Night fell.
In the Gobi Desert, scattered iron sheet shacks, wire fencing, and old pickup trucks covered with black grime and rust marked the landscape. A cloud of dust erupted over the long, desolate land.
The bursting sound of an engine tore through the night sky as the rugged body of the Dodge Tomahawk rolled over the sporadic sesame and salsola plants. Under the murky sky, the man wearing goggles had a thin, bluish chin, with an orange carrot dangling from his mouth.
In the desolate terrain devoid of human life, the Dodge Tomahawk, undeterred by the challenging landscape with its lightning-fast speed, performed to its full potential.
The tremors of the frozen ground caused countless sand worms to break out of their shells and scatter.
The silver giant motorcycle sped through the abandoned highway and torn wire fences, finally screeching to a halt at the edge of a cliff.
