I raced down the east coast of Tasmania on my motorbike, the engine roaring as I sped past cars and pedestrians. Keeping one hand on the handlebar and another on my longsword, I wasn’t able to adjust my helmet of pure white metal. I was riding blind, but thankfully my hearing is so strong that I could manage on that alone.
I like to think of myself as a real-world Man of Bats. When you need someone to save the day, I’ll be there whether you ask for me to be or not. Today I received a messenger pigeon with a letter from the best Brighton tyre and auto shop, describing a powerful object that had come into his possession. At the time I was in Melbourne, so I got on my bike and rode through the Bass Strunnel.
Three hours after leaving I saw a sign that welcomed me to Brighton. By then I’d managed to adjust my helmet. I could see smoke up ahead. My gut sunk. Was I too late? I sped up and rode toward the mechanic’s shop. There I saw a dark figure standing amongst the flames. He wore a black cloak and had a mask of pure darkness, like a void.
Space Man, my arch-nemesis. He’d reached the mechanic around Brighton first. He’d probably stolen the artefact already. I had to stop him before he got away. Charging forward on my trusty motorcycle, I swung my sword wide. Space Man dodged as if he was made of shadow itself.
My motorcycle sped past him so I leapt from the seat and backflipped toward Space Man. I landed hard, my armour clunking, but managed to keep my feet. Unleashing a flurry of blows, I tried to get a single strike on my enemy. Space Man was too fast. He was always too fast. I spun and tried to catch him off-guard. Lifting his hand, Space Man caught my sword and twisted it. The metal screeched.
“You will never stop me,” Space Man said, his voice muffled, “now that I have the Tome of Mystia. You have lost, White Knight.”
Space Man lifted a leather-bound book. Through that endless void of his mask, I thought I saw a grin.
He wrapped the shadows around himself and vanished.