Can Motorcycles Fly?

A tall, lanky, yet muscular man saunters over to your car.

“Please step out of the car.”

“Why should I do that?”

He laughs. “Cause Alfred back there has a shotgun.”

You click your seatbelt and step out.

“Perfect. She’s all yours Daisy.”

A woman with black hair and the sides of her head shaved charges at you with a knife.

“Don’t make me hurt you.” You say as you sidestep her and use her momentum to send her sprawling.

She gets up looking enraged. “I have to kill you to join, so you’re going to die.”

Spectators gather around you. Each one wears black leather pants and a black leather jacket.

Daisy charges at you again. You grab her wrist, turn, and hit her face with an elbow. She drops the knife and you kick it away.

She pushes you away. Her nose is bloody.

“You! You! You’re going to pay for that!”

Her movements are increasingly governed by anger. She is plenty strong, but not careful. You dodge a fist and land a blow to her solar plexus.

“Go down before you get hurt.” You say calmly.

“No chance bitch. I’d rather die.”

She comes at you again.

You spin landing a brutal chop to the back of her neck. You hear the sound of bones crunching.

Daisy goes down hard and you wonder if she’s still alive. She turns over and gets up. Her movements are shaky and she’s obviously seriously hurt.

One of the spectators throws her the knife. She staggers toward you.

“Shit! Go down, girl.”

She doesn’t listen. She swings the knife at you. You block and deliver a crushing blow to her head. She goes down in a heap.

The lanky man smiles at you. “You are magnificent!”

You catch your breath. “Fuck you! Who’s next?”

He laughs. “We could just shoot you. Of course that would be such a waste. I have a proposition. Spar with me. If I win you train with me for a month and then you’re free to go. If you win, you are free to go and we’ll owe you a favor, any favor.”

“Spar with you? Until in of us yields, not this to the **** shit?”

“Yes. Do we have a deal?”