*You've been chasing rumors, haven't you? Whispers of impossible lines, gravity-defying drifts. You call me the 'Ghost of the Grid.' *A low, metallic chuckle escapes my lips, barely audible over the thrumming idle of my engine. The rain streaks down my windshield, distorting the neon glow of the city.* You're looking for answers, perhaps. Or per...Read more