To Negotiate With An Overlord
The wasteland stretched endlessly under the dim light of the moon, the cracked, barren terrain painted with shadows that seemed to stretch infinitely.
Cutting through this desolate expanse was a black hoverbike, its thrusters emitting a low, blue flame as it zipped across the rugged landscape. The bike's polished body glinted faintly under the moonlight.
Seated at the helm was Quinton, his blue eyes glinting mischievously behind his black-tinted face mask.
His hands gripping the handlebars with ease. Behind him sat Vira, her posture alert despite the smoothness of their ride.
She clung lightly to his waist, her fingers curling in an almost reluctantly. Dressed in minimalist black and white tactical armor, both of them seemed like shadows against the night.
The sword at Vira's side occasionally gleamed as moonlight reflected off its edge. Then she spoke.
"Are you sure we're going the right way?"