S1, E3 | The Storm Stratum

Floating at one end of a lengthy, red and silver racetrack measuring roughly six cars wide, a spherical, blue orb of energy rotates slowly amidst a sea of electricity that litters the air. Covered in dark, ominous rainclouds, the sky above this empty stretch of track briefly lights with flashes not too dissimilar to the bulb of cameras, its streak of illumination preceding a thunderous crash that doesn’t take much more than a second or two to follow.

Lining each side of the track, massive spires pierce through the skies to such an extent that they vanish above the clouds, begging to meet the will of the stratum’s aggressions anxiously. Rumbling, the environment that consumes the track from all directions presents little more than the display of doom and gloom, its air kept from being afforded the pleasure of silence between each roar of thunder by the crushing droplets of rain that assault the roadway’s surface.

“Holy shit!” Alec proclaims, the first of his fellow racers to touch down upon solid ground following their leap from one plane to another, his vehicle’s speed returning to a more manageable level the second his eyes meet an unencumbered track.

“Are their dash cameras operable?” Caesar wonders aloud from the seat that resides at the helm of the computer mountain he sits before. “Affirmative. I’m patching you in now” Ellis responds, inputting code as fast as he can manage whilst the sound of various voices fills the control room. “Can you all hear me?” the scientist wonders aloud, speaking into the standing mic just a few inches away from his face, both eyes wandering across the screens that present different points of view.

Responding with an assortment of affirming replies, the drivers break as far away from each other as they can manage before coming back together in their original racing clubs as organised as they can manage. “What the hell is this place!?” Nolo calls out from behind the wheel of his convertible, allowing the helmet that he wears to shield him from the rainfall whilst his leather interior takes a beating.

“Like I said before you entered- this is the Storm Stratum” Caesar replies, splitting his view between different onboard cameras, “each leg of this race is supposed to bring its own differences; this stratum happens to mimic the conditions of a harsh thunderstorm.”

“How the hell are we supposed to drive in this thing!?” Dale shouts, correctly assuming his helmet had been fitted with a microphone just as it had been the speaker he hadn’t realised would be made available until now. “That’s the part you’re meant to figure out” Caesar responds, focusing on the motorcyclist’s camera with the intention of collecting a better understanding of the conditions.

“Is it even safe to drive in thi-? Jesus!” Butch exclaims, continuing to speed along in the line of DSRC bikers whilst ducking as close to the machine as he can manage, startled by the streak of lightning that immediately brings a crashing thud over the area. “I’m not sure if it’s safe for you in this stratum” Caesar responds, his intelligence only taking him as far as the knowledge he holds, “if I were you, I’d just hope for the best.”

“There’s a split coming up in the road ahead” Harland remarks aloud, his tone much calmer than those of his peers, who remain as awestruck as they had been when entering the plane. “You’re on your own as far as the route is concerned” Caesar confesses, disappointed mostly in his own inability to know more than what he does, “the only thing I know for certain is that every route eventually leads to the end... You just have to make it there.”

“What does that mean?” Kurt questions, a squint carried in his eyes as he grasps the steering wheel with only his left hand, “is there a chance we don’t make it to the end of the race?” With the turn of his head, Caesar takes his eyes to a wall-mounted clock toward the opposite side of the room, its digital face counting down the seconds that have passed since the stratum had opened to host his racers.

“It’s like I said earlier. The stratum remains open for exactly sixty minutes” he replies, taking his attention back to the camera of the driver in question, “whether it be the time or the dreaded conditions that you’re currently driving through, I’d imagine there’s not much in the way of room for error.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that we’d be driving through a torrential downpour?” Vert questions back, trailing behind the two most-experienced drivers in his group whilst Talia quietly listens to the music in her headphones behind him. “If I didn’t tell you anything before you entered the stratum, it’s because I didn’t know about it” Caesar responds, shaking his head as his eyes turn toward the vehicle’s camera, “there are some things none of anyone’s research would clue me in on.” 

“We’ve got three routes- which track are we running down, Nolo?” Kurt questions aloud, watching as the man triggers his left-most yellow turn signal. “Before you ask, I have no specific reason for it” the Kaiyo leader admits, shrugging his shoulders whilst gradually veering his car in the direction his light flashes.

“Kaiyo, we’re going left” Kurt calls out, looking into his rear-view mirror as the two cars behind him follow suit in turning on their blinkers. “I guess I know where-” Mark gleefully remarks, wearing a grin in the corner of his mouth before throwing himself back against his seat, frightened immensely by the crashing roar in the air that is preceded by a bright lightning strike, one that touches down upon the hood of the man’s car.

Given no time to react, the younger of the Wayland siblings watches as the other fourteen cars ahead of him continue on, driving at a faster speed than his slowing vehicle fails to match. Within a few seconds, Ronny’s altered ‘Lil Red Express manoeuvres itself around Mark’s car to carry on following the Crew’s lead, leaving the easily-confrontational driver behind.

“Why the hell is my car stopping!?” Mark calls aloud, begging the question for Caesar to answer before initially overhearing his brother’s chuckle of amusement instead. “I’ve lost the signal of your onboard camera, Mark. What happened?” the scientist replies, waiting to overhear the reply for a few moments as the younger sibling attempts to restart his car.

“My ride got hit by lightning, what the hell do you think happened!?” Mark angrily shouts back, listening to his engine struggle to reboot for a few seconds before finally finding success. “Have you got it back on now?” Caesar questions, still unable to receive any signal from the man’s onboard camera.

“Yeah, I’m back up and running” Mark answers, grabbing the wheel again before continuing on with his original journey. “Mark, Crew’s taking the middle road” Harland proclaims back, watching as the third-ranking member of their group chooses to take a different journey. “Nah, to hell with that” the bitter Wayland brother replies, taking issue with the laughter he can still recall the sound of, “I’m gonna go teach the funny man a lesson.”

“Do your worst” Kurt dares as his brothers car reaches the point of no return, directing itself down Kaiyo’s route without the need to look back. “I guess that means we’ve got the right track all to ourselves, boys!” Alec proclaims with a chipper attitude, looking into the rear view mirror before his grin fades, his momentarily redirected sight allowing him to take notice of the motorcycle crew that trails a few dozen yards behind, “I take that back.”

“Just ignore them and keep driving, Alec” Eric responds from the very end of the Esteemed’s convoy, paying his full attention to the journey they’ve just begun to undertake, “remember what the point of this is... winning.” Though he wishes to disagree with the conclusion his friend makes, Alec nods in agreement with the conclusion that’s reached, doing as suggested by refocusing his eyes on the open track ahead, eager to see what the end of it looks like.

= Driveline is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards =

“Did daddy’s money teach you boys how to drive too, or was it only good enough to land the cars?” Tyson prods from the back of the DSRC’s frontline, following the lead that Dale blazes as he pokes fun at the squad ahead of them. “Dude, you really shouldn’t be trying to egg any of us on” Eric replies, passing a few looks toward his rear-view mirror to keep an eye on the motorcyclist’s.

“Is that a threat, rich boy?” Pat questions through an undisturbed tone, genuinely curious as toward the comment’s intention. “No, it’s my way of reminding you that the four of you aren’t in a very good predicament right now” Eric clarifies, explaining himself through reason and sensibility, “it’s raining cats and dogs, the sky is roaring and shooting lightning bolts at the ground every other second, and you’re shit talking a group of super cars while behind the control of motorcycles.”

“So? Why would that concern us?” Butch questions aloud, pulling up alongside the DSRC’s leader whilst begging the question. “He’s trying to say there are laws made to protect shithead gun-toters like you pricks from actual rides, dumbass!” Ross chirps back, prodding at the convoy that follow their lead before pulling out to the right of Eric and letting off the gas just slightly, descending from third in the group and toward the very back.

“Didn’t you hear what the bald guy told you before we drove in here, richie?” Butch questions back, noticing the intentional retreat Ross takes from the rest of his peers, “we ain’t on earth anymore; those laws don’t apply.” With a smirk, the privileged driver nods to himself, before passing a glance through his window, looking toward Eric’s face in the next car over to see his head shaking in refusal.

“No, I guess they don’t” Ross reassures, pleased with the conclusion brought upon them by the drivers that trail behind, his joy taken from the thought that comes over his head.

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“Where the hell is Talia going?” Vert wonders aloud, looking into his rear view mirror to find the woman’s M-Coupe turning onto a separate pathway without warning, the driver herself taking whichever route feels most appropriate in the moment. “Wherever Talia wants to go as per usual” Kurt replies, passing his own glance at the car behind himself before taking notice of his brother’s vehicle a number of yards behind, “it doesn’t matter anyway- there’s another fork coming up.”

“That sounds perfect to me” Mark replies, pressing his foot further into the driver’s pedal with hopes of gaining ground, looking to draft behind Vert’s NSX, “how about you leave the other Kaiyo behind and race me like a real man, Kurt?” From just behind the front-most car, the oldest Wayland sibling stares at the taillights of the vehicle ahead, waiting for a few seconds before the right turn signal begins to blink.

Sparking a grin, Kurt passes another glance into his rear-view mirror as Vert follows suit, the NSX being prepared to turn right as Kaiyo’s second in command swipes his left hand downward. “I think that’s a great idea, brother” the older sibling replies, breaking rank with the rest of his group in triggering the RX-7’s left turn signal before pulling away physically.

“We’ve got a race to win, Kurt. Are you sure you wanna do this?” Nolo questions aloud, looking at the dashboard-attached mirror that affords him the sight of his right hand man’s redirection. “You boys go ahead without me” Kurt doubles down, reassuring the pair of his confidence as their journeys pull away from each other’s, “I’ve got my own race to win.”

Needing no further convincing than the one he’d offered to trigger this separation, Mark calmly pulls his wheel toward the left, following the trail that he and his brother venture down alone. Reflecting another streak of lightning that flashes across the storm-covered sky, the chrome vehicles that the lone pair of coupled Kaiyo members drive embark upon the road still left to be explored, aiming to settle their own business with the stratum whilst their contemporaries handle other matters.

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“How are you doing back there, Wayland?” Taro questions aloud, having remained mostly mute for the duration of the race, only for the lack of an immediate answer to spark intrigue. “The stratum spans a great distance of uncertain length, Taro” Caesar replies instead, “since our collective communications are routed through my system’s outside of the energy’s concentration, I’ll be able to communicate with you consistently. However, other drivers will fall out of reach inside.”

“So we’ll only be able to talk to each other here if we’re nearby?” Harland questions back, simply hoping to understand whether or not such a statement is conclusive. “In that case, how’s Wayland doing?” Taro doubles down, asking the scientist in lieu of the subject’s unavailability, “you can still see his dashcam, right?”

“I can communicate with his radio, but I don’t have access to his dashcam” Caesar replies, staring at the blank screen that the youngest brother’s feed returns to him before falling silent, eyes eventually redirecting themselves to the footage positioned just above it. “It seems as though I don’t need it” the man speaks away from the mic, concealing this fact from the drivers that he speaks with as his eyes glue themselves to Kurt’s footage, which affords him a slight view of the Firebird.

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“Hey, how fast can those things stop?” Ross wonders aloud, looking into his side mirrors at the motorcycle fleet behind himself, wearing a smirk that isn’t just in spite of their continued presence, but is due to it. “I don’t think you’d like to know the answer to that question” Dale answers, pulling farther ahead than the rest of the DSRC with eyes taking toward the rear of the outspoken man’s vehicle.

“Why is that?” Lana wonders aloud, paying little mind to the shadowing group of bikers other than the words that the club speak, her eyes instead keeping toward the vehicle that she tails. “Because the only reason we’d have to stop would be to get off our bikes...” Dale responds, his rain soaked face keeping itself attached toward the back of the Tributo that his tormentor remains behind the wheel of, “...the only reason to get off our bikes would be ‘cause y’all got out of your cars.”

“Oh, you mean like a throwdown-type situation?” Ross retorts, eyebrows lifting as he feigns some sudden epiphany, “the road rage stuff people get involved in when they're angry, right? That stuff?” Scowling, Dale uses the slipstream left behind by Eric’s car a few yards ahead to play catchup, eventually finding himself nearly side-to-side with the man who’d asked the question.

“I guess you could say that” Butch answers on his leader’s behalf, realising the question had gone unanswered in the wake of their leader’s attention being paid toward gaining ground. “That’s really good to know” Ross replies, taking notice of the leader’s advancement with an even wider grin on his face, “hey, what do you guys think causes all that road rage? Is it stuff like this?”

Without warning, the Tributo’s driver veers to the right sharply just as the Honda Fury that had gained on him begins to draw closer, forcing its operator to quickly pull back and give up the same ground he’d gained. “Would that cause it?” Ross questions back, purposefully instigating the group whose leader he can hear grunt angrily in frustration, the reaction proving more than enough to send him into outright laughter.

“What the hell did you do, dummy!?” Alec jokingly laughs, having spent too much time focusing on the route that lies ahead to spectate the scene that had sent his girlfriend and best friend into a chuckle. “He tried running Dale off the track” Eric answers through disappointment, only to hear the Esteemed’s leader share in the amusement that the rest of his group had taken.

“I’m glad you find that funny” Butch proclaims, pulling his left hand away from the handlebars to signal toward the younger members of the squad before forming a line. In descending order, the DSRC use each other’s momentum to gain ground on the end of the Esteemed’s trail, their speed gaining as Ross begins bouncing his left leg in eager anticipation.

“Yeah, you idiots... Go ahead and line up for me” the rear-most member of the group jokes, watching the fleet of choppers draw closer and close the distance that lies between once more. In one motion, Dale follows the same lead that his club’s vice president had led as he pulls his left hand back, making a brief motion that signals to those that follow behind himself.

Pulling off to the right side of the luxury vehicle, Butch and his son leave the other half of their group to remain put, trailing toward the Tirbuto’s left. “What the hell are you idiots doing?” Ross questions genuinely, splitting his sights between each side of his vehicle without much in the way of action to take. Paying the youthful adult no response, the two leading men of the DSRC slow their speed just slightly so Tyson and Pat can catch up momentarily.

“Take it, son” Butch calls back, watching his offspring grab the extensive chain that protrudes from one side of his bike and lock it in place, affording Tyson the same opportunity that Pat has in essentially converting their motorcycles into trailers for the leading figureheads to haul. With two free hands, the younger members of the club retrieve a set of shotguns that had been stationed in the same compartment that the other choppers had their chains fitted into.

“What the fuck are they-!?” Ross calls out, looking toward Dale and Pat’s side of the vehicle with a squint, his uncertainty only concluding when he realises that the object he’s looking toward is a barrel. Acting on instinct, the Tributo’s driver slams his foot on the brake without warning and sends his tires screeching to a halt, allowing the pair of motorbikes that had caused his brief halt to dart past without issue.

Holding him back as best as it can, Ross’ seatbelt prevents the man’s head from getting as close to the centre of his steering wheel as it can manage, thrusted forward by the furious braking that soon prompts the DSRC to slow. “Woah, woah, woah! Hold on boys, no one said anything about- Ah!” the young adult pleads, pulling his hands away from the wheel in order to present his hands, only for the streak of lightning that forces itself upon the vehicle’s hood to terrorise him.

Powered down by the blast, Ross’ car becomes momentarily lame as he’s left without much in the way of defence. Able to act however they please, the four members of the DSRC instead choose to return their shotguns to the places in which they were stored whilst the leaders follow suit with their tow. “As long as you know we can do as we please in here- that’s all that matters” Dale quips aloud, speaking to the sitting duck driver only one proclamation before continuing on.

“Let’s move, y’all” Butch commands, reclaiming full possession of his own handlebars before joining Dale in resuming their original journey. Without the issue he assumed would befall him, Ross watches the DSRC pull away and take toward the rest of the race whilst a single pair of headlights draw closer toward him, driving hurriedly past the bikers before rolling past his friend.

“Are you alright?” Eric wonders aloud, not wanting to stop in the middle of the road out of fear that his vehicle will be the next target of the lightning’s assault. “Yeah” Ross replies after a few breaths, restarting his engine after a brief struggle before following the lead the motorcycle club had shown him in returning to the competition, “let’s finish this race.”

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“We’ve been on different sides of the same road countless time before, brother” Kurt remarks, unphased by the minimal lead his sibling’s car holds on his own, “remind me how many times this sort of thing ends up with you on top?” Curling his lip, Mark grunts at the reflection of his brother’s car in the side mirror before approaching a curve in the road he takes the inside of.

Pulling behind his brother’s car, Kurt purposefully trails behind the Firebird before retreating to the outside of the track as it straightens out once more. “Come on, Mark. Let’s not sit around and pretend like I wasn’t the reason you went and joined the Crew” the Kaiyo second in command proceeds, taking his sibling’s silence to be little more than additional room to talk for himself, “you were never as keen on winning slips as you were at just getting the chance to beat me.”

“I’ve always been able to beat you, Kurt” Mark replies in a less aggravated tone of voice than he usually carries, focusing on the track ahead without much in mind aside from the finish line he so desperately wishes to see first. “Is that so?” Kurt retorts, raising an eyebrow as he once again pulls behind his sibling’s car, only this time without a curve in the road to provoke it, “then why has my car not been turned into scrap metal yet?”

Keeping a watchful eye on the vehicle behind himself, Mark groans at the question without the intent of providing an answer, his every effort from this point forward being spent on reaching the end before his brother does. Not minding the position he assumes behind the sibling’s car, Kurt continues to follow his relative’s lead along the track that remains, his posture calm and relaxed whilst the younger man ahead of him leans closer toward the wheel, eager and anxious.

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“Kurt’s opting to remain behind his brother; he’s likely to remain there until the race’s end” Caesar remarks, his words directed toward the man that takes a similar approach behind Harland’s car. “All that means is that Mark’s in the lead” Taro replies, offering a nod of approval along with the smile that it accompanies, “that’s what I like to hear.”

“Taro?” Vert’s voice wonders aloud, overhearing the older man’s reply through the speaker in his helmet, “is that you?”

“Hey, Caesar- I thought you said we couldn’t hear each other unless-” Harland immediately calls out, overhearing the same interjection that his group’s co-founder had before falling silent, watching the turn that he and what remains of the Crew take spill out into a straight-away, one that is soon joined by the separate stretch of track the Kaiyo members had taken.

“Where’s your pretty deaf friend?” Ronny wonders aloud from behind the reunited group of five cars, his driving having proven over the years to be more cautious than that of his peers. “Talia goes wherever she feels most suits her” Vert replies with a chuckle, resting his right hand over the steering wheel whilst his left holds it near the bottom, “I guess it’s a five-way dance to see who finishes first, huh?”

“Not quite...” Nolo almost immediately responds, his comment of refusal prompting the driver that follows closely behind to stare past at the stretch of track ahead, finding the same confusing glimpse as himself, “...who are they?”

From behind the control centre’s desk, Caesar presses his palms against the table’s surface and stands from his seat, looking through the view that’s afforded to him through Harland’s dashcam. “Geez, they got in there fast” Ellis grumbles from one end of the control room whilst clutching a clipboard against his chest, surprised to find the green taillights that drive ahead of the racers.

“Earth to Caesar... Hello?” Harland wonders aloud, overhearing the Kaiyo leader’s question and taking interest in the answer all the same, “who’re in those cars?” Holding an intense squint both malicious and perturbed in nature, Caesar forgoes offering a reply to the inquiry as he simmers at the sight, his expectations of seeing it having been undeniably present, though his instinctive reaction to their presence in the stratum proves harder to handle than he’d anticipated.

“The drones” he murmurs, no longer capable of looking away from the camera’s feed.

Pressing his pedal against the floor, Nolo finds his vehicle neck-and-neck with that of the Crew’s leader, their brief glance toward each other making it clear that neither is willing to secede ground to the other. “Nolo, Harland- the only thing more important than beating each other is winning this race” Caesar explains, his eyes finding themselves incapable of peeling away from the unmarked vehicles that burn rubber ahead, “no matter what- do not let the drones win.”

“Don’t worry... the Crew always wins” Harland replies, his proclamation being one that both Taro and Ronny nod in agreement with, though it draws the ire of the racers to their collective left. “We’ll see about that” Nolo retorts, pulling off to the right just slightly in allowance of Vert to overtake him before correcting course just behind the leading driver.

“Taro!” Harland calls out, pulling to the side just as the group beside them had and allowing the group’s co-founder to follow a similar strategy, one that Ronny doesn’t seem all that keen on partaking in. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m made out to race like that guys” the mechanic confesses, letting off the gas just slightly to allow the higher-ranking drivers in his squad an uninterrupted passageway, “you go on ahead... I’ll watch from back here.”

Side by side, Vert and Taro pass each other a nod as they assume the lead of their groups before inevitably falling back once more, reclaiming their place behind the leaders as they collectively draw closer toward the vehicles that had out-paced them. “Drivers, be cautious of how you approach the drones” Caesar warns, pleading with the racers to not overstep their capabilities, “they are unmanned. Their directions are derived from an entity that communicates with them just as I do with you.”

“What do you mean by ‘an entity’?” Vert questions back, soon reclaiming the voluntarily-provided lead of the Kaiyo cars just as Taro does, their collective efforts affording them the chance to greatly catch up. “They’re called the Flat Devil Corporation” Caesar confesses, providing whatever detail he hadn’t been given the chance to offer prior to the stratum’s opening, “there is no human driver behind the wheel of those cars to-”

Stopping himself as he stares into Taro’s onboard camera, Caesar watches the formation of the vehicles ahead shift according to the task at hand. “They’ve spotted you” the scientist warns, his declaration one that brings a natural concern over the stratum-occupying racers, who follow the alteration as best they can whilst closing the distance.

“Alright? They’re still in the lead, what would they-?” Vert begins to retort, taking toward one side in an effort of falling behind Nolo’s car once more before watching the reformation’s result take shape. Whilst a trio of green-tinted vehicles keep their fronts facing the remainder of the racetrack, the four automated vehicles that stray from their pack come together in stopping along the track, cutting off the drivers from continuing on without colliding with them first.

“What the hell are they doing!?” Nolo calls out, stomping on the brakes instinctively as his speed proves to be too great for a clean stop to be made. “Oh shit!” Vert blurts out, seeing Nolo’s tail lights flash red without warning before following suit, the front of his vehicle colliding with the end of his leader’s own as the velocity becomes too great to fight against.

“Harland, stop!” Taro shouts back to the man that follows him, pulling at the parking brake before turning his wheel to the left, forcing his vehicle into a sideways skid that- just as Kaiyo- is too late to avoid a collision. Sacrificing themselves for the greater good they’ve been programmed to serve in the favour of, the four unmanned cars sent into the stratum by the corporation bare the brunt of the impact and are sent flying back beneath the will of the racers.

Collectively barrelling through the robotic vehicles, Kaiyo and the Crew eventually roll into the stop of the drivers’ last minute termination of the race, one that sends the vehicular quartet of drone cars flying over the edge of the racetrack and into a stormy abyss below. Rolling to a complete standstill he’d successfully kept himself free from being a part of, Ronny calls through his helmets toward the whiplash-stricken drivers that line the field ahead of him.

“Are you guys alri-!?” the man worriedly questions aloud, only to fall silent without warning as a bout of thunder crashes over the stratum as a result of yet another flash. Each stricken with a burst of lightning, the five stopped cars stall in the positions that the crash had left them in, refused with the opportunity at winning the race by the victors themselves.

Maintaining their lead for the final stretch that remains, the corporation’s automated drones narrow in on the spherical, blue orb that lies at the track’s final inch, disappearing back into the plane of existence that they’d originated from to declare victory over the stratum. “Damnit!” Caesar shouts as he punches the desk’s surface and turns away, keeping his eyes from the monitors as he frustratedly walks for the room’s exit, forced to concede defeat to the much maligned superior squad.

“Woah, woah! Move out of the way!” Mark shouts as he retains his lead on the older sibling, closing in on the end of the race before taking notice of the strewn-about group of vehicles that reside ahead. With a grin on his face, Kurt lets his foot off the gas pedal just slightly and allows his younger brother to gain ground, though it is distance created that his relative cannot capitalise on.

Realising that he can travel no further with the maze of automobiles that lie ahead, Mark begrudgingly slams his foot against the brake and drags his tires along to a stop just beside Ronny’s truck. “Kurt, stop!” Nolo proclaims as another streak of lightning rains down from the heavens and strikes at the younger brother’s car, a slow down- even in the wake of the carnage that lies ahead- proving to be something the approaching driver isn’t fond of making.

Lifting his free hand from the centre console, Kurt presses his thumb against a button along the inside of his wheel as he hurries toward his brother’s stalled vehicle, grinning as he’s propelled into the air. With open mouths, the collective drivers stare toward the sky as the second in command flies above them, shot from the track’s surface by a group of boosters fixed into the underbelly of his vehicle.

Completely evading the pileup, the eldest Wayland sibling touches back down upon solid ground with as much grace as a gymnast completing their routine, his wheels continuing to spin forward as nothing more than clear track resides ahead. “What the hell was that!?” Mark calls out from the very end of the traffic jam, only to hear his brother’s humoured chuckle reply at first.

“That?” Kurt replies, passing a look toward the collision’s scene through his rear view mirror with a smirk before following the track for the rest of its way, “that was me winning again.” The answer not being to the question that he’d asked but rather being taken as another opportunity to gloat, Mark slams his fist against the wheel to his car in anger as another chrome car passes him- this time at cruising speed.

Undisturbed by the wreckage before her, Talia silently bobs her head along with the music in her headphones as she slowly navigates the sea of cars laid out amidst the track, following it to the front before embarking upon the rest of her journey.

The first to emerge from within the stratum, Kurt’s vehicle reaches the stretch of artificial track that acts as a passage out from the building’s central portal, the one pathway in the building to allow safe travel out of the rift as opposed to going into it. Casually rolling down the descending stretch of road, the chrome RX-7 eventually reaches ground level a few seconds before Talia’s M-Coupe follows a similar lead.

Removing his helmet as he parks his car off to the side of the ramp’s meeting point with solid ground, Kurt steps out of his car and takes his eyes upward, watching the man that had greeted them when they’d first entered the Second Level angrily storm across the balcony from one building to another. “What’s wrong with you!?” the first racer of the bunch to emerge from the stratum inquires, his question catching the ear of the scientist that comes to a stop mid-step.


Turning his eyes toward the ground below, Caesar wraps his hand around the railing that prevents a multi-story drop into the concrete below and stares at Kurt in the face. “We have a lot of work to do” he answers simply before continuing on his way, disappearing into the next room over whilst the remaining drivers emerge from the portal one after another, returning to an existence infinitely dissimilar than the one they exit from by default without much certainty over what comes next.

== Driveline ==