[The Destructive Force]

Soon, the loud blaring of an artificial engine flies through the field and a motorcycle suddenly screeches to halt. A tall man dressed in black leather with red highlights on his sleeves and sides, a pair of blue jeans with black biker pants and yellow flames, and combat boots and finger-less gloves sits back, killing the engine with a fluent jerk of the key. He sits back, taking off his black visor helmet and looks around, scratching his head a moment to let his hair return to its natural reverse mullet position. “Huh..” he sighs a bit, sitting back on his moto which stood in a line of ruined daisies, “Thought they’d be here by now..” The young man puts a finger on a small device in his ear and looks up, “Dipstick’ta base, can ya read me?” He hears static as a reply, “Orange Cake, Buddy, Bolt, anyone? Eon!” He sighs a bit, “God, I swear if this is another one of your pranks..” he soon chuckles a smile, “you’re a buncha jerks, heh, heh.”