The dust thickened into a living wall, grinding against the Streak-9 like claws across steel. The sky had vanished. Everything was a blur of sand, static, and roaring wind.
MeMe squinted through the haze. "W–what is this?"
Ro-ro held the wheel tight, the engine rattling beneath him. "It's a dust storm. An ensemble of particles of dust—or sometimes sand—energetically lifted to great heights by a strong and turbulent wind. Happens in zones like this where the ground's dry and loose. Real easy for the wind to weaponize it."
MeMe blinked, trying to focus. "Ohhh…"
Ro-ro scanned ahead. "Let's hope we make it. I think I see other vehicles up ahead."
The sky burned orange, the ground vibrating with each thunderclap.
Meanwhile, in the chaos ahead...
The War Class (Type IV – Red) convoy had slowed down. Their machines, loaded with heavy guns and missile racks, were beginning to sputter. Some had already stalled, engines choking on dust, space-fuel drained from overclocking through earlier checkpoints.
Inside one of the larger War Class rigs, an alien with scabbed horns and three black goggles laughed as he slammed a red button on the dash. From the hood, a rotating machine gun burst upward, spinning like a death flower. He opened fire on the nearest racer, bullets slicing across paint and flesh alike.
"AYYYY! WELCOME TO HELL, BABY!" he screamed.
Other War Class racers saw him and followed suit—missile pods opened, blaster turrets locked on. One fired blindly, hitting another War Class rig square in the side. The explosion swallowed both vehicles.
It didn't stop them. The War Class had gone full feral.
High above in the blimp, the announcer's voice crackled to life over the broadcast.
"LADIES AND GENTLESCUM, the War Class is officially UNHINGED! The Gauntlet of Grit has transformed into an open warzone! Blood, sand, and shrapnel—just the way we like it!"
another war class racer named sky who towering woman draped in a pink longcoat, narrowed her feline eyes from behind her sleek red mask. Her car twisted elegantly between blasts, cybernetic limbs flicking across controls like a pianist with a grudge.
"Idiots… only now they start shooting?" she muttered. "Where is that Jose… He might actually be trouble."
Her car jerked from the impact of a rear missile. No-Trace's eyes narrowed. In her mirror, a War Class rig roared forward, targeting her.
She twisted the wheel, spun her car in a flawless backflip, and launched a micro-missile directly into the War Class engine. The rig exploded behind her in a storm of gears and fire. Her car spun back forward like a ballet move made of death.
"Pathetic," she whispered.
Elsewhere in the storm—nothing. Just silence.
A section of air shimmered slightly, like heat over asphalt.
Then—click.
Inside an invisible Ghost Class vehicle, Jose Brown sat with deadly stillness, the glow from his scope dancing across his face.
Slim, cold, and unreadable, he adjusted the rifle mount in front of him. His roll-neck sweater clung to his frame. His retro jeans were dusty, boots silent against the modified floor. The "High J" on his back shifted as the car hovered ghost-like through the fog.
In his sights: Kai. A Ghost Class rival. Fur jacket, fingerless gloves, bolero hat. Unaware. Visible.
Jose licked his teeth slowly.
"I know who you are..." he whispered to himself, adjusting the zoom. "Kai. Freakishly good driver. Unpredictable. Fast hands. Controlled turns. You're bad for business."
His eyes narrowed.
"But you made a mistake... You didn't cloak. Maybe you think no one's close. Maybe you think you're safe."
He dialed in the wind resistance. The bullet chamber clicked.
"You're not."
Through the sand, a faint shimmer appeared—another invisible car. Jose didn't flinch.
"Another Ghost Class..." he muttered. "Cute."
He switched targets instantly. The shimmer solidified. A racer raised their head, just barely visible.
Jose fired.
The bullet tore through the dust like lightning, slammed into the other Ghost-class windshield, and exploded red mist across the inside of the cabin. The shimmer blinked out. That racer was gone.
Jose exhaled slowly.
"Wrong ghost," he muttered.
Up above, the announcer practically screamed with joy.
"AND WE'VE GOT SNIPERS IN THE STORM, FOLKS! THE GHOST CLASS IS LIVING UP TO THE NAME—INVISIBLE, DEADLY, AND ABSOLUTELY RELENTLESS!"
Back in the storm, another War Class racer yelled from their rig.
"HEY, WHOEVER'S SHOOTIN' GHOSTS—COME TRY ME!"
He pulled out a crowbar, leapt from his rig onto a passing vehicle, and slammed it into the windshield screaming, "DEATH STORM BABY!!!"
His foot slipped.
He was flung straight into the sandstorm and sucked into a whirl of wind and fire. Gone.
Back in his seat, Jose didn't blink. No smile. No reaction. His voice low, cold.
"Animals."
He pressed a button. His car shifted direction—faster now, quieter. The next bullet was already loaded.
Just as he was about to pull the trigger—
BOOM! An explosion in the sandstorm knocked a War Class car directly between him and Kai.
"Tch—" Jose clicked his tongue, swerving to avoid the debris.
He vanished again into the storm, whispering, "Another time, Kai… another time."
As bullets sliced past them and a War Class racer exploded ahead, MeMe screamed, shielding her face.
"R-Ro-Ro, they're SHOOTING at each other!"
Ro-Ro laughed, half-mad, swerving between two burning husks of wrecked cars.
"YEAH! WAR CLASS FINALLY WOKE UP! About time the psychos started doing what they're built for!"
MeMe ducked as a bullet cracked their windshield. "This is insane!"
Ro-Ro's grin widened. "This is awesome!"
Meanwhile: Kai's car, sleek and black like a panther mid-pounce, sliced through the raging storm, his bolero hat fluttering from the force. Dust slammed against his windshield like a tidal wave of grit, but he barely flinched.
He smirked, eyes narrowed behind tinted lenses.
"So… Jose's trying to kill me, huh?" he chuckled, as if the idea amused him. "Haha… dumbass. I ain't going down that easy."
Suddenly, something massive loomed in his rear-view mirror—something slow, green, and hulking.
The announcer's voice cut in, nearly drowned by the sound of sand and explosions.
"Wait a minute—IS THAT FORTRESS CLASS?! You bet your ass it is! Fridde Draco, ladies and gentlemen! The slowest vehicle in the entire race has made it to the frontlines during a sandstorm! HOW?! Nobody knows—but that monstrous metal coffin is here!"
From behind, Fridde Draco's vehicle rumbled like an earthquake—a fortress on wheels. The ground cracked beneath each tire roll. His car looked like a mobile bunker, complete with armor plating, reinforced cannons, and a front grill shaped like a metallic dragon jaw.
Inside, Fridde Draco, a towering cyborg, sat hunched in his cockpit, thick cords plugged into the base of his spine, face a grotesque mix of cold steel and faded flesh. His jaw was completely mechanical—he barely looked human anymore.
He sneered, voice booming through external speakers with an unnatural metallic echo:
"KAI... I SEES YOU."
Kai snapped his head to the side, already annoyed.
"What is with people being obsessed with me? Am I Jesus Christ reincarnated or something?"
Fridde's massive vehicle suddenly lurched forward, using its sheer bulk to slam into Kai's sleek Ghost-Class. The impact sent Kai's car skidding sideways—tires slicing up rock and sand as the velocity gauge screamed.
Kai struggled for control, jerking the wheel. "WHAT THE HELL?!"
Fridde's glowing red eyes shifted to the side. His smirk was slow and hateful.
"Look at you, Kai… You're like a FLY compared to me."
He slammed into Kai again, this time shoving him into the jagged stone teeth of the canyon wall.
The camera feed caught sparks flying as metal screeched—Kai's car crushed against rocks, its right flank crumpling under the pressure.
The camera feed crackled, distorting in the thick waves of dust, then refocused just in time to catch the Ghost-Class vehicle of Kai embedded in the side of a jagged rock face—its sleek exterior now dented, scorched, and bleeding smoke from the engine vents.
The announcer's voice, sharp with drama, cut in over the scene:
"OH MAN—KAI HAS CRASHED INTO THE ROCK! That was a brutal slam from Fridde Draco's Fortress-Class! And now… now the question on everyone's mind: Is this it? Is Kai out? Or is he gonna pull through and claw his way back to the top?!"
The dust storm howled like a dying beast, drowning out most sound. Inside the wreckage, Kai's silhouette sat still—head lowered, hands gripping the wheel. The cabin lights flickered.
The announcer's voice lowered to a near-whisper, tension thick:
"Is he gonna stop and give up…? Or is there still something left in that racer…?"
The camera zoomed in on the cracked mirror reflecting Kai's smirk—blood trailing from his lip.