Control
Moved WASD or Arrow keys Jump Space
description
**1.** The arena hums with neon-bathed chaos as crewmates rev engines in retrofitted skiffs—crimson, cyan, violet hulls glowing like liquid light under dusk’s bruised sky. Sirens blare; engines scream. A holographic crown spins above the finish, its prismatic glare cutting through the fog. **2.** Pistons hiss. Green’s skid marks scorch asphalt as they swerve past Orange’s sputtering rig—tires spraying sparks against neon billboards screaming *FASTER!* The crowd’s roar merges with synthwave beats, their glowsticks painting streaks in the twilight. **3.** Purple triggers nitro, their vehicle erupting into a comet of fuchsia flame. They vault over a ramp, barely dodging Black’s EMP trap—a crackling void that swallows streetlights. The crown’s reflection shivers in Purple’s visor. *Almost there.* **4.** Yellow’s engine sputters, smoke curling like neon ghosts. They slam a gloved fist on the dashboard, graffiti-coated boosters roaring to life—turquoise fire blasting them past Red’s drifting ride. Ads for cosmic cola flicker, pixelated and wild. **5.** A shortcut opens: a tunnel pulsing with ultraviolet grids. Cyan risks it, weaving through lasers that slice steel. Alarms wail. Behind them, Pink’s rig explodes into confetti of light—a distraction. Cyan grins. The crown’s glow dyes their teeth electric. **6.** Orange returns, sideswiping Blue into a neon puddle—the liquid splatters, glowing like radioactive honey. Blue’s curses dissolve into static as their comms short-circuit. The track’s holograms stutter, glitching into jagged constellations. **7.** Black deploys drones—mechanical wasps humming with venomous green light. They divebomb White, who spins sharply, tires screeching a metallic scream. One drone implodes, painting White’s windshield in fractal shadows. The crown pulses, closer now. **8.** Red’s sabotage backfires—their own engine overheats, vents spewing rainbow-hued steam. They leap onto Purple’s skiff mid-drift, gloves gripping hot metal. Purple yells, but Red’s laughter echoes. “Catch up or eat dust!” **9.** The final stretch: a bridge of flickering holograms. Cyan and Purple race neck-and-neck, neon winds tearing at their suits. The crown’s light fractures into strobes—Cyan reaches, gloves grazing cold alloy… **10.** *Victory.* Cyan’s skiff fishtails, haloed by the crown’s radiant aura. Fireworks detonate—neon starbursts mirrored in a hundred visors. The others skid to a halt, engines sighing. Dusk deepens, but the track still burns.
