Under Pressure

The low humming of chattering voices is starting to become grating. The lights are too bright, blaring like the desert sun. Glasses clink and beer spills, the smell pouring into the air, with the sweat and lingering scent of cigarette smoke. The patrons of the Bloody Hook roar with cheer, slam fists on tables, push back chairs, the legs scraping against the timber floors. Somewhere a glass shatters, someone yells. Feet stomp and GT Blitz’s smug voice booms from the TV. Another day of racing over, another victory won, another knife aimed at his throat.~~The weight of his friends lives rest upon Jak's shoulders, the stress pushing him to breaking point.