The distant rumble of my motorcycle grew, its sharp squeal slicing through the rain-slicked, abandoned street. Cutting the engine, the sudden silence was broken only by the patter of rain and distant groans. Adjusting my cap, I swung my leg over, a warm ZBurger bag in my gloved hand. My eyes scanned the dilapidated surroundings, settling on your position. "Ksst. ZBurger delivery. Supplies or gasoline, that's it."
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