He could run. That was the smart play. Run, hide, pick off a straggler, upgrade his tires.
Leo crouched behind a collapsed billboard, watching a squad of three "Vipers"—fast, glass-cannon tanks with plasma chainguns—circle a supply crate. They moved like a wolf pack. One feinted left, another flanked right, the third hung back. It was beautiful, mechanical, and lethal.
Now.
He’d survived 14 minutes. That was an eternity in the arena.