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Across from him sat "The Ghost," a rider who hadn't touched the ground with his boots in three seasons. The flag dropped.

Jax kicked into gear, his front tire lifting as he surged over a stack of rusted shipping containers. The physics of the track were brutal. One misplaced lean and he’d be face-first in the dirt. He hit a massive loop-de-loop, the world spinning in a blur of blue sky and dusty orange earth. Across from him sat "The Ghost," a rider

The engines roared at the starting line of the Mojave Desert track, a shimmering haze of heat rising from the sand. Jax gripped the handles of his custom-tuned bike, his knuckles white inside his leather gloves. This wasn't just another race; it was the final stage of the . The physics of the track were brutal