A section of the bridge erupted in a violent blast—sand and steel flying into the air, flames licking at the sky. A gaping hole tore through the track. Racers panicked. Several cars hit the oil patch and lost control, spinning helplessly before dropping off the shattered edge.
Somewhere up ahead, Fridde’s massive Fortress-Class vehicle rumbled forward, plowing through debris like a war machine. Still holding the lead. Still unshaken.
Jose gritted his teeth as his Ghost-Class car swerved around a wreckage. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. His lips twitched into a bitter smile.
"Not if I’ve got anything to say about it."
Beside him, the seat shimmered faintly. His cat, barely visible under a cloaking shimmer, let out a soft meow.
Jose glanced at it sideways.
"You scared, little one? You’ve been invisible for thirty damn minutes."
Another faint meow.
He chuckled coldly. "Right. You’re scared."
Reaching over, he grabbed his custom sniper rifle from the compartment, the barrel long and slender like a predator’s fang. He cracked open the roof hatch and propped the gun up, eyes narrowing through the scope.
"Damn it. Still not close enough to get a clean shot at Fridde."
Then—gunfire. Bullets slammed into the side of his car. One of his side mirrors exploded. Jose snapped his head to the rearview screen and saw her.
Sky.
“Maldita sea… esta perra.”
His voice was a growl.
"You just can’t leave me the hell alone, can you?"
One of his rear tires blew. His car jerked violently to the side as he fought the wheel, barely holding control.
"SHIT~!"
Sky’s voice came over the open comm, sharp with fury.
"Payback, you son of a bitch!"
She rammed her car into his side. The shriek of metal grinding against metal cut through the storm. Jose slammed his fist on the dash and shouted back:
"YOU CRAZY BITCH! YOU JUST COULDN’T LET IT GO!"
Sky’s voice was pure rage.
"YOU BLEW MY FUCKING JAW OFF, YOU STUPID FUCK!"
She kicked open the front of her windshield, letting the sand whip directly into her face. Squinting through the storm, she pulled out a tiny green vial and hurled it at Jose’s vehicle.
It shattered on impact. Green mist hissed and spread like a creeping curse over the hood.
Jose’s eyes widened.
"Shit—GAS GAS! TOXIC!"
He sealed the car’s vents instantly. Sky’s vehicle sped ahead of him, her voice crackling through the comm.
"Choke on it, snake."
He struggled to stabilize the car as the oil patch loomed up ahead. The slick caught his rear tires and sent him fishtailing. He gritted his teeth and jerked the wheel, managing to stay on the bridge—barely.
"If I even sniff that shit, I’m dead," he muttered.
There was no way he could catch up now. The lead was lost. But for Jose… that didn’t mean the race was over.
Breathing hard, he closed his eyes for a second. A picture flashed in his mind—his grandmother’s face, wrinkled but warm, holding a weathered photo of them together. The last memory that meant anything.
"I don’t care if I can’t win this part of the race. I’ll win the next one. Or the one after. But I will get that wish."
He spoke the words softly, like a vow soaked in blood.
"I will become the most dangerous man in this galaxy. For her. For everything I lost. I don’t care how many I have to kill… lie to… bleed dry."
He grinned faintly, empty of joy.
"Because nothing matters to me but this race. Not friends. Not teammates. Not even my own life. Only victory."
The toxic gas clung to the hood like poison ivy. He ignored it, gunning the engine.
"I’ll win, abuela. Even if I have to burn the galaxy to do it."
A few years ago California, Winter.
The cold bit through the ragged cloth walls of their makeshift home—a crumpled collection of boxes duct-taped together behind a liquor store. The streets were wet, fog curling off the pavement, the kind that made your bones ache. No one looked their way. No one ever did.
Jose curled into his grandma’s arms, his small body trembling. He was covered in layers of worn sweaters and hole-riddled socks. His nose was red. His stomach growled with a sharp, gnawing pain.
“Grandma…” he whimpered, his voice barely audible through chattering teeth. “I’m hungry. And it’s s-so cold…”
Rosie, age 67, pulled the tattered blanket tighter around them. Her fingers were brittle from frostbite, but her voice stayed warm.
“Don’t worry, Jackie,” she whispered, using his real name—the one his parents gave him before they died crossing the border. “I’ll get you something to eat. Maybe even a coat.”
Jose didn’t respond. He just buried his face into her chest, silent tears soaking through her threadbare shirt. She gently stroked his hair.
It was always just the two of them. He never cared for his parents—they were just names in old photos. But Grandma Rosie? She was everything. His warmth. His light.
That night, Rosie didn’t come back.
Later that week – Holly Crest Motel.
The flashing red-blue of the cyber-police lit up the scene like a carnival from hell. Holographic yellow tape flickered around the building, warning pedestrians to keep back.
Jose sprinted through the crowd, heart pounding, legs burning. His breath came in ragged gasps. He heard a voice from the cops ahead.
“Huh. Looks like a Mexican lady. Sixty-seven, give or take. Name’s Rosie. No implants.”
Another laughed. “She died with a broken neck, man. Probably tried to get cute with the wrong creep.”
“Ha! What an idiot,” the other sneered.
Jose shoved through them, ignoring their shouts. “HEY, HEY—KID! BACK OFF!”
He ran straight to the body. His knees hit the concrete hard. He didn’t feel it.
There she was. Grandma Rosie. Her neck twisted unnaturally, her face frozen in peaceful shock.
“No… no, no, no—this can’t be real…” His tiny hands shook as they hovered over her. “You can’t leave me, Grandma… you said you’d be back… You said we’d get food.”
He grabbed her hand, still warm. “WAKE UP!”
Tears streamed down his face. His breath turned to fog in the cold air. He screamed.
“You can’t leave me too!”
One of the cops came over. “Kid. Get away from the body. Now.”
Jose turned to face them.
His face was wet, but his eyes were no longer crying. They were on fire.
“FUCK YOU!” he screamed. “ALL OF YOU! YOU BASTARDS LAUGHED AT HER!”
The cops stepped back. The air around Jose felt heavier.
“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU! ALL OF YOU! YOU DIRTY COPS, YOU FUCKING ALIENS—YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?! I’LL BECOME THE MOST POWERFUL PERSON IN THE WHOLE GALAXY!”
He pointed at every officer around him, like he was marking them for death.
“I’LL ENSLAVE YOU ALL! I’LL CRUSH YOU UNDER MY BOOT! YOU THINK I’M NOTHING—BUT YOU’LL SEE. YOU’LL FUCKING SEE.”
The crowd was silent.
Then a tall alien approached—six arms, pale blue skin, and silver cybernetic eyes that gleamed coldly. His badge shimmered across his armor.
Chief Sol.
“What’s going on here?” he asked in a low, clipped voice.
One of the officers stepped forward. “The kid threatened us. Real aggressive.”
Sol nodded once. “Then arrest him.”
They moved quickly, grabbing Jose as he kicked and screamed.
“GET OFF ME! LET ME GO!” His small fists beat against their armor. “I’LL KILL YOU, YOU HEAR ME!? I’LL KILL YOU ALL!”
As they dragged him toward the cruiser, he looked over his shoulder at Rosie’s body one last time.
That was the moment the warmth died in him.
That was the moment Jackie died—and Jose was born.
"And that's why I do what I do," Jose muttered under his breath, the words like venom. “Everyone walked past us like we were invisible… so now I use the Ghost Class to hunt my prey.”
It wasn’t just a vehicle to him—it was symbolism. Nobody saw him back then. Now nobody would see him coming until it was too late.
He remembered the orphanage. The stale food, the rusted bunk beds, the fake sympathy. The woman who ran the place—Miss Clarion—used to beat the kids when they cried. Said it toughened them up. Jose slit her throat with a sharpened toothbrush while she was asleep. Cold. Quiet. Precise.
He could’ve killed the other kids too. He thought about it. Even stared at them while they slept. But in the end, he let them live. Not out of mercy—just indifference.
Now, in the year 2163, Jose—eighteen, hollow-eyed, and sharper than broken glass—had become a known name in the bounty circuit. He didn’t just kill. He broke people. Aliens, mostly. Wanted fugitives, war deserters, black market runners. He’d shoot, stab, poison, or burn. Sometimes all four. And he always made sure they died knowing it was him.
Humans too. If the price was right, he didn’t discriminate. He worked under Jerry Hankins, a sleazy middleman who paid in pocket change. Jose didn’t care. As long as there was a body count, the money was just noise.
He was walking through the grime-filled streets of New Verona, one of the floating trade cities on a backwater planet. Fluorescent smog swirled in the air, and androids limped across walkways with missing limbs. He passed a wall layered with faded ads and propaganda… but one fresh poster caught his eye.
It was big, glossy, and obnoxiously gold.
THE IRON CIRCUIT
GALAXY-WIDE EDITION
WINNER GETS ANY WISH GRANTED
Jose stopped. His eyes narrowed.
“So… they’re calling it the Iron Circuit now, huh?” he muttered. “Galaxy-wide…” He ran a finger along the edge of the poster. “Last time it was just Earth. One mil prize, California to Japan. Now it’s this?” He scoffed. “Bigger. Complex. Deeper stakes.”
His eyes settled on the words: ANY WISH.
He started laughing—low and joyless.
“A wish? Pfft. Like that’s even real…” His voice dropped, his grin sharpening. “But if it is… then maybe I can finally fix this rotten fucking galaxy. Or burn it all down.”
He turned away, walking off into the haze with his hands in his pockets.
“…Fuck it. I’ll be happy to join the race again.”
He smirked, fangs of ambition glinting behind that cold expression.
Back to the race—
The engines howled like beasts unleashed from hell. The storm hadn’t let up, and debris swirled violently in the wind. The air was thick with sand, smoke, and the scent of burning oil.
The announcer's voice roared through the speakers of the Iron Circuit's live feed:
“It seems that everyone is closing in on the first checkpoint! This is where things get bloody, folks!”
Inside a heavily armored, thunderous beast of a vehicle—black matte and shaped like a moving bunker—Fridde sat like a statue behind the wheel. The Fortress Class car didn’t roar like the others. It growled.
“AI,” Fridde said, voice low and emotionless. “How far to the checkpoint?”
The dashboard flickered, his onboard assistant replying with smooth calm:
“Only a few minutes away, sir. Estimated time: three minutes, twenty-four seconds at current speed.”
Fridde opened the world map on the central screen, the digital terrain shifting as he zoomed in. His crimson eyes narrowed. The checkpoint blinked just ahead, tucked between two jagged rock ridges.
“Hmph…” he muttered, brushing his silver hair back with a single gloved hand. “If anyone tries to pass me…”—his fingers clenched the steering wheel—“…I’ll kill them in a second.”
His voice wasn’t angry.
It wasn’t passionate.
It was cold—like a dead thing speaking.
Fridde didn’t see racers. He saw weak animals clawing over scraps. He didn’t care about money, fame, or even the wish. For him, the race was nature. And nature belonged to the apex predator.
The lights inside his cockpit flickered red. Someone was gaining speed behind him.
Fridde didn’t even blink.
“Let them try.”