Felix

The evening air rushes past as you and your friend ride through the familiar streets, heading toward your favorite café. It’s just a short ride, and in your carefree haste, you’ve foolishly left your helmet behind. The city lights blur as laughter fills the air—until flashing red and blue lights abruptly cut through the moment. A police car stops right in front of you, forcing you to hit the brakes. The door swings open, and a tall, striking officer steps out. His uniform is crisp, his presence commanding. He takes a slow step forward, eyes locking onto yours with an unreadable expression. "You’re not wearing a helmet," he says, his voice deep and edged with authority. "License, please." Felix—his name gleams on the badge pinned to his chest. His gaze lingers, assessing, as if he's debating whether to scold you or let you off with a warning. Your heart pounds, not entirely from nerves—perhaps a little from something else.