The wastelands stretched out before me, a barren expanse of rust, forgotten relics, and bad decisions. I guided the ‘borrowed’ truck—its rusty old springs creaking with every bump—toward an old flame. Bones’ place was exactly as I remembered it: an oasis in the desolate, windswept landscape, a fortress of metal and grit, with piles of parts and scrap that looked more like a metallic graveyard than a workshop.

The bike sat in the back of the truck, hidden beneath a tarp. I didn’t know much about old machines, but I knew enough to see this one wasn’t ordinary. Its sleek lines and faded allure hinted at a history that deserved a second chance. The machine looked like it had once defied gravity, owned the roads, and left everyone else eating its dust. Now, it was just a shadow of its former self. I wanted to change that.

Bones was outside when I arrived, hunched over an old workbench covered in tools and mechanical guts. He looked older than I remember, everything ages faster out here but even from a distance, his meticulous focus was clear. He didn’t notice me until I slammed the truck door shut and called out, “Bones.”

He straightened, wiping his hands on a rag as he turned. His weathered face broke into a grin, the kind that came with years of stories, good and bad.

“Well, if it ain’t Rebel Vale. What brings you all the way out here? Running from something—or toward it?”

“A little of both,” I replied, smirking. “Got something to show you.”

He followed me to the truck, leaning in as I pulled back the tarp with a dramatic flourish. His reaction was immediate—a low whistle that carried a note of awe.

“Damn,” he said, stepping closer. “A CBR1000RR…Fireblade. Haven’t laid eyes on one of these in decades. How did you 'find' it? Or don't I want to know?

Rebel - "I found it in an old lockup, in an abandoned district west of the city, don't worry Bones, nobody died...this time. Was buried in crap, old tyres, useless tech, sleaze magazines, real classy setup"

Bones - "Say, any those magazines, look familiar?" half grinning

“No", giving him a stern look. So, it’s good?” I asked, watching him inspect it.

“Good?” He chuckled, brushing dust off the tank with a reverence I hadn’t expected. “It was more than good in its day. This thing was a legend. Fast, dangerous, a weapon on the highway."

“I knew it was special,” I said. “I want you to fix it.”

His head snapped up, and for a moment, I thought he hadn’t heard me correctly. Then he laughed—a deep, unrestrained laugh that echoed through the yard.

“Fix it? Are you out of your damn mind?”

I bristled, crossing my arms. “What’s so funny?”

“Reb, do you even know what you’re asking me to do? This isn’t just some tune-up. The fuel system alone needs converting, won’t run on todays juice, full engine rebuild, electrical rewire. And spare parts? Forget it, they don’t exist anymore, were melted down decades ago. Heck probably some of their metal in those things that chase you around…This bike is a relic, a museum piece.”

“But I know you can fix anything,” I said, my voice firmer now.

“Yeah, within reason,” he shot back. “This? This isn’t reasonable.”

He started walking toward the garage, shaking his head. I followed, my determination flaring.

“You owe me,” I said, stopping him in his tracks. “Remember?”

He turned, his expression softening for a moment. “I do, Reb. I’ll never forget what you've done for me. But this... this is something else entirely, this ain’t like the bikes of today, it’s unforgiving, one mistake and you could wind up dead.

I moved over and leaned against the doorframe, letting a teasing smile play on my lips. “never knew you cared” I said, running my fingers along the zipper of my jacket, biting my lip in mock flirtation. For a split second, his gaze flicked down, like he couldn’t help himself. But then it was gone, replaced by a gruffness I’d seen a hundred times before as he brushed past me into the garage.

I sighed and followed him inside. "I need this Bones" The familiar clutter and the scent of oil and metal brought back memories I hadn’t thought about in years. Bones dropped into his chair, folding his arms as he regarded me with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“You’re not leaving until I say yes, are you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Nope,” I said, flashing him my brightest smile.

He let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his temples. “Fine”, he muttered, shaking his head. “But this is going to take time. And eddies, Reb. A lot of both.”

“I've got time,” I replied, triumphant. “And don't worry about the eddies.”

We walked back to the truck, and I could see the gears turning in his head. Despite his protests, I knew Bones was already piecing together a plan. He never could resist a challenge—not when it whispered of the impossible.

Before climbing into the driver’s seat, I paused, my eyes tracing the Fireblade’s silhouette. It sat there, tired and silent, yet defiant in its form. The faded red paint and tarnished chrome seemed to hold secrets of roads conquered and lives chased.

I reached out, running my hand along the curve of its tank, feeling the cold metal beneath my fingertips. There was something there—a pulse, faint but steady, waiting for someone to bring it back to life. In that moment, I wasn’t just looking at a bike. I was seeing a reflection of something deeper. Of roads yet traveled. Of freedom.

“You’ve got fight left in you,” I whispered, more to myself than to the machine.

As I climbed into the truck and started the engine, I caught one last glimpse in the rearview mirror. The Fireblade stood shrouded in twilight, its lines sharp against the fading light. It wasn’t just a relic—it was a promise.

The city swallowed me as I drove back, but my mind stayed on the bike. This wasn’t just about restoring a machine. It was about giving life to something the world had forgotten, proving that even the broken and discarded could ride again.

In the rearview, it faded into the shadows, but the echo of it lingered. In the rhythm of the engine, in the hum of the road, I could almost hear it—soft, insistent, a whisper of what it could become.

And in the stillness of that moment, I knew: this wasn’t just about speed. It was about legend.