-"Nick the Gallant Giant still staying strong at the top! Smart move making him defender! Ain't no one even wants to mess with him, partner's a lucky sonuvabitch!"

-"Oof! Fifth place peeps just got shit on by Leon and co, taking over their spot like nobody's business! Sheesh, this guy's drifts are on a whole 'nother skill level, ladies and gents. It's almost cheating!"

-"Let's see, what else we got, what else we got - ah - seems like there's a scuffle going on for ninth place over here! Woo, look at that paint fly! Poor bastards gonna be seeing red for days! Ah, wait no, that's a foul! No throwing pain directly at the driver! You were warned already! Ragnar, Thomas, get your carriage out of the lane - you're done! Judges call!"

Hurling myself down every twist and turn was a process of finely-tuned focus. Tyler was like a woodpecker abuzz, and the mic in his hands was his thick maple lumber, pecking and pecking at it with his beak, yammering away for the whole world to hear with little regard whatsoever.

Speeding down across the narrow streets avoiding the occasionally loose barrel or stray puddle was already hard enough as it is without his constant freakouts on the verge of blowing out my eardrums all the damn time.

Look I won't deny the play-by-play commentary of everything that was happening in real-time was an extremely useful sleight of hand to have, knowing the exact location and position of everyone in the field was like the equivalent of getting wallhacks in a shooter game.

But when it comes with the risk of accidentally steering yourself off-course to the nearest hay bale in sight with every crackle of a thousand speakers in ear-grating unison, plus with the additional debuff of a three-second hearing loss? Yeah, at that point, I would rather go this entire race blindfolded.

"Nowie let's switchy things up an itsy bitsy by taking a quick look see at the true MVP around here! Yup! Yep! That's my homeboy! That's my guy! That's my Big Man! Look at this, what, thirteenth place, dead last, right? Well, now he's about to come knocking at the front door of sixth! He's gained like triple of his original placement and we're only a quarter of the way through! How does he do it, you ask?! I'm telling you - power of love, man! There ain't nothing like it, and this dude's chest is absolutely pumping full of it!"

Especially when he decides to go on completely unrelated tangents like that, which was, pretty much, all the time anyway. Apparently, Tyler saw himself as my one-man cheerleading squad, which admittedly I found genuinely moving - but at the same time, it's like… I'm pretty sure there's a good reason why cheerleading teams weren't allowed their own mics in their routines.

I forged on, getting quite adept in traversing through the many obstacles that littered the streets. It got to the point where they weren't even a concerning factor in my split-seconds decisions. I just kept on driving, winding through pathways strikingly familiar.

There were no stalls, no red awnings, nor any of the enthralling sights from before designed to allure and entice, yet nevertheless, the long, almost never-ending road of the red-light district was one painstaking stretch like no other.

And of course, here, right here, just as I was finally growing accustomed to my environment, that's when they decided to throw a wrench on things, or in this case - a water balloon.

A bulging bright red orb just narrowly whizzed past me and exploded, wet, all over the road below, and forming a thin, narrow streak on the dampened cobbled street as the right wheel of my carriage swiveled hurriedly past.

Second one came plummeting down at me not even a moment after.

And that one there, that little blur of blue in the air, that one would have done it had I just been a split-second too late veering a sharp right. The water balloon exploded upon impact with the broad side of my carriage, but it could only do so much. I still felt, still saw the icy-cold droplets dispersed all over, a light trickle on my cheek, a splatter on my feet… and as a dark damp tint dying a small surface of Eshwlyn's snowy-white locks.

"Archers on rooftops!" Tyler's voice rang out loud. "Keep in mind folks! Bastards could be anywhere ready to put a damper on your day, so keep a lookout for the skies and not just the road! Don't want one of them arrows hitting your precious cargo, do you?"

Now, you tell me. Now, you open your mouth about them. Couldn't have cared to say something about them earlier? What good are these wallhacks anyway if they don't even work when you need them to?

Can't afford being irritated now though - got barrels to swerve past, puddles to avoid, and now at least five of these balloon-throwing bastards raining the might of Zeus from above.

If I had a Defender… whatever, it's fine, I'll pull through out of this watery pickle, I always do. Speaking of Defenders, I hadn't heard anything from Nick's side in a while, so far Tyler's current commentary was just a blow-by-blow of somebody else far behind me.

The displays hanging up the rafters, from what little time I could spare taking fleeting glances at them, mostly kept to broadcasting Leon's plight throughout - he was the golden boy of the competition, after all, the star of the show despite Tyler's insistence otherwise, and it was easy to see why.

My feat of overtaking the competition from thirteenth place to seventh in such a short span of time might be impressive, but that completely pales in comparison to Leon's own accomplishment.

Twelfth to fifth place without even breaking a sweat. And right now in crystal clear high definition, we get to see him live in great detail, as he effortlessly took over the fourth-place position as well.

He shot past the library when he did it, and if I was remembering my routes correctly, then that's actually not that far from here. Leon's close, and if I keep at my current pace, and if he keeps his, then it seems it won't be long until I was riding head-to-head with him soon.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa, what the hell?!" Tyler exclaimed, his voice nearly cracking. "Sixth place driver just came to a full stop by the roadside, what they doing?! If they're trying to make it easy for my boy - then alright, stay right there guys! He'll be coming soon!"

I felt the surprise physically raise my brows. Sixth place coming to a stop? There could be many reasons for that, the variables were almost endless. Broken wheel, tired horse, lost it will. Many factors could play well in my favor, yet, just the same, there were also many other factors present that couldn't.

They stopped of their own volition, didn't they? A trap. Probably making sure that the one behind them didn't have a chance of getting in front of them - that I didn't have a chance to.

Hmm…

Who was leading sixth place again?

"Fucking hell," I felt the words whisked past me along with the breeze against me. "Bob…"

There he was... the reflective sheen of his construction hat a bright yellow glow slowly growing bigger in the shrinking horizon. Him… yeah, he's got something in store, his wide smirk says it all - I just didn't know what yet.

Right before I could get close, suddenly they started to move again, slowly at first, before they picked up the pace, with me cautiously tailing their rear end. Bob stayed squatted in place, barely creeping over the edge, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the side of his carriage, his ominous gaze never once straying from the confusion in mine.

What the hell was this? Mind games? I thought he had a roadblock set up, or he was about to do a drive-by paint toss hail mary as I raced past them. I didn't expect them to start moving again, I also didn't expect myself tailing them.

Or did they want me to tail them, after all? Should I just try to overtake? Or wait, were they hoping I do just that? Shit… his stare at me could mean anything.

So many variables.

"Hey," He called out to me, both hands cupped around his mouth. "Having a good race so far?"

For now, I suppose indulging him won't do any harm.

"So far so good," I shouted back, keeping wary eyes at any movement suspect. "And you?"

"Oh, good, good," He responded casually, nodding his head. "Actually, now that you're here, it's about to get even better."

There's the danger sign.

"Better how?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

Bob didn't answer, and slowly stood up, his balance firm and steady, as he strutted about the carriage space… before picking up with both hands, two full buckets of paint.

Still with a smile, he stretched both of them out towards me, like a proud child presenting his work.

I didn't feel it was very good work if I'm all honest.

"You throw that at me in the position you are in, you lose, disqualified," I told him, keeping a level head. "No direct attacks at the driver, remember?"

"I know, I know," He said, lowering them down slightly. "But who said anything about throwing paint?"

I found it, I saw it. Just right then, I found the variable. I saw the reason. Only too little, too late.

No split-second decision was going to save me from this. No reflex fast enough, no reaction quick enough. I saw so many things fall before me, saw them narrowly miss me.

This one wasn't going to miss me.

Bob dropped his smile, dropped his gaze, keeping them towards the rapid, blurred swivels of my carriage wheels, then not a moment after...

"Whoops."

Bob dropped his paint buckets.