Spike Speeder stepped out of the creaking elevator and into the underground garage where he kept the second most important machine he owned. His bike was waiting for him, as it always had. A fading grey plastic sheet was draped over the powerful machine, which Spike promptly pulled off and cast aside without much ceremony. It took him a minute to gaze at the crimson metallic beast before he could even think about mounting the metal steed. It took him one swift motion to get on to his motorcycle, and a flip of his wrist to bring the beast roaring to life. He then chuckled, remembering the advice he had gotten when learning to ride a motorcycle.
"When maintaining a bike, treat it like a lover," Spike said to himself with another chuckle as he guided the machine up the ramp and on to the streets at ever increasing speed, "And when riding it, mount it like a lover."
Spike Speeder was living up to his namesake on that morning. His mind and body were hyped up, and the wild rush of adrenaline surged through every vein in his body. His bike, his metallic crimson steed of the dark future, roared as it sent Spike flying across the pavement. The roads of the Sprawl were, for some reason, packed. But Spike didn't have time to waste in waiting in line like the rest of the Sprawl's commuters. His hyperactive state of mind had instilled in him a thirst for speed that would either be quenched in a glorious ride, or killed by waiting. Speed was an addiction for Spike, and knowing full well that this might be his only chance to get the good speed he needed to seize the day.
Deviating from his ordinary routine, he fired up his bike's accelerator, and began weaving through the rest of the nitwits who had the ill fortune to be in Spike's way at a speed higher than it should have been. His motorcycle passed through the congested streets of the Sprawl, and although there was a nearly deafening chorus of car horns, screeching tires, and a barrage of curses from every language that could be heard anywhere in the Sprawl. To this, Spike only grinned, and headed towards the stretch of highway that lead Calvin to the heart of the Sprawl.
Spike was tearing down the highways at breakneck speed, the usual speed for him. That rush of speed was a sensation sweeter than anything offered by a chemical or chip, and Spike pushed ever harder on his acceleration. Now he was flying over the pavement. Oh sure, a lot of people continued to express their irritation at Spike, but Spike paid them no heed.
As moving like the wind became the norm, Spike began to take notice of his surroundings a little more than he had been. The first thing he saw was some unusual activity a short distance away from him. It looked like, yes, it was, a nomad convoy. A salvaged school bus served as the flagship of the convoy, surrounded by light pick ups with mounted machine guns and nomads on bikes not unlike Spike's for extra security. Always willing to take a risk, Spike retained his speed and headed straight for the nomads.
The bus was slow, and with it, the security detail attached to it. But Spike would have none of that. He swooped past the bus, looking up at the windows of the vehicle absently, mostly out of curiosity. His face lit up when he recognized a face in a window. His neighbor, the woman living in the apartment complex next to his, was, for whatever reason riding with the nomads. He lifted his hand towards her in a greeting gesture, which was promptly nullified by Spike's sudden surge of speed, which allowed him to pass the convoy and continue his speed binge.
Susie stared with disbelief at Calvin. It was nice that he waved, but considering his overly energetic expression and the speed at which he was pedaling his bike, she probably didn't want to be associated with him. For his part, Calvin kept weaving through and past pedestrians and other bike riders, much to the dismay of those he overlapped in his hyperactive state.
"Who does he think he is?" she asked herself absently.
"When maintaining a bike, treat it like a lover," Spike said to himself with another chuckle as he guided the machine up the ramp and on to the streets at ever increasing speed, "And when riding it, mount it like a lover."
Spike Speeder was living up to his namesake on that morning. His mind and body were hyped up, and the wild rush of adrenaline surged through every vein in his body. His bike, his metallic crimson steed of the dark future, roared as it sent Spike flying across the pavement. The roads of the Sprawl were, for some reason, packed. But Spike didn't have time to waste in waiting in line like the rest of the Sprawl's commuters. His hyperactive state of mind had instilled in him a thirst for speed that would either be quenched in a glorious ride, or killed by waiting. Speed was an addiction for Spike, and knowing full well that this might be his only chance to get the good speed he needed to seize the day.
Deviating from his ordinary routine, he fired up his bike's accelerator, and began weaving through the rest of the nitwits who had the ill fortune to be in Spike's way at a speed higher than it should have been. His motorcycle passed through the congested streets of the Sprawl, and although there was a nearly deafening chorus of car horns, screeching tires, and a barrage of curses from every language that could be heard anywhere in the Sprawl. To this, Spike only grinned, and headed towards the stretch of highway that lead Calvin to the heart of the Sprawl.
Spike was tearing down the highways at breakneck speed, the usual speed for him. That rush of speed was a sensation sweeter than anything offered by a chemical or chip, and Spike pushed ever harder on his acceleration. Now he was flying over the pavement. Oh sure, a lot of people continued to express their irritation at Spike, but Spike paid them no heed.
As moving like the wind became the norm, Spike began to take notice of his surroundings a little more than he had been. The first thing he saw was some unusual activity a short distance away from him. It looked like, yes, it was, a nomad convoy. A salvaged school bus served as the flagship of the convoy, surrounded by light pick ups with mounted machine guns and nomads on bikes not unlike Spike's for extra security. Always willing to take a risk, Spike retained his speed and headed straight for the nomads.
The bus was slow, and with it, the security detail attached to it. But Spike would have none of that. He swooped past the bus, looking up at the windows of the vehicle absently, mostly out of curiosity. His face lit up when he recognized a face in a window. His neighbor, the woman living in the apartment complex next to his, was, for whatever reason riding with the nomads. He lifted his hand towards her in a greeting gesture, which was promptly nullified by Spike's sudden surge of speed, which allowed him to pass the convoy and continue his speed binge.
Susie stared with disbelief at Calvin. It was nice that he waved, but considering his overly energetic expression and the speed at which he was pedaling his bike, she probably didn't want to be associated with him. For his part, Calvin kept weaving through and past pedestrians and other bike riders, much to the dismay of those he overlapped in his hyperactive state.
"Who does he think he is?" she asked herself absently.