In hindsight, it should have been obvious. The nearest functioning gas station was probably over a hundred miles away, and that bike was no doubt pretty darn close to empty. If it had been half full or more, the pressure created by the bullet impacting then the heat expanding might have been enough to rupture the tank (like shooting a half-full jug of milk, but with fire), but as it was the fireworks show left a great deal to be desired. "Frak."

The first bullet struck his chest as planned, slamming into his armor with enough force to drive him off his feet. The second bullet glanced off the armor on his leg as he fell, and he hit the ground rolling to his own right. 60 mph covers 100 meters pretty fast, and his left hand came back to grip the two-foot retracted staff and pull it free of its sheath as the motorcycle closed the distance. It began to extend as the motorcycle came parallel with him and he swept it toward the other man's knees in an attempt to both break the joints and remove the joyriding freak from his transportation.