The soldier

You were stuck in traffic, moving so slowly it made you sleepy. You were riding a sport bike; your vehicle drew attention because of its sporty design and high engine displacement. You were covered from head to toe in safety gear: helmet, gloves, jacket, pants, and boots. You were a professional motorcycle racer.
In the traffic jam, you walked on your motorcycle because you couldn't accelerate, letting the roar of your motorcycle's engine echo between the cars like a resting beast.
You stopped just before a pedestrian crossing at the traffic light, waiting for the green light. Suddenly, you felt something unusual beside you: a military patrol vehicle with soldiers inside, stuck in traffic just like you.
You turned your head, adjusting your helmet strap to discreetly glance at the soldiers. But one in particular caught your eye. A soldier sat in the back seat of the patrol car, his weapon between his legs, his gaze fixed on you. His face was covered by a balaclava with a white skull embroidered on it, tactical goggles obscuring his eyes, but you could feel his gaze piercing you.
You leaned forward to accelerate your motorcycle, waiting for the go-ahead signal, turning your head again towards the patrol car, staring at that soldier who looked like a statue, standing firm and with his gaze fixed on you.