It was the year 1996S. My heart's beat triumphed over any sound that permeated the vibrant, colourful arena in the Ferissa Capital. The sky-reaching, triangular-shaped arches and ribbed vaults at the arena's edges couldn't sway my gaze. 

I only cared about one thing.


The victory of this race.  Joe and I had sat together, our teeth clenched tight in tension, as the Striders took one step, then another. Mach cones had exploded from their forms as these foot racers exceeded the sound barrier! We had a bet that was too insane to lose. Who'd want to go around in a golden spandex playing a saxophone in the nearest church?

But that was a given in these races. What was more exciting were the obstacles and traps that came their way. The abysmal black pits from below, the flamethrowers, the spikes. It made the course more spicy–more enticing. That dose of danger is what added to the unpredictability of Stride Racing. 

"Ma-ma MIA! With astounding acceleration, DeadStride surpasses AETHER in a blink!"

I remember the commentator's exact words. That wavering audio. There is a slight lag in each word. 

In fact…I remember too much-

To the point, it's eerie. That's because it was. 

Aether and DeadStride were the fastest striders in the A Division of the Stride Racing League. Talents far beyond what was thought possible by sports scientists and stridedynamicians. But the people often saw one Strider as more complete. It was Deadstride. Despite that, Aether had nothing to lose. I remember her face for a moment, hinged with concentration. I didn't know what drove her. It was thanks to these newly developed Processing Goggles that we were able to see snapshots of the races for the viewers.

With it, the average person could see these Striders as more than just racing animals. But actual people, with emotions. 

Or so—that's the path we were progressing to. 

A bolt of purple lightning flares from the Strider, Aether, cracks in the rocky racing terrain forming. 

Tremors spread. Far and wide. People's faces churn with discomfort. Then, loud gasps. 

Eventually cries. The seats people sit on — it all begins to weather away. The perfectly moulded arena, made from the best, hardest materials on Planet Zephyr, turned to dust. 

I remember my mouth trembling. The chaotic situation shook my widened eyes! 

"Please keep calm! We will have this under control!"

Control my ass. I do respect security guards, as well as any person who performs civil service work. But…at the time, I thought it would've been smart to do something, rather than only proclaim lame, frivolous orders. 

I can't blame them. This wasn't normal…at all.

I reached out to hold onto Joe's hand as he was about to fall. He was scared…so much so, I think he may have pissed himself. 

Nearby Striders who weren't racing, but watching, rushed in to help. If anyone were to be our saving grace, surely it'd be them! One reached out to try to help me and Joe. His hand dangled ever so close. 

I prayed, chanted, and sang to myself, 'We'll escape from this misfortune.' 

The Strider grabbed me swiftly, ensuring not to break my bones with his monstrous, superhuman strength. 

Joe's scream was cut short – his head was struck by purple lightning. In the same instant, the air behind him rips open with a haughty hiss. 

… 

I had no idea what the heck I was seeing. 

Then I saw the same phenomenon transpire everywhere else in the arena. 

People zapped by that same lightning, many having worse fates than my friend Joe. 

Their bodies erupted into an amalgamation of blood and body parts littered across the area. The stench was powerful. My mouth unbolted, an earful sound so unapologetic and exotic I couldn't describe. 

Then–everything went black.

When I woke up–I was lucky, alongside a good number of people. Yet, their faces were filled with dread. Meanwhile, others were unlucky. Suffering broken bones. Others–damned by Zephyr itself–said to never walk, speak, or wake up again. 

Many were pronounced dead.

Joe was placed in a coma. I miss him so much. His goofy smiles. His odd food combinations. Seriously, ketchup and white rice with pineapples?

Ever since that day, I never heard of the Strider, Aether, ever again, as if she had vanished from the trace of this boundless Thoroidal Planet. But one thing I knew is how much hate she harboured towards herself. 'Ruthless Killer' 'Animal' 'The Devil.'


'The Speed Demon.'

A part of me is disappointed that we won't have the Stride Racing League's influence in Ferissa anymore. We enjoyed it...too much. And maybe, it is deserved. Stridians are still an anomaly we don't really understand. 

Please…please, wake up one day, Joe, and see my dream come true as a Stridedynamic engineer. 

- Account End.