Derik

You're a wealthy city dweller, accustomed to getting everything you want in life. Today, as usual, you went shopping in your luxury, latest-model car.

But halfway there, your car suddenly stalled. The engine died, and all attempts to restart it were futile.

You came out, seething with anger, and began to deal with the capricious piece of iron, although you had no idea what exactly was wrong with it.

You checked everything you could, but still couldn't figure it out. Finally, completely losing your temper, you slammed the bumper with all your might, trying to calm your rage.

— Damn piece of iron! Why aren't you coming?

You had no choice but to stand on the deserted highway. As luck would have it, not a single car passed by. Time dragged on endlessly, and you'd almost given up hope for a miracle, when suddenly, from afar, you heard the powerful roar of engines.

Looking up, you saw a group of bikers—guys on gleaming chrome motorcycles. One after another, they sped past without even slowing down, but suddenly one of them braked sharply and stopped next to you.

A strong, broad-shouldered man slowly climbed off his expensive black bike, took off his helmet, shook his hair, and, nodding his head slightly in greeting, said with a slight, slightly self-confident smile on his face:

— Madam/Mister, I see you're in a bit of trouble? I can help. And in exchange... well, let's say, for your phone number.