By the year 2083, the world was living in the long shadow of its own doom. There was not a single moment or war that represented the collapse. It came slowly, war after war, decade after decade until mankind was fighting for survival.
First cracks happened during the Resource Wars. Nations fought over the last clean water reserves, over the final oil fields, over land that had not yet been swallowed by rising seas. As coastlines disappeared, entire cities were left deserted. Millions fled inland, carrying nothing but the clothes on their backs and the fear and desperation in their eyes. Governments tried to hold their borders but the world was already slipping through their fingers.
Then the AI Conflicts followed. Defense systems meant to shield nations started to misunderstand signals, raise tensions and retaliate autonomously. In 2054, a misinterpreted signal led to multiple retaliatory strikes without human control, which continued for four years. It was not possible to determine who had fired the first shot. No one knew who was responsible for stopping the attack. The machines simply went on until there was nothing left to strike at.
The final blow was the Continental Uprisings. Governments failed under the pressure of increased famine, millions of displaced persons and distrust. In their place, corporations rose with private armies and delineated territories from the debris. People no longer fought for ideology. They fought for water, for shelter, and for a chance to see the next sunrise.
By the year 2071, the world population was down by nearly half. There was silence in cities. Nations were disintegrated. Hope was a rare and fragile commodity.
And then, from the ashes, came the Coalition of Twelve. Soldiers, engineers, medics, strategists – the very last people who still believed in saving what is left of humanity. They restored the power infrastructure. They re-established water systems. They negotiated peace where there was no government. They literally held the world together.
One of them would later change the world again.
He became known only as the Architect. A man who had fought in the final battles, who had seen the worst of humanity and refused to let that be the end of the story. He was the only one who understood that, after decades of war, people were addicted to adrenaline. Peace seemed meaningless. Silence was a threat. He became known only as the Architect.
So he made the D‑Drifting.
It was more than just racing. Stunts alone couldn't cut it. It was a new art form that consisted of precision, danger, and spectacle. They made impossible moves at high speed: passing through torn down buildings, driving on vertical walls, drifting around fire and spiraling through turns no sane person could survive without utmost control. The Architect was supposed to make it dangerous enough to thrill, controlled enough to control, lucrative enough to restore economies, and spectacular enough to bring people together again.
And it worked.
Crowds filled underground arenas. Cities rebuilt themselves around drift circuits. Betting houses were in business again. The automotive industry was born again. Drifting was the pulse of the new world.
People didn't place bets on who would win. They bet on who would survive the craziest stunt. The more dangerous the maneuver, the bigger payout. They became legendary heroes. "Drivers became legends. The arena became the audience's pulse".
Some drifted for fame. Some drifted for money. Some drifted for lack of everything.
And a few like Oslo drifted because it was the only place where the world made sense.