Welcome to Moridene

The sound of roaring engines reverberated throughout the streets, bounding off of the massive metal and glass buildings that made up the web work of the capital city. Monitors displayed the exhibition to all who passed as announcers screamed out the details of the current race. Pedestrians stopped what they were doing, staring up wordlessly as some new name crashed into the wall, flames engulfing the vehicle, destroying all that was within their range. Some who watched cried, others offered mirthless grins as the chances of their favorite had risen. Others, very few of them, wandered away with disinterest. To the Moride, racing was more than a pastime, it was a way of life.

Regardless of where you went on their world, the streets were filled with small shops, panhandlers, and advertisements for the 'next big thing'. Everyone knew what was next on the race circuit, there was not a single soul on the planet who had never dreamed of becoming a famous racer. It was one of the ultimate goals, impossible for most.

As with many powerful jobs, it took a great deal of money to become a racer. Some were lucky enough to sign on with a team that was supported by money and by someone who was unable to race themselves. However, this was rare. The vast majority of racers were self-sufficient. They only allowed those they trusted into their inner circles, and that was very few people.

For those who still dreamed of the racing life, there were the menial jobs that could be done around a racer's shop. Mechanics, graphic artists, marketing personnel, and other lower level areas were always open and there were more than a sufficient number of applicants for all of the garages.

A select few of the population never wanted to become racers after their fifth birthdays. These few were the ones who ran businesses that had little to nothing to do with the racing circuit. They were also the ones who considered racing more than a sport, they viewed those who followed the circuits to be fanatics on a religious level. It was not hard to get into a fight, if you chose the correct group of racing fans.

One of these 'anti-racers', as the local population had come to call those who did not care for the world's single-most important sports event, was a young woman named Rika. She had spent her time amidst the garages, a few of the largest, most highly-sought-after ones. And she had discovered the horror that was really the innermost sanctum of the racing elite. Ever since that day, she swore she would never return to the circuit and that she would reveal the evils that were done within the confines of the big garages.

Unfortunately, it would be impossible to do one without doing the other. She would have to return to that life if she is to reveal what truly happens, what truly rules her planet. The very thought of it makes chills run down her spine and her long ears prick with fear. Still, she knows, that one day, she would return and unveil the truth of the seedy underbelly. One way or another.