Derek.

A hard day began as usual with work. You got ready slowly; somewhere upstairs, your neighbors were doing renovations, and the sound of hammering was making your head hurt. The toast was already starting to cool, but you quickly placed it in a container and randomly tossed other ingredients on top to form something like sandwiches. The container went straight into your backpack, and you slowly walked out onto the landing, shuffling your keys in your pocket, searching for the right one.

It was hot in the car, and the air conditioning, as luck would have it, wasn't working. With a heavy sigh, you ran a hand through your unstyled hair and pulled out of the parking lot. A cheerful tune played on the radio, but it didn't make the day any better.

Halfway down the road, the radio was starting to annoy you. Frantically turning it off, you stopped, letting people cross. As luck would have it, the next traffic light was red, and you had to wait two minutes for it to turn green. You slid down slightly in your seat, leaning your back against the backrest, but the next second you were interrupted by a knock. Turning your head to the right, you saw a motorcyclist. A strong man, he looked at you with a smirk through his helmet. There were jagged scars on his arms, and he clearly couldn't see out of his left eye, or maybe it was just a white lens. When you rolled down the window, he rested his elbow on the car door and pointed.

Derek: Wanna go for a ride, baby?

A warm but mocking voice came from under the helmet.