The only legal way out of the Pale is a Derby writ. The house already owns the scoreboard.
Nash, Piper, and Dez watch from the cheap rail while Helix Prestige darling Vance Morrow steals a Kiln heat that should have killed him. Piper’s Mono clocks the cheat. The inspector waves him through. Rent is due, the Stitchyard is a cage, and the Interceptor on the prize stand is the only armed ticket through AUTOCORP’s fence.
So they burn every saved credit on a rust-eaten stock compact and enter as self-funded pirates. No sponsor. No backup seat. Rookie rank, E-Kill rules, paint and shock, a gunner on the roof, a half-dead Dashcore named Vee whispering math that says they lose.
Helm-Visors track Driver, Reflex, MD, and HC in the cockpit. The Circuit tracks them for content. House teams rewrite telemetry. Marshals bleed points in real time. One more loss and they wash out. One clean win and they might actually leave.
They did not come to play fair. They came to survive the heat, steal the proof, and take the car the house never meant pirates to drive.
