Zipping up his all black racers jacket. Batch Hatch Hardo puts on his leather racing gloves, pulling each one as tight as possible before fastening the wrist straps. Wrapping extra tape around the open wrist to protect the skin and joint in case of a crash. Batch gives each wrist a firm slap. Sliding his wool sock covered feet into thick black boots he gives them a zip and pulls each buckle strap firm and tight. An extra layer of tape around the knee joints and elbows before the pads come on and he's ready for his helmet.
The sleek all black design of his outfit was crafted to appease his fans. People love the Hornet, people love Batch Hatch Hardo. Helmet tucked under his left arm. He stands at the edge of the doorway and listens. The muffled crowd chants in the background. Harmonizing as they call for Batch the Hornet. With a grin. Batch taps the mechanism to his right and the door slides open, separating from the middle. Simultaneously a metallic black ramp lowers slowly down to the ground below. People can't get enough of his entrance. Something he's spent years perfecting.
Taking a step out onto the ramp Batch grabs his helmet by the visor and raises his arms to the sky. Striding down the ramp with the ego of a male peacock. Batch spins around on his toes then strikes a herculean pose. The crowd screams for more. He's got them right where he likes them. All eyes on him.
Bobbing his head. Rocking his arms around, and giving a little dance. Fireworks explode out behind him as a funky song plays over the sound system of the arena. Tapping his toes against his heel and kicking his other foot out. Batch does a standing back flip then spins over to his hover bike. Posing a little more, he really hams it up before sliding his helmet on.
Swinging one leg over his hover bike. Batch hops up and grabs at the controls. Flipping a few switches and turning the ignition over. The fusion reactor kicks up. Each racer gets to customize their bike with whatever tech they can get their hands on. Nothing was illegal here. Racers can even use weapons if they desire. That's why Batch loves it. You can't get this good in the core worlds. All of their rules and regulations kept Batch from reaching a real level of skill and using an extremely illegal, highly dangerous and experimental engine. – But really, it was always about the skill thing. He swears.
Connecting his helmet to the official race communication channel. Batch's internal visor lights up with a variety of messages from the other racers. Always hate mail, Batch sighs saying. “Turn off internal messages...Activate course guidance system.”
The on screen display brings up a small command window for a beat. Closing the command prompt and internal messaging the system brings up a small map displaying the full course.
“Run diagnostic check. All weapon systems. Run diagnostic check. All defensive systems.”
Minimizing the map for a beat. The command prompt re-opens. Sifting through a series of folders and checking the viability of each system takes a few beats before the command prompt reads all systems clear. Closing the command prompt on it's own, the map re-opens with new display lining the edges of the visors screen. Displaying two different ammunition types, the effective energy usage of his shields and it's frequency, and a small bar labeled burst.
Pleased with the systems check. Batch the hornet flashes a thumbs up to the announcers booth. Not even a second later a thick hearty set of voices echo over the sound system as our two headed announcer says. “Ladies, gentlemen, my Quiznaks, Splorks, Gluebers, and those who dare not be named in good company. We're all here today for the season final. We've got the best racers from each systems circuit here today. Each with their own honed skills and custom bikes.
We couldn't be happier to bring you the brand new Rashnik course. As you know Rashnik is a planet so deadly, most couldn't fathom building a colony here. Let alone host a intergalactic race for the all time. Hover bike champion! Our current champion of six cycles is none other then the infamous, the deadly, the handsome, the lady killer. It's Batch the black hornet Hatch Hardo.
Oh but folk's you better watch out. We've got a hot new racer on the circuit here with us today too. Craig T. Jones the Mighty Craig has come fresh off the Graz'noks tour with zero losses. Who will win? Who will loose? Will hearts break? They might get shot. Let's find out today here at planet Rashnik. Coming to you live after this brief commercial break.”
Waves crash on a foreign shore as the orange sun rises you think. This could be your vacation. Seek your next adventure here with us. The core travel agency. Let us, make your dreams come true.
Staring down the handles of his bike. Batch never breaks his sight from the thick jungle surrounding the course. His vision narrows as the red lights shift yellow. A gorgeous Halaxion rolls out in a flowing purple gown. She stops in the middle of the course with a ten checkered flags, one for each racer and tentacle. The whistle blows as the light turns green and the ball of tentacles known as a Halaxion waves every flag at once.
Batch hits the break and waits as the other racers pass him. Laughing devilishly Batch the black Hornet Hatch Hardo pulls the trigger halfway in on his primary weapon system. Throttling forward to keep pace. A panel of micro rockets release from underneath the light of his hover bike. Tapping the side of his helmet changes his visual display. Showing three targets within potential distance. Batch taps the side of his helmet a second time. A small camera built into the forehead pops out extending forward roughly an inch as his visor goes completely black.
Zooming in to a maximum of five times normal. Batch pulls the triggers right as the three targets are locked in position. Six micro rockets out of twelve fly through the air weaving through thick vines and trees. The first rocket hits poor spiky headed Dolvarian Vito right on the reactor panel causing a chain reaction. Within a second Vito is engulfed in fire spewing from his side exhaust ports. Burning up he slams into a rock on the side of the road.
The announcers scream over the speakers. “Ooh. Deep fried. Looks like Vito still hasn't learned folks. Energy shields will never do the job against the Hornet.”
The second rocket strikes true. Lodging itself in the flamethrower we all know Gor'greg the Quiznak has. Lucky for him the rocket failed to explode on impact. His people come from an ever smoldering rock of a moon called Quiznakia. So when the gas leak becomes a full raging fire like it was for Vito. It's no wonder he doesn't even slow down as he hits the first corner.
The practiced Craig evades the last rocket while whipping around the corner at massive speeds. He's out to win and everyone can see it. He drops a little present for Gor'greg in the shape of the bomb at the end of the turn. Driving right into it. Even living rock can't survive an explosion that big. All the fuel, the micro rocket, and Craig's bomb combined into lethal force. The shockwave almost knocks Batch from his bike, pushing him close to the vine covered walls edging the track.
The announcers laugh mocking the Quiznak's demise. “Almost. Two for one. That's an explosion. I don't want any part of. I can second that. Volcanic retribution. Right from the devils hand. Craig might give the champ a run for his Quintars.”
Shifting the throttle a few times. Batch hits the blue button placed in the center of his bikes console. Kicking it into high gear. Batch reduces the zoom on his visor back to normal. Speeding through the trees, Batch weaves in and out of the rocks and different obstacles placed in their way. Catching up to the Conid the mushroom man named Conik in 7th place. Batch fires his secondary weapon, a simple machine gun. Conik zips back and forth in attempts to dodge only to plant himself right into the wall. Skidding a few times, Conik's arm rips off with a cloud of spores. Forcing him to come to a stop mid course.
Sipping loudly on a soda. The announcers takes a refreshing breath saying. “Ah. Nothing like a Tart spore spirtzer. I couldn't agree more. Spores fresh from the Conid colonies. Or in Batch's case. Fresh from the Conik. Who's next? We won't stop. That's right. Right here. At Rashnik raceway.
Never slowing, Batch zips past Kaltron a...a well, someone who should not be named in good company. (Their name is a terrible insult in most languages. The planet's name is worse.) Moving into 5th place, Batch tosses a flash grenade backwards. Hitting Kaltron in the face, she swerves crashing into a tree. Almost to the home stretch. Batch wastes little time speeding past Desh'na the Glueber.
“The Hornet strikes again. As fast as a flash. Of light. Oh. Ha. Looks like we're down to four. He wastes little time. He's always after first. He. Is. The hornet.” Laughing together, the announcers continue. “Looks like it's the final turn. The end is neigh. Who will win? If any? Because that has happened before. Oh. Speak the truth.”
Solidifying his place in the top three. Batch uses his micro rockets a second time. Waiting for the moment right after the final turn he locks on to two more racers. The current third place racer another human like Batch, a woman named Celia and a blue skinned babe of a Splork named Geneith in second. Pulling the trigger. Batch watches the rockets impact. Blowing both to pieces.
In poor taste and fashion the announcers speak over the action. “Oh. Ho. Batch just sent them both to the great beyond. Where ever that might be. Space...Maybe? Whatever. With three racers left. They're dropping like flies. Every year.”
Hitting the turbo a second time. Batch can feel the speed pulling on his body, trying to rip him free of his bike. Leaning down into the handle bars. Batch toggles a small switch near his throttle. A thick protective glass shield raises up from behind the bars and connects itself properly to the front of the bike. Metal shields pop out encasing his legs and hands. Hitting maximum speed on the final straight. Craig comes into sight.
The announcer breaks the looming silence. “Looks like the Hornet has caught up to his prey folks.
Neck and neck the two men race side by side. Never wavering neither man gives an inch. Staring forward down the course the weave through the rocks, under the fallen trees, across the open rivers and through the carved out tree tunnels. Batch breaks his focus for all of a second to stare down Craig. Who is this man to come and challenge his title? Who the hell is Craig T. Jones when compared to Batch the black hornet Hatch Hardo?
He was nothing. They both were. As Craig breaks his focus to stare at Batch. The two men drift. Paying little attention to the track laid before them they locked eyes. Anger brewed between them reaching a boiling point the galaxy may never understand. Batch hits his arsenal and very illegal, extremely dangerous and highly experimental engine against a rock in the middle of the road. Causing an explosion larger then any seen before in all of the years of illegal hover bike racing. Not large enough to stop our little furry Glueber Desh'na from winning the race.
The announcers laugh saying. “Well. That was upsetting. You can that again. Still. What an amazing race.”