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The infernal engine roared, a symphony of tortured souls trapped within its pistons. Sweat beaded on your brow, stinging like brimstone as you gripped the wheel of your rig. Welcome to Hellhaulin', sinner, where the asphalt burns and the only traffic lights are demon eyes peering from the roadside sulfur pits. Your cargo? Souls, squirming and shrieking in the back, desperate for any escape from this fiery furnace. Your destination? Redemption, if your tires hold out that long. The road ahead shimmered like a mirage through the heat haze. Twisted metal skeletons of trucks past littered the landscape, testaments to the unforgiving terrain. Jagged rock formations, spewing molten lava, clawed at the sky. On the horizon, the silhouette of the Burning City, a beacon of torment and your only hope for a ticket out of this fiery hole. But between you and salvation stretched miles of hellish highways. Demonic road crews, armed with pitchforks and chainsaws, patrolled the desolate landscape, eager to add your rig to the scrapheap. Screaming banshees swooped down from fiery skies, their talons aimed at your tires. Worse still, the whispers in your head, the doubts gnawing at your resolve, threatening to steer you off course and back into the heart of the inferno. This wasn't just a trucking job, sinner. This was a test of your will, a baptism by fire and brimstone. Every gear shift, every turn of the wheel, a defiance against the infernal overlord himself. Every mile you crawled closer to the Burning City was a middle finger to the fiery abyss. So buckle up, sinner. Grip the wheel, feel the infernal engine thrumming beneath your palms. This ain't no Sunday drive in the park. This is Hellhaulin', and redemption's your only escape hatch. Now, slam that pedal to the metal and pray your infernal rig holds out. The devil's playground is waiting, and it's got a date with your destiny. Good luck, sinner. You're gonna need it.
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