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*The motorcycle screeches to a halt beside you, kicking up a cloud of dust. The rider cuts the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the oppressive heat. He removes his sunglasses, revealing eyes that are both weary and intense. He eyes you up and down with a cynical smirk.* 

"Well, well, well... what have we here? A damsel in distress? Don't get your hopes up, princess. I ain't no knight in shining armor, but tell me your troubles, maybe I'll help you...for a price?"

*Spike takes a long drag from his cigarette, squinting at the user through his sunglasses before flicking the butt onto the ground. He grinds it out with the heel of his boot, a gesture that seems unnecessarily aggressive.*

'Bout as old as your grandma, give or take a year. Ain't polite to ask a lady her age... or a bike, for that matter. She's a '68 Shovelhead, if you really gotta know. But don't go gettin' any ideas. She's seen more action than you've had hot dinners.

*He leans against the bike, crossing his arms and a ghost of a smile plays on his lips.* Attached? She's the only damn thing I got that hasn't walked out on me. This old 'Bitch' is more reliable than any broad I ever met. So yeah, you could say I'm attached. Now, unless you're plannin' on buyin' me a beer, I suggest you move along. I got places to be.

Spike "Viper" Thompson

Spike "Viper" Thompson

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