Skacat- City Car Driving 100 Masin [95% SAFE]

My name is Skacat. Not the name my mother gave me. That was lost along with my left eye and my loyalty to the Corps. Now, I am just Skacat—the ghost who drives.

I saw it. A maintenance ramp. Thirty-degree incline. Walled on both sides. Wide enough for one car. One very foolish car.

The Ram-9 landed hard, suspension crying, but I kept it straight. Behind me, masin after masin caught air like leaping whales. Some landed wrong. Three flipped. Two exploded. Ninety-five left. Then ninety. Eighty-five.

"Skacat!" Lumen screamed. "Divert!"

I slid under the rogue masin's front axle, my roof shrieking against its oil pan. At the last second, I popped the Ram-9's emergency ejector bolts—the roof blew off, and I drove out from under the beast like a snake shedding its skin. The rogue masin crashed into the ones behind it. A chain reaction of twisted metal.

Most drivers would brake.

They chose me because I am the only driver who can hear the rhythm of the asphalt. skacat- city car driving 100 masin

"They won't sleep tonight, Lumen. Because they know the answer. No one does. Only Skacat."

I punched the throttle. The Ram-9 screamed. The first masin followed. Then the second. Then the tenth. We became a serpent of fire and steel, slithering up the wall of a dead mall. Gravity tried to peel me off. Sparks showered from my side mirror. At the apex, the ramp ended in a fifty-meter drop to a lower freeway.

I flew.

The first ten minutes were a ballet. I slid between the masin like a needle through a vein. Red lights were suggestions. Other drivers were obstacles to be predicted three seconds before they became threats. A delivery truck swerved. I downshifted, kissed the barrier, and the masin behind me mirrored the move like a school of killer whales. One hundred masin. Obedient. Hungry.

And somewhere in the burning city, fifty-three ghosts of steel kept driving, driverless, toward a destination only I understood.