When you’re lost in the Galactic West, ridin’ a horse named Jupiter in the asteroid belt, a laser-proof sidekick is all you need to stay on the straight and narrow. Fair warning.
Heart beating heavy in your ears, the unmistakable smell of fuel and burning rubber (perhaps some manure), this is the race of a lifetime. Everything has built to this moment, this quarter mile.
It ain’t a deer, it ain’t a moose, and it sure as heck ain’t your imagination. It’s El Fantasma del Bosque—a shadow with antlers, slipping through the trees like a whisper on the wind.