The city’s airship docks hum with steam and
tension. A woman in a leather flight jacket
steps onto the starting line, her chest open to
reveal a brassandglass heart. The crowd roars.
Her name is Lila Voss. She’s a sprinter from the
lower tiers, but her mechanical heart—crafted by
a blackmarket engineer—pulses with stolen power.
The race is a test of endurance, but also of
allegiance. Each competitor’s heart is tied to a
faction. Betrayal means shutdown.
The track is a broken highway, littered with
rusted cars and neon signs flickering in the
smog. Lila’s heart whirs as she sprints, its
gears grinding against the cold. She passes a
group of enforcers in gray coats, their own
hearts glowing red. They watch her, unimpressed.
At mile two, her heart falters. A glitch. She
stumbles, but keeps moving. The crowd chants her
name. She’s not supposed to be here. The race is
for the elite, the ones with factionbacked
hearts. But Lila’s is a relic, a smuggled design
from the old world. It’s unstable.
She reaches the river bridge, where the final
challenge awaits: a tunnel filled with magnetic
traps. Her heart pulses faster, trying to
recalibrate. She jumps, landing on a rusted
train car. The trap activates—her heart seizes.
She collapses. The crowd falls silent. A figure
steps forward—a man in a tuxedo, his heart a
deep blue. He offers her a vial. “Refill,” he
says. “But it’s not free.”
Lila takes it. Her heart restarts, but now it’s
linked to him. She finishes the race, but the
victory is hollow. The next morning, she finds a
note in her pocket: “You’re mine now.”
The city’s factions whisper. Lila’s heart is no
longer hers. It’s a weapon. And the next race is
already planned.
