I looked at my bank display on my wrist. Forty-eight thousand. I was just short.
"Welcome, gearheads, to the Dust Bowl Knockout! Last man driving takes the cash!" The lights counted down. Red. Yellow. Green. Gas Guzzlers Extreme
I flipped the toggle switch for Pops' new toy. The targeting computer hummed to life, projecting a red reticle onto my heads-up display. I locked onto a massive armored delivery truck in second place that was blocking the narrow canyon pass ahead. "Locked," the computer chimed in a calm, robotic voice. I pulled the trigger. I looked at my bank display on my wrist
Now, there was only one car left between me and a quarter-million credits. It was a sleek, black sports car armed with pulse lasers. I gripped the steering wheel, shifted into fifth, and pressed the button for the nitrous oxide. It was time to see who really owned the road. "Welcome, gearheads, to the Dust Bowl Knockout
The rocket streaked off my roof rack, leaving a thick trail of white smoke. A split second later, the delivery truck erupted in a spectacular fireball, flipping end over end and blocking the path for everyone behind me.
The announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, barely audible over the deafening roar of twelve supercharged engines.