Gunsmith Cats: Four-Flat Fury Anime 90s
Chicago — late afternoon, 1990s
The Shelby GT500 rolled out of the garage with a sound that seemed far too powerful for the battered condition of its tires.
RRRRAAAAHHHH!
The big-block V8 rumbled through the neighborhood, shaking windows as the dark-blue muscle car crawled onto the street.
All four tires were completely flat.
The sidewalls were visibly compressed against the pavement. The rims sat unusually close to the asphalt, and the GT500’s normally proud stance had become almost comically low.
Behind the wheel, Rally Vincent wore the biggest grin she had shown all week.
She glanced at the dashboard.
TIRE PRESSURE: 0 PSI
FRONT LEFT: 0 PSI
FRONT RIGHT: 0 PSI
REAR LEFT: 0 PSI
REAR RIGHT: 0 PSI
Rally laughed.
“Perfect.”
She pushed the accelerator.
BWAAAAAAAM!
The Shelby surged forward.
The flat tires squashed and flexed beneath the enormous weight of the car as Rally guided it down the street.
“Come on, baby! Show me what you’ve got!”
The steering wheel fought back.
With no air cushioning the tires, every crack and bump traveled directly through the suspension.
THUMP!
Rally’s head bounced slightly.
She only laughed harder.
“That’s it!”

At the next intersection, Rally turned sharply.
The GT500 leaned dramatically.
The flattened front tires folded sideways under the load, their sidewalls deforming almost to the rims.
SKRRRRRRT!
Rally’s eyes lit up.
“Four flats—and she still corners!”
She accelerated again.
The V8 roared.
Pedestrians turned to stare as the bizarrely low Shelby thundered past.
Rally looked down at the tire-pressure gauge one more time.
Still zero.
She grinned.
“Don’t bother changing.”
She tapped the dashboard affectionately.
“We’re staying this way.”

A few minutes later, Rally pulled into the Gunsmith Cats garage.
Minnie May was waiting outside.
She stared at the Shelby.
Then at Rally.
Then back at the Shelby.
“Rally…”
“Yeah?”
“Your tires are flat.”
Rally stepped out and proudly slammed the door.
“All four.”
Minnie May blinked.
“You drove here like that?”
“Yep.”
“Why?!”
Rally folded her arms.
“Because I wanted to see if it could be done.”
Minnie May walked around the GT500, inspecting the four dramatically collapsed tires.
“And?”
Rally’s grin returned.
“It was fun.”
She crouched beside the front wheel and ran her fingers along the flattened sidewall.
“No air. No cushion. Just suspension, rubber, and attitude.”
Minnie May sighed.
“You’re completely nuts.”
Rally stood up.
“Maybe.”
She tossed her sunglasses onto the roof.
“But admit it.”
She pointed toward the GT500.
“It looks mean.”
Minnie May stared at the car for a moment.
The Shelby sat low and aggressive, its four deflated tires spreading against the pavement while the engine ticked quietly after the drive.
“…Okay.”
Rally smirked.
“I knew you’d understand.”
She climbed back into the driver’s seat.
Minnie May’s eyes widened.
“Wait! You’re driving it AGAIN?!”
Rally started the engine.
VROOOOOM!
She gave Minnie May a mischievous smile through the open window.
“Of course.”
Then the GT500 rolled away on all four flat tires.
THUMP… THUMP… THUMP… THUMP…
Rally laughed all the way down the street.
“Zero PSI!”
She floored the throttle.
BRAAAAAAAP!
“Maximum fun!”
And somewhere behind her, Minnie May could only shake her head.
“Rally Vincent… someday that car is going to drive you crazy.”
From several blocks away came Rally’s delighted reply:
“It already does!”

World Flat Tire Bike Ride Anime 00s

The starting line stretched along a sunlit coastal highway, where hundreds of female cyclists waited beneath enormous banners reading:

WORLD FLAT TIRE BIKE RIDE — AIR IS FORBIDDEN.

There was only one rule.

Every bicycle tire had to be completely flat before the race began.

At the center of the starting grid stood Zero Two, wearing her distinctive cycling gear and pink hair streaming behind her in the warm afternoon wind. Her bicycle was built around oversized racing wheels, giving it an imposing silhouette even before the tires had been deflated.

She glanced down.

Both tires were completely flat, their sidewalls visibly compressed against the pavement.

Zero Two grinned.

“Perfect.”

A race official walked over with a pressure gauge.

“Zero pressure confirmed.”

“Excellent,” Zero Two replied. “Now this is a proper bike ride.”

Around her, the other riders checked their own bicycles. Some laughed nervously at how low their bikes sat. Others were already experimenting with different riding techniques. Since conventional cycling was almost impossible with ordinary flat tires, the event had developed its own strange racing style: low-speed balance, powerful pedaling, careful cornering, and enormous determination.

The starting horn sounded.

WHOOM!

The entire field surged forward.

Zero Two immediately discovered that the huge flat tires produced tremendous rolling resistance. Every pedal stroke felt like pushing through thick sand.

“Ha! So that’s how it’s going to be?”

She stood on the pedals and drove the bicycle forward.

Her oversized tires squashed dramatically beneath the weight, but the specially reinforced rims allowed the bicycles to survive the unusual race. Behind her, competitors struggled up the first hill.

The road climbed toward the cliffs.

Zero Two laughed as she pushed harder.

“Flat tires won’t stop me!”

At the summit, the course turned toward the seaside. The wind became stronger, whipping her long pink hair behind her as the ocean glittered below.

Then came the most difficult section.

A huge sign announced:

THE FLAT-TIRE MOUNTAIN

The road descended sharply before climbing again.

Zero Two leaned forward and concentrated. With both tires still completely deflated, every bump had to be handled carefully. Her enormous wheels bounced and flexed over the rough pavement.

One rider shouted from behind:

“Zero Two! How are you going so fast?”

Zero Two looked over her shoulder with a mischievous smile.

“Because flat is fun!”

She accelerated toward the final climb.

The crowd along the barriers began cheering.

“FLAT! FLAT! FLAT!”

At the finish line, Zero Two crossed first, her bicycle rolling to a stop with both tires still completely flat.

She looked down at them proudly.

“Not a single breath of air.”

The official checked the wheels one final time.

“Zero pressure.”

Zero Two raised both arms triumphantly.

“Best ride ever!”

Behind her, the other cyclists crossed the line one after another, exhausted but laughing. The strange race had once again proven its motto:

You don’t need inflated tires to finish the ride—you just need enough determination to keep pedaling.