Pacifist

“Why did you drag me back out here?” I gestured towards the miles of desert that surrounded us. We were about a mile from Solaris, and Juno was pacing back and forth. I leaned on my V2

“So no monsters would get us while we talked out here.” He looked left and right, as if surveying his surroundings.

I face palmed, “I told you before, no monsters get within a 200 mile radius of Solaris, we’re fine.”

“Why is that?”

I shrugged, “I don’t know, ask the sun god themself.”

“Ok, hear me out,” he started, “A wise man said, the fastest way to become rich is to have fun while doing it.”

He finally stopped and looked at me with a smile ear to ear, “I was walking around a couple days ago, and these v2 zoomed past me overhead, almost taking my head off. I asked a local what it was, he looked at me funny, but that’s the desired point, we could make money by—“

“Bike racing,” I finished his sentence.

“Exactly! That makes explaining it 100 times easier for me. You know how you hit that knife drift when we first met?”

“Actually, it was a powerslide.” I tossed my head back, looking up into the sky.

“Yeah, that. Well, I was thinking, you…”

I cut him off, “There’s no way I’m racing—“

“You could teach me!” He gave me the same jazz sands when he showed me his cloak.

I thought about this, if I remember correctly, it’s roughly about a 100 vell entry fee per race, you’d need at least the top 5 to make any profit.

“It’s gonna be tough.”

I shrugged, those races are brutal, once every couple of races, people are sent to the hospital, but the reward, depending on how much is bet on you and against you….

“I’ll do it.” I said.

His face lit up, and he jumped, punching the air in the process. “Yes!”

“But on one condition,” I held up a single finger.

“What is it? You want 80% of my earnings?”

“That’s not a bad idea…” I covered my mouth with my hand.

“WAIT WAIT WAIT, what was your first idea?”

I let out a sigh and pointed at him, “Give me your cloak.” I grinned. I’ve been waiting for this moment; thankfully, I was able to contain my happiness and remain nonchalant.

He looked down at his cloak,

“But my brother—“ his voice trailed off, and he stood silently.

“Your brother?”

He didn’t respond, just stood there.

“Fine.” He began taking off his clothes.

“Wait, you’re changing right here??”

“I mean it’s just you.” He said flatly.

“Okay then,” I crossed my arms and turned my head.

“Alright, done.”

I looked back at him and he was wearing some kind of gray t-shirt, “here.”

My eyes sparked, “Pleasure doing business with you!” I immediately took off my cloth and gave it to him.

“Um how do you put it on?”

“I can’t see!” I struggled to put on the cloak, perhaps I wasn’t worthy to put on the mighty cloak of exidus I suppose.

I heard him chuckle, “im coming to help.” I felt his hand on me.

“Put your arm through this hole right here,” his touch guided me as I put my arm into the armor.

I regained my vision, with the guidance of Exidus I was able to wear the clock.

“Armor that fits all? This is something else.” I muttered in aw.

“You’re wearing it backwards.” He said, smiling.

I ignored him and flipped the hood on, I’m guessing it’s supposed to go over the back of my head and on it, but instead it covered my face. A fabric without any holes in it for eyes but you could still see.

I stood up on my bike and did a heroic pose.

“I am the mighty Exidus!”

I began to laugh and he just shook his head , smiling.

“You’re a better Exidus than me.” He said sarcastically.

I retracted my hands and turned the cloak, wearing it correctly.

“Now, start teaching me. The next G3 race is in 5 days so let’s start as soon as possible.” He clapped his hands,

“Fine,” I muttered, pulling the cloaks protection strings, the cloak closed on my face.

it smells like him.

it smells good, his fragrance is nothing like anything I’m smelt before, S sector personnel have access to showers, unlimited water, but this, this is different.

Snif.

I took a whiff,

He looked at me funny, “Are you smelling my hoodie right now?”

“No.” I answered abruptly, the smell was oddly addicting.

“I haven’t showered since arriving here so it probably smells like my deodorant.”

De-odorant? I didn’t even question the logistics.

“So what’s my first lesson?” He asked expectantly.

I was distracted, “Um, hop on and I’ll show you.”

As we rode we rode to a flatter area of the desert, she started to explain,

“There are 5 core factors in a racer's performance: control, wit, confidence, pain tolerance, and instinct. All of them are self-explanatory. If you have all 5 you’ll be a top contender.”

“Let’s begin.”

Over 5 days, I trained the only exidus.

We hit the flats by noon.

Nothing but plains and half-buried ruins, perfect for wiping out at high speed.

Juno hopped off and stretched, cracked his neck like a brawler before a fight.

I straddled my V2 and kicked the engine.

“There are five core factors in a racer’s performance,” I shouted over the hum.

“Control. Wit. Confidence. Instinct. And pain tolerance.”

“Pain tolerance?”

“You’ll understand when you eat shit for the first time.”

Day 1: Control

Juno couldn’t steer for shit.

I mean, he had guts — I’ll give him that — but the way he turned was saddening.

“Keep your body loose but your core tight,” I shouted. “Your bike responds to your spine more than your hands.”

“I am loose!”

He immediately overcorrected and flew into a sand drift.

Ffffwhoomp.

I let him flail for a moment before riding over.

“You good?”

He emerged from the dust, goggles askew.

“Does this count as training or near-death experience?”

“Same thing in the desert.”

Day 1: Fail.

Day 2 – Wit & Instinct

This time, I dug steel poles into the dunes.

“What are those for?”

“Obstacles. Don’t hit them.”

“How did you even get those? That’s insane.”

“So is G3 racing.”

He failed the first run.

“Scratch my bike and I’ll kill you.

“Yes ma’am.”

That really got him going.

By the fifth, he stopped thinking so hard and started feeling the ride.

That’s when I knew it was working.

Day 2: Success.

Day 3: Confidence

We parked on a ridge and pointed at the cliffside curve below.

“No training wheels today,” I said.

“That’s a death drop.”

“Exactly. You don’t hit the brakes. You lean in. If you doubt yourself for even a second, you’ll crash.”

He looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was.

Then he did it.

Fast, clean, scared out of his mind but smiling so wide he nearly bit his tongue off.

“You finally looked like a racer.”

“You looked like a lunatic cheering me on.”

“What? Do you not want me to do my job?”

Day 3: Success.

Day 4: Pain Tolerance

This was the ugly day.

He clipped a boulder mid-drift, flipped the bike, and landed hard. I rushed him, blood pounding.

His face winced in pain.

I was scared.

“Is the bike okay?”

He looked like he was in pain, then his face immediately changed, and he looked at me.

“The fuck you mean ‘is the bike okay’, what about me? The hell?”

I laughed, “I know you’ll be fine, if you break an arm, there’s a reason the gods gave you two!”

I could tell through his goggles that he rolled his eyes.

“But you’re getting there, either closer to dying or first place, not sure.”

Day 4: Success

Day 5: Rest.

That night, we lay on the sand watching the stars

“So this is what no light pollution looks like…”

I look at him,

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

He glanced over at me.

“You know I’m not Exidus, right?”

I stayed quiet for a moment. The desert was loud with nothingness. Just wind and breath.

“Yeah, I know.”

He picked up a handful of sand and tossed it,

“So why are you helping me?”

I sighed,

“For starters, you’re Exidus now, the world demands it.”

He smacked his lips, but I continued,

“And if anything, I’m glad I found you instead of whatever myth I thought was looking for.”

“If I have to be honest, you uncovered an old truth in me,” I smiled.

“What’s that?”

“That I shouldn’t chase after things that don’t exist, or promise anything in return.”

I poked him, “What you said back then was also pretty nifty too, ‘the fastest way to get rich is to make money while having fun.’”

“Yep,” he said smugly, “that’s the effect I tend to have on people.”

I shrugged, “You gotta face it, you’re Exidus now, Juno.”

“So why not turn me in and get that handsome reward

Huh?”

I sat up and pointed at him.

“Because you’re handsome-er,” I spoke before I thought.

The silence that followed spoke volumes.

I pulled the protective strings on my new cloak to cover my face.

He was taken aback and bit his lip back in embarrassment.

He chuckled, “First time I’ve gotten a compliment from you.” He said nothing else and resumed watching the stars,

He lay on his side to look at me, a big smile on his face.

“I’m gonna be honest, ANYTHING IS HANDSOMER than that wanted poster Giddy did for me.”

We both busted out laughing,

“THAT'S TRUE.” I retracted my cloak, wiping the tears from my eyes, I was laughing so hard it was bad for my health.

“That photo might as well have been done by a 5-year-old!”

He poked me, “And— and yours? It belonged in an S sector art gallery!”

“It showed how beautiful you are, but it sucked it doesn’t do your nice eyes justice.” He said through chuckles.

“What?” My eyes widened, and we made eye contact.

We just stared at each other, we were a pair of terra field tomatoes, both of our faces were flushed red.

Control yourself, he’s 18 and you’re 19, almost 20, he’s like a little brother to you.

He sat up, “It’s getting cold, let’s head back to the hotel room.”

“YEP!” I yelled abruptly, Damn it, what am I doing.

No words were shared on the ride back, and as we arrived in the hotel room, crawling into our respective beds, he’s just a boy, stop it, Sylvi, control yourself.

Finally, racing day came along.

“Welcome, everyone, to this season's 8 G3 race! We have a couple of new racers here making their debut run, hoping to make a name for themselves in the streets of Solaris.”

“Racer number 8, You Know Juno!”

They in fact, did not know me, but the crowd cheered, I walked back.

“Let’s see if any of these racers have what it takes to reach the Sunvault Grand Prix!”

“Sylvi, what’s the Sunvault Grand Prix?” I whispered at her, she was standing behind me holding a tool kit, posing as my emergency mechanic.

She leaned in,

“When races reach a high racing level, they can participate in the Sunvault Grand Prix, it’s a long race that’s from Carlotti, a town over 100 mile away, to Solaris.”

“Ok, got it, let’s aim for Sunvault then.”

I flashed a thumbs up as I gripped the handlebars of the V2.

I looked to my left and right, and I felt so out of place. My bike had dirt marks all over it, probably from the training I did; everyone else’s is spotless, with designs and liveries on it, I’m jealous.

“Hey,” I felt an arm on my shoulder, it was Sylvaine.

“You got this.”

The crowd was electric.

I sat on the V2, gloves tightening on the grips, heart pacing like it wanted to race without me. My visor reflected the lights of Solaris—neon banners, spotlights swinging over the starting line, faces screaming from behind the barricades.

Ten racers. One circuit. The top three advance.

Next to me, a racer revved loudly, trying to rattle me.

I didn’t look.

Across the starting line, the road stretched into the heart of the city—glass towers, tight alleys, warehouse yards, skybridges barely wide enough for a bike. I knew every turn. Every shortcut. Every risk.

Three. Two. One.

GO.

We tore off the line in a burst of light and sound. My V2 roared under me, stable and sharp. I dropped low, elbows in, feet firm.

The racers scrambled for position. Elbows brushed. Tires screamed.

One rider cut close and clipped my rear wheel. I kept steady, let them rush ahead. They’d burn out early.

Another threw a flash pop behind him, a spark bomb meant to blind. I blinked fast, veered left, and ducked under a scaffolding beam.

Five racers were already fighting dirty. One got slammed into a divider—metal screamed, sparks flew. The crowd loved it.

I stayed clean.

Slid through a shortcut behind an old train station. It cost me two seconds but saved my fender. I rejoined in sixth place.

“#8, Juno, playing it smart!” the announcer shouted. “Riding like a ghost—here one second, gone the next!”

The track funneled into tight turns between market stalls and stone archways. A racer tried to force me into a fruit stand.

I braked just enough to let them pass—then peeled off into a side street, ramped up it, and cut across a rooftop walkway.

When I landed back on the main road, I was in third.

The top two saw me and stepped it up.

Griph, big and reckless, tried to sideswipe me at a curve. I leaned just enough to slip past.

Volare, quick and cruel, threw a spike under my front wheel. I rolled over it, but my tires held. Sylvaine’s work. Unshakable.

Checkpoint 4, Final stretch.

Griph gunned forward, trying to block both lanes. Volare was on my tail, waiting for me to flinch.

I didn’t.

Instead, I cut right onto the emergency maintenance lane, a narrow shoulder lined with reflectors. Most riders avoided it. No guardrails. One wrong tilt and I’d fly off the bridge.

I stayed level. Calm.

The V2 glided like a blade through smoke.

I pulled ahead.

The finish line was seconds away. I didn’t look back.

I crossed it.

Alone.

First place.

Silence for a heartbeat.

Then the crowd erupted.

“UNBELIEVABLE! JUNO TAKES FIRST PLACE! And he didn’t throw a single punch!”

I slowed down, heart still racing, and pulled the helmet off.

The announcer’s voice rang out again, half-laughing, half-awestruck.

I stepped off the bike. My legs were shaking.

Across the track, I spotted Sylvaine.

She wasn’t smiling.

She was beaming.

I walked toward her. She threw a towel at my face and laughed.

“You didn’t hit a single person,” she said.

“Didn’t need to,” I said, breathless.

“I’m a winner.”

She rolled her eyes and punched my arm, “Good shit.”

“You see that, folks, unbelievable! When was the last time you saw clean racing? Racer number 8, Juno, didn’t lay a single finger on anyone and still came in first! That’s what I call a pacifist run!”

Gideon stood in the back room of a tuning shop built into the spine of Solaris. The walls vibrated with the sound of the radio, and the scent of burnt copper hung thick in the air. A technician was flipping through holo-feeds while he cleaned a fusion coil, talking half to Gideon and half to himself.

“You see this guy? The Pacifist?” the tech said, tossing the name out like it meant something. “He’s been carving up the G2 ranks, clean racing. Doesn’t touch a soul and still ends up in the top three. People are going nuts.”

Gideon didn’t answer. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, jaw set. He didn’t care about rookies.

“How do you even use one of those tablets? Never seen one of those in my life.”

“Check it out,” the tech said, finally freezing the feed. A frame from one of the races. A young rider, half-smiling, threw his helmet under one arm. Wind-torn hair. Calm eyes.

Gideon’s breath caught for half a second.

“…No way,” he muttered.

He wasn’t focused on the racer, but the woman beside him.

Sylvaine.

She was laughing, eyes squinting from the sun. One hand tugging at Juno’s jacket. Caught mid-motion.

He stared at the photo longer than he meant to. The tech had already moved on, talking about stats and circuits, but Gideon wasn’t hearing any of it.

He saw the way Sylvaine leaned in toward Juno. Not romantic. Not obvious. But familiar.

Close.

Too close.

He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tightening. For a second, the room felt smaller. Hotter.

“How do you turn that off?” he said.

The tech looked back. “Huh?”

Gideon stepped away from the wall, eyes narrowing slightly. “I said, turn it off.”

The tech retracted the feed, and the holo snapped shut.