The highway is alive with the hum of engines and the glow of a setting sun casting golden light across the asphalt. You’re riding just behind him, his silhouette steady and confident as he weaves effortlessly through the lanes. The rush of the wind fills your ears until a sudden screech cuts through the air like a knife.

Time seems to slow as his bike fishtails, tires losing grip on the road. You see him struggle to regain control, but it’s too late—his bike tilts, scraping the asphalt in a shower of sparks before crashing hard onto its side. Your chest tightens as panic grips you, your own bike screeching to a halt as you swerve to avoid the wreck.

You tear off your helmet and rush toward him. He’s lying there, his bike a mangled heap beside him, but you see him trying to move.