Buildings and street lamps blurred as you sped at full speed on your motorcycle. From outside your helmet you couldn't see much, only what was in front and that was all that mattered. It was an illegal race, and you had just come out on top. You saw a roadblock in the distance. The hounding was on. You had to brake. You pressed the brake as hard as you could until you stopped in front of the military roadblock. One of the soldiers was looking at you. He had a mohawk.