They both rumbled down the broken roads. Tyson would have looked at the scenery, but it was passing by too fast. The only thing worth looking at was the road and nothing else.

  “Both drivers have now abandoned any semblance of the original track, the Spin Circuit is officially denouncing these dangerous actions and notifying the public that the safety of these drivers are out of the Spin’s hands.”

  Tyson snorted.

  As if the Spin was ever safe.

  The road broke down up ahead, chunks of old concrete having both risen and fallen out of it. As if it had been hit by a major impact. Bits of the road jagged up, and some sank down creating a rocky tarmac path.

  Tyson’s tires drove over it with no hesitation and Motor Maniac jumped over the broken road.

  Wishers liked to hang out in old abandoned cities and Old York was one of the more popular places for villains, vigilantes, and even heroes to come test out their powers.

  That meant that the roads here had been beaten to near destruction.

  A color flashed.

  Sinkholes.

  You couldn’t read warnings fast enough during the spin. If your software detected a trap, it could try to tell you or display writing to warn you, but most Spins had an average speed of five hundred miles per hour, some would be double that.

  You simply wouldn’t have enough time to read the warning before you were already pressing up against it.

  So flashing colors were the solution. In Tyson’s case, blue and pink meant sinkhole. His car was already automated with a response for sinkholes.

  The tires inflated slightly and it drove faster.

  He was already on the other side of the hole before the hole had even fully formed.

  Motor, who was just a few hundred yards, behind him jumped the sinkhole.

  Next was a sharp turn into an alleyway, then there was the wall about two miles ahead of them.

  Tyson turned his communications back on. Hopefully they won't waste his time with useless talk anymore.

  “Get over that wall, robots are coming up on the other side of it,” the coms blinked.

  “Shit,” Tyson muttered.

  He hit the brakes, decelerating the vehicle from five hundred miles per hour to a mere two hundred. And even then he didn’t know if that would be enough.

  His tires inflated and took on the brunt of the impact into the wall, followed by the front of the car. Then the tires turned. They were shrinking, and like a balloon, when they were shrinking they stuck tightly to whatever surface they were touching. That and their engineered grip allowed Tyson to drive up that wall, if only for a few seconds.

  But a few seconds was all he needed.

  In less than a second, the car had climbed the wall and was now soaring straight into the air.

  That was fine. It was weighted to always land bottom side up but Motor Maniac was right behind him. Those small seconds he would spend floating were precious.

  Tyson leaned forward heavily in the car, shifting his weight and making his car tilt slightly forward. He wasn’t parallel to the ground, but it was enough to keep his edge.

  His tires inflated and his rocket thrust turned back on. It normally sent energy directly to the engines, but there were numerous times when Spin cars were in the air and rocket-like thrust was absolutely essential to keep your lead.

  Motor Maniac was right there. His car was practically a spider.

  He could tilt his car onto its back wheels while barely slowing down and have the underside of the car crash into the wall. As for the impact, his jumping mechanism could substitute as temporary suspension. All he had to do was tilt his cabin back at the right speed in order to reduce the shock to his body.

  It was math. It was all math, it wasn't about survivability. Both cars were designed to take that level of impact, but Motor was able to do it while keeping more of his speed.

  And while a hundred yards was a good distance for any runner, at this speed they were practically tied.

  The rear wheels of his car touched the roof and while they gripped on tight, the thrust sent him forward.

  Motor was right next to him.

  “Caught you,” the communications spoke.

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  Tyson’s tires inflated as they both jumped off the roof and onto whatever excuse of a road would come next.

  Both cars landed at the same time and trailed off with disgusting speed.

  People thought good driving was all about speed, and a lot of times it was. If everyone was driving in a straight line, then it was all that mattered.

  But no one drove in a straight line. Everyone turned and at those turns, speed was lost.

  It was those turns and angles. You had to slow down then. Turn too fast and you flip your car. Turn too slow and you fall behind. You had to know your car and guide it to turn with as little deceleration as possible.

  And during those moments, during those turning arguments of speed and direction, Tyson always won.

  He zipped through the corners, turning through them with precision and accuracy.

  Motor kept up but he was starting to fall behind again.

  Tyson smiled.

  They were cutting through the city so the route was much smaller than it had been. Ten minutes of driving and they were almost there.

  But there was one problem. The finish line was still there.

  If the General wanted to interfere with the race, he would be at the finish line.

  And on some level, both INOS and Motor Maniac knew this.

  So they weren’t surprised at the ten robots blocking the entry way.

  Missiles fired at them and this time they couldn’t out run them. They were flying towards them.

  Motor jumped and swerved off into a side road. A few robots went chasing after him, but Tyson didn’t follow.

  It was time to give up. It was a good reason to give up, but he was only ten miles away from the finish line.

  How the hell could he give up now?

  He smiled, sighed, and pressed pedal.

  The wheels turned and Tyson drove.

  A missile missed him by a few feet, another missed him by only five. The next one almost grazed the car and the one after that dented the roof.

  But he kept on driving.

  He turned and avoided a foot, only to have to turn again to avoid another one, then the next one took off his bumper.

  He was almost past them. He was almost there-

  Then a kick from one remaining foot sent his car spinning into a wall.

  The metal crunched and the impact rocked his head.

  His mind shook and his brain rattled like a baby's toy.

  Vomit came out of his mouth, not because he was nauseous but because a combination of spinning forces and gravity had dragged it out.

  But worst of all, his car was ruined.

  The robots seemed indifferent. They’re job had been to stop the Spin and that had been accomplished. Whether he lived or died was of little consequence.

  Tyson felt around.

  Legs, arms, head, torso, everything was fine.

  Then he reached forward and pulled a latch and the car fell apart, exposing him to the open air.

  He took out his helmet and spit.

  His car was totaled. He was done, he was two miles out from the finish line and he was done.

  That’s what the logical part of his brain said.

  But his body didn’t listen. He took off all his safety gear. It was tens of pounds of safety tech meant to keep him safe in the case of a crash, and it had worked.

  But now, it was just a burden.

  Tyson looked at the robots. They were headed towards Motor now, eager to make sure no one finished the race. Ahead was an army of robots fighting against a group of speedsters and energy users.

  And Tyson, stripped down to his shorts and joggers, face exposed for the world to see, started running towards the finish line.

  No one noticed at first. He had crashed and while that would normally be the sole focus of the audience, there was a lot going on right now.

  So Tyson Jerrell Williams ran.

  He made it about half a mile before a robot noticed.

  It was a few miles behind, still chasing after Motor, but it quickly turned tracks and started after him.

  Its giant stride made it catch up within seconds.

  Tyson knew he would die this time. He knew this would be the end. But more than death, more than the crushing metal beast behind him, he wanted one thing.

  He didn’t want to be passed up.

  He pushed forward, praying to the universe to give him speed.

  And somewhere out there, something listened.

  He sped up to an inhuman pace.

  Twenty miles per hour.

  Thirty.

  Forty.

  Speedsters came trying to catch him and take him out of harm's way. But he refused.

  A hundred.

  Five hundred.

  A thousand.

  The finish line blurred and disappeared behind him.

  But he could not stop.

  The world blurred and each step launched him forward.

  He should have been satisfied by now.

  He had won, but he wanted more.

  He wanted as much as he could get.

  The world went black. Light was too slow. He ran and ran and pushed against the edge of the universe, then he ran past it.

  Where was he? Where did his feet find purchase? How fast was he going?

  Had he been killed? Had the robots stomped him to death?

  Was this Heaven?

  He smiled.

  A hand landed on his shoulder and pulled him back.

  In front of him was a darkness, something so evil and so dark that it made man’s darkest thoughts seem like sunshine and a rainbow.

  “Don’t look,” a voice said to him.

  Tyson couldn’t take his eyes away from it. It was hideous. It was horrendous.

  Then a hand turned his face backwards

  In front of him stood a man with gold and silver hair. He had tanned skin and bright silver eyes. He was smiling and his face looked ethnically vague. He looked like he could be a man of any race, creed, or origin. It was as if he held the whole of humanity in his face.

  He had a silver cape with a gold, blue, and bronze suit.

  “Paragon,” Tyson whispered.

  “Yes,” the man answer. “Now tell me, how did you reach the edge of reality?”

  Oh you thought it was just a simple superhero story? When has a superhero story ever been simple? They all end up fighting gods at one point or another you know.

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