Asphalt 8 - Airborne Guide

Crimson Bloomed: Ascend Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | Coming - of - Age | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Burn The city looked like it had been devoured — chewed up by fire, time, and whatever came after — then spit back out in jagged pieces. Dead drones dangled from power lines like rusted ornaments. Neon signs flickered above fractured pavement, their broken scripts glitching into gibberish. Down the block, a half - melted smartcar burned slow, casting warped shadows across the skeletal remains of a coffee bar. Behind a crumpled tram car, someone crouched low, breath tight in her lungs. The shrieking hadn’t stopped. It came again — sharp, bone-deep, the kind of sound that latched onto your spine and refused to let go. She checked the signal jammer at her hip. Still blinking. Still active. Not for long. They were tracking her. She moved fast — boots silent over broken glass, slipping through the breach in an old laundromat’s wall. Her body moved from muscle memory now: slide through, duck left, over the washer, don’t look at the corpse slumped by the dryer. Out the back. Up the fire escape. On the rooftop, she halted. Not alone. Someone was already there — silhouetted against the bleeding sunset. Combat jacket. Short - cropped hair. Pulse rifle slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Like this was just another rooftop, just another war. “Don’t move,” the voice snapped. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m clean.” “Everyone says that.” “Scan me.” beat. Then the girl stepped forward, rifle still raised but gaze locked in. Dark eyes, sharp, searching — not just for weapons, but tells. Fear. Lies. She lowered the rifle half an inch. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” That wasn’t the line she expected.

Everyone wants a piece of Lucien Vale, his money, his fame, his name. Ariana Cross wants nothing to do with him. She’s too busy fighting to survive: engineering classes by day, dead-end jobs by night, and a little sister whose next hospital bill could break them for good. Pride is the only thing her father didn’t steal when he walked out. But when a career-ending scandal rocks Lucien’s world, the ice-cold racing champion needs a miracle: a fake girlfriend who can fix his cars and his reputation. He offers Ariana everything: money, security, her sister’s future if she’ll play the part. She says no. Until one brutal night leaves her with no choice. What starts as a cold business deal explodes into a dangerous obsession. The closer Ariana gets to Lucien, the more she sees the broken man behind the legend: sleepless nights, buried rage, and a mother’s death that was never just an accident. Their lives were tangled long before they met. Now trapped in a web of lies, scorching chemistry, and secrets dark enough to destroy them both, Ariana discovers the deadliest truth of all….. Some collisions were never accidents.

My dad is the youngest ace pilot in the country. He's equipped with extremely stellar piloting skills. But on the day my mom suffers from a sudden heart attack and desperately needs to transfer hospitals, he refuses to fly her out with the excuse that the weather is terrible. Later on, someone records Dad flying a private jet just to scatter flower petals from a high altitude on a sunny day in order to celebrate the birthday of another woman's daughter. Meanwhile, my mom ends up dying on the stretcher while waiting to be saved. He didn't even show up, right up until the burial. For the next 20 years, my uncle has to take on cab orders every night just to put me through flight school. The day I become the youngest chief examiner of the Federal Aviation Administration, an airline delivers to me the file of a piloting prodigy for a captain upgrade assessment. The CEO of the airline is present as the guarantor of said pilot candidate. He puts himself in a very humble position when he addresses me. "Mr. Lowe, this young woman is extremely talented. If you drop your signature now, she will become the youngest pilot ever." I flip through the candidate's piloting resume. When my eyes fall on the list of her family members and her emergency contact, I'm stunned for a moment. Then, I stare at the young woman's photo for a very long time. Finally, I close the file and state softly, "Sorry. I won't approve her evaluation."

At a highway service area, the man parked in the next space points under his van and shouts that it's leaking fuel and is about to explode. I am a veteran auto mechanic with ten years of experience. Without hesitation, I slide under the vehicle and, within ten seconds, clamp off the fuel line. The moment I crawl back out, I catch the smell of mineral water. The owner, Billy Dickson, immediately pulls out his phone and starts a livestream while several of his accomplices pin me against the hood. "Watch this, everyone! We set the perfect trap and caught a gang of catalytic converter thieves! See how smoothly he got under the chassis? He's obviously a repeat offender. Every missing part at this service area has to be his doing!" Covered in dirt and grease, I try to explain to the crowd that I only cut the line because I thought the vehicle was about to catch fire and endanger everyone nearby. Billy spits a thick wad of phlegm right onto my shoe. "Who asked you to stick your nose into my business? You crawled under my van because you wanted to steal parts! Either you pay for a brand-new vehicle today, or I'll hand you over to the police and make sure you rot in prison!" Not wanting to delay getting my wife, who's about to go into labor, to the hospital, I grit my teeth and transfer them 20,000 dollars to settle the matter privately. Three days later, on a long downhill stretch of a winding mountain road, Billy's van completely loses its brakes. Black smoke pours from the tires. He recognizes my car and frantically blares the horn. Rolling down his window, he begs me to tell him how to survive. I simply press down on the accelerator and widen the distance between us, my face completely expressionless. "Back for another livestream to chase views? Give me a break. To prove I'm not a car thief, I already threw my wrenches into the river. You'll have to figure out for yourself how to jump out of the van."

In the third year of Lyra Hawthorne's engagement to Ryder Calloway, he found himself a beautiful grid girl named Nova Voss abroad. The day before Valentine's Day, he deliberately brought Nova to see Lyra and demanded to break off the engagement. "Nova and I share the same interests. A simp like you will never understand the thrill of racing." Lyra refused to accept it and asked, "Does it have to be today?" He laughed. "Do you need to check the calendar to call off an engagement?" She nodded and didn't argue any further. A month later, she entered the same race he did. What he didn't know was that she had understood the thrill of racing long before he ever did. Later, she got married on his birthday. With reddened eyes, he asked, "Does it have to be today?" She smiled as well. "Of course. You do need to pick an auspicious day for a wedding."

Maeve Thalorien spent five years in a cell for a crime she doesn't remember committing. They called her parents traitors. Said they betrayed the kingdom. And then they erased them. On the day she turns twenty, Maeve is released-not as a free woman, but as a weapon. Sent straight into Aetherion Academy, where bonded beasts choose their riders and the kingdom's deadliest heirs are forged. Some bond with phoenixes. Some with wolves. Some with creatures powerful enough to burn cities to ash. But the most dangerous bonds were the ones that vanished after the war. Maeve was taught they turned on humanity. That they were lost. Uncontrollable. Evil. She was taught a lot of things. And the sky has a habit of remembering what people try to forget. The moment Maeve steps into the academy, the lies begin to crack. Whispers follow her name. The Viremont heir watches her like a problem he can't solve. And something ancient stirs beneath the world-something that should not exist anymore. Because when the bonding ceremony begins... the sky remembers her. And so does what it was never meant to give back. Some bonds are chosen. Some are forced. And some were never supposed to return at all.