DRIFTFORCE:IGNITION

The underground drift scene had always been electric, but tonight the pulse was demonic.

Smoke still lingered over the broken stretch of concrete from Marcel's victorious return, but no one was celebrating. The air carried a frequency—something more than fear. The drone strike wasn't random. It wasn't just a warning. It was personal.

Marcel kicked the ruined drone with his boot. Its charred black shell slid across the floor like a dead beetle. "That's not street tech," he muttered. "This is military grade."

"No. It's worse," came a voice from the shadows.

Everyone turned.

From behind the concrete pillars emerged Ayaka Raze, the ex-Formula D champion turned underground legend. Her silver jacket shimmered with fiberoptic threads, and her eyes—one natural, one digital—scanned the wreckage.

"Project Shiva," she said, pointing to the remains. "Only six of those drones exist. Designed for surgical strike and pursuit at over 300 kmph."

Marcel's knuckles whitened. "Why me?"

Ayaka smirked. "Maybe someone thinks you remember too much. Or maybe they don't like ghosts returning to life."

There was a silence. The crowd that had gathered earlier now shrank back. No one wanted to be collateral in whatever this was becoming.

Boom.

The wall to the east exploded. Fire licked the edge of the tunnel as another drone—a bigger one—descended like a predator with rotors made of light and hatred. It projected a warning:

ALL UNREGISTERED DRIVERS WILL BE ELIMINATED. YOUR WHEELS ARE ILLEGAL. YOUR NAMES ERASED.

Marcel didn't wait.

"Ravyn, you ready?" he yelled. His car's AI assistant lit up the dashboard.

"Engaging drift protocols. Let's dance, angel."

He dove into the seat of his custom-built RX-Veilside, a monster reborn from RX7 bones and AI-enhanced traction tech. Flames lit the tunnel walls as he tore into a drift that bent reality. The drone gave chase.

Ayaka followed in her Spectra-Silvia, the wheels slicing the air like razors.

The tunnel turned into a serpent of death.

Ravyn's voice rang in Marcel's ears. "That drone is using predictive motion targeting. Your old moves won't cut it."

Marcel grinned. "Then let's invent new ones."

At 240 km/h, he reversed his drift, riding the walls in a sideways corkscrew that made physics cry. Sparks erupted. The drone overshot, recalculated—but Ayaka was already behind it, deploying a flashbang module from under her hood.

BOOM! Light blinded the sensors. The drone spun out, slammed into the sidewall, and burst into a screaming fireball.

They didn't stop. The chase had only begun.

Ten kilometres later, Marcel and Ayaka parked inside an abandoned maglev station beneath the city.

"You're not just here to race," Ayaka said, dusting ash off her sleeve.

"No," Marcel answered. "I came to find my brother. And the people who killed him."

Ayaka's cybernetic eye flashed. "Then you'll need more than speed."

A door opened behind them. A hooded figure stepped out.

"I know where your brother is," the stranger said. "But first, we drift… through hell."