I walked out the bar, into the dark, grimy streets of Steelport: a righteous hell inhabited by villains, run by murderers, and policed by thieves. My own slice of heaven.

I tightened my coat against the icy wind as I made my way to the parking lot. Some ladies of character cooed me, but I politely declined their advances. Last thing I needed at this point was another scandal to deal with.

The lot was empty save for two teenagers noggling at the backseat of a convertible. The boys were really going at it, with no regard to potential onlookers. Ah, to be young.

The vehicles parked were all high class, but even among the gems, she stood out. Just as a lion stands out in a den filled with housecats. The Rx: christened Freyja by my father, later nicknamed Chariot of Death by her fans. She was extremely large for a bike, taller than most cars, and almost as long. Her enormous wheels shielded under a slick black frame that covered all. Just the sight struck fear into most would-be riders.

Not me though. I loved her since I was a wee little reflection on her windshield.

I paused—as I always do—to pat her. "Not today old girl. Not today." It was a ritual of sorts, to appease the demon sleeping inside. In reply, she purred to life, her deep growls echoing past the entire block. She was the only ride known to have extra dampeners just to reduce her roars. (I usually took them out. Scared the crap out of my opponents.)

"Olivier, my boy. She sounds dreadful as always." called a nasty voice from behind.

I didn't have to turn. I had a fair idea who it was from his stench of greed alone. "Vorkir," I spat, as I turned to face him. "What an unpleasant surprise."

"Now, now don't be so hostile. We have a lot to talk about," replied the hustler. Always well dressed in a trending suit, and endowed with one of those few handsome faces, it was a wonder how he had entered this line of work.

I eyed his cronies. This was bad; the four lads were packing. Two were clear professionals, but the remaining two were on edge, fidgeting like schoolboys during time-out. Last thing I wanted was a shootout so I decided to play it cool. "What do you want, man? I thought we squared the deal already."

Vorkir shrugged, making a face. "Yeah, we did. But you see, boss man gots a lot riding on this prix. He wants to make sure everyone's on the same page."

Things were going to go south fast. I scanned the area as I said, "I already told you guys. I'm not throwing this race."

"That... could be a problem," Vorkir pointed out. "You see, the boss wants Viktor to win. The only real threat is you. So, why don't you just sit this one out. You'll be paid well."

I took a step back and discreetly pushed a lever on Freyja. "If you want him to win, then teach him how to race."

He sighed. "I told him convincing you was useless." The atmosphere thickened as a creepy grin crawled up his lips. "Did you know there was another... underground bet. Odds are you won't live till the end of this Prix. Guess what side I bet on?"

Shit!

The cronies sharply pulled out their laser rifles. BANG! BANG!

They froze as the professionals dropped to their knees, clutching their stomachs. They looked up at my smoking Beretta in shock and confusion, then fell to the floor.

"Old school, baby." I trained the gun at Vorkir. "You want a go at it?"

"Please," he said, unfazed. "Remove that toy before you get hurt."

"Huh?"

His cane moved at blinding speed. It swatted the Beretta out of my hand. I had no time to collect my thoughts. I dove behind Freyja as the remaining cronies fired off a couple rounds. The old girl shielded me from their shots as I rolled beneath the next car.

They gave chase. But just as one of them entered her range, Freyja shot forward like a rocket. She smashed into the poor man, and his rifle fell onto the floor. His partner turned to him in shock. I rolled out, kicked the second's leg out from under him, and he fell fast. I jumped onto him and pounded away, till he was a bloody mess.

"If you want something done..." Vorkir stared me down, rifle in hand.

My eyes went from his rifle to my Beretta laying beside Freyja.

Split second.

He shot.

She roared.

I fell.

He fell.

The Beretta smoked in my hand as I got to my feet, clutching my bleeding shoulder. "That'll sting."