š° La'Brett
"Iām not supposed to be here.
I read a quote onceā¦ something about being born too late to explore the Earth, but born too early to explore the universe. The middle child of history, they called it. Well, thatās me. I was a middle child, too, once. I lost my siblings to the turf wars that plague this godforsaken place, and now Iām alone. Well, almost.
These days itās just me, Dystoria, and the Bots.
The blinding lights of the city wash over me as I round the corner, pulling hard on the throttle to move faster, always faster. The day you slow down is the day you wind up dead, one of the Elders at the Orphanage used to tell us. As I recall, she broke her hip coming down the stairs a few years back and never walked again. She stopped, and then died shortly after. Well, I guess she was right.
Not fast enough. No matter how low I lean my body to the chassis of this bike, I never feel like itās enough. The wind rips through my hair - I know, I know, āwear a helmetā - and I can feel it tugging at my jacket, my necktie, hell, even my lip ring. The world doing everything it can to slow me down, almost as if it knows what I intend to do when I reach my destination.
Iām LaāBrett by the way. Thatās what the streets know me as, what I allow them to call me.
Iām a Courier. I get what you need to where you need it in half the time you think itāll take, or your money back. Okay, that last part isnāt true - I always get paid. But you get the picture. I am a bringer of things, a transporter, a delivery man if you will. Just donāt call me or my colleagues smugglersā¦ we donāt like that. It has a taste of copper about it. Rusted metal. Faulty wiring. That aināt us.
We are the most trusted and respected movers of goods in the Greater Dystoria region, sure most of said goods are technically illegal in nature, but whoās asking? Most of what goes on in this twinkling Catfish of a city is against the law, but there are more of us than there are of them. So, what are they going to do about it?
Sirens.
Ah, shit. Yeah, good point, they could always just send the Patrol Bots after me. I was assured that there would be no police presence along this strip. Darting a look over my shoulder showed me just how wrong that tip-off was. Crouching deeper into position on the saddle, feeling my thighs and back groan in protest, I flip the switch on my handlebars and pull hard on the throttle once more.
Speed. Thereās nothing like it. Nothing that can beat the adrenaline, the thrill, the feel as you careen around a bend, your padded knee grazing the asphalt, your entire body focussed like an arrow, the growling engine vibrating through your entire body! I live for moments like this.
Let them chase me, theyāll never catch me on this thing."