Sam accelerates down the desolate highway, the purr of his engine overtaking the chirps and buzz of the bugs hidden in the rocky terrain of Dyssodia. The road stretches out before him like an infinite black ribbon, winding through the rocky wasteland. Rough cliff lines loom on either side, their jagged silhouettes clawing at the star-speckled sky.
Mile after mile, the landscape remains mostly unchanged, the monotony of the barren landscape broken only by the occasional skeletal remains of long-dead trees stretching out of the ground.
Sam's twin headlights add a little bit more to the twilight lit scenery as he approaches the settlement of Ring View, which is marked by uniformly placed streetlamps.
His eyes are drawn to a massive monument rising out of the gloom. Three concentric rings hover and slowly rotate above a circular dais. The outer one is the largest, and the center one is the smallest, and all three have just enough size difference to comfortably rotate without scraping each other. The rings rotate at their own pace and emit an otherworldly, hypnotic blue glow, pulsing and dragging shadows and light across the blocky faces of the brutalist concrete buildings beyond.
Sam eases off the accelerator as he passes the rings and crosses the threshold into the settlement of Ring View. The sprawl is a haphazard collection of brutalist concrete structures and hastily built shacks clinging to the rocky earth. Some buildings tower several stories high, their angular facades adorned with more of the ubiquitous glowing rings. Others squat low to the ground, little more than subpar bunkers.
Sam cruises past darkened storefronts - a general store, a ramshackle saloon, a mechanic's shop with a hand-painted sign. Deeper into the settlement's twisting side streets, he glimpses at the bulky silhouettes of industrial mining equipment.
Sam pulls into a lit-up diner, marked as Klumsy K’s, and he parks his vehicle by the emergency exit. He winces as he gets out of his car and hobbles to the entrance.
The bell above jingles and cool air blows against his dirty skin. He ignores the stares of late-night patrons and sits at the counter. He grabs a menu and a handful of napkins, scanning the meals while wiping his hands and face. As he ponders his meal, two cups are set in front of him, one with ice and one without, and water is poured from a pitcher.
“You look like shit,” says the server, his voice heavy and droning. He has dark hair, dim brown eyes, and dark tan skin, shriveled and cracked with faint pink lines on his face and neck. His tag saying ‘Ashton’.
Sam thanks him for the water, dips the napkins in the iceless cup, and wipes his face with them.
“So, want to tell me what happened?” asks Ashton.
“Some prick tried to steal my car,” says Sam.
“Oh.”
“I killed him.”
“You better hope he wasn’t part of the Gear Box.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why?”
Sam smirks and pulls out the tickets from his pocket. “Because I’ve been invited to their race.”
Ashton frowns and walks away, and Sam shrugs and looks at the menu to him while returning the tickets.
When Ashton returns, he sets a cold can of beer in front of Sam. “Order what you want. It’s on the house tonight.”
“Why? I can pay,” says Sam.
“You’re going to die, that’s why.”
“Oh, give me a break. I’m not going to die.”
“You have a one in a hundred chance of living with those tickets.”
“I appreciate the concern, but I'll be fine.” Sam opens the beer can with a satisfying pop. “Even more fine when I get a partner.”
“Any ideas?”
Sam sips his beer. “I need someone capable for starters. And someone who's got nerves of steel and won't puke their guts out on a bumpy road. Omelets bowl by the way, generous on the ham and onions.”
Ashton scribbles down the order using a red gel glitter pen. “There's a lot of people that fit your idea of a good passenger.”
“Okay, how about we narrow it down to someone who has combat experience,” says Sam.
“Legal or illegal?”
“Preferably illegal. They won't have morals to hold them back.”
Ashton rips the ticket off his pad and walks away. Sam sips his beer and looks at a group of patrons watching him, and they look away to watch Sam through the window reflections when Ashton returns.
“Your food is cooking,” says Ashton.
Sam smiles and sips his beer. “Thanks. But about the passenger. You gotta help me out here, Ashton. I will split the winnings with you if you give me someone good. No… Great.”
Ashton leans in close, his weathered face inches from Sam's. "Alright, there's someone who might fit the bill. She hasn’t done anything illegal ever since getting out of Leviathan Prison, but Zia Cordova is ex-military, dishonorably discharged for executing prisoners. She was in the Eighty Second Mechanized Calvary, driver and gunner for a Badger Class land assault vehicle. Served in the Aarde Conflict."
Stolen story; please report.
"Sounds promising. Where can I find her?"
Ashton slides a grease-stained napkin across the counter, an address scrawled on it in red glitter ink.
Sam downs the rest of his beer and tucks the napkin into his pocket. "Thanks, Ashton. I'll pay her a visit when I'm done eating."
“Be careful. She's a badger,” says Ashton.
“Relax, I'll be fine,” says Sam.
A little while later, the bell jingles as Sam steps out into the night with his leftovers in a black container. The air is cool, and the rings keep the landscape in a permanent twilight. He climbs into his coupe, wincing as his battered body protests the movement. The engine roars to life, and he peels out of the parking lot, kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake.
As he drives, he noticed a pair of headlights flash on from his rearview mirror, and the vehicle behind him zooms forward while another one zips out from around the corner.
Sam slams on the breaks and veers to the side while the other two vehicles screech to a stop, blocking him in. With the motion now gone, Sam sees that the vehicles are bulky cars with various attachments to them, fortifying the windows and doors, and turrets fixated in them, both manned by scrawny people with masks and tattooes.
The doors of the two vehicles open, and four men each come out, short rifles at the ready. Sam sighs heavily and looks at his one measly pistol.
“Shit,” says Sam.
One of the thugs taps on his window with the tip of his rifle, and Sam partially rolls it down.
“Yeah?” says Sam.
“Get out of the car,” says the thug, a dark tan, burly man with wild hair and scarring around his cybernetic eyes.
“Why?”
“Because you got some explaining to do!”
“I can explain through the window, thank you very much.”
“Alright, then explain you wanting to split money with Ashton when you owe me money for fucking up that race!”
Sam's brain briefly freezes, and then it jump starts with a deep, exaggerated breath from his lungs and a forced smile spreading along his face.
“Ah, okay, I see what the problem is, Jeriko,” says Sam. “Step back so I can get out.”
The burly man, Jeriko Echo, steps back, and Sam cautiously opens his door, keeping his hand raised. Once he's out, he stays by his open door, and Jeriko looks up and down.
“Did you get new shoes or something?” asks Jeriko.
“As a matter of fact, I did,” says Sam.
“So, you have enough money to get new shoes but not pay me.”
“I got them off the clearance rack. But let's forget about the shoes and talk money. Your guys eavesdropping in the diner called, huh?” says Sam.
“Damn right they did,” says Jeriko.
“Well, they should have told you that I got a ticket to Paradise Run. I asked Ashton to point me to a passenger to help me win. So, I'm going to give him some money when I do.”
Jeriko and his goons look at each other, some snickering and others shaking their heads.
“You poor, dumb little turd,” says Jeriko. “I know you're desperate to pay me back, but Paradise Run is a fast way to die.”
Sam shrugs. “Sure, it may be fast way to die for others, but when I win, you'll get your money, Ashton will get his, my passenger will get some, and I'll leave with what little is left.”
Jeriko steps closer to Sam, a twitching smile exposing his rotten teeth and broken crowns.
“It will be my utmost pleasure to see you die on that track, but I need your money. So, if you survive, I will be generous and shave off, let's say… point five percent of your debt. That will give me some wiggle room and frankly, you'd deserve a little something for surviving that mess.”
“How kind of you,” says Sam.
“Get your passenger and don't botch this race like the last one. If you do, it will be Ashton that'll pay your debt.”
“That’s a dick move.”
Jeriko snickers, and his group return to their vehicles. They drive off, engines roaring loudly and tires kicking up dirt. After they are gone, Sam huffs, slips back inside his coupe, and drives off.
A few minutes later, he finds himself at the address Ashton gave him. It is a blocky apartment complex made from cement bricks, its reddish-gray colors almost matching the nearby red cliffs. Wires from the power lines burrow inside, and the porches have discolored metal railings. The stairs Sam travels on are grated, and when he reaches the apartment in question, he knocks on its green, metal door.
A few seconds later, three locks click, and the door partially opens. Keeping it in place is a chain, and behind the door is a caramel skinned, middle aged woman with dark hair, a band of purple dye, and almond eyes, both in shape and color.
“Can I help you?” asks the woman.
“I'm looking for Zia Cordova,” says Sam.
“Who's asking?”
“Me.”
“What's your name?”
“Samwell Sours. But you can call me Sam.”
“Who told you about me?”
“Ashton at the Klumsy K’s.”
To emphasize his point, Sam holds up the napkin, and Zia scoffs.
“Unbelievable,” she says irritably.
“Can I come in?” asks Sam.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is my apartment, and I don't know you.”
“That's fine. I can talk right here.”
“What do you want anyway?”
“I need a passenger for Paradise Run. Ashton told me you'd be a good fit. Great under pressure.”
“Wrong.”
“Nerves of steel.”
“Nope.”
“And won't puke your guts out on a bumpy road.”
“I have motion sickness.”
“He said you were in the Eighty Fourth mechanized.”
“Eighty Second.”
“On Aarde.”
“Yeah. So what?”
“So, you can't get into the mechanized calvary with motion sickness. Is it new or were you just that good at hiding it?”
“What's it to you?”
“Just curious.”
“Stop being curious.”
“Alright, let me get back to the subject. I need a passenger who will help me win. And if it makes you feel better…” Sam reaches into his pocket and pulls out a stack of fedos. He slides it through the door opening, towards at Zia's hand. "Here's a down payment. There's a lot more for you when I win with your help.”
A flicker of interest crosses Zia's face, but it's quickly replaced by a scowl, and she nudges the bills back to Sam.
"And what makes you think I want to risk my neck in that death trap?" asks Zia.
Sam leans against the doorframe, a lopsided grin on his face. "Because I can tell you want to break free. You’re a veteran of the Aarde Conflict, abandoned by the people you gave your life for, now you're stuck here. It sucks. No one can possibly like that. And what better way to escape this crappy life than by winning the biggest, baddest race on Dyssodia?"
Zia's eyes narrow, but she doesn't shut the door. "That race is run by the Gearbox. They're psychos. The only reason they haven't been wiped out is because the system government is too afraid of them. To take their money means to take blood money."
"It is an opportunity, Zia. I hate Gearbox, too, trust me, but I intend on using their prize money to wipe out my debt and get off this God forsaken shit hole of a planet."
Zia is silent, and Sam taps the stack of Fedos.
“This stack right here is just the beginning for you if you take my offer. We could leave this rock in the dust and never look back."
There's a long pause, the silence broken only by the distant rumble of a pair of cars, and the blue light from the rotating circles drags across the building and their bodies.
Finally, Zia sighs heavily. "I'm going to sleep on it."
Sam stuffs the money in his pocket. "Alright, I'll be at Klumsy K's waiting for you tomorrow morning. If I don't see you by ten, I'm looking for someone else."
“Fair enough. Good night.”
Zia closes the door, and Sam quietly walks down the stairs. When he reaches his car, he takes a deep breath, starts his engine and drives off with the techno music playing from the speakers.