Chapter 1: The P.I.T. Maneuver

 “Your first day in the waste will probably be your last.”- Citadel Warning.

They were gaining on him, that delicious buzz of the wheels in the wasteland tearing through the orange sand and patchwork tarmac at breakneck speed was the music of the hunt. Cook’s men had been hunting for couriers all day and after blasting an entire day’s worth of ammo at a Class A vehicle they started to ram it.

The driver of the vehicle was a freelance cargo transporter, stubborn as hell despite the fact it was his first day running a delivery. After repeatedly wiping sweat and dirt from his driving goggles he tore them away from his eyes so they snapped uncomfortably on his slightly bushy hairline. Bleeding from the lower half and without any guns of his own, all he could do was grip desperately to his consciousness anytime the cheap metal of the pursuers’ off road mini-beast would slam into his car door. The Big Waste smelled blood.

 I refuse to fucking die today. 

 Not, with a full tank of gas. These pieces of shit can’t drive like I can. I have to survive this, then I’m leaving the waste for good.  I never should have came out here.

The driver who called himself Iggy liked to talk to himself in times of desperation.  It made him feel less lonely when he needed friends around him the most. And now in the middle of nowhere being chased down by two of Cook’s bandits in a Scar-Buggy with a nasty, bleeding gash in his thigh, he needed friends more than ever.

 Eyes open! You can still drive... 

 The gurgle and scream of the dueling engines were loud enough to wake sandworms from hibernation.  They were in chorus with the howling jeers of the powder addled bandits desperate smash Iggy’s beloved Blockgain Chaser strip it for parts after selling the goods he was set to deliver.  The buggy they were in had been modded to hell and back, with enough power under the hood to keep up with a  high end Chaser. If Iggy wasn’t on the brink of death at a ridiculous speed, he might have been impressed.

 “Yous ain’t shit without that ammo! Last chance to run back the outpost, gang rats!”

Iggy wanted to be intimidating, but he was used to Demolition Derby rivals in controlled citadel tournaments. Not murderous bandits so high on powder they couldn’t even respond coherently. His threat only seemed to excite them even more as they pulled a hard left side shunt into the Chaser for  the 4th time.

This shunt was so hard the impact nearly caused Iggy to spinout, but it was enough to splash the pulping blood from his bullet wounded leg all over his dashboard and hands. The metallic stench of his quickly drying sticky blood was so putrid it was keeping him conscious like some sort of crude smelling salt. His blurring vision made out that the area around him was an endless looking sea of  flat wasteland. No roads, or shortcuts, no alleyways or mountains just a wide open space for him to die in.

I…need something to ram them into, like a rock or a steel post.  Hell even a guard rail to grind them against would do it…..why is the waste so damn big and empty!

Iggy clenched his teeth and started to grunt weakly as the pain began to overwhelm him, and the shallow pool of blood in his lap made him feel like he pissed himself. The forceful air inside the speeding car now felt like an icy blizzard as his life energy was literally draining out of him. The Scar-Buggy was rearing up for another side swipe, and it’s likely this one would knock him out. And Iggy knew as well as they did, it would be a sleep he would never wake up from.

 Keep it together! Stay fucking alert!

 Feeling the blisters split and pop on his palms as he squeezed his steering wheel with a desperate surge of survival strength, he pulled his Chaser into a slight turn right. Just enough to lose a little speed and make the bandit’s have to re-set their line up for their final attack. The Scar buggy’s over modded engine made ugly sounds as it tried to slow down so it was parallel with Iggy’s Chaser. But with all the upgrades in the world, it was still just a poorly made bandit vehicle, it couldn’t re-adjust like a derby vehicle. And that split second in the screaming inertia was all Iggy needed.

 "Hello Pit Maneuver! I’ve missed you!"

 With his car just a little bit further back to the buggy on his flank, Iggy used the extra room he created with his little turn to swing his vehicle into a hard left while diverting his fuel tank to his custom petrol boost, which was a standard function all derby machines. The front end of the Blockgain Chaser plowed into the side of the Scar Buggy’s back wheel with the impact of a scrap cannon. 

The Blockgain’s ramming power turned the bandits into protein spread. The meeting of flesh and bone against the metal of their own vehicle cut their whooping screams of blood-lust viciously short by the much louder splat and crunch of them being churned into their own mangled vehicle as it nearly split in two. 

Iggy’s car spun out like a tornado after the crash, and the dizzying effect along with the impact robbed him of his last bit of consciousness as his car skidded to a halt. The last thing he saw before passing out was the pale severed hand of one of the bandits landing on the roof of his car before sliding off with a trail of gore on his window.