POV: Luna
The location sent by “R” wasn’t on any map — not even the black-market racer boards she used to double-check coordinates. It sat beyond the industrial zones, at the fringe of the city where asphalt turned to dirt and silence swallowed radio signals. The moment she crossed that invisible border, her gut screamed don’t.
But curiosity had always been her worst habit. And lately… it felt like the only thing still keeping her alive.
The road stretched into a graveyard of forgotten speed — twisted frames, stripped engines, shells of cars left like corpses. The air smelled like burnt rubber and rusted iron. Her headlights cut through the mist, illuminating graffiti that pulsed faintly under UV paint. Each one carried a signature: a looping R.
“Alright, Rogue,” Luna muttered, grippin
