The brakes squealed as the bike came to a stop beneath a streetlight, wheels crunching on the too-dirty street that hadn't been swept in far too long, and the suspension groaned as the weight of its rider was removed. He leaned his bat against the handlebars as he lit up his cigar (because honestly, what self-respecting action hero doesn't smoke a cigar?), and sat back against the bike. Tossing the match and picking up the bat, he swung it over one shoulder and glanced down the three other streets that led to the intersection, hoping to get a glimpse of his competition before they arrived. It was only about one in every three street lights that was still working, but he had pretty phenomenal eyesight so he wasn't too worked about missing something, even in the dark spaces.