In a distant corner of Worcester's city centre lurked a sinister alley, where the shadows seemed to weave the beginning of all darkness, accompanied by an unsettling silence that filled the air with an eerie whistle. 

Within this ominous setting, the clinking of bottles echoed against the ground as a group of inebriated thugs gathered to play cards beneath the faint glow of a dim spotlight. Suddenly, a drunken, bald figure hastily attempted to leave the game.

"Don't even think about fleeing. Put your money down before you move your ass" threatened one of the thugs with a menacing growl.

The bald man stumbled, his movements unsteady as he began to fumble with his pants.

"Oi! What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" exclaimed another thug, taken aback by the unexpected action.

"Let him go... He won't have his balls if he flees", grumbled a gravelly voice from the group.

With a nervous squirm, the bald man darted away as if his bladder were on the brink of bursting. Meanwhile, the gruff man lit a cigarette, a wicked grin dancing on his lips.

"You seem to be in high spirits, boss," remarked one of the thugs.

"Just reminiscing about last night's escapades... That wildcat was something else," the gruff man chuckled, leaning against the wall.

The thugs joined in laughter, but their mirth quickly subsided under their boss's stern gaze. After a moment, the boss sighed and rose to his feet.

"Rocco, take over for me. I'll be ba—" His sentence was abruptly cut short by a sudden flash of light across his neck. Bewildered, the thugs turned to see a sleek black card with shimmering silver edges pinned to the wall. Before they could react, they witnessed a fine crimson line appearing on their boss's neck, followed by a trickle of blood. With a thud, their leader collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

As the darkness of the night receded, the vibrant rays of the sun illuminated the bustling city of Worcester. Nestled amidst the urban commotion stood the prestigious garage, "Sydney Ignites," owned by the esteemed Mr. Alex Dexter, renowned for his benevolence and integrity.

"Vroom...Vroom...Vroom..."

The powerful hum of a Lightning LS218 reverberated across the test track, expertly maneuvered by one of Sydney Ignites' most skilled mechanics.

Entering the yard, Dexter inquired of a nearby mechanic, "Hey, rookie, where's Grace?" 

A young lad whose mouth was occupied by a spanner as he worked on a bike, nodded towards the test track in response. 

Dexter sighed and crossed his arms in exasperation.

"Here we go again."

"Grace! Get off that track this instant," he shouted loudly from the side of the test track

The Lightning LS218 came to a halt, and a figure clad in a sleek black racer leather jacket dismounted from the bike, removing her helmet. Midnight-black hair cascaded down her back, framing electric blue eyes which are as cold as ice.

"You promised to join me at Ms. Paopao's restaurant," Dexter pleaded, desperation evident in his voice.

With purposeful strides, Grace approached him, tossing her helmet his way. He caught it in time before it kiss the ground.

"It's Pakpao, not Paopao. And it's only 9:30; she doesn't open until 10. Why the rush?" she questioned, her voice carrying a hint of sultriness and authority.

Dexter scoffed with his hands on hips. "You don't understand the glory of her Gob Tod fries. What if they're all gone by the time we get there?"

A skeptical expression crossed Grace's face. "Really? You're the only one who worships those skinny frog fries, Dexy."

"Don't you dare insult Paopao's frog fries! The crisp skin, slender legs, plump cheeks, rosy lips, and those big bo—" Dexter ranted enthusiastically, only to be promptly interrupted.

"Enough with the nonsense. Just propose to her already. It'll save me the money you squander at her restaurant," Grace retorted, turning to leave.

"Ah, but who will foot the bill for my wedding then?" Dexter exclaimed, trailing after her.