The Vulture didn't just accelerate; it lunged. The world blurred into a streak of rust and neon. He hit the ramp at the end of the bridge at a hundred and twenty miles per hour. For a heartbeat, there was silence—the weightless, terrifying peace of flight. Below him, two other contestants collided in a fireball, their metal carcasses adding to the mounting pile of the arena's floor.
With a deafening roar, the juggernaut’s rear axle was ripped clean off, sending the massive machine tumbling into the electrified fence. The resulting explosion lit up the wasteland like a second sun.
The final circle was a cramped, circular arena surrounded by high-voltage fences. In the center sat the "Golden Jerrycan"—the ultimate prize that guaranteed extraction and a lifetime of fuel.
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