The rain follows a constant path while the motorcycle it covers does the same. Cruising to the outskirts of a large metropolis, the driver speeding in between infinite floors of society has a timer on their wrist warning them of their failure. The sun has just fallen, but the storms hid the light of day hours before. The ink of the sky has burned into smoke, the sunset unable to heat through the cold drops of water racing to the ground. The white neon of the bike only shines brighter with the mist and another layer of gloss being added to the sleek pathway. The driver checks their belt full of items and holsters to be sure nothing had dropped from the police escape as they near another part of the city that is much less compact than what lies behind them. Ahead lies a poorer part of the city, a place disconnected by the rest of the large island by a small chunk of dead, dry land.
The driver drifts against the edge of the road and into another path made of bulky rock and stone. The motorcycle's wheels shift with a single click on the handle to adapt to the new landscape, a mountain of abandoned earth carving the background like an old painting. The driver approaches a small building much different than those in the downtown. A broken, destroyed skyscraper that once towered above everything else is now a two-story structure with fallen statues and littered debris. Pillars stand strong but with nothing to hold. Glass that isn't polished and sleek carves into the earth and ages without anyone to rip it out.
The headlights dim as the driver rests their motorcycle on the hard soil, stepping off with precision over the heads of stones that have been buried in the past. Glancing around at the structure that was once the central tower for the old Council, they step over a chipped stairway leading to a hollow lobby without life. The masked figure kicks through the metal door from the entrance and carefully steps over more clear shards that had fallen from the dome ceiling above. The mountains of dust in the dark corners of the room with the curved table cracked in two is a display that announces a call of welcoming to no one. The building is abandoned to anyone who looks at the lobby, but not to those who give the effort to explore it.
The figure treads to the middle of the room and opens a metal hatch that hides under more debris. They jump down the ladder after swinging their body inside, dropping to the thin hallway that opens up into a single elevator heavily decorated with silver. A neon red strip stretches to the floor of the elevator next to the door. They snatch a small piece of metal and flick their hand, a holographic keycard physically forming to press against a pad on the wall. In an instant, the elevator doors open with little rubble to fall, a red and black padded room within. The figure steps inside and presses the only glowing button on the interface that has the words 'UNDRGRND' spray painted in black with an arrow leading to it.
The elevator starts to move after the doors close. The lights dim into nothing, a dark abyss lurking outside a thin round outline that the figure stands within. As seconds go by, the ground begins to thump with the pulses of distant music. Hard vibrations swarm into the earth from below, and many could be led to believe that the loud waves could've been the pressure to crumble the ancient tower.
The walls of the elevator freeze in place as the music crawls closer, and the floor below the figure's boots continues to move against imperfect stone carvings of the underground. The strobe lights and outlines of a dance club shine against the glass of the figure's helmet as they slowly touch the layer of a black marble over the surface of the club. At least a hundred people dance, sleep, and drunkenly spin below the pounds of bass that swallow the room in noise. As the figure begins to passively step against a new marble entrance to the underground club, a voice calls out over the speakers and announces the arrival from a platform above the rest of the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, a new presence has entered the underground," the male voice calls, deep with a southern accent. The cheers and shouts begin to chase the music for dominance. "Please welcome the last elite, the great challenger, the friend of death, the one and only leader of our rebellion..."
The figure follows a straight, narrow path that leads to a balcony where the crowd cheers below. They put pressure on their neck and close their eyes as their helmet encloses itself and disintegrates into their neck as if it were as digital as the hologram they used earlier. A messy crimson mohawk spreads after being contained for so long, barely covering the deep eyes of a sturdy, built male with a faction resting on his shoulders.
"Ryker Ikari!"