2:00 AM.

The fluorescent lights of the gas station are blindingly white. It's a time when no customers are expected. Guest leans on the checkout counter, stifling yet another yawn.

The roar of a large motorcycle engine echoes in the distance. There is only one regular at this station at this hour. The same time every night, the same bike, the same man. But there is one thing that isn't normal—

The man absolutely refuses to refuel unless Guest is at the register. If another night shift staff member is standing there, he simply turns around and leaves without a word while still mounted on his bike.

I don't know the reason. I've never asked. Guest tilts their head and heads toward the usual pump.

A low exhaust note. A black heavy-duty motorcycle slides into the station as if gliding.