A massive holographic "GO!" blared across the sky in searing red letters, and the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers.
All the racers shot forward like missiles.
Except one.
MeMe sat frozen, eyes wide as the roar of engines and wind shook the platform.
"H-Huh?" she stammered. "Wait, is this—did it—is it happening now?!"
Ro-Ro leaned halfway out of the cockpit, hair whipping in the wind, glaring at her.
"WOMAN!" he bellowed. "THE RACE HAS STARTED! CHOP CHOP AND DRIVE THIS BITCH!"
"R-Right!! Sorry!!" MeMe squeaked, slamming her foot on the pedal.
The Streak-9 jolted forward like a startled animal, nearly tossing them into a spiraling curve. Her hands trembled on the wheel, heart pounding like a drumline in her chest.
Then—BAM!
A towering Fortress Class racer slammed into their side like a wrecking ball, sending sparks flying. The Streak-9 shuddered violently.
"GAH!" MeMe screamed. "What was that?!"
Ro-Ro gritted his teeth. "One of those rolling bunkers just sideswiped us!"
Without hesitation, he reached into his coat and pulled a gold-plated Desert Eagle from his pocket, sunlight catching the polished metal as he cocked it with a sharp snap.
"Wait—what are you doing with a gun?!" MeMe shouted, panic spiking.
Ro-Ro's eyes blazed with fury. "Trying to shoot the bastard!"
Another slam rocked them, nearly flipping the Streak-9. The Fortress Class loomed beside them, its armored frame glowing with shields. Inside, the pilot smirked, ready to crush them outright.
Ro-Ro squinted, aimed—and fired.
A sharp crack echoed through the chaos. The bullet punched through the reinforced glass and into the pilot's neck. The man jerked, lost control, and spiraled into the side barriers—taking two other racers with him in a fireball of wreckage.
MeMe gasped, eyes wide in horror.
"RO-RO!! You—you shot him?!"
Ro-Ro didn't even flinch. He tucked the gun under the dash and leaned back, wind still howling.
He spoke calmly, coldly.
"They would've done the same to us."
A pause. Then a smirk.
"…I just didn't wait for them to get lucky."
MeMe gripped the wheel tighter, shaken. She stared straight ahead, glowing eyes reflecting the chaos ahead.
She swallowed hard. "This race is insane…"
Ro-Ro cracked his neck, laughing like it was just a warm-up round.
"Welcome to the Iron Circuit, sunshine."
Announcer: "Look at that! John Shell is tearing through the ranks—easily leaving the others behind!"
John leaned back in his seat, smirking as his Velocity Class racer weaved flawlessly between obstacles.
Man, this is easy. There's no way I'm losing. With the Velocity Class, I'll definitely—
CRACK!
A single bullet punched through his windshield, striking him square between the eyes. His body slumped forward, and his vehicle veered violently, crashing into two other racers with a deafening metal screech.
Announcer (shocked): "Shell is down! He's down! Wait—wait just a minute—what is that?! That wasn't just a crash—that was an execution!"
From the smoke and chaos, a sleek, barely visible vehicle slipped by like a shadow—a Ghost Class car.
Announcer: "It's Jose Brown! That's right, folks—he's back! This is his second time in the Iron Circuit, and he's already living up to his reputation!"
Jose POV
He sat low in the seat of his silent-hovering Ghost Class, one arm resting casually on the wheel. His cat—a glitching, cyber-enhanced feline—flickered before vanishing into full stealth mode.
"Tch," Jose muttered. "Pathetic tonto. I hate it when someone gets too cocky."
His smirk deepened. "Only I, Jose Brown, get to be cocky."
Back with Ro-Ro and MeMe
MeMe squinted through the cracked windshield. "Ro-Ro… what's that? I see so many floating… things."
Ro-Ro glanced upward and scowled. "Blimps. Loaded with rich bastards watching us. Betting on who lives or dies."
She blinked. "Betting…? On us?"
Ro-Ro snorted. "Yeah. Bunch of pigs. Drinking wine, playing god. They don't give a shit about the race—just bloodshed and drama."
Inside the blimp
A luxurious lounge hovered high above the race. Crystal glasses clinked. Laughter echoed. Wealthy spectators reclined on velvet lounges, watching chaos unfold on massive digital screens.
"Well!" one man exclaimed. "I do hope we get some bloodshed soon. I'm getting bored."
"I bet on that girl—Sky," another said, swirling wine. "Her profile pic made her look tough."
"I voted KL. Don't know much, but he looks cool."
They turned toward the end of the lounge where a sharp-dressed man sipped from a champagne flute. Slicked-back white hair shimmered under the lights. A pristine white suit. Square-rimmed glasses with orange lenses.
"What about you, Mr. White?"
He smiled faintly, setting the flute down. "Jose Brown."
The others blinked. "Really?"
One man scoffed. "Isn't he poor and weak? A nobody. Also… Mexican."
White turned slowly. "No need to bring race into this."
"…Sorry," the man muttered.
White adjusted his glasses. "He has that hunger. That quiet desperation—when survival becomes indistinguishable from victory."
A woman leaned in. "Are you picking him because you already know he's going to win? Is this race scripted? I mean—you did create it."
White chuckled. "I may be a quadrillionaire… and devilishly handsome… but no, I wouldn't script this."
He watched as Jose's car ghosted through fire and wreckage.
"I'm very interested to see who wins."
BOOM!
An explosion tore through the track as a racer casually pulled a rocket launcher from his back seat and fired point-blank into the car ahead.
"Oh my god! They have rocket launchers?!"
"Yep," Ro-Ro muttered. "Let's not get near that psycho."
Flaming debris bounced off the windshield as MeMe jerked the wheel, narrowly avoiding another wreck.
"A.I., how many racers are left?!"
"Approximately 999,108 humans and aliens remain."
"God damn," Ro-Ro spat. "They're dropping like flies."
MeMe clipped a sleek blue Velocity Class racer.
"Sorry!" she called.
Ro-Ro grinned. "No need to be sorry. You're finally not acting like a—"
The blue racer slammed into them.
"Hey! What'd you do that for?!"
"Screw you, damn alien!" the racer snarled.
Ro-Ro growled. "Okay. This motherfucker's pissing me off."
He yanked out the Desert Eagle. The racer dodged and pulled a massive shotgun.
"Shit!"
"Step on it—HARDER!"
MeMe floored it. The engine screamed as they blasted through chaos.
"That guy's insane!"
"That's why you hit back," Ro-Ro snapped. "Or shoot first."
MeMe swallowed. "I didn't think it'd be this violent…"
"This ain't Earth," Ro-Ro said. "Fast, brutal, or dead."
Behind them, shotgun blasts screamed past.
MeMe's eyes hardened. She shifted lanes—on her own.
Ro-Ro smirked. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about."