A massive holographic "GO!" blared across the sky in searing red letters, and the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers.
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All the racers shot forward like missiles.
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Except one.
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MeMe sat frozen, eyes wide as the roar of engines and wind shook the platform.
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"H-Huh?" she stammered. "Wait, is this—did it—is it happening now?!"
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Ro-Ro leaned halfway out of the cockpit, hair whipping in the wind, glaring at her.
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"WOMAN!" he bellowed. "THE RACE HAS STARTED! CHOP CHOP AND DRIVE THIS BITCH!"
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"R-Right!! Sorry!!" MeMe squeaked, slamming her foot on the pedal.
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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.
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Then—BAM!
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A towering Fortress Class racer slammed into their side like a wrecking ball, sending sparks flying. The Streak-9 shuddered violently.
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"GAH!" MeMe screamed. "What was that?!"
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Ro-Ro gritted his teeth. "One of those rolling bunkers just sideswiped us!"
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Without hesitation, he reached into his coat and pulled a gold-plated Desert Eagle from his pocket, the sunlight catching the polished metal as he cocked it with a sharp snap.
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"Wait—what are you doing with a gun?!" MeMe shouted, panic spiking.
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Ro-Ro eyes blazing with fury. “Trying to shoot the bastard!”
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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.
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Ro-Ro squinted, aimed—and fired.
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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.
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MeMe gasped, eyes wide in horror.
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"RO-RO!! You—you shot him?!"
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Ro-Ro didn’t even flinch, just tucked the gun back under the dash and leaned back, wind still howling.
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He spoke calmly, coldly:
“They would've done the same to us.”
A pause. Then, he smirked.
“...I just didn’t wait for them to get lucky.”
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MeMe gripped the wheel tighter, shaken. She stared straight ahead, wind whipping through her hair, glowing eyes reflecting the chaos ahead.
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She swallowed hard. “This race is insane…”
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Ro-Ro cracked his neck, letting out a laugh like it was all just a warm-up round.
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“Welcome to the Iron Circuit, sunshine.”
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Announcer: "Look at that! John Shell is tearing through the ranks—easily leaving the others behind!"
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Cut to John Shell’s POV.
John leaned back in his seat, smirking as his Velocity Class racer weaved flawlessly between obstacles.
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John (thinking): Man, this is easy. There’s no way I’m losing. With the Velocity Class, I’ll definitely—
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CRACK!
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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.
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Announcer (shocked): "Shell is down! He’s down! Wait a minute—wait just a minute—what is that?! That wasn’t just a crash—that was an execution!"
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From the smoke and chaos, a sleek, barely-visible vehicle slipped by like a shadow—a Ghost Class car.
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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!"
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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.
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Jose mutters "Tch. Pathetic tonto. I hate it when someone gets too cocky."
His smirk deepened. "Only I, Jose Brown, get to be cocky."
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Back with Ro-Ro and MeMe.
MeMe squinted through the cracked windshield. “Ro-Ro… what’s that? I see so many floating… things.”
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Ro-Ro glanced upward and scowled. “Blimps. Loaded with rich bastards watching us. Betting on who lives or dies.”
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She blinked. “Betting…? On us?”
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Ro-Ro snorted. “Yeah. Bunch of pigs. Drinking wine, playing god. They don’t give a shit about the race—just bloodshed and drama.”
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Inside the blimp
A luxurious lounge hovered high above the race. Crystal glasses clinked. Laughter echoed. Wealthy spectators reclined on velvet lounges, watching the chaos unfold on massive digital screens.
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“Well!” one man exclaimed. “I do hope we get some bloodshed soon. I’m getting bored.”
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“I bet on that girl—Sky,” another said, swirling wine. “Her profile pic made her look tough.”
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“I voted KL. Don’t know much, but he looks cool.”
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They turned toward the end of the lounge where a sharp-dressed man sipped from a champagne flute. His slicked-back white hair shimmered under the lights. He wore a pristine white suit and square-rimmed glasses with orange lenses.
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“What about you, Mr. White?”
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He smiled faintly, setting the flute down. “Jose Brown.”
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The others blinked. “Really?”
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One man scoffed. “Isn’t he poor and weak? A nobody. Also... Mexican.”
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White turned to him slowly. “No need to bring race into this.”
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“…Sorry,” the man mumbled.
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White adjusted his glasses, eyes cool. “He has that hunger. I’ve seen it before. That quiet desperation. That fire in the eyes when survival becomes indistinguishable from victory.”
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One woman leaned in. “Are you picking him because you already know he's going to win, is this race is scripted? I mean, you did create it.”
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White chuckled, shaking his head. “I may be a quadrillionaire… and devilishly handsome… but no, I wouldn’t script this.”
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He looked back at the screen where Jose's car ghosted through fire and wreckage like a predator.
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“I’m very interested to see who wins.”
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BOOM!
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An explosion tore through the track as a racer on the far left casually pulled a rocket launcher from his back seat and fired it point-blank into the car ahead. Metal twisted, flames burst, and screams echoed before silence took its place.
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"Oh my god! They have rocket launchers!?"
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"Yep," Ro-Ro muttered, eyes narrowing. "Let’s not get near that psycho."
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Flaming debris bounced off the windshield as MeMe jerked the steering wheel to the right, narrowly avoiding another spinning vehicle.
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"A.I., how many racers are left?!"
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"Approximately 999,108 humans and aliens remain in the race."
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"God damn," Ro-Ro spat, watching two more vehicles flip in the rearview. "They’re dropping like flies in a bug zapper."
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MeMe accidentally clipped the side of a sleek blue Velocity Class racer. Its engine flared as it swerved back into place.
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"Sorry!" she called out nervously.
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Ro-Ro gave her a grin. "Hey, no need to be sorry. You’re finally not acting like a—"
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Before he could finish, the blue racer slammed into them hard, shaking the entire vehicle and nearly spinning them out.
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"Hey! What’d you do that for?! I said I was sorry!" MeMe shouted.
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"Screw you, damn alien!" the racer growled through his comm, sneering as he bumped them again, sending their car careening sideways into another racer.
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Ro-Ro growled. "Okay, this motherfucker’s pissing me off."
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He reached down, kicked open a panel beneath the dash, and yanked out his gold-plated Desert Eagle. He aimed it toward the racer’s cockpit, but the bastard was ready—he yanked hard to the left and dodged just in time.
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"You wanna play? Fine. Let's play!" the man snapped, pulling a massive 4-style shotgun from his passenger seat and aiming it square at them.
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"Shit!" Ro-Ro hissed, grabbing the wheel and yanking it. Their car clipped the side of the blue racer, throwing off his aim.
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"Step on it—HARDER!"
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MeMe gulped, teeth gritted as her foot slammed the pedal to the floor. The Velocity Class engine roared like a demon let loose, and their car streaked forward past a cluster of fighting racers, weaving between flaming wrecks and near-misses.
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"That guy’s insane!" she shouted, heart pounding.
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"No shit. That’s why we keep our distance from that bitch," Ro-Ro snapped, panting. He holstered the gun again. "Next time, if someone bumps you, bump back harder. Or shoot first. I’m not picky."
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MeMe hesitated, still shaking. "I didn’t think it would be this violent..."
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"Sweetheart," Ro-Ro said, cocking an eyebrow. "This ain’t Earth. This is the Iron Circuit. You’re either fast, brutal, or dead. Your call."
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Behind them, the blue racer screamed something incoherent as he chased, firing wild shotgun blasts that missed by inches.
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MeMe’s eyes narrowed. Her hands tightened on the wheel. And without another word, she shifted lanes—on her own—dodging through chaos like a ghost.
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Ro-Ro glanced at her, almost impressed. "Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about."
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