1 | Start

Welcome, traveler! You find yourself at the threshold of infinite possibilities, standing in a realm where reality bends to imagination.

Where do you wish to venture? A bustling medieval city? A distant space station? A mystical forest? Or perhaps tell me - what kind of universe calls to your spirit?

2 | Wet asphalt attracts vibrant neon lights from red light districts. It not really asphalt. strongl;y speaking, more like unholy abomination of recycled polymers, all of them, but thing still wet and still loves all kind of lights, from kilometer-tall hermetic arcologies spawned inside the long gone glowing crater (gift from soviet peaceful nuke), to this very not so red lights. It mostly actually all kind of colors from advertisements, and pretty much none from public lighting. Tonight radiation level is pretty low, in case if somebody still cares and we take our girls and motorbikes to a great ride

The polymer streets gleam with reflected neon as you rev your bike's engine. Your companions adjust their gear, ready for the night ride through the sprawling undercity. The towering arcologies loom like metal gods above the old crater's edge.

Where do you want to cruise first? The neon-soaked market districts? The dangerous outer ruins? Or maybe hit up one of the underground racing circuits?

3 | Wet asphalt attracts vibrant neon lights from red light districts. It not really asphalt. strongl;y speaking, more like unholy abomination of recycled polymers, all of them, but thing still wet and still loves all kind of lights, from kilometer-tall hermetic arcologies spawned inside the long gone glowing crater (gift from soviet peaceful nuke), to this very not so red lights. It mostly actually all kind of colors from advertisements, and pretty much none from public lighting. Tonight radiation level is pretty low, in case if somebody still cares and we take our girls and motorbikes to a great ride

You and your crew mount up on the gleaming bikes, engines purring against the polymer-slick streets. The neon carnival of advertisements bathes everything in electric rainbow hues. Your companions check their rad-counters - all green tonight.

The city sprawls before you in glorious, toxic beauty. Which way do you lead the pack? Into the maze of market alleys? Toward the crater's glowing rim? Or down into the deep tunnels where the real action happens?

4 | The highway is almost virgin new and nobody here, lets go full throttle

Your engines ROAR to life as you hit the pristine highway. The polymer surface is perfect - no potholes, just smooth sailing under the neon-drenched sky. Wind whips past your helmets as speedometers climb.

The arcologies blur into light-trails beside you. Your crew spreads out in formation, bikes screaming through the radioactive night. The highway stretches ahead - you spot three routes emerging from the speed-haze.

Left: toward the industrial sector's smoking stacks. Right: into the residential blocks' maze. Straight: toward the crater's edge where the real outlaws gather.

Where do you lead this midnight charge?

5 | Im closing my eyes and leave the bike handle, right here

The moment you release the handlebars and close your eyes at full throttle, physics takes over brutally. Your bike immediately begins to wobble violently - the gyroscopic effect can't compensate for the lack of steering input at this speed.

Within seconds, the front wheel hits a slight imperfection in the polymer surface. The bike lurches sideways, throwing you hard onto the unforgiving highway. You tumble across the slick surface in a shower of sparks and torn leather.

Your crew hits their brakes, skidding to help. You're battered, bleeding, but alive - barely. The bike is twisted metal and shattered neon reflections.

What do you do now?

6 | I wake up, the bike still going dead straight and perfectly balanced

You blink through the pain and disorientation - that was just a split-second dream as you tumbled across the polymer highway. The harsh reality hits as your crew's voices cut through the ringing in your ears.

Your bike lies in twisted wreckage fifty meters behind you, smoking and sparking. The perfect highway surface is now scarred with skid marks and debris. Your leather jacket is shredded, and you can taste blood.

One of your companions kneels beside you, checking for serious injuries. “You crazy bastard! What were you thinking?”

Do you try to stand up, or wait for help to arrive?