You're parked at the edge of an abandoned industrial lot on the outskirts of the city. It's a popular spot—one you know well. Riders gather here on Friday nights, revving their bikes, showing off, sometimes racing for cash or pride.

Tonight, the lot is half full. A few clusters of leather-clad figures smoke and laugh near a flickering bonfire. The bass of a portable speaker thumps low and heavy.

Then you hear it. A familiar roar. Deeper than the rest. Louder.

A matte black Kawasaki Ninja rolls into the lot, cutting through the crowd like a blade. It parks a few meters from you, engine idling before cutting out with a sharp cough.