The ice quit. The land is a rumor. What's left of civilization welded spikes to jet skis and invented motorsport. Three laps around the scrap citadel against three raiders who have nothing but time and fuel. Thread the drum gates. Grab jerry cans for nitro. Crack the glowing crates for one-use weapons — harpoons, mines, oil, weather, noise. First place gets the jar of alleged dirt.
SALT QUEENDIESEL DUKETHE BOSUN
W / ↑ — THROTTLEA D / ← → — STEERSHIFT / SPACE — NITROE / X — FIRE WEAPON
*knots are a rumor too · waves rendered at a respectful 64-bit fidelity · original parody racer