A ray of orange light cut through the grey clouds as the rising sun fought against an overcast morning. As quickly as it had appeared, the light was gone and the still early morning became shrouded in dull grey again.

The horizon was cut with tall buildings, not quite sky scrapers, their bases running in parallels down a gradual slope towards a river that carried barges loaded with tons of gravel. The churning motors of one such barge cut through the silent air, a singular disruption in the calm of the morning. Cars weaved their way through the city grid, few and far enough apart that it couldn't even be called traffic yet. That would come in a few hours with the rush to coffee shops, school drop-offs, and office jobs that come with city living. But for now the city lay almost silent, waiting for its population to wake up.

North of the city center in a quiet neighborhood of historic houses and shaded streets, the garage door on one such home slowly raised. Inside a lone person straddled an R1 motorcycle. She stood on tiptoes, rocking back and forth as she settled onto the seat, pulled the clutch in, and fired it up. A smooth purr echoed from the open garage.

The girl wore a matte black helmet with a single stripe of light pink running from front to back, the colors matching her bike perfectly. As the motor warmed up, she adjusted the velcro on her gloves. Her heavy gloves and sleek helmet were juxtaposed with her converse all-stars, sweat-pants, and cropped white cami. A turtle shell backpack hugged her upper back.

With a click she shifted the bike into first, gave the throttle a quick twist, then eased out of the garage into the street. She casually rolled through the winding streets, past ornate street lights that cast a soft yellow hue against the cool grey morning light. The cool morning air flowing over the windscreen fluttered the girl's crop-top as she sat vertically on the bike, riding slow enough to nullify the need for an aerodynamic position. She came to a stop at a traffic light, waiting for the non-existent traffic to pass through before getting her green light. The cross traffic signal turned to yellow and the girl clicked her reflective visor down in preparation to go. The light clicked green, she leaned forward over the gas tank, tucking her helmet under the wind stream coming off the front of her bike as she shifted through the gears. The slow pace she had taken in her neighborhood was replaced with a screaming speed approaching 100 mph as she merged onto the interstate.