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/009_Cruising


My exhaustion finally caught up with me. As I stared out over the glowing cityscape, my eyes began to feel heavy. There was so much to process—so many unanswered questions. I flipped open my journal and skimmed through the entries, each page a reminder of everything I still don’t know. One thought weighed heavier than the rest: the person who tasked Shadowtask with finding me knows exactly who I am. That knowledge hovered over me as I gazed at Solai’s skyline, my body succumbing to a weariness I couldn’t fight. It felt less like falling asleep and more like being pulled into it. I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The faint hum of the city mixed with the rhythmic tapping of rain on the window. Somewhere in that soundscape, I drifted off, and for the first time since this all began, I dreamed.


In the dream, I was alone on a suspension bridge—the same one I’d crossed to enter Solai. My motorcycle waited for me, engine idling in neutral, as if it had been expecting me. I slipped on my helmet, its visor reflecting the golden glow of a setting sun framing the city’s skyline. As I climbed onto the bike, I gave the throttle a few revs, savoring the mechanical growl that filled the air. For a fleeting moment, I saw myself in third person: a lone rider silhouetted against the grandeur of Solai. I lifted my visor, inhaling the salty tang of ocean air carried over the bridge. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was free of confusion, free of the questions that haunt me daily. All I felt was elation. A surge of eagerness coursed through me—a primal urge to twist the throttle and race into the heart of the city. Flipping my visor down, I kicked the bike into first gear and roared forward. The bridge fell away beneath me as I accelerated, each gear shift pumping adrenaline through my veins. The towering structures of Solai grew closer, their lights and shapes becoming a vivid blur as I sped toward them. Within seconds, I was off the bridge and onto a highway that cut straight through the city’s core. The highway was packed with traffic, the three lanes teeming with vehicles, but it didn’t matter. I weaved through the gaps effortlessly, the bike responding to every slight movement like it was an extension of my body. The engine’s roar drowned out the noise of the city, and the rush of weaving through the chaos felt indescribable. I took the first exit I saw, veering onto the slick streets below. The neon lights of Solai reflected off the rain-slicked pavement, creating a kaleidoscope of colors beneath my tires. The city buzzed with life—foot traffic packed the sidewalks, though the faces of the people blurred into anonymity. I felt an inexplicable familiarity with the streets, navigating them like a seasoned rider. “Right here, left up ahead,” I thought, instinctively charting a course through narrow alleyways and crowded intersections. The adrenaline surged higher with every turn, every burst of speed, as if I were chasing the sensation itself.


When I woke up, it was 6:18 a.m. The dream lingered, the rush still coursing through me. It had been so long since I’d felt anything remotely close to excitement or joy. Then, like a splash of cold reality, I remembered: I’d left my bike behind in Solai when I chased Caine on foot. I hadn’t given it much thought until now, but after that dream, the bike felt more than just a machine—it felt like a part of me.

It’s the only thing that’s been with me since the beginning of this mess, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel some connection to it. Maybe it’s more than that. My history with the bike must go deeper than I can remember. Who knows what we’ve been through together?


I need to get it back. It’s crazy to think I hadn’t considered this until now, but I should ask Data to help. With the city’s surveillance systems at his disposal, finding the bike should be easy—assuming Caine wasn’t exaggerating about Data’s skills. Once I show him my journal, I’ll bring it up. I don’t know why, but having that bike back feels like an important piece of the puzzle. Maybe it’s a start. Maybe it’s something more.




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