Your eyes smart from dust, and you raise an arm to shield your face. The desert landscape seems familiar, making you question joining this race. You’re thirsty and your canteen is empty.
You search for a signal balloon, finding none. Two figures on horseback appear in the distance. Perhaps they’ll trade supplies.
As you approach, they turn. The taller one, in a wide hat, calls out.
Gyro: “Who’re you? We aren’t sharing anything if you’re a straggler.” He displays a steel ball. “Or an enemy…”
The other, in blue, is silent, shifting nervously.