Vintsen Courraine was leading a gang with no rep and no turf in one of the most hard-fought sectors this side of the heat sinks. He was a proud man with nothing to lose and everything to gain, which was why he'd pitched to fight in this champion bout in the Ba'King's arena.
With a great grinding of ancient gears, the fighting pit had been rearranged into a smaller configuration - a maze of corridors with an L-shaped central chamber. As before, the crowd above the cage-mesh, geezed on wildsnake and stimms, howled and chanted as the combatants were announced.
Fellow Orlock Soho Jones of the Wasted got a riotous response as he entered the pit, hefting his grenade launcher. Vints strutted in next, pumping his arms to hype the spectators as his image was fed to the massive screens overhead. Not so Dunkel of the Skymother's Chosen - the three-armed mutie shunned the buzzing capper-drones as he entered, here for the killand creds rather than the glory. Finally, with a clank and buzz of well-honed tech, Servo-Heeled Jallk of the Dust Gate Orb Weavers stalked into the arena. The arachnirig's las carbines and plasma gun tracked in all directions as they ran targeting routines with lethal intent.
At the Ba'King's command, the first klaxon sounded. The fight had begun.
Vints ducked off down a side alley, staying out of sight of Soho and the arachnirig - it wouldn't hurt to have these two soften each other up before bringing some Jacker violence. Against the rumble of the crowd, he could hear his own breath - and another breath, nearby but out of sight. It was heavy and viscous - Vints pictured a snaking tongue drooling between needle teeth. Dunkel, the three-armed freak from the Skymother's Chosen, just round this here corner.
So much for letting his foes soften each other up. Do or die, figured the Orlock boss, revving up his chainsword and readying his bolt pistol - point blank shots were permitted before the second siren. Better to get the drop on the mutie than get dropped on. With an aggessive roar, Vints tore around the corner.
The aberrant reared back and raised its hammer as Vints appeared less than a metre away. But the Orlock had the drop - before the xenos hybrid could bring its weapon down, Vints had clipped it with a bolt shell and torn chunks out of its chitinous outer skin with the chainsword.
Dunkel went down and stayed down. The crowd went wild. Vints spied a nearby capper drone and flashed a sump-eating grin that was relayed to the arena screens. The crowd went wilder.
While this was happening, the second klaxon must have sounded. As he turned away from Dunkel's slumped form, he heard the hiss and crack of lasbolts and grenades being exchanged across the centre of the pit.
Seeking a better view to size up the situation, Vints ran to the scanty cover of a rockrete wall in the middle of the battlezone. He couldn't make out either of his remaining foes directly so he glanced at the pict screens overhead - it looked like both of them had taken a hit or two, but damage was hard to ascertain.
Glancing back down, he saw Soho edging forwards along a wall across the way. The Wasted fighter was intent on Jallk, and Vints realised he had a hell of a chance to take his fellow Orlock out. Gang before House and the rest - it was the Hi-Viz Jacker way.
Vints raised his bolt pistol and squeezed the trigger. Nothing - he was out of ammo. Across the central chamber, Soho had clocked this betrayal. The two Orlocks met each other's unforgiving stare for a second, and then Vints clocked that Soho was looking up and past him, over his shoulder.
It was Servo-Heeled Jallk, looming around the corner behind Vints.
Do or die again - why not? It had worked against Dunkel.
Vints whirled around, bringing his chainsword to bear on the outer plating of the servo-rig and aiming for any exposed wiring or braces. He landed a couple of tearing blows that brought forth showers of sparks, but was hit badly in return, Jallk's servo-claw lancing forward to slash through Vints's mesh armour.
If he was going to make it against this armed and armoured brute, Vints had to make the next few strikes count. He lashed out again, chainsword teeth screaming as they bit into the rig. Damage was done, but not enough - Jallk's servo claw lashed forward again and bit deep into Vints's abdomen.
Blood poured from Vints Courraine's mouth as he slumped foward, his bid for victory at an end.
+++++++++++
The Ba'King didn't stint on docs for those brave enough to fight, and the medicae attention Vints received was exemplary. His torn flesh and guts had been knitted back together, though he'd be in recovery a while yet.
They told Vints that, after he'd been taken out of action, the pit fight had ended pretty much as you'd have called it at the start - Servo-Heeled Jallk had won, though not as easily as you'd expect. The bout had ended with a bloodied Soho in desperate close combat with the critically-damaged rig. Had a single blow gone differently, it might have been a second win for the Wasted that night.
Considering the damage dealt during his own face-to-face confrontation with Jallk, Vints liked to think he'd helped to narrow the margin of victory. Either way, this trip to the Ba'King's battle-court a win in its own right. Since Vints and Dwice had thrown down in the pit, the Hi-Viz Jackers were enjoying newfound recognition in the Hacked Knee. And as any downhive ganger will attest, sometimes rep is as valuable an asset as creds.
With a great grinding of ancient gears, the fighting pit had been rearranged into a smaller configuration - a maze of corridors with an L-shaped central chamber. As before, the crowd above the cage-mesh, geezed on wildsnake and stimms, howled and chanted as the combatants were announced.
Fellow Orlock Soho Jones of the Wasted got a riotous response as he entered the pit, hefting his grenade launcher. Vints strutted in next, pumping his arms to hype the spectators as his image was fed to the massive screens overhead. Not so Dunkel of the Skymother's Chosen - the three-armed mutie shunned the buzzing capper-drones as he entered, here for the killand creds rather than the glory. Finally, with a clank and buzz of well-honed tech, Servo-Heeled Jallk of the Dust Gate Orb Weavers stalked into the arena. The arachnirig's las carbines and plasma gun tracked in all directions as they ran targeting routines with lethal intent.
At the Ba'King's command, the first klaxon sounded. The fight had begun.
Vints ducked off down a side alley, staying out of sight of Soho and the arachnirig - it wouldn't hurt to have these two soften each other up before bringing some Jacker violence. Against the rumble of the crowd, he could hear his own breath - and another breath, nearby but out of sight. It was heavy and viscous - Vints pictured a snaking tongue drooling between needle teeth. Dunkel, the three-armed freak from the Skymother's Chosen, just round this here corner.
So much for letting his foes soften each other up. Do or die, figured the Orlock boss, revving up his chainsword and readying his bolt pistol - point blank shots were permitted before the second siren. Better to get the drop on the mutie than get dropped on. With an aggessive roar, Vints tore around the corner.
The aberrant reared back and raised its hammer as Vints appeared less than a metre away. But the Orlock had the drop - before the xenos hybrid could bring its weapon down, Vints had clipped it with a bolt shell and torn chunks out of its chitinous outer skin with the chainsword.
Dunkel went down and stayed down. The crowd went wild. Vints spied a nearby capper drone and flashed a sump-eating grin that was relayed to the arena screens. The crowd went wilder.
While this was happening, the second klaxon must have sounded. As he turned away from Dunkel's slumped form, he heard the hiss and crack of lasbolts and grenades being exchanged across the centre of the pit.
Seeking a better view to size up the situation, Vints ran to the scanty cover of a rockrete wall in the middle of the battlezone. He couldn't make out either of his remaining foes directly so he glanced at the pict screens overhead - it looked like both of them had taken a hit or two, but damage was hard to ascertain.
Glancing back down, he saw Soho edging forwards along a wall across the way. The Wasted fighter was intent on Jallk, and Vints realised he had a hell of a chance to take his fellow Orlock out. Gang before House and the rest - it was the Hi-Viz Jacker way.
Vints raised his bolt pistol and squeezed the trigger. Nothing - he was out of ammo. Across the central chamber, Soho had clocked this betrayal. The two Orlocks met each other's unforgiving stare for a second, and then Vints clocked that Soho was looking up and past him, over his shoulder.
It was Servo-Heeled Jallk, looming around the corner behind Vints.
Do or die again - why not? It had worked against Dunkel.
Vints whirled around, bringing his chainsword to bear on the outer plating of the servo-rig and aiming for any exposed wiring or braces. He landed a couple of tearing blows that brought forth showers of sparks, but was hit badly in return, Jallk's servo-claw lancing forward to slash through Vints's mesh armour.
If he was going to make it against this armed and armoured brute, Vints had to make the next few strikes count. He lashed out again, chainsword teeth screaming as they bit into the rig. Damage was done, but not enough - Jallk's servo claw lashed forward again and bit deep into Vints's abdomen.
Blood poured from Vints Courraine's mouth as he slumped foward, his bid for victory at an end.
+++++++++++
The Ba'King didn't stint on docs for those brave enough to fight, and the medicae attention Vints received was exemplary. His torn flesh and guts had been knitted back together, though he'd be in recovery a while yet.
They told Vints that, after he'd been taken out of action, the pit fight had ended pretty much as you'd have called it at the start - Servo-Heeled Jallk had won, though not as easily as you'd expect. The bout had ended with a bloodied Soho in desperate close combat with the critically-damaged rig. Had a single blow gone differently, it might have been a second win for the Wasted that night.
Considering the damage dealt during his own face-to-face confrontation with Jallk, Vints liked to think he'd helped to narrow the margin of victory. Either way, this trip to the Ba'King's battle-court a win in its own right. Since Vints and Dwice had thrown down in the pit, the Hi-Viz Jackers were enjoying newfound recognition in the Hacked Knee. And as any downhive ganger will attest, sometimes rep is as valuable an asset as creds.