Sayonara, motherfucker!
We're going live. Can you check on it?
Ten cars down, two to go.
These drivers are crazy.
I still don't understand why they're so willing to die.
Because everyone wants to be king of the hill.
Is the race streaming on the Dark Web?
Yes, Warden.
It's online in real time on Freenet, I2P, and Tor.
And there's no way to trace the ISP,
and shut 'em down with a web-based attack?
If I was the NSA, and had a couple of months, maybe.
These guys are a legitimate cyber militia.
The encryption is first-rate, it's bouncing every 10 seconds.
Then kill their power.
We don't supply their power, they're on their own jerry-rigged grid.
Bitch up and take out this motherfucker!
Yeah, baby!
Fuck you, Frank!
Right now, get us another 22.
Any word from the OTB site?
Onsite and online wagering are up.
They're writing a lot of betting slips.
The house is banking cash on the secondary racers
and the parlays, and we're raking in some vig.
If Frankenstein wins, there's a payout.
Death Race is illegal, and bigger than ever.
Thanks to our resident crazy-man Frank.
Aw, fuck Frankenstein,
you're the one who resurrected Death Race from the dead.
I just figured out how to decode the satellite signals
and stream it on the Dark Web.
Frankenstein's been born again, thanks to us.
Well, if he wins tonight, it'll be his seventh straight.
Our contact on the outside says our margins are dropping
'cause nobody's taking the other side of the bet.
We're losing a lot of money on Frankenstein.
We need to spice things up. The parlays are paying off, but...
We need a challenger.
SWAT is en route, T-minus five minutes.
Let's shut Frankenstein and Death Race down once and for all.
We've got some action from the outside.
You wanted spice. Say hello to SWAT.
Let's trade some paint.
Suck my dick, Frankie!
Suck my dick, too, Frankie!
Push them into the fucking wall!
Do it, baby!
Motherfucker!
Woo!
- Get off the wall! - Got it!
Take this motherfucker out!
I picked the wrong driver!
Full house. Eights over aces.
Oh, nice. Nines over Jacks.
I'd like a shot at getting my money back.
Why don't I come to your place later tonight?
Maybe we can shuffle another deck of cards.
Hey, jefe, I've got a player, wants to play some heavy action.
On SWAT versus Frankenstein.
SWAT? SWAT.
Where does he want to play his money?
SWAT for 100,000. Even odds.
It's my book, I'll set the odds.
Three-to-one,
and if he gives you any push-back,
tell him the Mexican Jew said, go to hell and take his mom.
I hope they got that last shipment of guns.
Now, make me some money, Frank.
Carley!
Frankenstein! Frankenstein!
Move.
On the left. All clear!
Clear, sector one.
Bridge team, move out.
Go, go, go!
Hold up!
Move, move, move, back it up. Go, go! All clear.
Tell me we got cameras in there.
Yeah, we've got cameras everywhere.
Go left.
Go left, clear.
Go right.
Go right, clear.
Two Tango down!
Sector two, report.
Copy that, one minute.
Spec Ops. Move.
Got eyes on nothing? I got eyes.
Yeah, motherfuckers, let's go!
Go get some!
Send me the best you've got, Warden,
I'll send them back to you skinned,
gutted and quartered.
You may be in charge out there, but this is my city.
This is The Sprawl!
Come around that first corner.
Hello?
This isn't going to play well in the Washington Post tomorrow.
I know, Mr. Valentine.
Well, then you know I've got Congress up my ass
about The Sprawl and its morality.
Frankenstein is out of control,
his legion is growing.
The government is going to take back my prison,
unless we shut down Frankenstein, and shut him down, now.
When I took over Weyland International,
I was tasked with a very specific directive.
Clean up The Sprawl, and put an end to Frankenstein.
More importantly, Death Race.
Our contract's up in five years
and we've got a lot invested in that human garbage dump.
So, when I get pulled into a congressional oversight committee,
what should I say to the 435 members of the House, huh?
Well, tell them that we're doing our best, but...
But what? We can't control a bunch of sociopathic gearheads,
and Frankenstein's even more legendary,
now that Death Race is illegal?
I can handle Frankenstein, sir.
Really?
'Cause from where I sit, Frankenstein's making you look like a chump.
He's gathering steam and mounting what adds up to a small army.
You can't shut him down from the outside.
He's just a mask. Anybody can wear the mask.
His disciples, inside and out, need to see him suffer a humiliating defeat.
He needs to die during Death Race, and die bloody.
He loses Death Race, he loses his power.
That's how you take back our prison.
Make it happen, or I will.
What I'm about to feed you is going to taste bitter!
You have found yourselves in a no-win situation!
There are two options! Die, or survive!
You will not be given clothes, what you're wearing is what you'll wear!
You will not be given a place to sleep,
you will not be given jack shit,
except maybe a bullet in the brain!
If you are lucky. Rest assured,
there are no virgins within these walls,
because life has fucked you all!
The Sprawl is 88,000 acres
of bad shit about to happen.
The Containment Zone warehouses 420,000 of the worst...
Of the worst offenders.
Best advice, learn how to run. Learn how to fight!
Stop eye-fucking me, asshole.
Uncle Sam has decided to provide you with one roll of silver coins.
This will be your currency inside the walls!
That's the hot wash!
Now, get yourselves ready, we're approaching DZ Alpha Bravo!
Convicts, go, go!
Make the world a better place! Get the fuck out of here!
How do I get in Death Race?
Find Baltimore Bob. If you got what it takes, he'll get you in.
Move! Get off my bird, now!
Let's go!
Come on, what are you staring at? Come on!
Who wants to play?
Come here, motherfucker!
On your knees!
Get the fuck on the ground.
What is this shit?
Shut your fucking mouth!
Quit eyeballing me!
Well, ain't this a rainbow of fucking ugly?
You folks lost? We're good.
You look lost.
Nah, we're good, thanks.
You're good?
That's good.
Now, give me your fucking silver.
Why would we do that?
It's a landing tax.
Why don't you just shoot us and take it?
Maybe I don't want to waste my bullets on a gutter bitch like you.
Huh? Mmm.
Mmm.
You're a real sweet talker, ain't you?
Thanks, I try.
I don't think you have any bullets.
In fact, I think you're shooting blanks.
Okay?
You folks want to play the hard way? Up against the fucking truck!
Is this what you wanted?
I got this bad feeling I owe you, pretty boy.
We're square.
You're the one that gave the cops a beating?
I don't want any trouble.
Oh, you don't?
'Cause if you tuned up the cops, you're gonna have some.
I'm just looking for Baltimore Bob.
Then jump in, cowboy.
I'll give you a ride.
Yeah, bitch.
Fuck you, asshole!
Fuck off, 'Tilly.
If I had a dick, here's where I'd tell your ass to suck it.
So, your story is that one unarmed man
took out you and your gang, and boosted my landing tax?
I'm sorry, Frank, I'll do better next time.
There's no next times in The Sprawl, you know this.
You got sent here for killing cops, and you can't handle one con?
Like I said, I'm sorry, Frank, I'll do better next time.
He just got lucky.
Every piece of silver you collect goes right back to The Sprawl.
When my landing tax goes uncollected, the city suffers.
Do you like to suffer?
I don't like to suffer, Frank.
That's him. That's the motherfucker!
Hey, Bex.
This guy's looking for Baltimore Bob.
Of course, he is.
Connor Gibson, meet Jane.
It's good to meet you, Jane.
He's all yours, chica.
I'ma go dance on the pole.
Do it over, girl!
So, where'd you come in from?
Long Beach.
What are you in for?
Does it matter?
It does to me.
I'm here 'cause I'm here, just like everyone else.
One of my tax collectors told me
you attacked him, then robbed him.
That's not exactly how it went down.
Enlighten me, convict.
Kill him, Frank!
Your boy and his pals tried to jump me.
Yet, you're the one who walked away.
I didn't say they were any good at it.
Let me whack him, Frank.
Ain't nothing but a couple drops of jizz
sprouted from a shit-filled crack in the sidewalk.
Have we met before?
I don't think so. I just got here.
And if we had, I wouldn't know.
You're hiding behind a mask.
This is my city. No one speaks to me like that.
Kill that motherfucker!
Listen, you accused me of stealing, and I didn't steal anything.
I defended myself. It's not my fault
your boys weren't up to the fight they picked.
Watch your back, convict.
You're definitely not from Long Beach.
You make it a habit to punch above your weight, convict?
Word is you're looking for me.
Baltimore Bob?
Your balls must be made out of titanium.
I've never seen anyone talk to Frank like that.
You drive?
Yeah, I drive.
So, what are you in here for, Bob?
Let's just say, I help people transition.
The press called me Dr. Kill. I was an oncologist.
Yeah, I read about you. You euthanized over 400 dying people.
I had 432, and not all of them were dying.
Some were living inconsequential lives,
and as such, they were already dead.
Come on, come on!
Get the truck!
This food is property of Frankenstein!
What the hell are they doing?
Feeding time.
Disciples of Frank.
They hijack the food shipment and control the supply.
If you keep the populace hungry, they're easier to control.
Where do all the weapons and cars come from?
Handmade, homemade, we lick the bottom of the pot,
and refurbish whatever sticks to our tongues.
And we got a benefactor on the outside.
Step away from the vehicle, you motherfucker!
Die, motherfucker!
Fuck you! Nazi fuck!
You're the one everybody's talking about?
News travels fast, huh?
Small town, really, 226,000 to be exact.
We have about 19,000 deaths a year and 22,000 come over the wall.
Sorry, I'm doing it again.
Connor Gibson, meet Lists.
So, what am I watching here?
It's where non-racers compete for a spot in Death Race.
And how do you get a spot?
You have to win the Death Match.
Let this Death Match begin!
Our first contestant is all the way from New York City, New York.
She's a killer and a thief, and one sexy little piece of ass.
Give it up for Gipsy Rose!
Next up, born in the tall cotton
and chicken-droppings of Oxford, Mississippi,
we have a psychotic... Who's the girl?
Frank's main squeeze.
Your standard, garden-variety pleasure model.
Carley J'adore, it's her stage name.
She was charged with 17 counts of human trafficking,
eight counts prostitution, and another five counts of false imprisonment.
She's an ex-cheerleader.
Ex-porn star.
Exactly.
Hmm. Never did a day's work vertical.
On your marks, get set, and die!
Kill, kill, kill!
I can't hear you! Yeah!
Shut your fucking mouth!
Yeah! Yeah!
Don't pick a fight with Godzilla
'cause you think you know how to throw a punch.
Sleep on it.
You still want Death Race tomorrow,
we'll talk.
Hey, Long Beach.
Got a bottle. Could use some company.
It's nice in here. Thanks.
Go ahead and ask. Everybody always asks.
It's kind of like the, "What's your star sign?" line in here.
I'm guilty.
I wasn't gonna ask.
Yeah, but you would have found out, anyway.
There's no secrets here in The Sprawl.
I married a really great guy,
who turned out to be not such a great guy.
He beat me up a couple of times,
I forgave him.
The market crashed, he lost his job,
smacked me around a bit more.
I forgave him again.
And then one day,
I didn't forgive him.
And I shot him nine times.
You know my one regret, though?
Is that I didn't shoot the bastard 10.
So, you still wanna knock boots with me?
Never said I did.
Okay, well,
wasn't really up for the taking, anyway.
I just needed somebody to finish this bottle with,
and you're some mysterious guy from Long Beach, right?
Get some sleep.
Couch is yours if you want it.
Welcome to the Greenhouse.
This is Baltimore Bob's one-of-a-kind creation.
Inspired by the Chinese solar greenhouse designs with CO2 enrichment.
Pesticide free, and totally 100% organic.
This is where we make the ethanol,
and Bob is constantly tinkering
with the recipe to deliver a high-octane brew.
It's got 20 times more kick
than the watered-down petrol from outside the wall.
He's like the OPEC of The Sprawl.
And he's not in Frank's pocket?
They have an arrangement.
He provides fuel,
and Frank reciprocates with protection and a few other perks.
We eat a little bit better than the rest.
You slept on it?
I did.
Let's say you have the skills.
Death Race is for sociopathic killers.
You gotta have gravel in your guts.
You have to live for the smell of motor oil and high-octane fuel.
You gotta love the sound of rubber on asphalt,
and the taste of blood in your mouth.
And when you go to sleep at night, I mean that deep REM sleep,
the sound of bullets whizzing past your head should give you comfort.
So, Mr. Strong and Silent,
you made of that stuff?
If I'm not, then I die, right?
So, you want a shot?
I'll get you a shot.
Tonight. Death Pit.
Be ready to fight!
Welcome to the Death Pit, you degenerate convicts.
Tonight's final Death Match promises to be the bloodiest one yet.
The carnage is about to begin,
so, take your seats and get ready for the wildest ride yet.
Hello?
Hi, old friend.
Lists, my buddy, what you got for me?
There's a new guy.
This is his first Death Match, but Baltimore Bob says he can fight.
Could be a challenger.
What's his story?
Connor Gibson, in for felony whatever.
Two counts, six counts, who's counting,
he's in here with the rest of us.
I wish I had a few more bullet points for you, but he's a question mark.
Why don't you send me the link, and I'll check him out.
Wait. Before you go,
we're running short on spare parts, bulk ammo, CAT 5 cable.
Could you hook me up?
They'll be in on the next shipment.
Adios, amigo.
Okay, let's see what this kid's made of.
Warden, check it out.
What do you have?
They're transmitting a telecast from the Death Pit.
It's the final Death Match.
Welcome to the final Death Match.
This one's simple easy.
It's called "Capture the Keys." Here's the rules.
We're not here to see some MMA submission bullshit.
We're here to see bone-blasting,
spine-shattering fun.
It's about kill.
It's about blood and bone.
Oh, man, somebody gonna get a citation!
We're not here to see some fucking pussy tap out.
The one person who gets that set of keys
and sticks it in the ignition of that car,
wins the last spot in Death Race.
Yeah!
Adiós, suckers. Peace out.
Somebody call the police!
There's our challenger. You can't teach that.
Trash that motherfucker.
That pretty boy can punch!
Yeah, but can he drive?
Who cares, I want to know if he fucks like he fights.
RIP that motherfucker!
Yeah!
Ladies and gentlemen, let's hear it for the Butcher.
This mountain of a man has a bellyful of killing under his belt.
Having chalked up 67 body bags on the kill board.
Submission is not his thing.
Good luck out there, Connor, you got the keys,
do you have the balls?
Side bet, this pretty boy doesn't last a minute.
I'll take that action, Mita.
Oh.
Down goes Frazier!
Shit. Unbelievable.
Hot dog! Made me feel young again, shit.
I got something for you, Frankenstein. Got something for you, baby.
Bring the winner by for a talk.
With pleasure.
That's a bad motherfucker.
Wanna pay now, or shall I run up a tab?
I'll pay now. Mmm.
Frank thought you might want a fresh shirt.
I thought you might want me.
I'm not into porn stars.
You can't pass this up.
I can.
He might have something to say about that.
If you think you can make a go of it
against Frankenstein, you're wrong.
I can barely handle him, and I'm three times the man you are.
Pussy.
Was Carley hospitable?
Something like that.
You've impressed me, twice. That's not easily done.
What are your first impressions of The Sprawl?
Anarchy.
Any more than the outside world?
I think so.
Do you think you can handle being king of this mountain?
I'm just here to race.
Mmm-hmm.
Yes, but if you win, then what?
Are you ready to lead? To make hard decisions?
The Sprawl is self-sustaining, but it wasn't always this way.
When I arrived, it was a wasteland.
The Weyland corporation promoted The Sprawl
as an alternative to regular prison.
That was a lie.
The Sprawl was created as an alternative to the death penalty.
They throw us cheese, and expect us to act like rats.
They didn't expect us to evolve,
but we are, and we will.
I keep this place from anarchy.
What does this have to do with a street race?
It's not just a street race, it is who we are.
Who are you, Connor Gibson?
Nobody special.
All that could change if you win Death Race, if you defeat me.
Why would you be willing to risk losing all this power?
Death Race gives anyone the opportunity to become king.
Without that to inspire, we're nothing.
If you win, what would be your first act as king?
Haven't really thought about it.
I won because I knew exactly what I wanted to do
when I was king of this hill.
If you don't know what you want, you'll die on the track,
and The Sprawl will cheer your death.
So, the question is,
what do you want?
Come on, baby, get in.
That was insane tonight.
The answer's no, Bexie.
You don't want to ride shotgun in Death Race.
Yes, I do.
It's a death sentence.
Frank's killed people I care about.
I wanna be part of putting him down.
I'll think about it.
I thought we could have a drink.
So, who's Merry?
She your favorite groupie, or you're just really into Christmas?
It's my sister, Meredith.
She died when I was in the service.
Never got to say goodbye.
I can't change it, so, I...
I've seen a lot of bad stuff. Done a lot of bad things.
Merry was good.
Better than me, that's for sure.
I was...
I was born in Little Rock.
Son of a preacher man.
Hardly.
My old man was a grease monkey in a pair of coveralls.
His idea of a good time was drinking Dixie Beer on the porch,
and counting the fireflies.
Spent most of my young life in Sweetwater, Texas, on a salvage yard.
Merry passed away in Long Beach.
That's how I ended up there.
So, the good news is, it's a V-8 standard transmission and it runs,
but the bad news is, well, it needs tires, brakes,
a total engine overhaul, fuel cell, armor, weapons...
Man, don't bore me with a list.
Bottom line, it needs everything.
What the hell's this thing?
Your tombstone.
Bulletproof titanium plate, protects your fuel cell.
You got a navigator yet?
Hell yeah, he does!
I'm the motherfucker riding shotgun.
The hell you looking at?
I got antifreeze in my veins.
Let's build this shit.
The speedometer's been calibrated at 200 miles per hour.
Think that's all she's got?
Let's find out.
This Death Race is one lap, one day.
The race begins and ends at the Air Field.
A lot of speed here, few obstacles.
The second leg is on Interstate 94.
Most of the lesser cars will be taken out on this long stretch here.
Watch out for the highway gangs, this is their turf.
And then, you hit The Projects.
All kind of bad boys in there.
If you come out of there alive,
you end up in the Meat-Packing District.
Home free.
Driving is more important than killing.
Shoot only when you must. Think slow, drive fast.
Rule number one, keep your ass alive.
That was incredible.
Don't fucking touch me.
Hi.
So, you like cars?
Yeah. I like American Muscle.
I had a 'Vette.
Rebuilt it myself.
A 1970 LT-1.
Mmm.
Stingray.
Used to love to open her up on the highway to Vegas.
Pedal to the floor, 370 horses running hard.
Holley and Rochester Quadrajet carb
getting the mixture just right.
Momentum shift, stay off the brakes, get her on her toes.
Man, could she fly.
I bet you talk like this to all your girls.
I got nothing outside these walls.
Merry was my last connection to anything real.
So, when she died,
I made a bad decision,
wound up here, not caring about anything or anyone.
But now...
But now?
We're coming for you!
We're coming for you, boy!
Sergeant Gibson.
No one's called me that in a long time.
Connor Gibson is not the man we are coming to know.
He is a warrior,
a very decorated and specialized warrior.
Known in the shadow world of government killers for his wet work with the CIA.
Targeted killing is his forte, and I am his mark.
He's here at the behest of Weyland International.
Sent here by the fascists from the outside
because they think I've gained too much power.
They fitted him with a strap,
and he hangs around their waist like a hatchet.
There's a helicopter ride to freedom
waiting for him at the finish line.
Tell me, Sergeant, am I wrong?
Kill! Kill! Kill!
Kill him!
Sergeant Gibson...
Traitor!
...will be allowed to race.
Fuck that, Frank! What if he wins?
Then he wins! And that is what's meant to be.
Did you think I wouldn't find out?
So, tell me, who's hiding behind the mask now,
me or you?
See you on the starting line.
Stupid traitor.
Hope he dies. Semper Fi anyway, man.
Is it true?
Goodbye, Long Beach.
Jane, please.
Get your goddamn hands off of me.
I'm still one of your pit crew.
I don't care if they have sent you to kill him, or not.
He's a liar, Bob!
A liar who's working for the man.
Get over it.
He's good for business.
We've got a race to get ready for.
Get your head right, convict.
Your life depends on it.
You gotta love race day.
Are you ready, motherfuckers!
I can't hear you, you bunch of fucking pussies!
Here they are!
Welcome to Death Race, the ultimate in auto carnage.
One day, 11 drivers,
four stages, and over 250 live camera feeds...
Just like clockwork, Mr. Valentine.
This is it, last chance, Frankenstein dies, or your career dies.
Frankenstein will be in a body bag by day's end.
I hope so, for your sake.
Let's talk about the bad boys and girls that run this race.
Did you call the cops? 'Cause I didn't fucking... I didn't call...
Featuring three-time racer, Johnny Law,
and his monster police cruiser.
He's here to protect and serve.
Mornin', motherfuckers.
Two-time racer, The Fireman and his Dodge Ram Hemi.
His ass is coming through your door.
Come show mama some love.
Queen bitch of The Sprawl, Matilda The Hun,
sporting her school bus yellow Econoline van.
And first-timer, Gipsy Rose, and her badass Mini Cooper S.
With a face only a mother could love,
here's Pierced-Face and his VW Bug.
Nazi Bastard and his blood-thirsty truck from hell.
Dirt and his Formula-1 War Cycle,
counting on speed to keep him alive.
Veteran racer, Dead Man, and his killer hearse.
He didn't come here to rest in peace.
Behind the wheel of her Toyota Celica,
virgin racer, Cleopatra.
And last, but definitely least,
our resident rat fuck, Sergeant Gibson, and his big block Camaro.
He's got a bull's eye on his back.
You ready for our play-date?
You got the whole world coming after you, my man, you know that, right?
Take a walk, Bexie, I got this.
I should, but who am I to judge?
I ain't here to throw shade on you.
I'm sure you got reasons.
So, if it's all the same, I'll ride with you.
Now, give it up for your champion,
returning to the track off his seventh straight win.
The man who just won't die...
Frankenstein!
Frank, I got your number, baby!
Frank, baby!
Sometimes, I get the feeling Frank is playing chess,
and the rest of us are playing checkers.
Let her go, Frank, she's got nothing to do with any of this.
No, but she's a good insurance policy.
Let's see how cold-blooded you are.
Put her in the car.
Welcome to Death Race,
streaming live on the Dark Web to over 54 million viewers
on 250 live camera feeds.
This is the ultimate in vehicular carnage, uncut and totally rad.
Fake tits.
We should fuck her after the race.
Let's light this fire!
Now, go back and strap your sweet little ass in that chair, girl.
Come on!
Dude, let's get this party started.
Whoa!
One down, 10 to go.
This is gonna be the biggest payday ever.
Hey, Bexie, do me a favor and get those motherfuckers off my ass.
Let's blow some shit up.
Find me someone that will give me some action on Connor Gibson.
And tell them I'm all in.
Nine drivers remain, as we enter the Deadlands.
Frankenstein, Connor Gibson, and Gipsy Rose lead the pack.
Buckle up, bitches, the asphalt is running red,
and we're just getting warmed up.
Yeah!
You are going down, you sodomite motherfucker!
Take him out!
Fuck you, Fireman!
Yeah!
Now, that's a waste of some good pussy!
I couldn't have said it better myself.
Frankenstein and Benedict Arnold himself,
Connor Gibson, battle for the lead,
with Gipsy Rose and Johnny Law hanging around the front of the pack.
Let's put Frank in a body bag once and for all.
Arming missiles.
Let's see if your boyfriend's ready to bury you.
Don't do it.
Let her go, Connor, that skinny bitch ain't never coming back.
I said don't do it.
Just what I thought.
Fucking Los Muertos.
Fuck!
Suck on this, dickface!
Hold onto your titties, bitches!
Six Death Racers left.
Let's go!
Who the hell brings a VW bus to a Death Race?
You gotta hand it to these degenerates.
They put on a hell of a show.
Our tombstone can't hold out much longer.
Somebody call 911!
Lose this psycho.
Missed, motherfucker!
Fish on!
We're hooked.
Hang on, Bexie, I got an idea.
What are you doing, motherfucker?
Here, fishy, fishy.
Come out and play.
Shh...
Fuck me, this traitor and his bitch, Bexie, just burned down The Fireman.
Only five Death Racers left as they head into The Projects.
Frankenstein is still in the lead,
with Gipsy Rose a close second,
and Connor Gibson's eating everyone's dust, dead last.
Fucking Death Race!
Hey, you!
Did you do this?
No, we did!
Just the man I was gunnin' for.
How ya doin', Wonder Bread?
Stupid motherfucker!
Fick dich, Schwarzer!
Oh, no, he didn't!
Did he just say what I think he said?
Yeah, but in German.
Whoo!
You and your bitch brought your skinhead shit
to the wrong part of town.
Get ready to play!
We gotta reroute him over the bridge.
He's too far out to win this race.
I'm not telling him.
Get him online.
Talk to me, Bob.
We need to reroute you over the bridge.
The bridge is out.
Why the fuck are you rerouting me there?
You're too far behind, you have to jump the gap.
What are we talking about, like 50 feet?
More like, 250 feet.
That's your only chance if you wanna win.
I have to win.
No one's gonna shed a tear for Nazi Bastard and his nasty little Fräulein.
I mean, boo-hoo, it's not a real loss to the planet Earth.
Four drivers remain.
Frankenstein and Gipsy Rose have opened up a big lead
on Johnny Law and Connor Gibson.
So, how do we do this, Bob?
You've gotta hit the gap at 220 miles an hour. There's a ramp there.
It's not the first time this has been tried.
Nah, we're only calibrated to 200 miles an hour.
Don't worry, she'll get you up to 220.
Anyone ever made this jump before?
On paper, the math works.
What about the landing?
Well, I ain't gonna lie to you, it's gonna be a hard one.
If you get your angle right, you might live.
Yeah, fuck you very much.
That rat fuck is back.
Punk-ass bitch!
That worked well.
Yeah!
Okay, let's get this done already.
Take your next left, the bridge is five miles out.
That's your only chance.
You like this play, Bob?
It's your only play.
I'll see you on the other side.
You should get out, Bexie. We're all out of road.
Not fucking happening.
The minute I got in this car with you, I was all in.
So, let's do this. It's just gravity.
We're maxing out at 209.
I'm dropping the tombstone.
Come on, come on.
Yeah!
Yeah, all right!
Told you the math worked.
I could suck you off right now.
I can't believe what I just saw.
Connor Gibson jumped the bridge,
putting him right back in the thick of it.
Motherfucker got game.
Come on, kid, don't let me down! You gotta win this race.
Here comes your boyfriend.
Hey, Bex, patch me through to Frank.
Hey, Frankie.
Hey, Connor, glad you showed for your date with destiny.
I knew it'd come down to us.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
We can start shooting at each other, or we can drive.
What do you prefer?
Let's drive.
We're running out of time, take him out already!
What's going on?
His fuel cell's empty.
What the fuck! Drive, Connor!
We're out of gas.
Fuel line's ruptured.
Don't do it. Just turn around and win your race.
This is Death Race. He has to die.
He knows it.
He chose it.
All right!
That's our cue, send in the chopper.
It's already en route.
Get the fuck out of here!
I got you, I got you, Jane.
Jam the broadcast to the Dark Web.
But this is good stuff...
Just do it! Cut it for five minutes.
Shit.
This is what the Warden wants.
He wants Frank's death on display.
We give it to him, we lose.
Fuck him.
Job's done, let's go.
Hold on.
They sent two of us?
Insurance. Pretty wild, huh?
And thanks for the assist.
Everybody was so focused on you, I flew under the radar.
Let's get the fuck out of this shit hole.
Frankenstein's dead, job well done.
Oh, and, by the way,
we're all square, now.
Twenty seconds, and I'm gone.
Connor, listen up.
Put on the mask, become Frankenstein.
The Sprawl will never follow Connor Gibson.
They follow Frankenstein.
Without him, chaos.
Let's finish this race, Long Beach.
Now, put Death Race back online.
Goldberg's gonna be pissed. He put heavy action on Connor.
Easy come, easy go.
Fuck you, Valentine.
Yeah!