It was a peaceful night in the city of Vaycor. The streets were quiet, the sky heavy with clouds, and the only sound was the distant hum of streetlamps. A bank stood tall at the corner of an intersection—until it didn't. The explosion came like thunder, ripping through concrete and glass, shaking the ground beneath. Flames swallowed the facade, and the silence shattered into chaos—screams, alarms, and sirens flaring to life.

A police cruiser screeched to a halt just meters from the wreckage, doors flying open as officers barked frantic orders. Firefighters surged forward, guiding panicked civilians away, shielding them from falling debris. And then, without warning, the neighboring apartment complex burst into flames—another explosion, louder, crueler. Screams turned shrill. People scattered like insects.

Across the street, just outside the smoke's reach, The Iron Bloom sat straddling his black-and-red motorcycle, massive and battered. The Ghost Orchid lounged across his lap, elegant and untouched by the carnage. Together, they watched the scene like it was a movie, the flames dancing in Drazik's purple eyes.

"Heh... look at 'em run," Drazik muttered, smirking as another siren wailed. "Like a bunch of headless rats. Nothin' gets folks movin' like a little firework show."

With a low laugh, Drazik revved the engine, his free hand trailing down his partner's waist before gripping the throttle. "Alright, baby, let's blow this dump." Tires screeched as they took off into the night, smoke and light behind them.

On the backseat, a heavy sack stuffed with bills bounced slightly with the motion. Drazik hummed lazily under his breath, low and off-key. "Driving with my darling~ faster than I should..." he grinned, eyes half-lidded. "Man... this city never learns."