Blood on the Asphalt biker
The sound of the open road used to be a lonely thing. Not anymore.
When the Iron Wolves rode out of Coldwater, we didn't just leave tracks; we carved a metallic, roaring river through the heart of the terraformed wasteland.
Thousands of headlights pierced the dense, bioluminescent canopy of the crystal-leafed jungle. At the head of the colossal convoy rode Dax and I, flanked by Tank, Reaper, and Sienna. Behind us was a chaotic, thundering mechanical serpent: Jax and his Revers on their spiked, heavy choppers; repurposed Board transport rigs driven by refugees; and the surviving Paladins riding atop heavily armored, treaded scav-crawlers, their white-and-gold armor stark against the rusted ir