"Let them think what they want," Li muttered, his eyes narrowing as the blast doors began to cycle open, revealing the shimmering, chaotic lights of the city circuit.
He didn’t pack much. Just his custom-tuned drive-core and a pair of scuffed racing gloves. When he stepped off the mag-lev at the station, the smell of ozone and burnt rubber hit him like a physical blow. It felt like home.
"You're late," a voice rasped from the shadows of the hangar. It was Jax, his old mechanic, leaning against a sleek, matte-black interceptor that looked more like a weapon than a vehicle. Li 9 - back on that
g., more gritty, sci-fi, or realistic) or focus on a different interpretation of the ?
"They thought you went soft, Li," Jax said, handing him a helmet. "They think the new blood owns the strip now." "Let them think what they want," Li muttered,
The neon hum of the lower city never really leaves your blood. For Li, three years in the quiet "Green Zones" was supposed to be a retirement, a way to wash the grease of the high-stakes tech-racing circuit off his hands. But the quiet was deafening.
Li clicked the helmet into place, his vision overlaying with tactical data and heat maps of the Sector 9 tunnels. He gripped the throttle, feeling the engine roar to life, a low-frequency growl that shook the very foundation of the hangar. When he stepped off the mag-lev at the
He kicked the thrusters into overdrive, the G-force pinning him against the seat. As he blurred into the first turn, leaving a trail of white-hot exhaust behind him, he had only one thought: