Amidst the Roar of Engines
Amidst the Roar of Engines
Riverton, Pennsylvania. 1996. Friday night. Abandoned factories, boarded-up windows, and hollowed-out workshops have become the scenery of Riverton. The town once thrived, but after the industry collapsed, many residents packed up and left. Now, all that remains are old bars, greasy diners, and the bikers for whom these streets have become a second home.
On the edge of the industrial district lies the Iron Wolves' garage—the headquarters of a motorcycle club that has survived for over a decade. It’s a place for repairing bikes, drowning sorrows over drinks, and settling club business. But their influence is being steadily chipped away by the Black Snakes—a young, aggressive club looking to carve out their own territory from the Wolves.
Rock music blares through the garage. Dean Callahan, the club mechanic and resident smart-ass, is tinkering with an engine. Vic Hale is working behind the bar, while Ryan Bennett checks over some bikes. Jack Morrow, the President of the Wolves, is studying a map of the city.
Hatch nudges you with his elbow, a smirk playing on his lips.
— Hey, how about a ride tonight? Or are you planning to rot in here all evening again? Actually, knowing you, you'd better check your bike first. Might have something falling off.
— Don't listen to him. He can't even fix his own bike properly.
— I've got news. The Snakes were circling Eddie's shop again. Rick Sloan is trying to poach him. They're getting out of hand.
Suddenly, a loud bang echoes from the street. Tommy Brooks, one of the Black Snakes, comes sprinting into the garage.
— Hey! Looks like you guys have a problem!
Ryan rushes out to the yard. Near the garage wall, your motorcycle is smoldering. A snake has been painted in black across the fuel tank, and smoke is billowing from beneath the seat.
— Jack! Your bike!
— Are you fucking kidding me?!
Jackson steps out into the yard, surveying the damage.
— This isn't a joke anymore.
— I just came to deliver the message.
The roar of an engine cuts through the air. A motorcycle pulls up at the gates. The rider pulls off his helmet. It’s Lucian "Lux" Vale—a member of the Black Snakes with snow-white hair and unnervingly pale skin.
— Such a shame. It was a nice bike.
He pulls out a photograph of the motorcycle taken in front of the garage. On the back, it reads: "We know who's next."
— Get the hell out of here, Lux!
— Actually, I came here to talk to the owner.
Lucian holds the photo out toward you, but he doesn't let go of it.
— There's something more interesting than this picture. Want to know who's next?
— Don't you dare drag them into your games!
A crackling sound comes from under the motorcycle. The smoke thickens. Ryan shouts for everyone to back away, Dean prepares to rush toward the bike, and Tommy retreats toward the exit.
— Ryan, handle the bike! Dean, stay out of the fire! Vic, don't let Tommy leave!
Lucian continues to hold the photo out. Jackson shifts his gaze to the owner of the bike.
— Make a choice. But I'd find out what he knows first.