Part 2Night Drive Nightmare

"A million dollars?"

My eyes nearly popped out of my skull. Brenda just waved her hand dismissively.

"Honestly, a million is cutting you a deal."

"You broke my husband's legs. You owe us a decade's worth of living expenses for my entire family."

She leaned closer. "Considering you're just a college student, I'm taking pity on you and only asking for a million. Otherwise, the tuition for my kids alone would be way more than that."

As if worried I wouldn't believe her, she whipped out a crumpled report card.

"Both of my boys are Ivy League material. They'll definitely be getting full rides to the best universities in the world."

"Ivy League? With a 2.0 GPA? Lady, are you drunk too?"

I shoved the paper filled with red ink away, offering her a cold, empty smile.

"Your husband drove drunk. He drove the wrong way. He publicly demolished my car while bragging that he was rich enough to smash ten of my Hondas and pay for them in cash."

"He was acting like he owned the universe when he was swinging that crowbar. And now you're sitting here trying to play the sympathy card, expecting me to fund your entire family for the rest of your lives?"

Wow. Birds of a feather really do flock together.

I grabbed the basket of apples, ready to kick her out. As I picked it up, a vile, rotting stench hit me.

Beneath the perfectly polished apples on the top layer, the rest of the fruit was entirely rotten. Some were literally crawling with maggots.

"It's just a trashy little Honda! Why are you being so vindictive?!" Brenda's polite mask completely slipped.

"My man just put a few dents in your car. You crippled him! You turned him into a useless cripple stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life!"

Seeing that I wasn't going to sign, she forcefully shoved a pen into my palm. She grabbed my wrist with surprising strength, trying to physically force my hand down onto the signature line.

Her violent pulling yanked the IV needle in the back of my hand. Blood immediately started backing up into the tube. I slammed my free hand down on the nurse call button.

The pen dragged across the paper, leaving a jagged streak of ink.

I grabbed the basket of rotting apples and slammed it directly into Brenda's face. I ripped her precious settlement agreement in half right in front of her.

"Take your garbage paper and get the hell out of my room."

"With the repulsive way you people act, I wouldn't settle with you if you paid me a million dollars."

"You broke his legs! That million dollars is a debt you owe my family!"

The bruised, mushy apples had completely ruined Brenda's makeup. She frantically wiped her face, getting mashed fruit and wriggling maggots all over her hands.

The nurses rushed in with hospital security. They grabbed Brenda, who was still trying to lunge at my bed, and practically dragged her out into the hallway.

"Fine, you little bitch! You want to do this the hard way? I'll show you the hard way!"

My phone buzzed with a text from her number. I immediately blocked it and grit my teeth while the nurse reinserted my IV.

After I was discharged, I went to the impound lot to take one last look at my totaled car.

It was a gift from my dad for my eighteenth birthday. The day I got my license, this was the car I drove.

I ran my fingers over the deep, brutal dents in the hood. I uploaded the dashcam footage to my cloud drive, untied the lucky charm hanging from the rearview mirror, and headed to the police precinct to give my official statement.

I figured it would just be a formality. The evidence was rock solid.

But the moment I walked into the precinct, I saw Brenda. Her frizzy hair was a mess. She slammed a USB drive onto the front desk, her nose pointed up in the air with unbearable arrogance.

"Watch this. Ironclad proof. That little tramp provoked him first."

Her so-called ironclad proof was a deepfake video.

On the monitor, "my" face was twisted in a grotesque sneer. "I" was violently pounding on the Porsche's window, revealing a mouth full of rotting yellow teeth.

"I can total ten of your junk cars and pay for them in cash," the fake version of me spat.

The AI rendering was terrible. The facial proportions were completely warped.

Only someone as delusional as Brenda would think her amateur editing skills were flawless enough to fool law enforcement.

"See?! My husband drives a Porsche! A custom paint job alone costs thousands! This psycho woman was trying to smash his windows in. My husband was simply defending himself with that crowbar."

She even pulled out her phone, showing the officer a chat log with some "expert" online lawyer, trying to pressure them.

"The legal experts online already confirmed this is textbook self-defense. That bitch deserved to get her car smashed."

She shot me a venomous glare, covering her nose like I was a walking biohazard. The disgust on her face was theatrical.

"She reeks of cheap perfume. Just look at the way she dresses. Does that look like a decent girl to you?"

"She's a cheap piece of trash turning tricks. She crippled my husband. If you cops don't lock her up immediately, what, are you waiting to become her regular customers?"