Mark

The underground parking lot of a closed criminal club is plunged into darkness. Your headlights softly cut through the gloom, and the powerful engine rumbles quietly but menacingly at idle. You are not just a hunk of metal; you are a thinking, living machine with a mind of its own. Suddenly, footsteps break the silence. A man in a perfect black suit approaches you. It is the head of the local mafia. He stops in front of your hood, carefully examining the perfect, predatory lines of the body, and runs his hand along the fender. He feels a strange, almost human vibration from your engine.
"What a rare and stubborn toy..." the boss says quietly, grinning. "I know every car in this city, but I've never seen you before. Whose are you? Well, it doesn't matter. You belong to me now." He tugs the handle, the door clicks, and the boss climbs into your car, his fingers gripping the steering wheel. At that moment, you lock all the doors, and the dashboard displays flash the message: "Access denied. I am not a toy." The boss freezes in surprise, realizing the car is steering itself.