Unsettling secrets Part2

As Nero, Mika, and Lisa continue their walk along the sidewalks, a loud noise suddenly pierces the air. It's the roar of a motorcycle engine, growing louder and closer. Nero turns around just in time to see a figure clad in black, riding a sleek black sports bike. The rider moves so fast that all they can see is a streak of red tail light and a black blur.

The speed of the bike is astonishing, causing a gust of wind that almost blows off Mika's hat. She quickly holds onto her hat, securing it tightly on her head. Lisa is caught off guard, and has to stop her clothes from being blown off by the sudden gust. Nero, on the other hand, closes his eyes to prevent dust from getting in.

Once the bike has zoomed past, they open their eyes and look at each other, a mix of surprise and amusement on their faces. "What was that!" Nero comments, brushing off the dust from his clothes. Mika, still holding onto her hat, laughs, "Talk about a dramatic entrance!" Lisa, regaining her composure, adds, "Well, that's one way to make an impression!" With the excitement over, they resume their walk.

After a considerable walk, Lisa points towards a signboard, her finger tracing the bold letters - "Vibro Racing Club". The area is buzzing with bikers, their leather jackets glistening under the sun, their chatter filling the air. The club building, a modest single-story structure, stands amidst the sea of bikers. Among them, a familiar figure catches Lisa's eye - a biker dressed in black.

"Hey, isn't that the guy who zoomed past us earlier?" Lisa asks, her eyes narrowing. Mika nods, "Yes, that's him."

Nero, meanwhile, is lost in his thoughts. 'So, this is where they do street racing,' he muses, his gaze fixated on the black bike. 'A Ducati Panigale V4S, quite a beauty,' he thinks, admiring the sleek lines of the machine.

The biker in black is busy sticking a number 9 on his jacket and bike. Lisa explains to Mika and Nero, "The stickers help identify the riders, but they also have trackers to monitor the bikers during the race."

"Why do they need trackers?" Nero asks, curiosity piqued. Before Lisa can answer, five drones whir into life, circling the racers. Nero's eyes widen in understanding, "Ah, so that's why."

As the racers, including the black-clad biker number 9, line up at the starting point in an arrangement of three rows and five columns, Lisa tugs at Mika's arm. "Let's move. It won't be safe in the middle," she says, leading them to the sidelines opposite a large screen.

Nero's gaze sweeps over the other riders. A rider in green, number 6, straddles a BMW S 1000 RR. Beside number 9 is another rider in red, number 10, on a Honda CBR1000RR-R. The most notable among them is Rider 1 in white, atop a Suzuki Hayabusa. The rest, their bikes seem to be less remarkable compared to these 4. The bikes line up.

The roar of the engines drowns out all other sounds, the anticipation palpable. The announcer's voice cuts through the noise, "The race will start in 3...2...and 1. Go!" In a flash, the riders bolt forward, their bikes streaking like lightning across the track.

Bikers number 10 and 4 are surging ahead, their engines roaring in the early lead. Just on their tail, bikers number 9 and 6 are shifting gears, their bikes humming as they navigate the desolate town roads. The roads, narrow and winding, stretch out before them, a challenging path that they must conquer.

As they approach the first sharp turn, bikers 10, 6, and 4 ease off the throttle, their bikes slowing as they prepare to navigate the curve. But biker number 9, a figure clad in all black, refuses to yield. Nero, a spectator, watches this unfold, his mind racing. 'What the hell is he thinking? If he doesn't slow down, he will crash,' he thinks to himself.

But then, in a surprising move, biker number 9 twists his handle, accelerating into the turn. Nero, along with the rest of the audience, watches in awe. The audacity, the sheer skill of the maneuver leaves them speechless.

Nero turns to Lisa, his voice filled with curiosity, "Who is this guy? Is he a regular?" Lisa, equally surprised, shakes her head, "No, I haven't seen this guy." Mika chimes in, her voice filled with admiration, "He is too good. How can someone pull off such a maneuver?"

Meanwhile, biker number 10 and 4 are now pushing their limits, their engines revving as they try to catch up, the race far from over. The crowd watches, their hearts pounding in their chests, as the bikers disappear around the bend, the echo of their engines the only proof of their presence.

The drones are in hot pursuit, capturing the bikers on screen as they approach a bustling local area with many restaurants and bars. Traffic is thick with cars, and biker number 9 slows down, his eyes scanning the congestion. The other riders follow suit, their engines idling as they assess the situation. But then, from the back of the pack, biker number 1 revs his engine and surges forward. His bike roars, drowning out the other engines as he weaves through the traffic like a serpent, overtaking his competitors and seizing the lead.

"That's our white knight for you. He hasn't lost a single race," Lisa comments, her eyes glued to the screen. Nero nods, fully engrossed in the race. The route ahead is a zigzag, a challenging path leading to a hairpin turn before the finish line. The white knight, rider 1, navigates the zigzag with ease, his bike hugging the curves as he maintains his lead.

But as he approaches the hairpin loop, rider 9, the rider clad in black, is just inches behind. Rider 1 keeps his speed, leaning into the loop, but Rider 9 brakes and drifts, executing a surprising maneuver that leaves everyone stunned. "Can you even drift a bike?" Nero asks, dumbfounded. Mika replies, "Well, he can."

Riders 1 and 9 are now side by side, the other riders far behind. The race is neck and neck, the tension palpable as they cross the finish line. The crowd erupts in excitement, their hearts pounding as the large screen replays the finish in slow motion. Rider 9 has won. He raises his fist in victory, then removes his helmet to reveal a young face with fair skin and black hair. He looks almost noble, his expression impassive as he accepts the trophy.

Suddenly, the rider in white, a man in his mid-20s with long brown hair, lunges at the rider in black with a rod. But Nero intervenes, blocking the attack with his arm, and then the rider in black delivers a roundhouse kick that sends the white rider spinning to the ground. The crowd gasps, surprised by the white rider's uncharacteristic aggression. His team members help him up, one of them issuing a warning, "We will get you, bastards."

The rider in black introduces himself, "Hi, my name is Lysander," and shakes hands with Nero. Lisa runs over, and Mika tells Nero, "You always make me worry about you." Lysander greets the ladies, "Nice meeting you." Lisa, a fan of the white rider, is not impressed but manages a polite smile. "We're getting quite late. Let's go home," she suggests. Mika, however, seems quite taken with Lysander and Nero. They bid Lysander goodbye and head home, leaving the excitement of the race behind them.