Nelson gripped the handlebars of his motorcycle tighter, his knuckles turning white, its powerful engine thrumming beneath him like a restless beast. It roared through the night streets of Sillas City as he weaved through traffic, the engine’s deep growl echoing off the narrow alleys. Lana's trembling voice replayed in his head, each word etched into his mind.
“Crescent Towers… tenth floor—uh, number… 358, I think. … you’re my only hope. You have to help me.”
He had hesitated at first, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if this was a prank. But as the silence stretched after the call ended, guilt and worry gnawed at him.
What if Lana truly needed help? The thought left a bitter taste in Nelson's mouth.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, twisting the throttle. The 650cc engine roared to life, propelling him forward with a surge of adrenaline.
He couldn’t ignore her, not after hearing the desperation in her voice.
Nelson eased his bike into the parking lot, the sound of the rum
