The word "ramp" was a grotesque understatement. The Anvil was a geological aberration—a colossal, near-vertical slab of dark, slick rock that angled brutally toward the sliver of night sky. It looked less like a path and more like a wall we were supposed to run headfirst into. The climb was longer and steeper than the map had suggested, ending in a lip that jutted out over a terrifying drop before meeting the plateau above.
Chloe stared at it, her face a mask of professional horror. "The physics don't work, Kaito. Even at max boost, the moment we hit that incline, we'll bleed speed. We'll stall out halfway up and roll back down. We'll be a metal pancake."
Rostova, however, was already out of the car, scanning the base of The Anvil with a tactical light. "The surface is smoother than the surrounding rock. Less loose shale. It's our only vector."
"The only vector to a fiery death!" Chloe shot back.
My heart was a frantic bird beating against my ribs. I got out, my boots crunching on the gravel, and walked to the base of the monstrous incline. I placed a hand on the rock. It was cold and unyielding. This wasn't a sim-race. There was no reset button.
I looked back at the Supra. My ghost. My impossible dream made real. This was why I had saved her, why I had poured my soul into her. Not to hide her in a warehouse, but to defy the very laws of the world that said she shouldn't exist.
"Chloe," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "We're doing it."
She looked at me, saw the resolve in my eyes, and her protest died on her lips. She gave a single, sharp nod. "Okay. Then we do it right." She popped the hood. "We need every ounce of power. We're maxing out the boost."
While Chloe worked with frantic, precise movements, adjusting the boost controller and fuel mapping, Rostova came to my side.
"There's no room for hesitation," she said, her voice low. "You hit the base at your absolute top speed. You do not lift. You do not brake. You point the car at the sky and you pray the turbos don't explode."
"What's on the other side? The landing?"
"Unknown. The satellite imagery is outdated. It could be flat. It could be a field of boulders." She met my gaze. "But the alternative is a certain capture. IA will not be gentle. They will dissect your car and erase your mind in re-education. This, at least, is a choice."
A choice. To die free.
Chloe slammed the hood shut. "Done! Boost is set to 1.8 bar. It's a one-shot deal. The engine might not survive it. Get in."
We took our positions. The atmosphere in the car was thick enough to chew. I started the engine. The roar, once a sound of pure joy, now felt like a battle cry.
I positioned the Supra a kilometer back from the base of The Anvil, giving myself a running start. The canyon floor was a straight, rocky shot.
"This is it," I whispered, my hands gripping the wheel.
Gear: FIRST.
RPM: 4000.
Clutch: OUT.
The Supra launched forward, its tires fighting for purchase on the loose surface.
Shift to SECOND.
Speed: 80 KM/H.
Boost: 0.5 BAR.
The turbos began to spool, their whistle building.
Shift to THIRD.
Speed: 130 KM/H.
Boost: 1.0 BAR.
The kick was savage. The car felt like it was tearing itself apart. Rocks flew, pinging against the undercarriage.
Shift to FOURTH.
Speed: 180 KM/H.
Boost: 1.5 BAR.
The walls of the gorge became a continuous, dark blur. The Anvil loomed ahead, a monolithic tombstone.
"Don't lift!" Chloe screamed.
Boost: 1.8 BAR.
Engine: SCREAMING.
Speed: 215 KM/H.
We hit the base of The Anvil.
IMPACT.
It wasn't a transition. It was a collision. The front suspension compressed with a sickening groan, the G-force slamming us back into our seats with the weight of a planet. The world outside the windshield transformed from a horizontal plane to a vertical one. We were now pointing at the stars.
The engine wailed in protest, a metallic shriek of agony. The speed bled off instantly. 200... 180... 150...
"We're not going to make it!" I yelled, my foot still jammed to the floor, the pedal feeling like it was pushing back.
"COME ON!" Chloe roared, as if she could command the car with sheer will.
Speed: 120 KM/H. We were halfway up. The engine temp was spiking, a red warning light flashing on the dash.
Speed: 100 KM/H. The car felt heavy, so heavy. We were slowing, the vertical world beginning to win.
Then, the twin turbos, pushed beyond their designed limits, found a second wind.
BOOST: 2.0 BAR.
A deafening BANG from the exhaust.
A surge of violent, apocalyptic power.
The Supra lunged upward, a beast refusing to die. The rocky surface blurred beneath us. The lip of the cliff rushed toward us.
For a breathtaking second, we were airborne.
The world fell away. The Supra was silent, weightless, a purple arrow against the infinite black sky. Below us, the gorge was a deep, dark crack in the earth. The city was a distant, glowing fungus on the horizon. Time stretched, distorted. It was terrifying. It was beautiful.
Then, gravity reclaimed us.
We slammed into the plateau with a cataclysmic crash. The front suspension exploded, the fiberglass bumper shattering. The airbags deployed in a deafening WHUMP, smacking us in the face with the force of a sledgehammer. The car bottomed out, scraping along the rocky ground in a shower of sparks, slewing violently to the left.
I fought the wheel, my vision blurry from the airbag, the world a dizzying spin of rock and sky.
SCREEEECH—CRUNCH!
We came to a jarring, final stop, tilted at a crazy angle. The engine gave one last, choked cough and died.
Silence. A ringing, absolute silence, broken only by the tink-tink-tink of cooling, tortured metal.
I shoved the deflated airbag away, my head swimming. "Chloe? Rostova?"
"Alive," Chloe groaned, rubbing her neck. "I think."
"Functional," Rostova replied from the back, her voice strained.
We had made it. We were on the plateau.
I pushed my door open, it groaned on bent hinges. I stumbled out, my legs buckling beneath me. I fell to my knees, vomiting onto the hard-packed earth. My body was a symphony of pain.
Chloe climbed out, swaying, her face pale. She looked at the Supra. It was a wreck. The front end was demolished, fluids leaking onto the dry ground, steam rising from the ruptured radiator. But the cabin was intact. The roll cage had held.
Rostova emerged, her tactical outfit smudged with dirt, a thin trickle of blood from her hairline. She didn't look at the car. She scanned the horizon with a predator's intensity.
Then, she pointed. "There."
In the distance, maybe two kilometers away, was a cluster of prefab structures and a landing pad. A single, unmarked, heavy-lift cargo drone was parked beside a low, windowless building. The decommissioned orbital launch platform. Our destination.
"We walk from here," Rostova said.
The triumph was short-lived. The sound of engines cut through the thin, high-altitude air. Not the roar of our kind, but the high-pitched, efficient whine of electric motors.
From behind a rock formation, three vehicles emerged. Not IA interceptors.
Two heavily modified, dune-buggy-style vehicles with oversized tires and mounted spotlights. And leading them, a vehicle that made my blood run cold.
A black, matte-finish McLaren Senna. Julian's track-day hypercar. It was pristine, untouched by the desert, a venomous spider that had waited for the fly to crash.
The vehicles fanned out, surrounding our wrecked Supra.
The Senna's dihedral door hissed open. Julian stepped out, dressed in a clean racing suit, a look of utter contempt on his face.
He slowly clapped his hands, the sound echoing in the vast silence.
"A truly spectacular display, Tanaka. Truly. I almost believed you'd make it." He walked toward us, his eyes gliding over the destroyed Supra. "Such a shame. All that effort, all that rebellion... for this."
He stopped a few feet away, his smile cruel.
"Did you really think I'd let you jeopardize the entire club with your reckless, sentimental nonsense? I've been tracking you since you left the city. I knew Rostova would lead you on a foolish, desperate path."
He gestured to the buggies. His private security.
"I'm here to clean up your mess. I'll be taking the shipment. And you..." He looked at Rostova. "...will be my gift to Internal Affairs. A token of my... cooperation."
He had played us. He was the leak. He had used us as a distraction, letting us draw IA's attention while he took the safe, known route to claim the prize for himself.
We were battered, our car was dead, and we were surrounded.
Julian smiled. "The Silver Run is over. You lose."