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Old military car

retro vehicle
It was a cold night, and I was driving down the highway when I saw something in my rear-view mirror. It was an old military car, with a dark blue paint job and an emblem that said "United States" on the hood.

But it wasn't just any old military car; this one had been used by the army at one point in time. It was a truly jaw-dropping sight to see—and a truly terrifying one too.

I tried to keep calm as I drove toward it, but it looked like this thing had seen better days… and not just days of service to our country. The paint job was faded, the engine sounded like it needed work, and there were signs of wear all over the exterior. The passenger side door didn't even open anymore; instead there was just a gap between the frame and body where you could see into the car through that small gap. It looked like an abandoned vehicle that had been left behind in some other place besides where it belonged.

It was a hot summer night. The air was thick with humidity and the smell of gasoline.

The old military car drifted down the street, the wheels spinning on the pavement, its engine barely audible above the loud buzz of insects and crickets. The driver looked up from his speedometer to see what had distracted him from his driving: a man in a dark robe, who had been walking alongside his car for several minutes, staring at him intently.

The driver slowed down as he reached an intersection and waited for the light to change before turning right onto a side street. When he saw that no one was behind him, he accelerated once again and began to drive faster than usual. His heart was beating faster than usual, too—it felt like it wanted to jump out of his chest.

When he reached his destination—a small industrial area near an abandoned gas station—he pulled into an empty parking lot next door to a large steel mill building where workers were starting their shift that morning. He stopped next to another car that was already parked there: a red convertible with tinted windows. As soon as he put his foot on the brake pedal, though… nothing happened! He tried again and again… nothing! Nothing at all!

He tried

The old car's engine was humming.

The car turned a corner and the sound of the motor changed as it geared up.

The driver didn't even realize he was doing it—he just knew that, as he drove, he could feel the power of his car, like there was an animal inside him that was just waiting to come out and play.

He sped down the road, taking corners at high speed, feeling the power of his vehicle as it responded and surged forward. He could feel it—the power in his hands, the strength in his arms, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He was on top of the world.

But then suddenly he felt something else: fear.

The old military car rumbled along the road, its headlights piercing the darkness. It was a large vehicle, but it felt small as it crept along in the dark.

The driver sat hunched over the wheel and stared straight ahead, his face lit only by the orange glow of his high beams as he drove down the forest-lined road. He was a young man with dark hair and eyes—a military man if you could see past his uniform—but he didn't look like a soldier at all.

The driver had been trained to drive like this when he was younger: in complete silence, no matter what was going on around him or how scared he might be. He had learned that if you let your mind wander too much, then you would end up losing control of what was happening around you. And that would just not do at all.

But now here he was, driving through this forest alone and completely vulnerable to whatever might be waiting for him on either side of this road—or even inside those woods themselves! He could feel goosebumps rising on his skin as he thought about it: there were so many ways things could go wrong right now!

And yet… there wasn't anything else he could do but keep driving forward until morning came

The air was thick with humidity, the sun warm and bright in a cloudless sky. The smell of cut grass and gasoline hung heavy in the air, mixed with the sweet rot of decay.

It was only a few miles from where they'd buried her husband to where she sat now—at a gas station on the outskirts of town. She had been there since 6:00 AM, waiting for the old military car that had been following her all day to return.

She'd been waiting for this moment for years now; her husband's death had been unexpected, but he had been the one who'd taught her how to fight back against those who would try to take everything from her. She knew how to use a gun, how to make bombs and poisons, how to do anything necessary in order to survive. She was ready for whatever came next: prison time, or death itself.

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