The roar of the crowd hammered in Dwice Necrofago's ears. The young Orlock gazed up through the thick mesh that covered the fighting arena and took in what must've been almost all the downhivers in Sector H8. Many were nondescript holesteaders, scummers and suchlike, but Dwice picked out the bright orange colours of his fellow Hi-Viz Jackers, as well as those of several of their rival gangs. Amid the hollering and screaming, bets were being laid thick and fast. The only fighting here this shift would be down in the pit, and if the crowd had its way, it would be bloody.
Dwice lowered his gaze and peered across the fight zone. There was a large central square, off which ran a series of twisting corridors. What the crowd couldn't see from above, hovering pict-capper drones would scan - Dwice's heart leapt as a pict capper buzzed nearby and relayed his image to one of the massive screens way above the crowd. His name and affiliations were being announced over loud voxhailers, and the crowd roared again, as it had done as each of the competitors in the pit had been introduced.
Some of the most notorious names in the Hacked Knee turf war were represented: as well as Dwice for the Jackers, there was fellow Orlocks the Wasted; the Escher Savage Kittens; The Goliath Reprobates; the Cawdor Slimehouse Golems; the Van Saar Orb Weavers and Nubis Machina; and those shifty muties the Skymother's Chosen and the Good News Brood with their extra arms and needle teeth.
Each gang had a fighter in the pit - according to the rules, a juve or low-ranking ganger, though in truth the Jackers would have had a tough time dissuading ambitious Dwice from putting himself forward. There was a lot of glory to be earned tonight, and blood debts to be settled too, with Nubis Machina and the two xenos gangs.
Way above, at the top of the stands, there was movement - this was the Ba'King, the guilder overlord whose influence hung heavy over Sector H8. It was by his invitation that these games had been convened, and in his fortified domain that they were being held.
The Ba'King, hardly bigger than half a cred from Dwice's point of view, made some ceremonial motion, and an earsplitting klaxon sounded though the arena. The fight had begun.
Dwice ducked out across the corner of the central square and pressed his back against a large rockcrete block. There were next to no rules in the pit, but the Ba'King had decreed that only close combat was permissable in the first few minutes of the fight. Dwice needed to watch himself - with his bad hand, he'd have a tough time unless he was shooting, so he figured he'd better keep his head down until the second siren signal.
There was a roar from the crowd, and Dwice glanced up at the screens. In a corridor out of his line of sight, a scrap had broken out between the Reprobate and Savage Kitten competitors - and mere metres away, the Slimehouse Golem had found a way round the no-guns rule, priming and releasing a chittering bomb rat. But the rodent scurried off to the side before it exploded, flooring the Golem. The crowd loved it.
'Hey, kid,' said a hoarse voice to Dwice's left, 'what say we stick together and take these scummers down?'
Dwice spun round to see an orange-clad figure also taking refuge behind the rockcrete. For a split second, he took it for a Jacker, but of course, the bald head and furrowed brow marked the newcomer out as one of the Good News Brood.
The loss of the mines at Buried Saints - not to mention the headache he'd got off of that hammer hit - were still fresh with Dwice. He whipped out his fighting knife and charged, screaming, 'Frag you, man!'
The Brooder looked surprised but took the young Orlock's charge well, turning aside the fighting knife and quickly landing blows which didn't penetrate Dwice's mesh jacket. But Dwice knew he'd made a mistake - the mutie was clearly a better fighter. There was only one way this could go.
'The Emperor protects!' The scream came from nearby, and suddenly another fighter piled in - a lanky Van Saar with a golden halo attacked to his headgear. Dwice had heard of this crazy guy - an Orb Weaver who'd snorted a sack of ghast for a handful of creds and sustained permanent noggin damage, genuinely believing he was the saviour of mankind.
'Fear not, young man - I, the lord of Terra, will protect you in your hour of need!' cried the Van Saar, swinging his shock baton.
Dwice wasn't too proud to turn down help. The two juves laid into the mutie, wounding him but not taking him out.
'The Emperor' suddenly lowered his weapon and took a step back, muttering 'By my Throne...'
Dwice and the hybrid followed his gaze. Staggering out from an alleyway on the edge of the battlezone was the Slimehouse Golem competitor. He was smouldering and grinning gap-toothed, having at last unleashed a bomb rat to take out the Reprobate and Kitten - and now he was looking to do the same to Dwice and his immediate opponents. A stitched-up rat with a long fuse instead of a tail squirmed in his grasp.
The second klaxon sounded. Ranged attacks were fair play.
The Cawdor unleashed the rat and Dwice, the Van Saar and the mutie scattered - no way they wanted to be caught out by the mobile explosive. Seeing that the Golem was clearly on his last legs, Dwice made straight for him, raising his autopistol. But then the young Jacker caught a glimpse of Nubis Machina colours and a flash at the far right of his vision. A lasbolt spanged off his shoulderplate and into his arm.
Dwice dropped, writhing in agony as all hell broke loose around him. He just about made out the Brooder and Golem being taken down, and a blazing bottle came flying out of somewhere, shattering on the pit floor and dousing 'The Emperor' in flames.
Dwice hauled himself to his knees and stumbled back to the slight protection of the rockcrete block. Seems like the remaining fighters - from Nubis Machina, The Wasted and the Skymother's Chosen - were closing in. Whichever way he moved, he'd find a foe.
Opting for left, he ducked around the block and found himself facing another xenos hybrid at ten paces. One of the Skymother's Chosen, raising his autogun. Dwice did likewise with his autopistol, wincing through his flesh wounds, but his shots all went awry. The Chosen had better luck, sending a bullet or two right into Dwice.
His stab at glory was done - slumping to the cold floor and sliding into unconsciouness, his last view was of 'The Emperor', wreathed in flames and screaming, running madly across the fighting pit.
+++++++++
Of course, as part of the Ba'King's munificence, full medicae care was provided for all fighters. As his wounds were stitched up, Dwice learned that the ultimate victor had been the guy from The Wasted. Having taken out both Van Saar fighters, he'd run full tilt at the Chosen, guns blazing, and shot the mutie's eye out. Not a bad day for House Orlock.
And not a bad day for the Hi-Viz Jackers, establishing the Sector H8 rep they'd so far failed to gain by claiming territory.
Well, it would be as long as Vints Courraine's fight against rival gang heavy hitters went well....
Dwice lowered his gaze and peered across the fight zone. There was a large central square, off which ran a series of twisting corridors. What the crowd couldn't see from above, hovering pict-capper drones would scan - Dwice's heart leapt as a pict capper buzzed nearby and relayed his image to one of the massive screens way above the crowd. His name and affiliations were being announced over loud voxhailers, and the crowd roared again, as it had done as each of the competitors in the pit had been introduced.
Some of the most notorious names in the Hacked Knee turf war were represented: as well as Dwice for the Jackers, there was fellow Orlocks the Wasted; the Escher Savage Kittens; The Goliath Reprobates; the Cawdor Slimehouse Golems; the Van Saar Orb Weavers and Nubis Machina; and those shifty muties the Skymother's Chosen and the Good News Brood with their extra arms and needle teeth.
Each gang had a fighter in the pit - according to the rules, a juve or low-ranking ganger, though in truth the Jackers would have had a tough time dissuading ambitious Dwice from putting himself forward. There was a lot of glory to be earned tonight, and blood debts to be settled too, with Nubis Machina and the two xenos gangs.
Way above, at the top of the stands, there was movement - this was the Ba'King, the guilder overlord whose influence hung heavy over Sector H8. It was by his invitation that these games had been convened, and in his fortified domain that they were being held.
The Ba'King, hardly bigger than half a cred from Dwice's point of view, made some ceremonial motion, and an earsplitting klaxon sounded though the arena. The fight had begun.
Dwice ducked out across the corner of the central square and pressed his back against a large rockcrete block. There were next to no rules in the pit, but the Ba'King had decreed that only close combat was permissable in the first few minutes of the fight. Dwice needed to watch himself - with his bad hand, he'd have a tough time unless he was shooting, so he figured he'd better keep his head down until the second siren signal.
There was a roar from the crowd, and Dwice glanced up at the screens. In a corridor out of his line of sight, a scrap had broken out between the Reprobate and Savage Kitten competitors - and mere metres away, the Slimehouse Golem had found a way round the no-guns rule, priming and releasing a chittering bomb rat. But the rodent scurried off to the side before it exploded, flooring the Golem. The crowd loved it.
'Hey, kid,' said a hoarse voice to Dwice's left, 'what say we stick together and take these scummers down?'
Dwice spun round to see an orange-clad figure also taking refuge behind the rockcrete. For a split second, he took it for a Jacker, but of course, the bald head and furrowed brow marked the newcomer out as one of the Good News Brood.
The loss of the mines at Buried Saints - not to mention the headache he'd got off of that hammer hit - were still fresh with Dwice. He whipped out his fighting knife and charged, screaming, 'Frag you, man!'
The Brooder looked surprised but took the young Orlock's charge well, turning aside the fighting knife and quickly landing blows which didn't penetrate Dwice's mesh jacket. But Dwice knew he'd made a mistake - the mutie was clearly a better fighter. There was only one way this could go.
'The Emperor protects!' The scream came from nearby, and suddenly another fighter piled in - a lanky Van Saar with a golden halo attacked to his headgear. Dwice had heard of this crazy guy - an Orb Weaver who'd snorted a sack of ghast for a handful of creds and sustained permanent noggin damage, genuinely believing he was the saviour of mankind.
'Fear not, young man - I, the lord of Terra, will protect you in your hour of need!' cried the Van Saar, swinging his shock baton.
Dwice wasn't too proud to turn down help. The two juves laid into the mutie, wounding him but not taking him out.
'The Emperor' suddenly lowered his weapon and took a step back, muttering 'By my Throne...'
Dwice and the hybrid followed his gaze. Staggering out from an alleyway on the edge of the battlezone was the Slimehouse Golem competitor. He was smouldering and grinning gap-toothed, having at last unleashed a bomb rat to take out the Reprobate and Kitten - and now he was looking to do the same to Dwice and his immediate opponents. A stitched-up rat with a long fuse instead of a tail squirmed in his grasp.
The second klaxon sounded. Ranged attacks were fair play.
The Cawdor unleashed the rat and Dwice, the Van Saar and the mutie scattered - no way they wanted to be caught out by the mobile explosive. Seeing that the Golem was clearly on his last legs, Dwice made straight for him, raising his autopistol. But then the young Jacker caught a glimpse of Nubis Machina colours and a flash at the far right of his vision. A lasbolt spanged off his shoulderplate and into his arm.
Dwice dropped, writhing in agony as all hell broke loose around him. He just about made out the Brooder and Golem being taken down, and a blazing bottle came flying out of somewhere, shattering on the pit floor and dousing 'The Emperor' in flames.
Dwice hauled himself to his knees and stumbled back to the slight protection of the rockcrete block. Seems like the remaining fighters - from Nubis Machina, The Wasted and the Skymother's Chosen - were closing in. Whichever way he moved, he'd find a foe.
Opting for left, he ducked around the block and found himself facing another xenos hybrid at ten paces. One of the Skymother's Chosen, raising his autogun. Dwice did likewise with his autopistol, wincing through his flesh wounds, but his shots all went awry. The Chosen had better luck, sending a bullet or two right into Dwice.
His stab at glory was done - slumping to the cold floor and sliding into unconsciouness, his last view was of 'The Emperor', wreathed in flames and screaming, running madly across the fighting pit.
+++++++++
Of course, as part of the Ba'King's munificence, full medicae care was provided for all fighters. As his wounds were stitched up, Dwice learned that the ultimate victor had been the guy from The Wasted. Having taken out both Van Saar fighters, he'd run full tilt at the Chosen, guns blazing, and shot the mutie's eye out. Not a bad day for House Orlock.
And not a bad day for the Hi-Viz Jackers, establishing the Sector H8 rep they'd so far failed to gain by claiming territory.
Well, it would be as long as Vints Courraine's fight against rival gang heavy hitters went well....