The sandstorm screamed around them, the checkpoint looming in the distance like a mirage wrapped in lightning.
Fridde's red eyes locked forward—until a blur in the corner of his vision matched his speed.
A sleek, scratched-up Velocity Class car roared up beside him, gliding through the chaos like it was skating on air. Its frame shimmered under layers of dust and scorch marks, every dent a memory of violence.
Fridde glanced to the side, lips twitching into a smirk.
"Well, well... more prey for me."
The side window of the Velocity car rolled down.
Sitting inside, goggles lit up and teeth bared in a cocky grin—3-7 raised a single middle finger.
Fridde chuckled darkly. "Disrespectful trash."
He yanked the wheel hard, trying to slam his Fortress-Class vehicle into the smaller one, but 3-7 was already ahead of him—he'd hit the brakes at just the right moment.
Now riding behind the tank-like monster, 3-7 leaned out of his open window, wind whipping through his coat.
"So this dumb hunk of steel wants a fight, huh?" he muttered.
He reached to the seat beside him and grabbed a heavy chunk of rock, jamming it onto the pedal.
The car surged forward on autopilot as he climbed out the side window, balancing with the ease of a ghostwalker. With a running leap, he jumped from the hood of his car onto Fridde's moving death machine, landing hard with a metal thud.
Inside the cockpit, Fridde's AI voice chimed in:
"Alert. Unknown presence on rooftop."
Fridde grinned like a wolf tasting blood.
"Hehehe… I've been waiting for a real fight."
He mirrored the move, jamming his own rock down to pin the accelerator, then kicked open the armored door with a boom, the force making his entire vehicle jolt. He climbed to the roof, the wind shredding around him, his towering body rising like a monster from the depths.
They stood face-to-face now—3-7 in a cracked leather coat and sword strapped to his back, and Fridde, a cybernetic juggernaut, his limbs humming with hidden tech and titanium plating under his clothes.
Fridde's voice was deep and calm, full of menace.
"What do you think that little toy of yours is going to do to me?" He tapped his chest with a clang. "My body's enhanced beyond human limits. I don't bleed like you. I don't break like you. I kill the weak for my own pleasure."
3-7 popped his neck.
"Guess we'll find out, won't we?"
Fridde smirked wider. "With pleasure."
And just like that, the checkpoint wasn't the goal anymore—they were each other's mission now.
The wind howled.
Engines roared behind them.
And two monsters prepared to tear each other apart—on top of two cars going 200mph through hell.
Every vehicle thundered off the collapsing bridge and tore across the dust-choked straightaway, the checkpoint looming just ahead like a glowing promise. The wind screamed through broken guardrails. Sand stung like needles. The checkpoint wasn't far now—just a few dozen seconds at their speed.
But on top of two juggernauts barreling down the road, a different kind of war was raging.
Fridde moved first.
He lunged forward like a missile, his fist cocked back, glowing faintly with energy. He aimed straight for 3-7's head.
But CLANG—his punch collided with 3-7's sword, and in that instant, a burst of violet energy exploded outward, like lightning caught in a bottle.
The kinetic shockwave knocked both men slightly off balance, sending cracks rippling down the armored roof beneath their feet. Fridde's cybernetic arm twitched, the servos inside it whirring erratically.
Fridde snarled, eyes narrowing. "W-What the hell was that?"
3-7 grinned, twisting the hilt of his sword slightly to show a faint flicker of neon lines running through its blade.
"Oh, that? That's a little mod I added. Kinetic upgrade. Any time your hits connect with my blade, it redirects the force right back at you."
He tapped the flat of the sword against his shoulder. "Means you can swing all day—but you'll just hurt yourself."
Fridde clenched his mechanical fingers. They weren't responding right.
"You son of a bit—"
3-7 cut him off, stepping forward. "Also, let's not forget—this ain't a duel arena. You go too wild and wreck your vehicle, you're out of the race. You break this tin can? That's your ass."
Fridde growled low, voice almost robotic. "You fucking bastard…"
3-7 launched forward, his sword cocked back for a clean strike to the torso—
But in the blink of an eye—Fridde vanished.
0.1 seconds.
A split-second blur of motion. Wind displaced. A metallic groan.
And suddenly, Fridde was behind him.
3-7 spun, blade ready, eyes wide. "What the hell?!"
Fridde's voice was low and smug, like gravel soaked in venom.
"You're right—I can't go all out."
He leaned closer, the wind tugging at his coat.
"But I don't need to."
He tapped the side of his skull, then his thigh.
"I've activated SpeedRunner Mode. But not just the basic kind... see, I installed it in every inch of my body. Spine, calves, forearms, neck. My entire nervous system is laced with hyper-threaded reflex tech. Military-grade. Black-market. Experimental. Illegal on twelve systems."
3-7's eyes scanned him rapidly—numbers, outlines, upgrade maps flickering across his HUD.
"Durability... maxed out. Muscle density... augmented. Builder implant fused with Steely Core—shit, that's a prototype."
His readings kept jumping.
"And the SpeedRunner system... this thing's everywhere. There's no cooldown. No fatigue. He can move faster than my eyes can track. This… this is bad."
Fridde raised his arms slowly, rolling his shoulder with a creaking pop, and took a single step toward him.
"I told you, didn't I?" Fridde said, voice cold and echoing in the wind.
"I kill the weak. And you just told me how to beat you."
3-7 narrowed his eyes, then flicked his gaze past Fridde’s hulking frame. A swarm of headlights was closing in—the rest of the racers were catching up fast.
“Hey…” 3-7 said, smirking slightly, “look behind you.”
Fridde turned.
One by one, like bullets from a barrel, the other racers blazed past them. Tires screamed. Engines howled. A thunderstorm of fury and metal whipped through the air.
Roars of exhaust. The smell of scorched fuel. And all of it rushing past him.
Fridde’s cybernetic eyes widened. “No… NO… NOOOOOOO!”
His fists clenched, sparks crackling from his knuckles. “I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FIRST! I AM THE STRONGEST!”
But while Fridde screamed, 3-7 moved.
He dove back to his own car, landed hard on the roof, and slid into the seat in one fluid motion. He yanked the heavy rock off the pedal and slammed his foot down, kicking the engine back to life.
His tires screeched as he accelerated—flying right past Fridde’s stunned vehicle.
From inside the racetrack airship, the announcer’s voice echoed across the course:
“Unbelievable! All racers are barreling toward the checkpoint—it’s chaos out there! Who will cross it first?”
Fridde finally snapped out of it. He dove back into his own Fortress-class ride, shoving the rock aside and gripping the wheel.
“Damn it! Damn it all!” he roared, slamming his foot down. “I’ve lost first… but I haven’t lost the race. Not yet.”
As he slammed forward into gear, another car zipped past him on the side
Kai.
He flicked Fridde the finger out the side window. “Serves you right, you overclocked tin can.”
Fridde’s lips curled into a snarl, but there was nothing he could do. He was too late.
As the racers crossed the glowing threshold of the first checkpoint, a massive blue hologram exploded into the sky, shimmering above the road like a digital crown:
1st PLACE: SKY
2nd: STEELY BOB
3rd: AUSTIN DYLAN
4th: LeBRON RAMES
5th: DONAL BOB
6th: JOSE BROWN?
7th: KILLER
8th: PETER BRAIN
9th: XXX
10th: ICE MAN