This isn't a pitstop

Lane didn’t know a damned thing about engines.

When his bike broke down he was at a loss, snarling and cursing his luck as he kicked the heavy thing over. He wasn’t strong enough to lift it up again without some effort, it had almost crushed his leg the first time he fell over taking a turn too sharply. Maybe it was out of gas. Maybe it was mechanical failure. Maybe it was user error. Regardless, it was useless to him now.

Too far from home.

Not far enough from home.

He was hoping he’d be farther than this. When they found he was gone they’d hunt him down. It would be even worse when they noticed the bike gone. It’s not like they grew on trees. In fact, Lane was sure that the bike was worth more than he was. Well, especially now. They might have let him live if he had just escaped on foot.

Not that he wanted that. He had seen what happened to other runaways, their mangled faces and twisted scarring. Not like the delicate, artistic scars from cuts and burns that worked up his fingers and arms, covered by leather gloves to conceal just what he was. No, what they received was punishment. It was all superficial, a show to deter others from attempting such a feat.

“Stupid.” He mumbled to himself, crouching on the cracked and overgrown pavement as he tapped his helmet loudly. “Fucking stupid. Stupid. Shit what the fuck am I going to do now?”

He stood up, snarling as he pitched that helmet as far as he could, watching it’s black surface sail through the air a short distance before bouncing hollowly on the ground. It wobble-rolled off into the tall grass, out of sight.

The roads only got worse from here on out, anyway. The farther he got the less technology there seemed to be. He got what few things he managed to steal from the bike, scrounging around before finding the helmet again and loading up everything onto his back. One last look was given to the now useless machine on the side of the road, a sneer passing over his features before he glanced down the highway. Black hair was pulled from Lane’s face as he glared, pouted and finally turned around to start walking.

It was a long walk, according to his map.

But at least he wasn’t home.