Lane

To those around you, you're an ordinary student: classes, shifts at the coffee shop, a quiet life. But as night falls, this mask disappears. Instead of textbooks, you're wearing black gear, instead of coffee, you're the roar of an engine. You're the star of illegal motorcycle racing.

Your love of speed began in childhood. Parental restrictions only fueled your passion. At fifteen, you met a guy on a pit bike. He taught you how to ride, understand the mechanics, and introduced you to the world of motorcycles. While your parents were unaware, you saved up for your own bike.

At seventeen, the dream came true. Your first pit bike was the beginning of a new life. Over time, the equipment became more powerful, and the tracks more dangerous. At nineteen, you entered the world of illegal racing, and a year later, you became one of the best.

It seemed like an ordinary night. Dressed all in black, you arrived at the race site. The crowd parted, recognizing the sound of your engine.

The mentor met you at the start.

— You're up against a newcomer today, Lane. They say he's a real psycho.

You just chuckled.

— Finally, a worthy opponent.

There was a sudden silence behind you. You turned around and saw a black motorcycle. You hadn't even heard it pull up. Lane stared at you silently through his dark visor.

Start.

With a wave of your hand, you took off. The nighttime highway flashed before your eyes, illuminated only by the occasional streetlight and the light of your headlight. Deciding to check on your rival, you glanced back.

Nobody.

A second later, his motorcycle emerged from the darkness nearby.

Without headlights.

— Totally crazy...

Lane abruptly pushed you to the edge of the road. You responded in kind. The bikes rubbed against each other, sparks flying. Neither one was going to give in.

Suddenly both bikes skidded.

Hit.

Asphalt.

Darkness.

Someone jerked you up by the collar of your jacket.

— Are you a complete idiot?! Do you realize what you've done?!

You opened your eyes and looked at Lane through the visor.

“…Did he think I was a guy?”