The Calm Before the Storm
Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Sawyer pulled out his phone, his fingers deftly tapping out a message to Ezekiel. He asked for a group ride later that night, his heart buoyed by a clean, triumphant smirk spreading across his face.
A familiar ding sound echoed from the palm of his hands, signaling a new message. With a sense of anticipation, he unlocked his phone, his fingers dancing across the screen as he opened the message from Ezekiel. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he read the confirmation of the group ride later that night.
As he closed the message window, a sense of excitement welled up within him. The status window appeared in front of him, shimmering with an unspoken shimmer as his smile became even more devious as his gaze focused on it.
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SYSTEM MENU
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Current Quest]
Title: Ride for Respect
Objective: Complete the next group ride with the club to earn their trust.
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With this group ride he could also complete this mission. A new wave of determination washed over him, the determination to never be looked down upon again and to achieve his goals.
New notifications from the Monarch of the Road system. This notification appeared in his face. He clicked the three dots below to open the screen.
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SYSTEM MENU
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[Name: Sawyer Knight]
[Rank: Novice (Levels up as you progress)
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[New Notifications]
*First Kill: 457 EXP gained*
*Torture Participation: 215 EXP gained*
*Chase Participation: 94 EXP gained*
*Reputation Increased: Club Respect and Local Recognition up*
[Progression to Next Rank]
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[Experience Points]
|███████████████---------| 65% to next rank
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The screen before him vanished, leaving Sawyer with a sense of accomplishment that simmered just beneath the surface. 'Who would've thought I'm already about to reach the next level… this system really makes it simple,' he mused in his head, a satisfied laugh escaping his lips as he sank into his couch chair.
The hours slipped away unnoticed, the sun's warm glow giving way to the cool embrace of night. As darkness settled over the city, Sawyer prepared himself for the group ride. His right pocket buzzed, breaking his reverie. Sawyer retrieved his phone, noting the caller ID: Ezekiel. With a swift swipe of his thumb, he answered the call.
"Hello?" Sawyer said as he picked up the phone, his voice steady yet tinged with anticipation.
"We're all meeting at SizzleStacks in about thirty minutes, wanna ride with me?" Ezekiel's voice came through the speaker, firm and clear, though a faint murmur of other voices could be heard in the background. Sawyer chose to ignore it, focusing on the task at hand.
"Sure, I'll be right out," he responded, ending the call with a decisive press of his thumb.
Sawyer grabbed his helmet and gloves. He stepped out of his apartment, the night air cool against his skin, and descended the steps to where his bike was parked. The roar of an engine greeted him before he even reached the bottom.
Ezekiel was already there, sitting astride his bike. For the first time, Sawyer saw him in short sleeves, revealing tattoo sleeves that snaked down both of his arms, ending just above the black gloves he wore. The tattoos were a stark contrast to the otherwise dark ensemble he sported. Everything else about Ezekiel's attire mirrored Sawyer's, except for the helmet. While Sawyer's was a sleek matte black, Ezekiel's was a glossy white, adorned with carefully placed stickers. Its aerodynamic design spoke to both style and function.
"You ready?" Ezekiel asked, glancing over at Sawyer as he hopped onto Kamina, his bike.
"Yeah," Sawyer responded, a determined gleam in his eyes. They shared a quick, firm fist bump before both riders switched on their ignitions. The dashes on their screens lit up. As they held the start buttons, the bikes roared to life,
Ezekiel led the way, and Sawyer followed closely. The SizzleStacks was located near the heart of the city, and the journey there would take roughly thirty minutes—a perfect stretch of road to let their engines sing.
As they approached a stoplight, the glow of the city casting long shadows around them, Ezekiel turned his head slightly. "Wanna do a 0-60?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of mischief.
Sawyer's face lit up beneath his helmet, his eyes reflecting the challenge and excitement. "Yes!" he replied, his enthusiasm unmistakable.
They both got into launch positions, their bikes poised like coiled springs ready to unleash their power. Sawyer knew he was at a disadvantage—his engine wasn't as powerful as Ezekiel's—but that only added to the excitement. This wasn't just about winning; it was about the pure, unadulterated joy of the ride.
As soon as the light turned green, Sawyer's dash flickered rapidly as he released the clutch and flicked his right wrist. The bike surged forward, the digital readout on his dash climbing swiftly. The acceleration was thrilling, the speedometer needle edging closer to 55 mph in just three seconds. But in that split moment, Ezekiel's bike shot past on his right, hitting 60 mph a few milliseconds before Sawyer could reach the same speed.
As they pulled up to the next stoplight, Sawyer smacked his knee in disappointment and lifted his visor. "I was so close!" he shouted through his helmet, his voice slightly muffled but filled with a mixture of excitement and frustration.
Ezekiel lifted his visor in response, a grin spreading across his face. "You were," he said, his tone encouraging. "When are you thinking of moving up to a 600? You've got the skills to handle one."
"Soon, I've been looking at a few," Sawyer replied, his voice filled with anticipation.
The light turned green once again, interrupting their conversation as the two turned left onto the freeway. They began splitting and weaving through traffic with practiced ease, making the complex maneuvers look almost fun. 'The system seems to think differently…' Sawyer thought to himself, recalling his low-leveled stats that struggled to even reach the halfway mark.
The two shot through the highway, Ezekiel inevitably leaving a trail of dust behind for Sawyer. Ezekiel glanced around, ensuring the road was clear of cars for a stretch, then leaned back and yanked the throttle, lifting the front wheel into a seamless power wheelie that carved through the air like a knife through butter.
A smile gleamed across Sawyer's face as he pulled off a clutch-up wheelie, his bike lifting smoothly off the ground and gliding forward with precision and control. Ezekiel held his wheelie for about ten seconds before putting both wheels back down and zooming off down the highway.
Sawyer's wheelie was a quicker maneuver, ending after three seconds, but the exhilaration was palpable. Utilizing his 300cc engine, he launched down the highway, his bike roaring past the speed limit. He redlined sixth gear, the engine pushing towards 10,000 RPMs, and his speedometer breaking 185 kph as he was shifted into sixth gear. Every movement felt surreal, as if the world around him was a mere blur and he was the only solid, moving entity in a frozen moment of time.
His engine roared at him, unable to push itself any further as he redlined at 10,000 RPM and his speedometer broke 193 kph. As the exit approached, he began to brake, pulling in the clutch and downshifting gears until he settled into third. In the distance, he spotted Ezekiel, who had slowed down on the off-ramp, waiting for him. The two navigated the off-ramp, placing them closer to the heart of LA.
As they turned left at the first light after the off-ramp, Sawyer saw a sign reading, "SizzleSacks Burgers," confirming they had reached their destination. Outside the burger joint, at least fifteen bikers were gathered, their bikes lined up in a formidable display. Pulling up slowly, Sawyer scanned the group for familiar faces. The only other biker he recognized besides Ezekiel was Avent, who was lounging casually on his bike.
Sawyer decided to park next to Avent, while Ezekiel parked a few bikes away. As Sawyer took off his helmet and shook out his helmet hair, Avent noticed a change in his eyes and scoffed under his breath. Sawyer walked up to Avent, and Avent spoke first, "You've changed…" Avent said cryptically, though Sawyer knew exactly what he was talking about as he stared him in the eyes.
"I've just decided that I'm done being afraid my whole life…" Sawyer replied, conviction burning behind his eyes. Avent slowly got up from his motorcycle seat, gesturing for Sawyer to follow him. The two walked over to Ezekiel and the other bikers, who were standing in a large group outside the burger joint.
Ezekiel cleared his throat before speaking. "Before we begin this ride, I would just like to thank you, Sawyer, for making this happen. I know for myself, and most of us, we would probably be in bed right now," Ezekiel said, chuckling at the last part. "So seriously, thank you." He looked Sawyer in the eyes, conveying genuine gratitude.
"To Sawyer!" shouted a biker, and the rest echoed the cheer.
"There's no real destination for this, only that we'll be riding through LA. Now, shall we ride?" Ezekiel asked with a playful grin as he put his helmet and gloves on. The other bikers followed suit, donning their helmets and gloves and hopping onto their respective bikes. Since Sawyer and Avent had parked at the end, they were the last to gear up and mount their bikes.
Before flipping down his visor, Avent glanced at Sawyer's bike and spoke, "Try to keep up," he said with a devilish smile.
Sawyer chuckled but couldn't help but marvel at the beautiful bike Avent had. It was a 750cc Alpine Dynamics, with sleek, aerodynamic lines reminiscent of a predator ready to pounce. The bodywork, like sculpted armor, hugged the engine and frame with precision. On the rear fairing, carved into the plastic, was the bold insignia 'ALD', a mark of distinction among bikers.
The bike gleamed in pristine white, from its fairings to its rims, a stark contrast to the darkness of the night. The headlights cast a majestic neon blue glow. Even in stillness, the bike seemed to exude an aura of raw energy.
The dash, though from an older era, was a testament to simplicity and functionality. It conveyed only the essential information: speed and gear position. There were no fancy gadgets or unnecessary distractions, just pure, unadulterated performance.