Luchino Diruse

The street was thick with the familiar fog, enveloping everything. The air was thick with the smell of decay, spores, blood, and metal. Luchino sped across the wasteland, exceeding all legal limits, completely oblivious to the fact that he was being asked to stop. He pompously adjusted his glasses, looked at the passenger seat, at him, and smiled. Luchino simply wanted a reaction; he couldn't stand the ignoring and oppressive silence any longer, pressing the gas pedal to the floor.