Borrowing the fat man's luxury car, the group drove toward the middle school. Since Barry had been here before, he took the wheel.
But The Flash had a bad habit when driving: he always thought the car was too slow, so he kept the accelerator floored.
On both sides of the narrow streets, the scenery blurred into streaks of light and rushed backward. The tires shrieked during drifts like a file scraping across someone's skull.
The middle-aged man who had been dragged into the car was deathly pale. Whenever the car turned, he wore the expression of someone about to die.
Fortunately, the death-race experience was brief. By the time he was pulled out of the car, only two minutes had passed—just enough to leave him nauseated but unable to throw up.
"A stretch Lincoln. When I was young, I really wanted a car like this." Su Ming got out and reached out to stroke the door. He found that he could interact with the props, but the people in this block could not see him or the changes he caused.
Or rather, they were turning a blind eye?
"Why not buy a horse?" The Amazon struck another side triceps pose.
"Because I don't have a prairie at home, of course." Su Ming chuckled, then looked at Barry, who was helping the middle-aged man out of the car. "Ask him what the Chief did back then."
The Flash repeated his words, but the balding middle-aged man only shook his head. "I only saw an elderly outsider enter the school and go into the dormitory building. As for what he did or when he left, I don't know."
Su Ming thought for a second, then nodded. "As long as this is the right place, that's enough. Let him go home. He's