Ro-Ro stepped outside, the bell over the door jingling behind him. The midday sun cast a glare across the dusty road, heat waves rising from the cracked pavement. There, standing across from the diner’s front steps, was the man—tall, motionless.
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His hair fell in sharp bangs that framed his pale, stone-carved face, and his cold gray eyes locked onto Ro-Ro like a scope. Neither of them moved for a moment.
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Ro-Ro tilted his head, cracking his neck. “So you’re the creepy guy giving me bedroom eyes through the damn window.” He smirked. “What? You want a kiss? An autograph? Or are you just gonna keep staring at me like a zombie craving a face buffet?”
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The man didn’t blink. His voice was low, gravelly, but deliberate. “You… Ro-Ro. I know who you are.”
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Ro-Ro raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Yeah? That makes one of us.”
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“I joined this race,” the man continued, “for one reason—to kill you. I’ve been paid very, very well to drag your screaming corpse out of that car of yours.”
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Ro-Ro blinked, then frowned. “Huh? Paid? The hell are you talking about?”
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The man took a slow step forward, fists clenched. “I am LuMo. And I’m going to kill you slow. Painful. Like twisting a knife into your gut and spinning it like I’m opening a goddamn doorknob.”
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Ro-Ro stared at him blankly, then slowly clapped. “Wow. That was cute. Poetry night at the psychopath café?”
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LuMo’s eye twitched.
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Ro-Ro casually brushed past him.
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“What are you doing?” LuMo growled.
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Ro-Ro held up a finger. “Shhh.”
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He strolled right past the assassin and headed to a nearby vending machine shaped like a giant pink cat. It had cartoonish eyes and a mouth for a dispenser. He pressed a glowing button labeled #3: G-MAX Energy and dropped a coin into the slot.
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The machine meowed twice: “Meow! Meow!” Then hissed as a cold can rolled out.
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Ro-Ro squatted down, grabbed the drink, popped the tab, and chugged without hesitation. The silver can hissed with neon vapor as the liquid disappeared into him.
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LuMo clenched his fists, veins bulging in his neck. “What… the HELL… are you?”
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Ro-Ro held up his finger again. Shhh.
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Then he finished the can, let out a loud burp, and tossed it into a trash bin behind him without looking.
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“Sorry,” he said, wiping his mouth. “My throat was dry.”
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LuMo roared, pointing a shaking finger at him. “You STUPID SON OF A BITCH! You drank a damn energy drink—while we were about to fight!”
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Ro-Ro cracked his knuckles, eyes flashing with that familiar cocky fire. “Well, yeah. Can’t beat the brakes off a lunatic while parched, can I?”
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He took a step forward, his smile turning razor-sharp. “Now that I’m hydrated…”
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He slammed his fists together. “I’m ready.”
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LuMo's eyes gleamed with bloodlust as he pulled out a serrated combat knife, the blade humming with a faint electric current.
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"I'm going to enjoy this," he whispered, licking his teeth.
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Ro-Ro’s face twisted in disgust. “I bet you would, you horny bastard.”
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His hand darted to the back of his pants to grab his Desert Eagle—but before he could even grip the handle, LuMo was gone. A gust of wind slammed into Ro-Ro’s chest—then pain.
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LuMo appeared like a phantom, already driving his blade into Ro-Ro’s forearm with a sickening metallic crunch.
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“What the hell—” Ro-Ro growled, staring at his damaged robotic arm.
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LuMo grinned, his breath hot against Ro-Ro’s cheek. “I’ve got implants. Speed boosters wired straight into my nervous system. I move faster than the roadrunner now. Upgrade ‘em a little more? I’ll be faster than light.”
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He yanked the knife out and blurred backwards, boots skidding on the dirt.
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Ro-Ro took a step back, glancing at the torn metal casing and twitching servos in his arm. “Well shit… I might actually lose here.”
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LuMo flashed a fang-toothed grin. “No, no. You will lose.”
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Ro-Ro gritted his teeth and whipped out his gun, firing three quick shots. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. LuMo zig-zagged through the narrow alley of parked cars, narrowly avoiding each bullet, sparks dancing behind him.
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Ro-Ro ducked behind a rusted-out hover truck, his breath quick. Damn it… he’s fast. Too fast. But if I can get my hands on him… it’s game over.
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Across the lot, LuMo crouched behind a red coupe, his mind racing. So that arm’s upgraded—figures. But he’s sluggish. He relies on power. If he catches me, I’m screwed.
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He peeked over the hood—nothing.
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He ducked. “Where the hell did he—”
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His eyes flicked down. A boot.
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Ro-Ro’s foot rested just beside the tire of a nearby car. LuMo’s eyes widened. Smart bastard.
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Without hesitation, LuMo sprinted toward the next car over—and there he was. Ro-Ro. Surprised, wide-eyed.
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Too late.
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LuMo tackled him with a brutal left hook, then another. Fists like thunderclaps. Ro-Ro grunted, stumbling back from the barrage.
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Until—SNAP.
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Ro-Ro caught both of LuMo’s fists mid-swing. His fingers locked around LuMo’s wrists like steel clamps.
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Ro-Ro grinned. “Gotcha, you slippery bastard.”
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WHAM! He headbutted LuMo directly on the bridge of his nose—CRACK—and hurled him bodily through the air. LuMo’s body bounced off a car hood with a sickening thud, rolling onto the pavement in a groan.
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Ro-Ro looked at the street and there were no more vehicles and sighed. “Man, no more damn cars. Ah shit—we’re dead last.”
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His eyes narrowed again as LuMo sprang back to his feet. Ro-Ro raised his gun and squeezed off two more shots. LuMo, zigzagging like a demon, ran straight past the bullets and toward Ro-Ro.
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Before Ro-Ro could react, LuMo grabbed the waistband of his shorts from behind, lifted him like a sack of trash—and hurled him through the air.
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Ro-Ro slammed into the cat-shaped vending machine, glass shattering and spearing into his back like crystalline claws. He slumped down, blood trailing from his mouth.
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“Shit…” he wheezed.
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LuMo lunged, bringing his blade down straight for Ro-Ro’s skull—but Ro-Ro twisted his head left at the last moment. The blade missed, and LuMo’s fist punched straight into the jagged glass.
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“AGHHH!” LuMo shrieked as shards sliced through his knuckles.
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Ro-Ro didn’t miss the chance.
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He rose like a beast, arm pistons firing, and unleashed a fury of punches into LuMo’s torso—each one a sledgehammer. One, two, three, FOUR brutal strikes to the ribs, lifting LuMo off the ground.
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Then—SNIKT.
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LuMo stabbed him.
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The blade sunk deep into Ro-Ro’s gut, twisting.
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“GAAH—!” Ro-Ro staggered back, clutching his abdomen.
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LuMo backed away, panting, blood dripping from his own hand.
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“You see?” he hissed. “I stabbed you. Just like I said.”
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He grinned with cracked teeth. “Looks like I’m the winner after all.”
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Ro-Ro dropped to one knee, a ragged breath tearing through his throat. Blood dripped from his lip as he coughed hard, spitting red into the dirt.
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"Shit..." he muttered, eyes narrowing.
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His robotic eyes whirred quietly—thermal scan activating, depth perception sharpening, HUD flickering with digital overlays. A heat signature flickered behind LuMo. Ro-Ro smirked through the pain.
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“Heh... you sure got me, huh?” he chuckled weakly, wobbling a little.
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LuMo stood tall, blade dripping with blood, his hand still bandaged in slivers of glass. He smiled down like a man admiring a painting he just finished stabbing.
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“Of course I got you,” LuMo said, stepping forward. “You think I joined this race just for the prize money? Nah. I wanted this. To see you crawl. To see you bleed.”
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Ro-Ro looked up, his expression dim at first, then something sparked. His lips curled into a crooked, defiant grin.
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“Yeah? Well then...” Ro-Ro muttered, voice low. “Got you.”
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LuMo blinked. “Wh—?”
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SCREEEEEECH—CRASH!!!
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A car roared from the side alley—MeMe’s ride, Streak-9, on autopilot—and slammed into LuMo’s back at full speed, metal bending and bones cracking as LuMo was thrown like a ragdoll into a pile of shattered glass and bent car doors.
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“What the FUCK—!” LuMo shrieked as he was crushed against the wall.
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Ro-Ro groaned and stood slowly, yanking the blood-soaked knife from his gut and tossing it aside with a clatter.
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“I knew you were gonna walk over here all dramatic and shit,” Ro-Ro said, wiping blood from his chin. “So I timed the autopilot on the car… just right. Waited for your dumbass to hit your mark.”
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He staggered toward LuMo, who was now dazed, broken, and coughing against the car hood.
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Ro-Ro’s footsteps were heavy and uneven, his body bruised and leaking red—but his eyes were burning.
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He cracked his knuckles. “Now…”
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He raised his fist.
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“…time for your bedtime.”
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WHAM!
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Ro-Ro's punch landed flush on LuMo's jaw, a devastating hammer blow that snapped his head sideways. LuMo’s eyes rolled up, and he slumped over unconscious, collapsing to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.
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Ro-Ro stared down at him, chest heaving, sweat and blood mixing on his brow.
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He exhaled sharply, then muttered, “Dumbass…”
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His legs gave out, and he dropped to the ground beside LuMo, flat on his back, arms spread wide.
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“...I hate Mondays.”
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