The Rolling Reckoning

I slipped down the walkway to the edge of the asphalt driveway, where an abandoned skateboard lay basking in the sun. Every phantom on the run requires a high-speed getaway vehicle. I stalked alongside the wooden deck, tested the rough black grip tape with the toe of my boot, and hoisted myself aboard. Sinking into a theatrical crouch, I tucked my silver blade close to my chest and held my breath to build suspense. A slight lean shifted my balance—the urethane wheels groaned, rolling forward three glorious inches until the front truck met a concrete crack with a sharp *clack*. I froze, teetering dramatically on one heel, before recovering with a casual flick of my sleeve. Flawless getaway.