’s logo—and Jack’s tire marks had traced every curve of it.
The crowd exploded.
And Jack won the gold medal.
That medal—the very one now swinging above his dash—became his first real treasure.
With the prize money, he began customizing his own ride.
Piece by piece.
Screw by screw.
Rumors said the car he built could drive sideways along vertical walls, and even perform stunts no one had ever imagined.
Back in the present, Jack flicked his eyes at the gold medal and smirked.
“All right,” he muttered.
“Let me show you what car Kung Fu really looks like.”
Automotive Kung Fu
Suddenly, Jack’s car drifted hard to the left.
It was fast—sharp—almost impossible to react to.
Norman dodged to the same side just in time to avoid being clipped by the car’s body.
But Jack wasn’t done.
His car hit a small slope and launched into the air. While airborne, the vehicle spun horizontally like a returning boomerang—twisting through a wide arc—before swinging back toward Norman’s path.
Norman kept running forward, but if he stayed on course, he’d be crushed by the car’s descending angle.
He had no choice.
He turned hard to the right.
But turning at such high speed was dangerous.
One foot slipped.
Norman tumbled across the pavement—rolling at over seventy kilometers per hour. He spun for hundreds of meters, leaving a trail of blood along the road, bouncing and scraping as he crashed past a row of trash bins.
Finally, he staggered to his feet, bleeding, bruised, and probably with two broken bones.
“Shit… this guy drives like his car knows Kung Fu.”
Norman gritted his teeth and charged again—back toward the car.
This time, he wouldn’t make the same mistake.
He kept his speed under 40 km/h, giving himself room to turn sharply and counter Jack’s movement with agility.
Jack noticed the change and smirked.
“Oh? Low-speed battle now? Bring it on.”
Such a Metal Beast
Norman darted into the car’s blind spot—then suddenly leapt.
He landed squarely on the roof of the moving car.
Without hesitation, he began clawing at the metal, trying to rip it open, hoping to tear his way through the top and plunge straight into the cabin—to kill the driver with a single strike.
But Jack was ready.
He slammed on the brakes—hard.
The vehicle screeched as its tires bit into the asphalt, coming to an abrupt stop.
Norman, who had just dug his claws in, found nothing but smooth steel and glass—there was no grip. The entire car was too sleek, too well-crafted. He lost balance instantly.
The sudden halt launched him forward.
He flew off the car, tumbled across the road, and landed nearly fifteen meters ahead—rolling and bouncing like a ragdoll.
Norman barely had time to sit up.
He looked up—and saw the car already accelerating toward him.
It was going to run him over.
Still dizzy, Norman instinctively rolled to the side. The car whizzed past, missing him by inches.
But Jack wasn’t done.
As the steel beast thundered by, the front tire crushed a small stone lying on the road.
This wasn’t an accident.
Jack had seen the rock ahead of time.
At the exact moment his tire rolled over it, he gave the wheel a calculated twist and adjusted his foot pressure with surgical precision.
That was when it happened—
The stone was launched from between the tire and the ground like a high-speed projectile.
It cut through the air with a sharp whistle—
CRACK!
—and smashed straight into Norman’s left arm.
The bone shattered on impact.
Blood exploded into the air.
Norman screamed in pain, gripping his limp arm as he staggered toward the sidewalk.
Jack leaned out the window just a bit and muttered casually,
“Too easy… no challenge at all.”
A few pedestrians nearby turned toward Norman, who was now curled up by a trash can, coughing up blood.
But none of them paid him any real attention.
Their eyes were on the car.
The legendary machine.
That unmistakable custom-built beast.
They whispered among themselves:
“That’s Jack’s car… no doubt about it.”
“He once went toe-to-toe with Michael from the Humble Organization, right? I heard Michael was actually losing.”
“And now he’s putting on a show right here? Man… we’re lucky to see this in person.”
“This is true automotive kung fu.”
They watched, breath held, as the metal beast idled in place—waiting to see what move it would unleash next.
Bloody Windshield
Norman dragged himself up from the pavement again, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. As he stood, he saw three men nearby, watching like spectators at a show. He snapped at them, furious:
“Where the hell have you seen cars that can do kung fu?! You think this is a damn game? Say one more word and I’ll rip your mouths off!”
The men froze in fear, not daring to speak again.
Then—a bark.
Norman looked down. A white-furred golden retriever was standing nearby, gazing at him intently. It wasn’t just barking—it was trying to communicate.
Norman stared into its eyes.
He understood.
“Good boy, Hugo,” he whispered. “I’m gonna need your strength.”
Hugo barked again. That bark meant: No problem.
Just then, Jack’s steel war machine came roaring back down the road. Its engine growled. Its tires screeched.
Norman shouted with everything he had:
“HUGO—GO!”
The golden retriever tore free from its leash, sprinting straight into danger. Without hesitation, it hurled itself at the oncoming car—headfirst into the windshield.
SPLAT!
Flesh. Bone. Oil. Blood.
Hugo’s body exploded into a grotesque smear across the glass. The windshield was instantly painted red, completely blinding Jack’s view.
Norman stood still, a tear sliding down his cheek.
“Hugo… I won’t let your sacrifice be wasted.”
Jack slammed on the brakes, but his car skidded and jerked to a stop in the middle of the road.
That’s when Norman moved.
He sprinted. Faster. Harder. He locked onto the car like a missile.
Then he leapt.
In midair, his body twisted—spinning wildly like a falling star—and then he slammed into the driver’s side door with crushing force.
BOOM.
The metal caved in.
Inside, Jack’s body jolted. He coughed up a mouthful of blood as the impact slammed through the door and into his ribs.
Norman landed, panting, crouched on the warped frame.
He looked up, eyes wild.
For the first time in this fight—
He had the upper hand.