The first time he saw her was a complete accident. He'd been running late to work, not that he was particularly fond of his job. He ran a hand through his white hair, waiting for the light to change so he could cross the street and maybe get to work before his boss flipped his lid. Maybe Joe would have forgiven him if he'd thought to grab a cup of that...Uncle Rumba coffee or whatever it was he seemed to like so much. Just before the light changed, he heard a strange noise and there she was, black catsuit and all. The Black Rider of Death City, an urban legend. The moment seemed to last forever, but when he finally blinked, she was gone.

Soul "Eater" Evans was a skeptic by all means. He had never believed in urban legends or anything of the sort. It was all way too uncool for him. Plus it was just plain silly. There was no way any of those things were true, no matter what people said they saw. Yet he had seen her. Well, he thought it was a female. It had only been kind of a glimpse. He had no explanation for it. She had clearly been there, and matched the description perfectly. Not to mention that bike had been gorgeous, though he was much more fond of his orange bike.

There had to be some explanation for it. She was just a regular girl, right? Nothing at all like the legend said. Under that helmet had to be a head. Anything else just wasn't possible. Several moments passed before he realized he was still standing on the sidewalk corner like an idiot. He swore under his breath and dashed across the road before the light changed again and he'd have to wait even longer.

The day passed without anything super interesting happening. Though he did watch a bartender send a guy flying and that had been pretty fun. But work was boring. Especially when you were stuck behind a little cafe counter all day. But it was all he had for now, and he would deal with it until he found something better to do..preferably with better pay. But at least his boss had been in a good mood. Someone must have brought him his rumba coffee.

He was more than happy to be off work though. The trek back to his motorcycle wasn't exactly a long one, but it wasn't exactly the best route. He'd taken to parking it where he could easily hide it. One, because he had put a lot of money into that bike. Two, because he didn't want any dings or scratches in it. And three? Well, he really just didn't want anyone to steal it. Yeah, maybe he was being a bit overprotective, but it was his baby.

But today just wasn't his day. No sooner than he'd reached the corner before his bike's hiding place, he realized it had already been found. There were about four goons standing around it, one of which he recognized as Giriko, a regular troublemaker at the cafe. He was loudmouth and nearly always had to be escorted back. Soul was also pretty sure he was drunk nearly all the time. He couldn't hear what they were talking about, but judging from the way they circled around his bike, he could only imagine.

He grit his teeth. Against his better judgement, he marched forward. That was his bike, dammit, and he wasn't going to let that asshole get his hands on it. "Oi! Any reason you're hanging around my bike?" He growled. Giriko swiveled his head and grinned wickedly. "What? This?" He chuckled, kicking the motorcycle with his foot, earning another growl from the white haired male. "This piece of shit is yours? Man, I guess it figures a bastard like you has a shitty bike like this. How about I take it off your hands, yeah?" The taller male stepped away from the bike and moved closer to the albino teenager.

Soul clenched his fists, eyes narrowing. "If it's a piece of shit, why do you want it so bad?" Stuff like that wasn't cool at all. He'd put a lot of money and time into that bike. Pretty much built it himself. Giriko's grin widened and he shrugged. "A guy like me needs a ride, right? Don't tell me you're stupid enough to try and fight right hand man of Arachnophobia." Actually, where his bike was concerned, he probably was. Arachnophobia was one of the gangs that had sprung up in the recent years. They had apparently grown in numbers and most of them were characterized by a patch they wore somewhere on their clothes.

Death City wasn't overrun by gangs, but Arachnophobia definitely seemed to be the most popular. But there was another gang, probably the one rival Arachnophobia had: Shibusen. They were a colorless, symbol-less gang. No one really knew who was a member and who wasn't. There were apparently a lot of them too, but Soul didn't pay much attention to that. He had a hard enough time keeping his nose out of trouble without getting involved in a gang...mostly because his best friend was an idiot.

"Well. You know, it is my bike. It's not for sale." Yeah, definitely stupid. Black Star was rubbing off on him. Giriko snarled and grabbed the collar of Soul's shirt, lifting him off his feet. "Did I fucking ask if it was? I want the keys, you little shit." God, his breath smelled like booze. Soul wrinkled his nose and tried not to breathe. Then he did probably the stupidest thing ever. He reared back and punched Giriko in the nose. There was a satisfying crunch and he dropped the white haired teen, stumbling backwards. "YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" Giriko roared. "FUCKIN' KILL HIM!"

His friends advanced as Soul hit the ground. Then there was a familiar sound. The sound of a horse neighing and the roar of a motorbike. He looked up just in time to see the black rider pull in behind the group. She swung off her bike stood, approaching them. Her head tilted to the side and she slid some sort of device out of her sleeve. From where he lay, Soul wasn't sure if it was a smartphone or a PDA. He pushed himself back up, mouth open to question her as she typed across the keyboard. Couldn't she talk...?

"Hey, back off, bitch!" Giriko snarled. Apparently he and his friends were oblivious to the rumors, so maybe she was perfectly normal after all. Without a noise, she held the phone out to them.

'Leave him alone, or else.'

Giriko squinted at the screen, then laughed. "Seriously? What do you think you can do? We'll mess you up, ya know? You don't mess with Arachnophobia!" He grinned as his three buddies cheered. If she had eyes to roll, she would have. She was severely tempted to mention Shibusen, but they were already advancing on her. Her shoulders sagged, as if she had sighed. She slid the device back into the safety of her sleeve and clenched her fists...then she shifted her weight to her back foot and twisted, slamming her heel into the side the nose of one of the idiots who was stupid enough to get close. The shadows around her seemed to dance, jumping as if she were calling to them.

She turned and punched another in the nose, knocking him to the ground. She moved to look back at Giriko, but she was too late to catch the bat that smashed into her helmet, sending it rolling across the door. Now that was too bad. She'd really hoped to be done with this before that happened. A thin smokey substance fluttered from her neck. There was no head attached. She stood there for a moment and then lifted her hand. It seemed they had finally recognized who she was, judging from the looks of horror and surprise on their faces.

"Son of a bitch.." Giriko muttered. He started to take a step back and then jabbed a finger at her. "I don't fuckin' care what you are! Next time, you better watch it! Even the black rider can't hide from Arachnophobia!" Then they turned tail and ran. She had to admit, it was a little funny to see such tough guys run away like that. She bent down to retrieve her helmet, turning to look at the boy with the red eyes, staring at her. She shifted and set her helmet on her bike, fingers flying over the onscreen keypad.

'Are you alright?'

Soul nodded numbly, staring at the space where her head should have been. The headless being drew back, deleting her previous message and typing a new one.

'That's good. Those guys were idiots. I'm Maka.'

"Yeah..I..I didn't exactly do the smartest thing either.." He winced slightly. This was bizarre. He had to be dreaming or high or something. There was no way this was really happening. A conversation with the infamous black rider? It was just supposed to be an urban legend. But the black rider was real. The black rider was real and her name was Maka.

Suddenly, he felt like he was about to pass out. She caught him before he hit the ground and silently chuckled. He hadn't been alright at all, had he? Then again, that was probably a lot to process. She propped him up against his bike and watched over him until he showed signs of waking up. When he came to, she was gone.

He picked himself up off the ground and started up his bike, glancing around. Yeah, it was just a dream. Why he'd passed out here, he had no idea, but he was quick to get himself home. He definitely needed a good night's sleep.

Meanwhile, halfway across the city, the black rider herself was just getting home, another successful job under her belt.

A/N: Well, that's done. I had the temptation for this after seeing a picture of Celty and Maka together and it got this plot bunny rolling. I'm not sure whether I'll make it a full blown fic. If enough people want me to continue, I probably will.

Anyway, it's also posted on my art blog. I hope you like it!