Gas Guzzlers Extreme Page

I rocketed through the gap, the heat from the explosion washing over my car.

"Come on, you ugly bastard," I muttered, feathering the gas. Gas Guzzlers Extreme

"You're driving like a lunatic, kid," Pops grunted, spitting a glob of tobacco onto the oil-stained floor. "You keep trading paint like that, and I won't have enough scrap metal left to bury you in." I rocketed through the gap, the heat from

Back in the garage, the air smelled of grease, stale beer, and burnt gunpowder. My mechanic, a grizzly old man named Pops who could fix a tank with a paperclip, was already shaking his head at my smoking quarter panels. "You keep trading paint like that, and I

I crossed the finish line in third place. In this league, third place meant you survived to buy more bullets.

I tapped the dashboard screen. My rear-facing dual miniguns were locked and loaded.