BRR - Big Rok Ralley

'Twas a splendid day. Toxic fumes were forming clouds near the ceiling, the lights were all shining brightly upon the soon-to-be contestants and the countless fans nestled in buildings, many of them hastily-rebuilt after preparatory celebrations from the day before, chomping down on questionable treats brought to them by the nearest dok.

For it was time for the Big Rok Ralley, an annual event very much loved among the inhabitants, orky, or otherwise. With several different mekz competing for their design to be crowned the winner, there was never a shortage of new sights, spectacular mixtures of roaring engines, red paint, mostly green drivers and illegal secret weapunz, one could always count on seeing a bit of blood.

Speaking of illegal weapunz, that's where the heroic members of the BRPD came in, watching the happenings from above, from the comfy, cushioned seats of a deffkopta'. Well, two of them, anyway:

"Tekbrain, ya sure dis fingy can stay up?"

"Yeh, kaptin! Iz made it outta' wot remained o' da' buggy. Dat one flied gud."

"Makez sense ta' me," he looked out through the beautiful machine's dangerously missing right window, then slightly downwards, "you okay dere, senior kadet Snogrot?"

The ork in question was in a third, really rough seat, made of six different chunks of metal and precariously glued to the bottom of the kopta', with a complimentary, flimsy seat belt:

"Are ya' sure dis be safe, kaptin?"

"Safa' than bein' a driva' down dere," he chuckled a bit, "'sidez, wez need ya fer da' aimin'."

Snogrot clutched the rokkit launcha' in his arms tightly, then looked at the satchel of extra ammo to his right:

"Iz know, kaptin."

"Gud, now get ready. Da' race be startin' soon."

Everyone awaited with baited breath, as a gretchin in a black hat, clutching a small pistol in his hand, walked up to the first row of racers, raised his pathetic armament into the air and shot. No sooner was he flattened by the first row, when an explosion immediately shot one of the competitors into a nearby building, to the roaring laughter of its inhabitants. The only human contestants, in a green trukk. Never stood a chance, really. Snogrot's own rokkit made sure that the first disqualification of the day was permanent.

And they were off, dodging pieces of flaming wreckage, unleashing fire at each other, more often than not hitting the crowd. The kopta' was not far behind. While the rear devolved into little more than a case of vehicular manslaughter, the top three favourites were keeping things remarkably civil. That could only mean they were saving something particularly nasty for later.

The leader, for now, was mek Grotzappa's Stinga', a rocket-like four-wheeler with three separate engines under the hood. 'More enginez, more speedz. Simple enuff.' A fine motto to have in life.

Mek Metulmasha' would not be outdone easily. His Blue Boom was easily keeping up with the Stinga', even though it had one less engine and less purposeful design. Its red paintjob was interrupted by two blue streaks on the sides. 'Ya' can alwayz use a bit a' luck.'

Finally, trailing behind the both of them was an impossibly fast hill of metal, which did not even try to conceal the massive gun battery on its top. Mek Steelgrinda' never was one for subtlety, as his Big Tank handily demonstrated. 'Why botha' with hidin' stuffz? Jus' put ta' shooty bitz up dere, so da' oddaz know ta' keep away.'

The other racers could not keep up, or were simply crushed under the tank's treads before they could become a threat. As the battle for fourth place raged on, Gorasho shouted:

"These gitz will get rid a' themselvez. Afta' da top three!"

"Got it, boss!"

The race was intensifying, as the Stinga' ran into problems when navigating a turn, giving the Blue Boom time to overtake it. Big Tank finally decided to make its presence known as it obliterated a sizeable chunk of the road with a single shot. His opponents managed to dodge, if only by a little bit.

"Snogrot! Get 'im!"

Three rockets were shot in quick succession, one hit a squig pie stand, but the other two struck true, leaving little more than a scratch on the monster's armour. Blue Boom had a plan of its own, as it released a series of bombs onto the road. As the metal monstrosity rode over them, they detonated, tearing its treads to pieces. Steelgrinda's roar of fury could be heard all the way from the crowd.

Blue Boom afterwards took the lead, but before the polees could disqualify it, the Stinga' struck. Its tip opened up, revealing a massive drill, powered by a concealed fourth engine. With a burst of speed, it rammed into the leader, cutting right through any of its thin plating and squishy driver. The Stinga's engines roared further, hoping to reach the finish line within minutes. Snogrot's expertly-aimed rokkit ended any such hopes and dreams.

"Kaptin! I'z outta' rokkitz!"

"Dat'z fine. Iz don't think dere's anyone left."

A brief look at the raceway, littered with scrap metal and stray body parts, seemed to confirm his suspicion. But then, on the horizon, a moving entity was spotted. Small, tiny even, with several long noses peaking out of it, mostly towards the road. Da' Dingy, the only gretchin contestants of the day. Constantly arguing about which way to go, the group of six slowly, but surely, made their way to the finish line.

"Well, dat'z a first."

"Yeh, kaptin. A small step for a grot, a big jump fer grotz."

"Boyz, Iz don't think dey'z gunna' make it."

Tekbrain pointed more towards the back. Big Tank was somehow back on the road, even without half of its treads, and was gaining on the tiny team. The grots started panicking, one wished to go faster, another reminded him they only had one speed. They were doomed, surely. Snogrot could not bear to watch, Gorasho merely commented:

"Well, dere goez deir big jump," Big Rok suddenly shook, in its entirety, "wot da," it was back. The smell, the unsettling feeling of being stuck somewhere between time and space. The groups of cheerleading daemonettes were kind of a big giveaway, too, "again? Dat'z weird."

An explosion sounded, yet the grots were still intact. A violet fireball engulfed the starting line and something emerged from within. Faster than even a red deffkopta', its two wheels left a line of flame in their wake. The rider's laughter was maniacal, omnipresent, inescapable.

The daemonettes chanted as one:

"Who's that coming, who's that roaring, prince of riding, lord of roaming!"

The biker closed the distance in mere moments, just as the Big Tank was about to crush its much tinier opponents. Using the Stinga's wreckage as a ramp, he rose into the air, a deafening howl leaving his ever-burning skull:

"Dooooooooooomriiiiiiiiider!"

He rammed through the Big Tank as if it was made from paper, as another explosion engulfed the area. Two entities emerged from it, one infinitely faster than the tiny one.

So it was that Doomrider crossed the finish line first, his braking tearing apart the road. He was greeted by a small army of daemonettes, each reduced to little more than a shrieking fangirl. As he was signing the fiftieth autograph, the gretchin finally arrived, with inhabitants of all shapes and sizes coming to congratulate. During the two-hundredth autograph, a third vehicle appeared, miraculously. All green and with a sizeable hole in its side, yet functional nonetheless, the human team came in third.

The winners stood there before the masses. Doomrider kept striking poses for his fanclub, the grots formed a small tower out of their bodies and the humans just stood there, smiling like a bunch of dumbasses. Boss Nignub was proud to hand over their prizes, each a metal trophy of varying size, filled to the brim with teef. Shortly afterwards, all declared it was time for drinking. While most had to walk on their own, Doomrider simply jumped into his part of the crowd, who then more than willingly carried him off.

"Kaptin, dat wos amazin'!"

"Dat it wos, senior kadet Snogrot. Tekbrain, take uz 'ome."

"Aye, aye, kaptin!"

As they were flying, Snogrot became inquisitive:

"Tekbrain?"

"Yeh?"

"Do ya' know 'ow ta' land dis?"

"Nope. Still need ta' finish dat part of da' book."

"Ohz."

He proceeded to quite audibly gulp.