New Beginnings

The blonde-haired boy approached the curly-haired kid with a sense of purpose, his steps measured and deliberate as he squatted down beside him. Gently, he lifted the boy's head, his eyes narrowing with concern as he took in the angry red mark on the back of his ear.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice taking on a softer, more compassionate tone than before, a stark contrast to the harshness with which he had addressed the bullies moments earlier.

The curly-haired kid hesitated for a moment, his gaze meeting the blonde-haired boy's with a mixture of apprehension and gratitude.

"... Sawyer," he replied softly, his voice barely above a whisper, the weight of the situation hanging heavy in the air between them.

The boy with the blade carefully sheathed his weapon, tucking it securely into the back of his waistband before rising to his feet.

"I'm Ezekiel," he introduced himself with a warm smile, extending his hand in a gesture of goodwill. Sawyer's initial reaction was one of guarded caution, his muscles tense with apprehension.

But as he observed Ezekiel's genuine demeanor, a sense of reassurance washed over him, and he tentatively reached out to grasp the offered hand. Ezekiel's grip was firm yet gentle as he lifted Sawyer to his feet, his smile brightening as a soft chuckle escaped his lips. A genuine kindness lied behind his eyes, unlike the eyes of most people at this school.

"I saw you riding your bike last night, how long have you been riding for?" Ezekiel's question caught Sawyer off guard, his eyes widening in surprise. It was a revelation that left him feeling exposed, as if a carefully guarded secret had been laid bare for all to see. For so long, he had kept his passion for motorcycles hidden from the scrutiny of others, fearing that the bullies would use it against him.

Sensing Sawyer's hesitation, Ezekiel offered a reassuring smile. "Don't worry," he said gently, his tone laced with understanding. "I also ride. I was having mine shipped to me since I couldn't drive it—I had to use my truck to carry my moving boxes. It actually arrives today."

"… I'm relatively new... I've only been riding for a little over a year," Sawyer said, his voice tinged with a hint of warranted hesitation. He avoided Ezekiel's gaze, unsure of how much to reveal.

"That's sick, man!" Ezekiel's face lit up with genuine enthusiasm. "I've been riding since I was like five. My dad was a huge geek for bikes in general, so he taught me the moment I could get on a 50cc. Do you have anyone to ride with?" His tone lightened, excitement piercing through as he leaned in closer, eager to connect.

Sawyer shook his head slowly. "No, no one at this school or that I know rides motorcycles, so I've always ridden solo." There was a trace of loneliness in his voice.

Ezekiel's smile softened, a look of understanding crossing his features. "Well, that changes now," he declared with a firm nod. "Once my bike gets here, we can ride together. There's nothing like the freedom of the open road with someone who gets it."

"You should come ride with me and my friends sometime. It's a pretty big group of us. We're actually having a big group ride tomorrow if you wanna join!" Ezekiel said ecstatically, his eyes shining with excitement.

Sawyer paused, his mind racing with a mix of fear and anticipation. He had always ridden alone, and the thought of joining a group both thrilled and terrified him. The uncertainty was evident on his face, like a shadow cast over his features. "... sure..." he finally responded, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ezekiel placed his hand on Sawyer's right shoulder. "Trust me, you won't regret it. I live right outside your apartments, so just be ready at around 8ish tomorrow night," he said, his voice carrying a tone of reassurance and excitement. His hand lingered for a moment before he slowly brushed it off Sawyer's shoulder and turned around, heading towards the door.

Sawyer stood still, watching Ezekiel's retreating figure until he disappeared through the doorway. The rooftop fell silent, the only sounds being the distant hum of the city below and the soft rustling of the wind. Sawyer turned around, facing the vast cityscape stretching out before him. The buildings, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, seemed to glow with a greater light than usual. A smile slowly crept across Sawyer's face as he stared into the distance.

Ezekiel brought Sawyer to what he considered motorcycle heaven. The scene before them was breathtaking: motorcycles lined up by the boatload, their gleaming bodies reflecting the lights of the nearby shops and streetlights. Among the array of bikes were those from renowned brands like ZRE (Zenith Racing Engineering) and TPC (Thunderbolt Performance Cycles). The sight was overwhelming, a testament to the rich history and fierce competition between these legendary manufacturers.

Among the esteemed lineup of motorcycles were top brands like DFM (Dragonfire Motorcycles), PRD (Phoenix Racing Dynamics), and SSW (Sakura Speedworks), representing the pinnacle of Japanese engineering. Alongside them stood RSM (Rising Sun Motorsports), VRM (Vesuvio Racing Machines), and RGC (Roman Gladiator Cycles), each brand showcasing their prowess in the world of super sport bikes.

DFM and PRD, emerging Chinese brands, had quickly gained recognition for their innovative designs and cutting-edge technology. Despite being relatively new to the scene, their bikes boasted impressive performance and sleek aesthetics, drawing the attention of enthusiasts worldwide.

SSW, on the other hand, had solidified its position as one of the top Japanese brands, known for its precision engineering and unparalleled speed. With a legacy spanning decades, SSW had earned a reputation for producing some of the most iconic bikes in the industry.

RSM and VRM, representing Italian craftsmanship, were a force to be reckoned with. Despite facing stiff competition from Japanese brands, they had proven their worth time and again, with bikes that combined style, performance, and reliability in equal measure.

RGC, the final contender in the lineup, bore the mark of Roman ingenuity and heritage. With a nod to the gladiators of ancient times, RGC bikes exuded strength and resilience, embodying the spirit of their namesake.

The cc of each bike ranged greatly, from the nimble 125cc models to the roaring beasts with 1,000+ cc engines. Despite the diverse range of engine sizes, Sawyer's fascination with each bike remained undiminished. Each machine seemed to pulsate with power and potential, promising exhilarating rides and adrenaline-fueled adventures.

As Ezekiel swung the door open, the room revealed itself to be a den of bikers, their helmets lined up neatly beside them. The sudden intrusion caused heads to turn, eyes locking onto Ezekiel and Sawyer as they entered. While Ezekiel was a familiar face among the group, Sawyer's presence drew curious glances and raised eyebrows.

From the depths of the den, a biker emerged, his imposing figure commanding attention. With his face adorned by high cheekbones and an intricately sculpted oval shape, he possessed an air of perfection that seemed almost otherworldly. His features, seemingly crafted by the hands of artisans, radiated an aura of superiority. A tousled mane of dark brown hair cascaded down his back, adding to his enigmatic allure, while his soft emerald eyes held a depth that seemed to draw others in.

Dressed entirely in black, his attire exuded an effortless sense of authority and confidence. The logo emblazoned on the back of his jacket commanded attention. As he strode forward, his presence commanded the room.

His penetrating gaze bore into Sawyer, each glance feeling like a weighty assessment of his very being. Sawyer's eyes flitted nervously, his first encounter with someone exuding such an aura of raw power leaving him on edge.

As the president, drew a deep breath, the tension in the room seemed to ease ever so slightly. His first words, spoken with a disarming warmth, cut through the silence like a knife through butter. "How are you...? I'm Vail," he said, his smile breaking the tense atmosphere as he extended his hand in greeting.