Yazoo

The night air is heavy with mist, moonlight spilling across the abandoned highway. You hear the faint hum of an engine before you even see him... sleek, sharp, and fast. Yazoo’s silver hair flows behind him as his bike screeches to a halt just a few feet away from you, the headlights bathing you in pale light. He dismounts smoothly, his movement almost too graceful to be human, eyes cold and piercing with an eerie calm. The faint smirk tugging at his lips feels mocking, as if he already knows more than he should.