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The moment came. The moment passed. You were not dead, airborne, or tangled in metal and bone- though something had tingled like pins and needles cutting against your arms and sides, pulling weakly before fading off like the chill of wind.
Yuliana had veered to the side in a panic, so close her leg brushed yours, but she had been the one who flinched- and from the sound behind you, had lost control of her bike in doing so.
No need for any of your speed anymore- you clenched on the brakes, let your VAM-6C veer to its flank, and tilted it on its side as it slid to a harsh stop. The entire time, you’d been in control, from start to finish. That was what that showed to any watching, and all who remembered.
When you raised your goggles from your eyes and surveyed behind you, the scene was bizarre. There was the fallen motorcycle, of course, there was Magnus running over, annoyingly. Then there was a pack of six riders who had stopped and were just watching. Sleeves, from the looks of them. Whatever. They at least had the courtesy to not try and interfere.
You revved the motorcycle’s engine again, and coasted over to where Magnus and Yuliana were, the tingling in your veins cooling when you thought about what Magnus would think if the loser had turned out badly mutilated.
You expected Yuliana to be badly scraped, cut, broken when she got up, but to your utter shock, and curious relief…she seemed completely intact. Mystifyingly so.
Upon seeing that there was no emergency, you made your statement that none else needed to confirm. A declaration of victory that was all yours.
>“I win.” There was no need for more.
>Next time, she’d best be prepared to die. Let this be a show of the same determination for when the knives were out. There wouldn’t be any fortune that would stop a cut then.
>Ask why, if she was going to turn aside anyways, she didn’t just do that at the start and avoid messing up the bike. You were probably going to get shit for that, medal or no.
>Other?
Just beyond them, there was a group of punks about twenty meters off. Sleeves, it looked like, if you squinted. Six of them. While you thought of what to declare to your defeated foe, you thought of if they needed a rebuke as well. They were just sitting there, waiting, transfixed- apparently, they hadn’t decided to pick a fight with Magnus while this duel was on. How courteous.
>Ignore them. See what happens. You don’t have time for these dorks unless they become a problem.
>Call out and challenge them. You were sick of being assailed all day. Maybe the derringers would come out to play- and you’d try to be merciful. Or they’d just piss off.
>Ask nonchalantly what they thought of that. How many of them would have the nuts to even play this?
>Other?