They rode out into the grey, smog-choked wasteland.
The transition from the neon-lit alleys of the Margin to the absolute desolation of the Deficit Zone was instant. There were no paved roads out here. There were no buildings. There was only an endless expanse of cracked, dry earth and thick clouds of toxic grey dust that choked the air.
Three sleek, aerodynamic hover bikes tore across the flat wasteland.
They were 'Void-Runner' Grav-Bikes, painted pitch-black. The glowing blue thrusters at their rear hummed quietly, pushing them forward at terrifying speeds. They hovered just two feet above the cracked earth, gliding over the rough terrain like mechanical predators hunting in the dark.
Arthur Sterling rode in the center. His dark, tailored charcoal suit flapped wildly in the harsh wind. He did not wear a helmet. He just squinted his pitch-black eyes against the stinging dust. He looked completely out of place in the apocalyptic desert, yet entirely in control.
