Blood on the Asphalt biker
I mirrored him, the white Origin-fire of my engine trailing behind me like a comet’s tail.
We hit the glass roof of the Citadel.
The Sovereign’s tires shrieked as they made contact with the sloped, reinforced windowpanes. The suspension bottomed out, jarring my teeth, but the angle saved us. We didn't shatter the glass; we skidded down it, using the momentum of the fall to transition into a high-speed drift across the penthouse roof.
Behind me, the rest of the pack slammed down. Sparks showered the night as Tank’s heavy trike dug grooves into the architectural steel. Reaper and Sienna landed flawlessly, drifting into a defensive perimeter.