Leo's bike reappeared beneath him. The engine roared to life. He didn't think about the firewall. He didn't think about detention. He thought about the throttle.

A ghostly scoreboard flickered in his peripheral vision:

One moment he was in the storage closet. The next, he was straddling a matte-black Kawasaki Ninja, the engine growling like a caged animal. The sky was a permanent twilight. The asphalt stretched endlessly, a four-lane highway slicing through a neon-drenched city that had no exits, no turns, only forward .

Leo knew the rules. At Milton High, the school firewall was a digital fortress. No games, no videos, no fun. But in the forgotten sub-basement of the old computer lab, behind a door labeled "AV Storage," sat a relic: a dusty CRT monitor connected to a server humming with a low, forgotten frequency. Server 76.

...and counting.