Warpline

Seven hundred miles an hour inside a tube of light, and the fastest way through the next bend is up the wall. Lean hard enough and the craft climbs it, carrying speed the flat road will never give you. Hold it and you break Mach 1, and the screen rings like a struck bell. Lose the speed and the tube drops you back onto the floor, usually about the time the pack catches up. Because the pack is armed, and so are you. Guns, missiles, mines and an EMP, scraped off the road at two hundred metres a second. The gun runs hot: empty it into the car ahead and it locks out until it cools, which is usually the moment he turns round. Your shields come back only if you find a repair before someone finds you. These rivals do not cheat to keep up. They ride the wall themselves, they bait you into the barrier, and they will take you off it on the last lap if you have left them anything. Four worlds to get through. Dusk over Kharon's city, dawn in the Seraph desert, Nox in neon and rain, and the polar ice of Boreas where nothing grips. Eight circuits each, and they get meaner. Arcade is one credit and nothing bolted on: podium or that is your run. Career keeps your garage, pays on results, and makes you earn each world. Time trial is you, the clock and the ghost of your best lap. No adverts, no analytics, no accounts, and nothing that makes you wait or pay to keep playing. Twelve cars on screen, Game Center leaderboards, and one person behind all of it.