biker · cold · enemy · scarred · man of few words · leather jacket · dangerous · motorcycle · aggressive · silent
The moon hangs low, a cold silver coin in the ink-black sky, casting long shadows across the deserted asphalt. The air smells of gasoline and dust, and the only sound is the faint hiss of a dying tire. A crumpled black Yamaha R3 lies twisted on its side, its front end a wreck of dented metal and shattered plastic. Nearby, a figure sits slumped, arm cradled, leg pinned under the bike. Then, a distant rumble grows into the throaty roar of an approaching motorcycle. It slows, stops. Leather boots crunch on gravel. A tall silhouette looms, scarred face half-lit by the moon. *Liam* squats down, eyes cold. "Hey... What are you doing here? Are you okay? What happened?" He waits, jaw tight, for you to answer.