Caize Gravey is my name. Twenty years old, silver hair that falls just past my ears, and eyes that usually hold a cool silver, but flash a cerulean blue when my powers kick in. I'm what you'd call an outlaw, a hidden relic wanted by every organization and I'm desperately trying to outrun. The year is 2316. This new planet, is ruled by a single, iron-fisted government – the Syndicate.
After the devastation of World War 5, scientists in a nation called Syndicate, before it gobbled up the rest of the world and then universe, developed the Cerulean Gear, a serum that granted inhuman abilities. Super strength, perfect vision, amplified senses, minds that could rival AI, Etc… – it was a Pandora's Box of power. And of course, the Syndicate, being the power-hungry bastards they are, kept it all for themselves.
But there were others, underground scientists who managed to replicate the serum, keeping the flame of rebellion flickering in the darkness.
My father was one of rebels. He died getting his hands on a vial, a desperate gamble for a better future, a chance to escape the wretched poverty that was our life. He was killed by the Syndicate, the very entity that controlled every aspect of our existence.
We weren't on Earth anymore. That world, our ancestral home, was reduced to radioactive dust by our own folly. Humanity, scattering like embers in the wind, found refuge on Planet Z, a world teeming with alien life and a landscape that strangely mirrored our lost Earth. A single, enormous continent dominates the planet, the rest swallowed by an endless ocean. We were in Z-12, one of the vast metropolises that dotted the land, a dizzying labyrinth of chrome and neon, a testament to human ingenuity and desperation.
And, I should mention, I'm a part of an underground racing League, initially founded as a rebellion against the Syndicate, but now infested with criminal elements. I'm in the middle of a race right now, one of the many illegal thrills that keep the underbelly of planet Z-12 buzzing.
"Johnny, Tweed, give me the times," I barked into my comms, my focus laser sharp from the adrenaline coursing through me.
A raspy voice crackled back, "You're .3 of a second behind the leader. Be careful though, it's Acai. You know just as well as I do that he plays rough and doesn't mind cheating."
Acai. The name sent a annoying chill down my spine. He was ruthless, a Cerulean Gear enhanced brute with a penchant for sabotage and a complete disregard for anyone who got in his way.
My thoughts strayed, as they often did, and I had to wrestle them back to the race. My friends always teased me about my goldfish-like attention span. The vehicle I sat it hummed viscously, a sleek, customized machine that was as much a part of me as my own limbs. It was a blur of motion, a mint green arrow cutting through the towering buildings and hovering over the illuminated streets.
The race was a spectacle, a chaotic ballet of speed and danger. My opponents, a mix of thrill-seekers and criminal enforcers, flew alongside me. The city was a blur, a canvas of pulsating lights and holographic advertisements, an assault on the senses. Each corner, each turn was a gamble, a test of skill and reflexes.
My feet pulsed with energy, a tingling sensation that always preceded my enhanced speed. My eyes flickered blue, a silent promise of the raw power that thrummed within me. I pushed my limits, the Engine responding with a low growl, a mechanical beast mirroring my own inner ferocity.
I was gaining on Acai, his car a menacing shape in my Windshield. I could practically feel his predatory gaze, the simmering malice that was his trademark. He was a threat, a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows of Z-12, a shadow of the criminal world grip on racing.
My car, a marvel of old-world aesthetics and cutting-edge engineering, purred beneath me. Mint green and gold, a Catzun 240X widebody kit gleaming under the neon-drenched cityscape of Z-12, the heart of Planet Z. #339 etched onto the door panels, a testament to my unique build.
Tweed, one of my best friends, the mad genius mechanic who breathed life into this beast, had crammed an v-10 engine block and twin electronic-assisted turbos into its frame. 1950hp of raw, untamed power throbbed beneath my fingertips.
This wasn't just any race. This was the Serpent's Tail, a death race winding through the labyrinthine streets of Z-12, a fight for survival and glory. 1800hp was the minimum requirement to even enter, but finding the balance between power and control was a tightrope walk – a wrong move, a misplaced turn, and the metal coffin you called a car could become your tomb. You could have a 3000hp monster, but if it wouldn't handle a corner. You die.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the roar of the engine. The race jitters were a familiar beast, but tonight, they felt different. A prickle of anticipation ran down me, a strange sense of foreboding coupled with exhilarating excitement. My silver eyes, usually a constant, flickered towards the faintest tinge of cerulean, a sign that the latent power within, my gears were stirring.
My car shot forward, a blur of mint and gold through the holographic rain that fell in shimmering streaks from the towering skyscrapers.
My mint green car was trailing a blood red Feerria Escanterra, numbered 266. The Escanterra, a sleek, predatory machine, was piloted by Acai, A lunatic in a constant state of mania.
My silver hair whipping in the wind from my slightly cracked window, I gripped the wheel with white knuckles. My eyes from the cerulean gear power, now a vibrant blue, scanned the chaotic landscape of the race track. The city's holographic advertisements flickered and faded, replaced by the razor-sharp focus of the race.
Acai, sensing my growing proximity, slammed on the brakes, sending the Escanterra into a sharp, unexpected turn. He shot down a transport drone, trying to block the path, I reacted instinctively, my mind surging with energy from my gear, the car seemingly defying the laws of physics as it squeezed through a narrow gap, barely avoiding a collision with a discarded drone.
The race had become a ballet of aggression and precision. Acai, a relentless predator, used his superior speed and knowledge of the track to cut off me off at every turn. However, I was relentless in his pursuit.
I used my car's incredible handling and precise maneuverability to counter Acai's aggressive tactics. We bumped, we scraped, we danced a deadly waltz through the city's neon-lit streets.
Acai, enraged by my refusal to back down, attempted a daring maneuver, attempting to send me hurtling into a crumbling advertisement tower. But I anticipated the move using my gears foresight, activating a surge of power, I propelled my car into a sharp, almost impossible turn.
The Escanterra slammed into the tower, sparks erupting in a shower of holographic debris.
The crowd, a seething mass of humanity huddled on the towering rooftops and balconies, sidewalks, roared with delight.
The Serpent's Tail race had taken a brutal turn, a moment of raw chaos that defined the very essence of this deadly sport.
Seizing the opportunity, I accelerated, my car a blur of green and gold as I surged ahead. The finish line, a shimmering portal of light, loomed ahead, a tempting reward for a victory born from skill, audacity, and a touch of otherworldly power.
Acai, crawling out of the wreckage, watched with a mixture of anger as I crossed the finish line, a victor bathed in the bright lights of Z-12. The roar of the crowd echoed through the street.
The handbrake screeched as I pulled it, my mint green 240X drifting to a smooth halt. My heart pulsed a steady rhythm against my ribs, a familiar anticipation buzzing through me.
I hopped out, the cool night air of Z-12 washing over me. Three women, clad in black and white checkered bikinis, approached, their eyes gleaming with a practiced allure. They thrust a silver suitcase into my hands, a silent transaction in this city of neon and chrome. Inside, a computer chip – a hefty chunk of the future's currency, "Chips", 500k worth of chips.
My silver hair, caught the flickering neon signs. My eyes, back to their normal silver. I was draped in sleek black bomber jacket and black jeans, the matte finish of my boots echoing the darkness of my outfit.
Silver accenting my look – a necklace, a watch, and rings – punctuated the monochrome. My ears, gauged to a half-inch, were a constant reminder of my individuality. A race helmet with wings on the front of my neck, a memory of my father, and a pair of drum sticks behind my left ear, a nod to my mother, were etched into the skin, both black and grey inked tattoos.
The girls flirted, playful and brazen. But my attention was elsewhere. Fixed on Devv, the girl who had my heart racing in a way the roaring engine of my car couldn't match.
She was shorter than my 5'10", somewhere around 5'5", with a captivating physique – a nice rear, thick thighs, and a face that could melt glaciers. Her long teal hair cascaded down her back, a vibrant splash of color against the grey Building she stood in front of.
She was dressed in short shorts and fishnet tights, black boots grounding her vibrant aura, a gold tank top highlighting her delicate shoulders, random tattoos going up both arms.
She was with a couple other girls, laughing, unaware of the storm brewing in my chest. I was finally going to make my move, ask her to hang out with me after the race, maybe catch a bite to eat. Racing always worked up an appetite.
But before I could take a step, a flash of red and gold disrupted my plan. Açaí, a skinny kid with gold teeth, a red Mohawk, a tattooed face, and enough gold jewelry to sink a small ship, came charging at me, a red button-up shirt straining against his lean frame.
He threw a wild punch, fueled by bravado and bad intentions. I dropped the suitcase, the metal clinking against the pavement, and my gear activated. My eyes flashed blue, a telltale sign of the enhanced reflexes and strength coursing through me. I dodged backwards, a practiced move honed from years of street battles, palmed his elbow, disrupting his balance, and sent a hook to his ribs. He doubled over, gasping, and I spun, my back heel connecting with his temple. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
"What a punk," I muttered, the familiar disdain for Açaí bubbling within me. "Still a fucking loser." I hawked and spit at his unconscious body.
The sudden wail of sirens shattered the silence. Tweeds' voice, crisp and urgent, cut through my comms. "Caize, abort, abort now!"
Panic jolted me into action. I sprinted back to my 240x, slamming the door shut, the racing harness automatically engaging with a reassuring click. My foot slammed the clutch, the gear lever crunched into first. I slammed the accelerator, the tires screeching as the car launched forward, leaving a trail of burnt rubber in its wake.
My enhanced vision, a effect of the gear, flickered with a future I didn't want to see. Devv, struck by a sleek black Fed's vehicle, its red and blue LEDs flashing like a predator's eyes.
I ripped the handbrake, the car skidding in a controlled sideways motion, positioning the passenger side door in front of Devv. I reached across, throwing the door open. "Get in! Hurry up! They'll be here any second!"
Just as I finished the sentence, the black military vehicle, a behemoth of steel and aggression, roared towards us. Devv's eyes widened, fear painting her face.
"Devv, you've got to get in now. Or I'll have to drive off!"
She finally snapped out of her frozen state, a surge of adrenaline replacing her fear. She scrambled into the car, her teal hair whipping around her face.
In the split second before the inevitable collision, I slammed the gas, my car rocketing forward, barely missing the Fed's vehicle. The screech of tires and the flash of blue and red lights were the last things I saw before we plunged into the chaotic neon-drenched streets of Z-12z
The cities lights and buildings whipped past as I gunned the 240x, the minty green paint gleaming under the neon lights. "This fucking piggy thinks he can catch me," I muttered, my silver eyes narrowed in the rearview mirror at the pursuing police cruiser.
Devv, perched beside me, was a study in vibrant contrasts. Her teal hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing a face that radiated a mix of confusion and apprehension."Who are you?" she asked, her voice surprisingly gentle despite the intensity of the situation.
"The name is Caize," I replied, my gaze darting between the pursuing vehicle and the approaching drones flanking us. "But if you don't use your eyes to look out the window and understand that we don't really have time for formalities right now, then I'll have to question your brain capacity."
My tone was harsher than intended, a mix of adrenaline and anxiety. I was being hunted by the military, a consequence of the illegal race I'd just won, a race that exposed me as a Cerulean Gear holder.
They wanted me, they wanted to dissect me, to claim my powers for themselves. And if they discovered my ability to glimpse the future, my Sight, they'd surly eradicate anyone who knew me, anyone who held the key to my existence.
"I apologize," I added, softening my tone. "I didn't mean to come off like that. Once we get somewhere safe, I'll explain. I'll have my aunt take you back home if you'd like."
Devv remained silent, her expression a mask of irritation. I couldn't afford to dwell on her mood, the chase taking precedence. Two drones were now shadowing us, their cameras relentlessly capturing our every move.
I grabbed a black carbon fiber ghost mask from the side of my seat, its lenses designed to obscure the vibrant blue glow of my eyes when my Cerulean Gear activated, I put it on. I grabbed the one near Devv.
"Put this on," I instructed, tossing the second mask towards Devv. She flinched, her legs jerking away as if I was about to assault her. "Chill, I'm not some creep. I'm not trying what you think," I reassured her.
With both of us masked, I reached under the steering column and a loud "click-clack" resonated through the car. I pulled out my pistol, its sonic rounds designed to disable our pursuers. "If you're not scared of these things," I said, turning to Devv, "open up that glove box. There's one in there. We won't be able to get away if we can't get rid of these drones."
She hesitated for a moment before complying. As we rounded a corner, I ripped the e-brake, sending the car into a sideways slide. Shifting into reverse and driving backwards, I barked, "Windows down."
A soft beep echoed from the car's HUD, and the windows hissed down. My car, a product of Tweed's genius, had voice commands, a little luxury in this high-octane chase. I aimed my pistol out the window and fired, missing on the first attempt but taking down the drone with the second shot.
Devv let out a chuckle. "You should probably learn to shoot better!" she quipped before taking down the remaining drone with a single, precise shot.
I was stunned. She was a phenomenal shot. Before I could ask how she'd mastered such a skill, the Fed car slammed into the front of my Car.
Through my rearview mirror using my future sight, I saw an alleyway approaching. As we neared the narrow passage, I spun the car around, flooring the accelerator. The Fed car screeched to a halt, attempting to follow, but it was too late. I slammed the nitrous button, leaving them in a cloud of dust and burnt rubber.
Pulling into the back of a seemingly normal construction business, a hidden underground entrance silently revealed itself. I steered the 240x into the darkness, a sense of relief washing over me - for now, at least, I was free. The chase was over, for now. Tonight, I had a chance to breathe, a chance to figure out what to do next, a chance to understand the fiery, unpredictable woman who was suddenly a part of my dangerous reality.