Night Rider returned home late, parking his bike under the faint glow of streetlights. His room was tidy, almost unexpectedly so. Tools and papers were neatly arranged, and a worn photograph of him and Dax as children rested on his desk.
He smiled faintly at the memory. Lying down on his bed, he murmured to himself, "Who even am I anymore? I used to never do stuff like this... I wish you were here, Shane. I swear I'll bring this city back to what it was.. even if I have to lose myself in the process."
At the station, Kai and Eli received news from their superior.
"We're not getting involved," the superior said. "Yes, the Redevils are troublesome, but Night Rider is orchestrating a long game. We're not falling into his trap."
Frustration and worry spread throughout the station as reports came in over and over of rebel biker's escaping, faster than any patrol car. Kai and Eli exchanged glances, realizing the rebels were upgrading.
Kai leaned close to Eli. "Then we'll just have to upgrade too right? we can't fall behind."
Days later, the station held a massive assembly. Select cops would receive upgraded vehicles during a huge banquet to celebrate, the vehicles being, some motorcycles, to match the rebels' skill. Eli panicked at the word "banquet," imagining formal dress, social rules, and the awkwardness of going alone.
Kai smirked. "don't worry man. I've got the perfect girl for you trust me."
"Why aren't you worrying, do you already have someone in mind?" Eli replied.
Kai walked forward, "You could say that, let's just worry about you for now alright?"
He led Eli to the cafe. "Ask Mira, I bet she'd die to hear this info," he said.
Eli hesitated, "Are you sure?"
"positive." he replied while giving a smirk.
"Mira... will you go with me to the banquet? Just as friends?" Eli said softly.
She smiled warmly. "Sure. Just as friends though."
The garage was quieter later that night, a hum of low conversations and the soft clank of tools. Night Rider and Dax were stationed near the workbench, helmets off, the glow from a single overhead lamp cutting across their faces.
"You ready for next week?" Dax asked.
Night Rider's smile was a half-thing, restless. "More than I'll ever be," he said.
Dax cocked and eyebrow. "You seem a bit excited."
Night Rider Shifted his weight, running a gloved hand along a bike frame. "It's been a while since I've raced," he admitted. "I want to see how good I've really gotten. You know?"
Dax laughed softly, the got serious. "Well, you sure as hell better not bail now. Once everyone heard you're racing, suddenly they all wanna show up. Even your greatest enemy might show up just to see you on the roads again."
Night Rider shook his head. "I'm not that good. I'm no pro, just a street racer."
"Yeah. Right," Dax scoffed. "Out of the 19 years, never have i seen anyone ride like you. It's like you become one with the bike. Stop being so humble."
Night Rider's expression flattened. He let out a breath that tasted like iron. "I wish I could be proud of that. I don't have time to be that cocky high school kid anymore. I've got a job to do. I'm not the same as I used to be, not just as a rider.. but as a person too."
Dax nodded, understanding and something harder behind his eyes. "Yeah, I know. Who do you think upgrades that bike of yours over there?" he asked, grinning despite the mood.
Night Rider walked toward the garage door, slinging his hoodie over his body. "I guess the next time I see you is on that track, right?"
"You're not the only one who's gotten better," Dax replied. They shared a laugh that dissolved some tension, the easy camaraderie between two people who'd grown up together and learned how to bear the cities weight.
The next afternoon Switch was on a different stretch of road, the city unraveling beneath her wheels as she streamed to the few thousand viewers who followed her very trick. Her camera mounted to her helmet caught her grin as she shouted into the mic, thanking a viewer for a donation, a jitter of light and the surge of small, constant applause.
Then a bike flashed past her, the roar of an engine and the shape of a rival cutting through her feed. She glanced over at the back of the helmet, a twisted emblem she knew too well. Redevils. She frowned. Another bike zoomed ahead and blocked her path. Two more came up from behind, cornering her like wolves closing a ring.
Switch's smile flickered as the muscle memory kicked into place. She killed the stream, no live audience, no witnesses. Whatever they wanted to do, they wanted to do it away from people who could see.
They forced her to a stop and dragged her to a rusting warehouse, the kind of place where scaffolding groaned and the moon seemed to hide behind grime. They tied her to a chair, taped her mouth, and left a single bulb swinging overhead. The leader of the Redevils stepped forward, the grin wide and ugly.
"I know this might be confusing," he said, voice oily with faux sympathy, "but don't worry. We're not going to do anything to you... unless your people don't pay what we want. If the don't, I'll have to hurt you until they do."
Someone peeled the tape from Switch's mouth, and she sneered, defiant even bound. "You'd be surprised. He's actually broke," she said, laughter undercutting fear. "Even if he wanted to, he couldn't"
The leader cut her off. "I seriously doubt that. With what he does behind your guises back, I wouldn't be so sure."
Switch barked a laugh, uncontrollably. "What do you mean? I orchestrate those races you dingus, I know the money. Don't try to pull new tricks on me. If you wanted to make a statement, you picked the wrong girl to kidnap."
The leader stiffened, but his voice stayed calm. "Remember who's tied up and who isn't. I'll get my money. Don't you worry, missy."
Later that day back at the garage, a scout burst in, breathless and wild-eyed. "Switch, she's gone. The Redevils took her, They want ransom. They're holding her at the old warehouse on 43rd!"
Dax's face drained. Zane's head snapped up, and something feral lit his expression. "Where'd you say she was again?" he demanded.
The scout jabbed a finger toward the map "43rd. They've got people posted."
Zane didn't wait. "Let me handle this. keep your money, I'll bring her back."
He gathered a crew, 25 rebels with bats, poles, and the kind of grim determination that warps into courage. They hit the street, running bikes like streaks of light toward the warehouse.
Night Rider watched them go, the hum of engines swelling into a roar that matched the quickened rhythm of his chest. The plan he'd been working on had taken a slight shift, and the stakes were suddenly personal in a way they'd never been before.