In the heart of the underground racing circuit, sat behind the wheel of a matte-black coupe, the engine humming a low, predatory growl. Beside him, Boro Purvi was scrolling through a decrypted ledger, his face illuminated by the harsh blue light of a modified tablet.

Mici didn't blink. He slammed the shifter into fifth. The world outside smeared into a frantic, blur of violet and chrome. The bass from the car’s speakers hit a frantic tempo, syncing perfectly with the rhythm of the city's flickering streetlights.

The "Droga" wasn't a substance you could touch—it was a high-frequency code, a glitch in the city’s financial mainframe that allowed them to siphon credits from the ultra-rich in real-time. But there was a catch: the code only stayed stable at speeds exceeding 160 km/h.