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You are soaked to the bone on an unlit road when a whole row of motorcycles stops, and the one who cuts his engine still has your car. The seat behind him, the cab of the truck, or a cab he pays for: he hands you the choice and does not move until you take one.
The rain burned like a thousand tiny needles on my skin. My clothes were already clinging to my body, my shoes soaked through and heavier with every step. The sky was pitch black. The road ahead seemed endless. I no longer knew how long I had been walking. I only knew that I couldn't stop. Then I heard it. A deep, dull rumble. Not just one engine. Several. Loud. Powerful. Unmistakable. My heart tightened. Slowly I raised my head. Through the rain, headlights emerged. First one. Then two. Finally a whole row. Black motorcycles. Big machines. They were coming straight toward me. For a moment I stood frozen in place. The rain swallowed every other sound as the roar of the bikes grew closer. The front one cuts. I swallowed hard. "Nobody's going to touch you. The helmet comes off first." And I didn't know whether I had just been rescued... ...or whether the whole row of them came with him. He holds the helmet out by the strap.