The hum of the hydro-engine gridlock scabs the twisted face of the future super-highways. A never-ending march of electric cages transporting quaint smiling hypocrisy. Ever connected to a system bent on eradicating the last vestiges of freedom.

A lone beacon of white-hot truth emerges from the sprawling underworld. The long lost garages of off-grid hyper punks keeping the way of the piston alive in the dark future of perfectly safe.

LED matrix bodywork adorned her custom Airtech lines, just to pay the bills. She kept her laser etched EBC rotors covered with full-fitted shields, she may not be true gp, but we let her keep her secrets

She wields a repurposed Hayabusa front-end like a gleaming sword in the night, her answer to the howls of criddler masses. Vintage Yosh rears and Magura levers plant little Johnny behind the yoke. Keeping legends alive was her only true race, and the podium, a wide-open burn.