The morning air in the suburbs was usually quiet, but today it smelled of burnt rubber and impending doom. John adjusted his grip on the handlebars of the family bicycle. Behind him, strapped into a makeshift child seat that definitely didn't meet safety standards, sat young Jimmy.
With no other choice, John pedaled with the strength of ten men. They hit the ramp, soared through the air, and for a brief, glorious moment, they were flying. Below them, the suburbs were a beautiful mess of traps and explosions.
"Ready for the park, son?" John asked, his voice trembling as he looked at the giant, rotating saw blades blocking the driveway.
John looked at his missing left shoe and the trail of destruction behind them. "Maybe tomorrow, kid. Maybe tomorrow."
