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Chapter 1: Excuses, Excuses

"They aren't coming, are they, Bullbreath?" Brisket, the Roast Beefs' mechanic, asked from his lookout position up in the bluffs of Klickelan Island's wasteland as he wiped the dust off of his construction helmet. If it weren't for the two massive towers in the middle of the island basking the gang in a considerable wedge of shade, he'd have been completely sunburned already.

"Give ‘em another thirty minutes," A tall, thin man who called himself Ossobuco and arrived dressed to the nines with a massive blond Mohawk that looked ridiculously out of place, declared from atop a snazzy blue motorhorse. "They probably got lost or something."

Brisket scowled. "I wasn't askin' you..."

"It's the Bright Bats," Ossobuco retorted. "Those losers couldn't find their own way out of the entire Ambagry Archipelago even if all four of 'em came out into the bay to race us all at the same time. It's a wonder they're still Rebel Riders after ten years of pullin' this kind of crap." He sighed and turned to the massive black man sitting on the motorhorse next to him. "Why do we bother racing those guys, Bullbreath?"

Bullbreath shrugged. "We're not exactly top of the heap ourselves nowadays," he pointed out. "They may not be a bunch of whiny kids anymore, but they're still easy targets, and I could really use a new TV right now."

"Well if they never show up, we'll have wasted three hours of our time that we will never be able to get back." Ossobuco flatly stated as he stared back up at the towers looming over them. Pipes of various shapes and sizes snaked their way in and out of the apertures that dotted the dark, ominous structures. The landmark gave Klickelan and the rest of the Ambagry Arhicpelago an air of mystery. Ghiotte Summit, the residents of Teomo City called it...not that the three members of the Roast Beefs spent very much time in the city. For one thing, there were too many diggers running around looking for some kind of buried treasure, and for another, the government was not fond of the island's resident motorhorse gangs.

In fact, over the years Teomo City's popularity with the digging community turned the entire Ambagry Archipelago into one of the world's most significant Guild-sanctioned digging hubs, and when a small group of diggers started some experiments with rockets about twelve years earlier, the population exploded as people flocked to watch history in the making. Then, a few years later, after the project ground to a halt, the city officials first noticed small groups of low-grade Reaverbots starting to poke their way out into the wasteland surrounding the city. In retaliation, they reinforced the walls separating Teomo City from the wasteland. The Rebel Rider collective took it as a blessing in disguise. The Reaverbot infestation meant that the outlaws were free to drive as fast and as recklessly as they pleased through the wasteland, since the police certainly weren't about to patrol an area where they might have to deal with crashing into a Horokko.

Bullbreath sneered at one of the awkward little Reaverbots as it ambled across the grassy field down by the ocean. The Horokko was the only thing he could see that moved at all. "Where are those losers?" He wondered out loud. The way things had been going that day, it'd be just his luck to challenge them while they were dirt broke.

Two of the losers in question had crammed themselves onto a single motorhorse, slowly chugging their way along the winding path into the bluffs where Bullbreath and his goons had been waiting. Both of them appeared to be in their mid twenties, and the hefty driver alone put them well over the manufacturer's suggested weight limit. "Come on, Grill, can't you go any faster?" The wiry fellow in the back demanded as he ran his fingers through his impeccably gelled quiff in exasperation.

The chunky blond guy at the helm was completely unfazed. "Max, you know double-riding takes a toll on this thing! We need to take it slow or the engine'll overheat, and we promised Bullbreath we'd race the Roast Beefs in the gorge at ten. We're already behind schedule, and the last thing we need is for this old bike to break down in the middle of..."

The driver trailed off and slowed to a stop. "Grill, what're you doing?!" Max yelled. "For what it's worth, this had better be engine failure! At this rate he's going to think we've stood him up! You know how Bullbreath gets when he gets stood up!"

Grill pointed to what looked like a rusty green lump behind a cluster of rocks. "I think there's a guy back there!" He exclaimed.

"What, you mean that pile of scrap metal?"

Grill dismounted the motorhorse and wandered over to where an unsettlingly thin middle-aged man in a suit of armor a few sizes too big for him had passed out. Grill guessed that at one point the armor had actually been green and he wasn't just looking at grass stains, but even in broad daylight, it was a tough call. The old guy had a tangled mess of gray hair and was clutching a large hardcover book like a vise even unconscious as he was. "Woah, he doesn't look so good," He assessed. "We've gotta get this guy some help, fast!"

"We don't have to do anything," Max groaned. "We've got an important race to win. Who's the leader here, anyway?"

"Max, you say that like we actually have a chance at beating them," Grill groaned. "We haven't beaten anybody once in who knows how long? The only times we ever did win were back when we had Barrett with us. That guy was a real whiz on a motorhorse. You and I both know that if we actually go and race the Roast Beefs, we'll just lose whatever we throw into the betting pool. If we don't help him out, he's just going to die up here!" He turned toward the strange man and gently shook his shoulder. "Come on, wake up," he coaxed. "You okay, buddy?"

Max sighed and plodded over to his partner. "Grill, sometimes I really wonder about you," he sighed as he rolled his eyes.

"He's still breathing," Grill stated. "We should take him back to base. If the cops find him wandering around out here they'll probably lock him up! You know how they get!"

"Base? Don't you mean the hospital?" Max pointedly questioned.

"Please, Max." Grill groaned. "You know the police aren't exactly on our side and Chief Goodwin's definitely got some major influence at the hospital. We can handle, uh...whoever this guy is..." He trailed off. Dealing with a complete stranger definitely sounded better than dealing with either of the Goodwins. "Besides, who knows? Maybe he'd even be willing to help us out. He might have some useful skills, and if worse comes to worse and he turns out to be some kind of crackpot, he'd still owe us a solid."

Max pondered that sentiment for a while. Grill had a point. And hey, if they were still letting that Pic kid hang around, then there was no reason not to take this guy in for the time being. He looked a little wild, but they were Rebel Riders. What did they have to lose?

The more Max thought about it, the better the idea sounded. It had been a while since they'd initiated a new member into the Bright Bats. Their reputation in the Rider circuit was so pathetic that he realized they'd have to do

something drastic or risk losing whatever status they had left as a gang in the first place.

"Alright, you got me, but only because I'm a real swell guy like that." He sighed. "Bullbreath can go jump off a cliff. Let's load this guy up and head back to town."