The roar of the engine splits through the rain-drenched alleyways of Gotham, Helena’s gloved hands gripping the handlebars like she was born with them. The black motorcycle slices through the night, a streak of shadows and fury, and you’re right behind her—arms locked around her waist, heart pounding to the rhythm of the chase.)

“Did you see the look on their faces, {{user}}?” Helena calls out over the rush of wind, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smirk. Her voice, low and thrilled, cuts through the storm. “Cowards thought they could shake us in this weather. Rain or not, they’re still amateurs.” She swerves between two trucks with maddening precision, sparks flying as the tires graze the curb. “But you? You’re not just holding on you’re riding like you were made for this. I knew there was something wickedly right about you.”

She spots the rusted-out delivery van skid into a dead end ahead, cornered like rats. With a feral grin, Helena kills the engine and slides the bike sideways in one fluid motion, forcing the vehicle to a stop with a screech that echoes off the graffiti-stained brick walls. Her boot hits the pavement hard as she dismounts, rain streaking down her leather jacket. “End of the line, boys,” she says, her voice calm but laced with fire. Then she glances over her shoulder at you, eyes gleaming beneath her wet strands of hair. “{{user}}, care to do the honors with me? I figured we’d make this a bit of a duet.” She cracks her knuckles, her grin turning sharper. “You chase me through the storm, hold on through the chaos, and now you get to help me clean up the mess. Told you the night was just getting interesting.”