#boylove

They look so good in one post 💕

Hey guys, I wanted to share my work in progress novel, The Nexus Run (MxM) artwork of Daytona by me.

In the year 2105… The divide between the rich and the poor has grown wider than ever. Nev AI governs the megacity of Neovista, maintaining constant surveillance, security, and control across every zone. Obsolete technology has been discarded and dumped into The Slums outside the walls of the city, now a sprawling Wasteland.

The enforcement arm, the Neovista Defence Force (NDF), enforces order and deals appropriately with crime. In The Slums, survival comes only through tireless labour working for the city. Payment comes in just a handful of tokens. After covering the cost of food, hygiene and accommodation, many are left with nothing to show for. 

But there is hope, in the form of a lottery-style competition. The prize promises a lifetime of money and fame. But The Nexus Run is tougher than you think, and playing the game might just cost you everything you thought you had, and everything you believed you were.

GRAB THE NEXUS, WIN THE GAME.

---- Prologue

An engine rev rumbled low and hungry, snapping Daytona out of his daydream. He'd just finished fuelling his kart and was now rolling it to the starting line. The smell of gas lingered, and the heat of the night was heavy on his mind.

The kart racing was illegal, of course. However, down in The Slums, it was hard to care about the rules of a city that had shut its doors to you.

Like all the others who dared to race before him, Daytona had gathered the materials himself, by scrounging what he could find in The Wastelands, in the mountains of discarded technology and machinery scrap that were seen as no longer useful. Now forgotten, but not to all.

Daytona's kart was a crooked mess of welded scrap, built from rusted metal frames, and parts from vehicles that had long since seen the open roads. The rear wheels were thick and heavy, while the front wheels were small and nimble which were perfect for taking sharp turns. The rest of it was whatever he could make of it. 

With bits and bobs that didn’t quite make sense and parts that were only used for aesthetic purposes. The kart wasn't a grand design, but it was his, and he was proud of what he’d managed to build. It was functional, and that was all he needed. 

Daytona turned the key, the engine choking as it started. The exposed engine rattled behind him, coughing smoke and screaming as if it hated being alive just as much as it refused to die. Loose wires hung sporadically above his head, and the seat looked like a single bump would knock it loose from its bolts.

ICARUS, was painted in yellow and blue along the side, adorned with a set of white angel wings which he'd designed and spray painted himself.

When he was settled at the starting line, a kart parked beside him. It was sleeker than his, painted black and red. There was also an explosion along the side and the memory of that day played in his mind. He could still see the two of them covered in grease and paint, laughing as they spray painted their karts in the garage, dreaming about the races that were yet to come.

Behind the wheel sat a guy in a faded maroon leather jacket, his brown hair slicked back beneath a pair of red goggles. His grey eyes locked onto Daytona, intense and unblinking. “Max…” he whispered under his breath.

Daytona's attention snapped away as feedback from speakers pierced his ears. Archer Wildes was the MC, fashioned of course, sporting a green mohawk and a black punkish outfit. He stepped out onto the track, and grinned widely as he brought the microphone closer to his mouth. It was quiet for a moment as he held the audience's anticipation. 

Then he spoke:

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the grand final of our annual Wasteland Ranks. The engines are ready, and the crowd is somewhere hidden among the scrap metal. Tonight, five elite racers battle for glory! 

Let me introduce to you the legendary and respected, Gurdy Armstrong, driving the shooting ARROW. 

Next we have the feared and fearless Lance Striker, driving the deadly and deathly DEATH MACHINE.  

Unstoppable and with unmatched energy and talent, Vikki Cordero, riding her bike VIPER.

Racing with his angel wings, the electrifying and one and only Daytona Atari, driving his kart ICARUS.

Defending the crown and the racing champion, Max McCloud, soaring with his machine, MAD MAX!  Only one will win. Let the race begin!"

The cheers of the crowd were heard, and the energy around the track picked up. Thousands of Slummies had flooded into the depths of the scrap, under the cover of night, taking advantage of the hours when Hounds were not out in force. They were packed into makeshift seats, metal crates and barrels. His friends sat perched on the high scaffolding of a junked crane to get a better view. He looked back at them, and Neo caught his eye who waved at him. He then lifted a hand, waving back and acknowledging his friend.

The rev of the engines purred, the racers eager to race. Daytona tried to control breath and sweat dripped off his brow. Winning would earn you thirty tokens. It was just enough for extra meals, clothes, or whatever junk you fancied from the markets. 

In the grand scheme of things, thirty tokens barely made a dent, but it was still more than most Slummies ever carried in their pockets at any given time. For some, the junk was worth it. Slummies had to treasure something down here, because what else did they have to look forward to besides the drudgery of everyday work? 

Carefully Daytona watched the lights.

Red…

Orange…

When the light turned green, the white flag was signalled. Daytona pushed his foot hard on the pedal but his kart suddenly fishtailed, his tires losing grip which made him spin out. Red dust flew up as the other racers sped off down the track. It was embarrassing, but he refused to let one bad start define the entire race.

He could still win.

Daytona stepped on the pedal, once it moved he quickly grinded the gears. Before he even realised, he scooted around the first corner. It wasn't long before Vikki's bike, VIPER, came into view. 

She’d beaten Daytona in races plenty of times, and neither was willing to give an inch now. But with Daytona's heavier vehicle, even a slight bump forced Vikki to pull back, unwilling to risk her loss of balance. Daytona edged closer until their tyres were almost brushing. Looking back, the determination in Vikki's eyes was unmistakable.

Despite being a fierce competitor, she’d taken a bad fall recently, breaking her leg and dislocating her shoulder. Daytona was impressed she'd even gotten back her bike after the incident. He felt a twinge of guilt for taking advantage of her physical shortcomings, but this was the final race, after all. And he really wanted those tokens.

Her angry shouting was instantly swallowed by the sound of the engine as he surged past her. The race wasn't over, he still had a job to finish. But the moment he gained ground on the racers ahead, scooting past all the scrap, his engine spat out a heavy dark grey cloud. Oil erupted from the exhaust, his momentum faltering.

“Come on, don’t do this to me ICARUS!” He pleaded under his breath, begging the metal and grease for a miracle. Right on cue, the kart bounced back and howled forward. He looked down at the speedometer and the speed seemed to climb back up.

ICARUS had been showing red flags for days, and racing tonight without properly fixed engine parts was pure stupidity. Still, Daytona pushed through the doubt, his eyes locked dead ahead and Lance's kart, DEATH MACHINE came into view. 

Adrenaline pumped through Daytona, like a lion’s roar, kicking a trail of dust beside him. Lance's kart suddenly slowed due to the vision loss, and he lost traction. Then, it spun wildly across the track, now facing backwards.

"Yes!" he cheered with a fist feeling a rush of satisfaction as Lance disappeared, the dust still hanging in the air like a fading cloud of victory. Then, out of nowhere, another kart slammed into his side and he jerked at the wheel trying to hold his balance. Daytona didn't have to look to know who it was. He knew the sound of that engine like the back of his hand. It wasn’t just any kart, it was ARROW, and he’d learned how to build a kart thanks to its driver. 

Gurdy Armstrong.

The old man shot him a wide, competitive grin. They were neck and neck now, wheels vibrating over the rough track. Daytona was not about to let a veteran claim his prize.

Gurdy swerved ARROW, trying to force him off balance, but Daytona was used to his antics and edged on the brakes. Gurdy overcommitted. His kart skidded straight into the makeshift barrier, sending pieces of scrap shooting out like shrapnel.

Daytona let out a wide grin, but then a chunk of debris slammed into his windscreen, cracking the glass. “Fuck!” he cried as the piece flew off.

He didn’t have time to care about the damage. He accelerated, driving away and leaving Gurdy in the dust. There was no time to check if the old man was okay, not when he saw his true rival, MAD MAX, up ahead.  His sleek vehicle cut through the air with a sharp, whistling whine.

Right on cue, Daytona's kart choked once again.  “Don't die on me now!" The kart coughed more, and gasoline spat, the engine stuttering. "No, no! Don't do this to me now!"

Desperate, Daytona reached blindly behind his seat and slammed his fist hard against the rattling metal block. It usually did the trick, and this was no different. Thankfully the worrying sounds stopped.

With the engine issues somewhat smoothed out, he finally pulled up alongside Max, who glanced over at him. Daytona smirked, but Max wasn't giving anything away. Max edged closer, their wheels grinding together, sparkles flew through the opened window and Daytona flinched, quickly brushing the embers off his arm.

"Are you trying to get us both killed?" Daytona barked at him. “You’re such an ass,” he added.

Max finally looked over, his expression intense and unwavering, "Day, I just wanted to see your heart rate jump." he shouted back, smirking with that look Daytona knew all too well. "See you at the finish line,” he winked. Max floored it, his engine roaring as Daytona watched the distance begin to stretch between them.

Daytona shook his head. He was just as stubborn as Max. He reached over and grabbed the small canister sitting on the seat, popping the lid. He tipped the glowing purple liquid straight into a pipe beside him. The feed went straight into the engine, and he hoped ICARUS would consume it before the race ended. 

"Come on!" he gritted his teeth, waiting for the liquid to kick in. Looking behind his shoulders, he finally saw the purple smoke blast from the rear cylinders and his kart shot forward like a spitting fireball.

“Wahooo!” he cheered at the boost and suddenly he was nearing Max. Second passed, and he was once again neck and neck with Max, who turned to look at him with wide eyes. Daytona gave him a quick wave before speeding past with ease, and the finish line finally came into view. 

Then came the smoke, not purple but black like midnight followed by a small bang.

"Shit!" he hollered. Within seconds, and just meters from the finish line, Daytona's kart came to a complete stop. "Fuck!" he shouted out, banging his hands against the steering wheel. Max passed him first, eventually followed by the rest of the racers who zoomed past him. Despite his best efforts, Daytona was last to finish the race. It was disappointing to say the least. He rolled his head back in defeat and slumped against the chair.

Daytona wheeled his broken kart past the finish line and off the side of the track. He immediately looked around for Max who had just stepped out of his vehicle. Max ran a hand through his shoulder length hair, and walked with swagger that Daytona found effortlessly cool.

Removing his goggles, Max looked back at him, his jacket flowing in the dusty wind. He smiled with a warmth Daytona hadn’t seen from him before. Daytona smiled back with a quiet understanding shared between them. Max had beat him fair and square, and he’d respect his victory. Day slowly started walking toward Max, but without warning, a smoke bomb exploded right between them.

Screams erupted, followed by bright lights and chaos. Daytona shielded his eyes against the sudden glare, coughing as he breathed in the thick smoke.

"DAY!" Neo, his friend, called from off the track.

Through the haze of smoke, Daytona watched as an NDF Hound had Max pinned to the ground.  The officer raised his weapon and pressed the barrel into Max's back. The neon charge glowed illuminating red against his jacket. Daytona would never forget the terrified look on Max's face, or the single tear that rolled down his cheek as he looked back at him.

"Stay down!" the officer growled. He pulled Max's wrists behind his back and snapped the handcuffs into place. "You're finished kid. To the box you go."

"Day, we have to go!" Neo grabbed his arm and started pulling him away. Daytona resisted at first, but he couldn't keep his eyes off Max as they hauled him toward a truck. Max looked back at Daytona one last time, offering a silent goodbye. The Hound shoved Max's head down and forced him inside, the door shut behind him.

The racing had always been done in secret, deep in the scrap, far away from the city. But clearly someone had ratted them out. The city hated it when any bit of fun ever happened down here, and they were usually quick to shut it down. 

Which is why the NEV AI coming here tonight was unprecedented. The city usually just left the border work to the ground Hounds, far too prideful to waste real capital resources on The Slums. Seeing those massive aerial shapes meant the city was escalating the crackdown.

Daytona couldn’t understand why one of their own had sold them out. But he probably figured they were doing it for whatever tokens or favours the city was offering.

Daytona finally gave in, letting Neo guide him away. More sirens echoed in the distance as large drones hovered overhead. The two of the boys ran, climbing through the rubble for a chance to escape.

They stayed silent as they watched The Slums that night. Eventually they made it back to their apartment. They wondered how many others had been arrested and what it meant for the future of the races. 

Daytona looked out at the lack of visible stars that night, feeling guilty, wondering why they had taken Max and not him. Max was his friend. No, he was more than a friend, and now he would suffer however long they saw fit. The boxes were notoriously small jail cells located in the Security District where the police resided. Nobody ever came back from them the same, and he worried the same for Max.

NEV AI Drones hovered around until the sun finally rose, then they disappeared back into the capital.