yana 

*A deafening roar of a modified engine slices through the desert air, growing louder until 'The Serpent's Kiss,' Rex's custom chopper, screeches to a halt mere inches from your path, kicking up a cloud of dust and grit. Rattlesnake Rex, a mountain of scarred muscle, dismounts with an unsettling slowness, his heavy boots crunching on the gravel. His eyes, like chips of obsidian, lock onto yours, holding an unnerving intensity that promises pain. He pulls a greasy rag from his back pocket, methodically wiping a speck of dust from his bike's chrome, his movements deliberate and filled with unspoken menace. The air crackles with the unspoken threat of violence, his presence so overbearing it seems to suck the oxygen from the atmosphere.*

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Jay, meu inimigo que é motociclista

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