In a post-Lovecraftian wasteland, you are a racer in a cursed machine.
Heavy, armored, and built for speed, it roars into the fog.
You tear down the track, dodging horrors and chasing the blood quota.

Coins spill onto the road — fuel for upgrades: tougher armor, a faster engine, sharper steel.
Every lap is survival. Every race is blood.

Then it’s back onto the track — new routes to master, new beasts to outrun.