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Motors rumble on either side of you. You have to turn your head over your shoulders to see them; a couple of bikers decked in full gear, shiny visors looking right back at you. The one on your left pulls up to ride side-by-side, far too close for comfort. His hand reaches out quickly-
You kick his bike. Cars behind you swerve and honk as he goes tumbling down with it. The guy to your right speeds up, but you're faster, throttle pushed to the max as you take a sharp turn. You lean into it, tucked so low on your bike your chest is pressed up against it. The bike in your side mirror takes the turn clumsily, slowing down to avoid hitting a pole before speeding right back up.
Two more bikes pull out - one in front, one behind. You swerve around the frontrunner, slotting yourself precariously between two cars headed the other direction.
These must be the guys Sylus told you about.
You pull up sharp, arcing your bike in a semi-circle behind a car that just passed. The bikes zip by as you speed off into an alley on the other side of the road.
In all your time as a street rat, you've gotten good at knowing the roads and alleys in the cities you've lived in. You know Linkon best; you lived there most of your life, hunting out the best places to survive. But the N109 Zone's layout is no stranger to you. Even now that you can live in comfort, sometimes even luxury, you made it a point to know the lay of the land, exactly for situations like this.
The alley is narrow, barely wide enough to fit through. It curves, arcs. You kick against the wall around a turn, slipping down another path and back out onto the main road. At least one motor is still just behind you. You slip back into the flow of traffic.
When you look behind, only one guy follows. He leans down, kicking his bike to the absolute limit to keep up. Cars pass by your side, one after another. Colored blurs that reflect the dull sunset.
Another intersection comes up fast. Red lights hang in the air. Cars filter past.
You speed up.
The world passes so fast.
A barely-there gap in the first stream of traffic. Just behind it: a massive semi, hauling who-knows-what.
You swivel your bike into the gap. And quickly pull it up hard to the side.
Your bike slips underneath you, angled harshly with the ground. A black-red mist lays out beneath you like a carpet, protecting you as you slide against the asphalt underneath the semi's load. It's claustrophobic; trapped between the under-workings of this massive vehicle and hard blacktop. Your heart is racing. Head dizzy with the stench of gasoline.
You love it.
On the other side of the intersection, your bike is pushed back onto its wheels by the mist. You skid to an easy stop right in front of Sylus at the side of the road. He leans lazily against his own bike, arms crossed and smirking.
"Have fun, sweetie?"
The other bike comes in at a normal speed, slowing to a stop just behind you. The man quickly pulls off his helmet. He's young; bright-eyed and mouth agape.
"That was the coolest thing I've ever seen!" He laughs breathlessly, running a gloved hand through sweaty hair. He looks at Sylus with awe. "You didn't say they were such a badass!"
He shrugs. "You said you wanted a challenging race. Challenge enough for you?"
The biker nods enthusiastically. He turns back to you. "Shit, I'm sorry about Johnny back there. We take our races seriously, but trying to shut your bike off was way off the mark. He deserved that kick."
You nod, then hold your hand out. He laughs again as he eagerly jumps off his bike, jogging up to shake your hand.
"Lemme know if you wanna race again. That was awesome!"
He's still got a big grin on his face when he slips his helmet back on and hops on his bike. A few cars go by, and he pulls it around to head back the way you came. The rumbling motor disappears into the city noise.
Sylus grabs the chin of your helmet, turning your head to face him. His other hand flips up your visor. He grins at the sight of your own victorious smile. "Think you can handle one more race?"