The space of the peculiar garage was enormous, damn enormous. The smell of metal and engine oil (and something else pretty disgusting) seemed to permeate the air completely. It was hard to tell whether you wanted to puke or inhale deeper this lethal mix.

A sound echoed through the entire garage, and the arches of the tall gates began to open slowly (damn slowly). And there he stood. Calypso. Not a legend — apparently flesh and blood. His suit was flawless, the epitome of a stylish man, ugh. Full of flair — clearly ramping up the atmosphere as the gates finally opened.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” -his smiling face and sharp eyes scanned the crowd of racers- “Welcome to the Twisted Metal tournament!” his arms dramatically outstretched as if to showcase the scale of the event “This will only be the first run. Winners who manage to deliver the package will advance to the first stage of the tournament.”

“We begin. Ten… nine… eight…”

All the participants dashed to their vehicles.