The bike never slows. The Rider just slings a leg over it as it passes, flaming hands gripping the handlebars. The flames about the wheels blaze brighter, and the engine howls, echoing through the streets.
The empty eyesockets, ringed with flame, scan the area, looking right past Etoile and looking for those with enough sin weighing on their souls to be worthy of his attention, paying no mind to any other factor save who bears the heaviest burden of sin around him, the bike taking off towards whoever that may be.
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