In front, Skeevers’ bike wobbled for a second before it braked dramatically, cutting across the five other lanes of traffic in a shower of mist and light. Tim’s body slumped forward and was rapidly snatched backwards by Dick so that he lay against his chest with his head dropped back on his shoulder. “If Skeevers slows a little then I got i–” Tim’s voice slipped away with a sigh and a few things happened so quickly it was difficult for even Jay to follow the sequence.
Even from where Jay was, slipping ever behind Dick’s insane speed, Jay could see the way the youngest of them nosed forward over the handlebars like a racehorse trying to make up the crucial final millimetres. Some asshole had called him a "dumb ass kettle" three weeks ago, and you know what? That hurt. He looked significantly less impressive when trying to spark up in Gotham's inclement weather.
Larson i guess you could call me the late bird full#
That familiar Gotham drizzle had started to mist his helmet and he’d prefer to finish before it turned into a full out downpour. “You almost ready, Red?” Jay asked, keen to bring things to a close.
Jay looked forward to burning their nuts off. No more compelling consumer group than a bunch of helpless, vulnerable youths with no way out and a weekly stipend from the state ripe for spending. Skeevers was an A-grade shithead: peddling drugs to wardens in the orphanage north of the river so they could nurse the kids on them. Ahead of them, one Jefferson Skeevers and his goons were actually doing a fair job of getting away, their enhanced bikes dipping in between cars and even tearing into oncoming traffic just to put a few more metres between them and their pursuers. And to be fair to the eldest of them, that sudden flash of cyan and the roar of wind never failed to startle Jay. Dick’s talent went far, far beyond flight. How Dick managed that speed with Tim squashed between him and the handlebars was… Well, to be expected. A second later, a bright blue Ducati Panigale streaked past Jay with two bodies on the back. Don’t get spooked.” Dick’s voice, tinny over Jay’s in-ear, was seasoned with a shit-eating grin. For example, giving chase to extra naughty douchebags on the best machines money and magic could get while the city rushed by in ribbons of neon. Serving the semi-corporeal representation of a city’s soul sucked shit a lot of the time, and he’d had to leave a hell of a lot of fun and freedom behind with his previous gig, but it wasn’t without its perks. Operating under the codename “Robins,” he and the others played foot soldier to the city’s beleaguered sentinel, Batman. In Jay’s case, that work consisted of a bunch of freaks playing dress-up as superheroes. Anyone in any line of work that necessitated a chase at least. The best way to see Gotham? High speed chase on the Aparo Expressway.
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