A wall of screens. DOZENS of helmeted hunters in tactical gear mount black motorcycles. KESSLER (50s, cold, surgical) watches Jax’s fleeing form on a drone feed.
Neon bleeds across wet streets. Sirens wail in the distance. JAX (20s, lean, sharp-eyed) crouches behind a dumpster, clutching his ribs. Blood seeps through his fingers. -THE HUNT- Bike Of Hell Script
He swings a leg over. The moment his palms touch the handlebars, the LED turns solid crimson. The frame hums . A wall of screens
BIKE (V.O.) First gear. They call me the Hellion. And you, Jax, are my new clutch. sharp-eyed) crouches behind a dumpster
Jax pedals. The bike moves wrong . Too fast. Turns too sharp. It anticipates him. He leans left, it carves right—avoiding a pothole he didn’t see.