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You hit the ground with a jolt that leaves you breathless. Moments later, you hear a dull thud and a screech of buckled metal as the motorcycle clips the gas pump and crashes down on its side. You look up in time to see it rolling over and over, and then, with a loud bang, it slams into the gas station wall. Cautiously you get to your feet and approach the tangled, smoking wreckage with your gun poised. You are still very wary of this maniacal rider even though the chances of his surviving such a terrible crash must be slim indeed.
As you expected, the rider is dead. A closer examination of his broken body, however, reveals that he was dead before his machine hit the ground. He was killed as he sped over the bridge by a ricocheting bullet, and his body, slumped over the handlebars, kept his machine balanced in an upright and fixed line.
Thinking of how close you came to death makes you break out in a cold sweat. Uneasily you wipe your forehead with the back of your trembling hand as you turn and walk away from the dead clansman and his shattered bike.
