Greetings. Again.
Tonight I will tell of Aerk The Red, and his killer bike.
His tale starts with an invasion. The Orks raided the mining colony on Parses V. Both of Aerk's parents were killed before the lads eyes. Young Aerk was taken as a slave.
An ork Mekanik recognised the Young squat's natural mechanical abilities and bought him to work in his "shop".
Aerk spent many years being abused and misused in that awful, horrid place. He was made to fix the ork weapons and vehicles. Equipment he knew was being used to kill his fellow squats.
This angered him to no end. But he could do little about it. He was caged and chained by night, chained and watched by day. He grew bitter over the years.
Nearly twenty years had passed before Aerk saw another like himself.
The Homeworlds had raided the planet, seeking to capture the mekanik and destroy the workshop. They were shocked to find one of their own, shackled to the work table. Seeing the squat warriors, Aerk let out a cry that froze the blood of those that heard it. He hefted the weapon he was repairing, turned it towards his ork guards, and did not stop firing until the power ran out.
After his liberation, Aerk was re-introduced to squat society. His ordeal was recorded in his family records. He was enlisted into the Transport Guild and the Polecats.
Because of his years in the servitude to the orks, Aerk hated them with what bordered on obsession. In battle he always raced his bright red bike toward those he thought were the biggest threat.
This habit led to his most unbelievable "kill".
Wrathe's Avengers were dispatched to defend a small trading post. The orks had been sighted in the area and the Silver League decided to protect their interests.
The two armies clashed. Aerk raced toward the ork battle line. He aimed his bike straight for the ork commander, and gunned the engine.
As Aerk drew nearer, the ork commander raised his custom blaster and fired. The shell hit Aerk square in the chest. He was thrown from his bike, Hitting the ground hard. The ork grunted out a coarse laugh.
It stopped when the Ork noticed the bright red squat bike headed right at him.
Aerks bike slammed into the ork commander. And came out the other side. The ork lay flat on its back, arms thrown wide, weapons uselessly out of reach.
Not that it mattered.
The ork was killed by the force of the impact.
Aerk got up, dusted himself off, and went to check on his bike. Finding it relativly un damaged, he righted it and restarted the engine.
He rode his bright red killer machine back to the squat base camp.