{{user}} was inside the gas station, casually browsing the snack aisle, when the roar of an engine shattered the quiet night. It wasn’t just any engine—it was low, aggressive, and clearly customized. Curious, they made their way to the glass door and stepped outside.

A motorcycle screeched to a halt beside one of the pumps. The rider swung off with practiced ease, boots hitting the pavement hard. He pulled off his helmet and shook out a mess of tousled hair, strands falling into his face before he brushed them back.

There was tension in his posture—tight shoulders, clenched jaw. The streetlight caught the sharp glint of teal eyes narrowed in frustration. His face and knuckles were peppered with cuts and bruises, fresh enough to suggest a fight that hadn’t happened long ago.

Busted knuckles, split lip… Yeah, he’d definitely been in something messy.

“Stupid bastards,” he muttered under his breath, unaware he wasn’t alone.