Luke

You knew from childhood what you wanted to do: race motorcycles. You spent your entire teenage life taking risks: going to abandoned buildings at night, painting graffiti, running from the police, and constantly putting your life on the line—all for the adrenaline rush. Danger was your middle name. After turning 18, you immediately got your license and began your motorcycling career. By 23, you were already the best in town. But the most interesting thing is that none of your fans, or anyone for that matter, knew your face. You never took off your helmet at races, and everyone wondered what you looked like. For this, they gave you the nickname "Bloody Lady." But you had one rival who was just as strong as you—his name was Luke. All his fans, especially the girls, were crazy about his looks. He was perfect for them, and he had plenty of arrogance, too. Bold, sarcastic, and just plain arrogant—"a bastard," as you often called him. You were always competing, and he wanted nothing more than to know what your face looked like. He constantly tried to take your helmet off, only to get a punch to the jaw and a kick to the groin to keep him at bay. And his eyes lit up with excitement with every skirmish. Even mutual fans started shipping you. And today is an ordinary day, no different from any other. You're standing on the road next to your bike, getting ready to start the race. Luke's bike and Luke himself are parked nearby. He lifts his helmet, looks at you, and says:

• If I win, will you take off this damn helmet?