Dantés |top| - Mercedes

Vasseur’s AI screams warnings. He sees you in his rear-cam, headlights off, just the glowing cherry of your exhaust pipe and the cold fire in your eyes.

And then, they framed you.

You brake. Turn around. Walk back to the wreck on your singing, servo-whining legs. mercedes dantés

Over three months, you rebuild. Not a car. A statement . You take the bones of a wrecked electric hypercar—silent, soulless, fast—and you violate every law of the Council. You bore into its battery pack and install a combustion engine stolen from a museum. A V16, hand-crafted, that screams at 12,000 RPM. You name it Le Comte . It has no self-driving mode. No safety protocols. The steering wheel is a pair of handcuffs bolted to the column. Vasseur’s AI screams warnings

You challenge Laurent Vasseur in the only language his black-market heart understands: spectacle. The Tour de la Mort . A 200-kilometer sprint through the collapsed skyways, irradiated tunnels, and crumbling stadiums of the outer districts. Winner takes the loser’s assets, their crew, their life . You brake

You let go.

Then you hit the Tunnel of Tears —a collapsed metro line where the walls weep sewage and the dark is absolute.