Nothing gives YOLO quite like speeding down US50 in a stolen convertible. 50’s not the most direct route, but it’s the only highway Calvada keeps paved this far north, and you’re not making it anywhere on residential streets with WaymoPD around. Luckily, the autohogs throttle out at 45mph and the faster threats are just drones pissing caltrops that are fun to swerve around. The car’s an antique, but it handles well for something that still has wheels.
It’s early and you’re headed west, which means it’s bright as fuck. An Amazon smile slides in to cradle the sun—a big rig barricade straddling both lanes. Hooray, you think. This is it. You hit the gas and say your goodbyes, but the convertible slides beneath the trailer and out again, recalcitrant. You still have the wind in your hair, sunshine on your face, and an alarm blaring at two-second intervals.
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