Orkz a' Hazard

Big Rok was a peculiar place, no doubt about it. Untold numbers of ships, fused together, only to then be repurposed by their inhabitants. Hollowed out, often stripped to the bare minimum of their former selves, only to be filled again by questionable structures. Of course, some had been left mostly intact, like the massive warpal gardens, partly because no one could be bothered to eradicate plants that could fight back.

And, of course, a place can't be orky enough if you don't have enough space for a buggy to roar through. Roads, as crude as they were, existed and had to be protected from any sort of freebootin' gits.

Which was exactly what their three buggies were doing, barely concealed among the city's buildings, painted red, in contrast with the polees orks' uniforms. The kaptin's hat had a new battle scar that was red, though. Gorasho was getting a bit restless. Waiting always did that to any ork, though, true Blood Axes had a certain resistance to such symptoms. But it was taking just too long.

And then, he could suddenly hear it. The howling of several engines, getting louder with every passing second.

"Kode Squiq," Snogrot, in the only passenger seat, spoke into their 'talky-majig', as the mek had called it, "ready yer enginez."

"Gotz it!" came from the other side.

In moments, they rode past. Several bikes, their engines roaring and their riders taking shots at random buildings. The first among them had a banner attached to the seat, depicting something between a tank and a good old killy dredd. The Mechanatorz had kept to remote roads, before most of their gang left to join bigger ones. With only a handful left, they had decided to have a little fun. Mainly by riding faster than anyone else. Gorasho was not one to give up, though.

The three buggies moved out of their spots and chased after the bikers. Pedestrians dodged aside in terror, empty boxes were smashed, fruit vendors got flattened. Yet with every passing moments, the Mechanatorz moved further and further away, their custom vehicles just too fast for the polees.

A fateful sharp turn. One of the kadets didn't make it and rammed right through a building, with the other two forced to stop. Gorasho personally clobbered the git over the head and then watched the motorised gang disappear beyond another turn.

"Dat'z da fourf time, kaptin."

"I'z know 'ow ta' count, Snogrot."

"Deyz jus' too fast, kaptin. Our buggiez jus' ain't enuff."

"Maybe," he scratched his scalp, "which meanz... we need a betta' buggy."

"Kan't we make bikez of our own, kaptin?"

"No. Buggiez be more comfy. We need ta' go see da' mek."

"Are ya' sure dat'z a gud idea, kaptin?"

"It'z da' best one we 'ave. Come on. And you gitz," he turned to the other buggy crews, "clean dis place up! I want it as shiny as me choppa' when I come fer inspection dis evenin'."

The departmunt's mek was considered a bit weird. Well, a little bonkers. Well, crazy, even by ork standards. In truth, he just loved experimenting with everything, as his work table clearly illustrated. Bombs strapped to bombs, which were strapped to rokkits. Shootas that shot shootas that shot grots. Mechanical toys for sporelings, lethal in unexpected ways, like say, having a bite function, or maybe even a hidden choppa' or two. A quadruple burna', which, for all intents and purposes, was pretty damn awesome.

The owner of such a peculiar collection was a fairly large ork, his face covered with countess burn marks and cuts, many from experiments actually considered successful. His right arm was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a freakishly complicated set of tools, most of them connected directly to his spine via sturdy-looking cables. As he tinkered, one after another, they pushed out and retracted themselves, performing whatever questionable experimenting their owner had in mind. With a glance over to the entrance, the mek welcomed him in:

"Kaptin! Come in, I'z almost done wif dis," a large number of gun barrels lay on his table, crudely strapped to a single handle and trigger, "still need ta' figure out where I put da' bulletz, though."

Gorasho navigated the workshop, making sure not to step on any of the parts or spare tools on the floor:

"Tekbrain, Iz need a new buggy."

The other's eyes almost literally lit up:

"Ooooh, I lovez makin' dose. Wot ya need? Real killy, real 'ard or real speedy?"

"All three. Iz need ta' catch and shoot sum squigbrainz on bikez."

"Yer askin' fer sum insanity dere, kaptin. Youz can't 'ave all three!"

Gorasho smirked:

"Well, if ya can't do it, Iz guess I'z gunna' have ta' ask anoda' mek."

"Can't do it?! Why I oughta'," a small drill extended from the tool-arm, "come to da' garage tomorrow! Iz gunna' make da' bestest buggy youz eva' seen!"

"Dere'z da' Tekbrain Iz know!"

Snogrot watched as the mek approached the small podium in the departmunt's garage. Their newest buggy rested beneath a multi-coloured piece of cloth, hidden from all unworthy eyes. Tekbrain grabbed hold of the cloth with the biggest smirk an ork could muster.

He unveiled it and several jaws dropped. Reinforced metal plating. A ram fashioned into the likeness of Mork. Or was that Gork? No one could tell, but it was orky. A mounted gun with several barrels. Highest quality, bright red paintjob. Three comfy seats, complete with legally acquired cushions.

Gorasho snapped out of a momentary daydream, where he proposed love to the buggy and asked:

"Wait, why'z dere three seatz?"

"Well, someone needz ta' shoot da' shoota', right? Iz fixed da' bullet problem, too. Put 'em all in da' back."

"Wez need a driva', den."

"I'z yer driva', kaptin."

"Wot?!"

"Iz ain't lettin' anyone wreck dis buggy. Unlezz it'z me. Don't worry," a small crab-like claw extended from the tool-arm, "I'z got a grabby fing!"

"Eh, fine. Iz need dat buggy. Senior kadet Snogrot!"

The smaller ork was right there between them:

"Yeh, kaptin?"

"Youz can aim, right?"

"Iz fink, kaptin."

"Youz gunna' 'ave sum fun, den."

He was getting restless again. The big, red, shiny button wasn't helping matters. Smacked right in the middle of the controls, it was like a beacon to any remotely sane creature. It called out to him in a voice which sounded like a chain-choppa'. It somehow smelled like squiq pie. It was irresistible.

"Tekbrain, wot dat do?"

"Dat'z a secret. Youz may get ta' use it today. Now, handz away!"

With a childish grump, Gorasho turned towards Snogrot, safely strapped in his elevated seat, a pair of blue googles over his eyes. Both of his hands were on the turret, his trigger fingers visibly itchy.

"Ready, Snogrot?"

"Yeh, kaptin'! We'z gunna' shoot 'em up gud!"

"Dat we are."

There it was again, the howling of five engines. The Mechanatorz were especially rowdy on that day, adding brain-dead screaming, anti-Gorkamorkism and extremely fast speeding along to their list of offences. And Gorasho had had just about enough of it. As soon as they rode past, he yelled out:

"Afta' dem!"

Tekbrain rammed his foot onto the gas pedal. All three were pushed into their comfy seats as the buggy blasted off. For once, the bikes weren't escaping. In fact, second by second, they were gaining on the squigbrains. Snogrot finally opened fire, filling the air with munitions of several sizes.

The last biker was the first to receive an unhealthy dose of rounds, rammed into the nearest lamp post, before getting flung into the air and landing on a conveniently placed gretchin. Another few salvos resulted in a obliterated rear wheel. As the bike spun out of control, their buggy rammed right into it, ramming it in half, while the driver ended up in even more pieces.

A clicking sound came from above. Snogrot shouted down at the rest of the crew:

"Tekbrain! Youz gotta' 'ave more bulletz if ya want dis many shootin' stuffz!"

"Noted. Wot now?!"

Gorasho joined in:

"Drive me closa'! From da' left!"

"Aye, aye, kaptin!"

The two remaining lackeys were driving side-to-side. When their buggy suddenly came closer from the left, the kaptin decided to take advantage of their predicament.

"Oy, ya grot," as the biker turned around in shock, Gorasho delivered a mighty blow with Bessy. The ork fell onto the steering and rammed right into his friend. They vanished in a fiery explosion, far behind the speeding trio, "dat'z wot Iz call drivin' on da' edge."

Their final target, riding around with a few extra exhausts and his clan's banner, turned around and laughed extremely loudly, before flicking a few switches. Fire suddenly started spewing from his exhausts and his speed increased. Not even the new buggy could keep up. With the biker's laughter still audible, Tekbrain shouted:

"Oh, dat'z 'ow 'e wantz ta' play? Kaptin!"

"Yeh?"

"Da red button! Press it!"

Music to his ears. Like a reunion with a long-lost love.

"Really?"

"Yeh! Wez could go boom, but art requirez sacrificez."

His fist smashed down on it like the hammer of an angry god. Hidden compartments in the buggy's frames opened up and column after column of tiny rockets slid out, crudely wired together. A hidden compartment also opened right below the button and contained yet another big, red, shiny temptation. This one was labelled with 'Are ya' sure?'.

"Hold onto yer teef!" the mek yelled, before smashing that one, as well. Gorasho also held onto his hat.

The acceleration threatened to push them through their comfy seats. Their surroundings became a blur, their target seemed to be slowing down. The kaptin looked to the right as they were passing, noting the biker's downright horrified expression, swiftly reached out and grabbed him by the jacket. The ork was lifted, his unmanned vehicle soon crashing into a nearby building.

Suddenly, they hit a bump, probably created by some other band of freebootin' gits. All four yelled at the top of their lungs, as the buggy suddenly turned skyward, passing over several rows of buildings. Their auxiliary thrusters suddenly started dying, one after another. Tekbrain shouted even louder:

"We'z gotta' lose sum weight!"

"Will it 'elp?!"

"No!"

The kaptin' still instinctively let go and immediately looked down. Such a nice set of coincidences, they were flying directly above Da' Big Grinda'. The biggest the squiq processing plant had, in fact. As the biker leader disappeared within its maw, the kaptin' commented, mostly to himself, since his companions were still busy screaming:

"He neva' could stand da' everyday grind."

They impacted the ground with the force of a small comet, creating a small crater in the middle of a 'No ridin', gitz' zone. Several unfortunate gretchin were turned to paste during the encounter. The three polees orks rose from what remained of their buggy relatively unscathed, to a loud clapping from surrounding boyz. While waving and bowing slightly, Gorasho spoke:

"Tekbrain?"

"Yeh, kaptin'?"

"Remind me ta' give ya a teef bonuz dis monf. Dat waz da' bestest ride a' me life."

"You'z too kind, kaptin'!"

That night, all three of them ventured to Joe's, though, in a marginally less awesome buggy. On the way, they noticed the boyz were doing their job, licking the morning's crash site clean. Literally.

When they finally entered, the patrons were already discussing the day's portion of squiq pie. They all agreed it tasted a bit 'funky', but couldn't agree on whether it was 'funky gud' or 'funky bad'. Naturally, a fight broke out, as soon the trio sat behind the bar. An unfortunate ork suddenly flew above their heads. Joe casually dodged to the side, combed his squiq-wig and spoke:

"Da usual, kaptin' and boyz?"

"Iz fink we'z gunna' skip da' pie today, Joe. Jus' sum beer."

"Well, about dat..."