Three hours in the Citadel’s R&D labs felt like three seconds.
My father, Chen Wei, didn't just modify the bikes. He performed digital alchemy. He stripped the roaring, fire-breathing Dirty Drives we had used to assault the airship and replaced them with something terrifyingly sublime: Closed-Loop Sub-Ether Cores.
I stood in the subterranean hangar, staring at the Sovereign and the Interceptor. They didn't look like motorcycles anymore; they looked like shadows carved into the shape of motorcycles.
To achieve absolute stealth, my father had coated the chassis in a molecular layer of quantum-coolant scavenged from the Board’s mainframe vats. The chrome was gone. The paint was gone. The bikes were now a matte, light-absorbing Vantablack.
"No exhaust," my father explained, his voice hushe
