The slightest touch of the gas pedal launches the vehicular behemoth away from the curb. Since I’m a guy who can appreciate a fine automobile, I honestly feel bad for what’s going to happen to her next. That being said, I still approach the massive gates with as much caution as a hyperactive child with a triple chocolate birthday cake.

The big black truck bursts through the wooden arena doors, shattering them into a million toothpick-sized pieces. The sound alone is a bomb detonating over the shocked crowd. Watching them scatter like a roach infestation fills me with a devilish delight. I would love to hunt each one down for what they’ve done, but my goal must remain laser-focused on one thing: getting Quinn out of here.

Spinning the broad truck around in tight circles spra...

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