21st Century Orc

by Gregory Loui

  Two roads. Each equally tempting. Each fraught with perils.

  Gore couldn’t take both roads at the same time. She knew herself. She knew she needed to devote all her attention to one project or else she would not succeed at either. She couldn’t change the world to suit her needs. Gore needed to adapt.

  She knew she had to choose.

  Two roads.

  She didn’t know which one to take.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Tension

  “I’ll give you the parts for a thousand dolla leafs,” growled the dwarf, tossing a broken suspension coil onto the gravel as Gore and Bones paced around a cavern-like warehouse. A demon rail rumbled overhead. “And not a cent less.”

  Her hands twitching, Gore sniffed, “For these pieces of crap, Fung? Blight no! I wouldn’t give you a hundred dollar leafs.”

  “I’m not gonna budge, Greenskin,” chortled Fung. The dwarf settled behind the counter and pulled out a glint-powered tablet. He began tapping away. “Business’s been bad lately. All the gangs are in turmoil with the latest police raids and the talk of more walls in the Blight. And, worst of all, the Warboyz are gearing up for the Grand Prix, stealing all the good cock-sucking parts. Tell me, what am I to do, huh? Give away my best parts for free? Jagd off!”

  “How about a hundred dollars down payment? I can get you the money after the Toretto Trials,” said Gore, rubbing her hands. She didn’t even have a dollar leaf on her, much less a hundred…

  “How about you give me a golden dragon egg?” scoffed Fung, shaking his head. He took a long glance at Gore and said, “Look… I want to see a thousand dolla leafs on my desk right now or I’m gonna call the Fuzz!”

  “Momma G’s not gonna be happy with that. And you don’t want to be on the same planet when she’s angry,” chuckled Bones as he blew out a cloud of Blight bug into Fung’s face. Then Bones leaned in and pulled back his sleeves, revealing long brands burned into his forearms, the brands formed petals fluttering in flickering flames.

  Fun just raised an eyebrow and demanded, “Who the jagd is Momma G?” Then he blinked. “Wait… are you talking about the one in the Narrows? Shit… I’ve heard she’s been hunting down Warboyz… She also the one who killed over a dozen cops at Roomenya?”

  “Wh—” began Gore before Bones stomped on her foot. Suppressing a snarl, Gore wrapped her left hand around her right, physically restraining herself from ripping her brother’s face off.

  Bones better know what he was doing.

  Or else.

  Gore’s brother gave her the slightest of winks as he leaned in. Fung leaned in as well and listened Bones whisper, “Not just kill. I was there… I saw her rip a cop’s head clean off. When the cop was in full beast mode too…”

  “Blight…” All the color drained out of Fung’s face.

  Gore smiled and pounded her fist against her palm, punctuating Bones’s message.

  Smiling and caressing Fung’s face, Bones licked his lips and continued, “Check the nitro-vine, you’ll learn more ways to rip apart a person than cells in your body. So… I’m asking you right now, do you really want to piss that orc off?”

  Fung gulped, sweat pouring off his face.

  Then he nodded and muttered, “Fine… I’ll take the down payment…”

  “I’m glad we could come to an agreement,” chuckled Bones as he tossed a packet of cash onto Fung’s bald head, whistling and walking out of the warehouse. “I’ll tell Aunt Iron Tusk we can start loading.”

  As they piled the parts onto Aunt Iron Tusk’s truck, Gore frowned and growled, “Bones.”

  “Hm? Something tickling those brain membrane-fold-things, sis?” asked Bones, taking a break from loading the parts to inhale another puff of Blight bug.

  “About Momma G…”

  Bones raised an eyebrow and looked into the sky. “What about Momma G?”

  “Did she really burn those brands into you?” asked Gore, jaw clenching and unclenching. “Are they magical?”

  The brands flickered at her words, as if dragons writhed within Bones’s flesh. But Bones just scratched his neck and laughed, “They’re reminders of the debt I owe Momma G. And she will come to collect the debt. Soon. Very soon…”

  Gore shuddered and asked, “Can you stop her? I know that the Warboyz aren’t great but…”

  “No.” Bones smiled and looked Gore right in the eye. “Nothing will stop her.”

  “How much do you owe her?” asked Aunt Iron Tusk while she walked around the truck to make sure everything was tied down.

  “Everything.”

  Blood pounding against her skull, Gore gulped. Even though she told herself time and time again not to worry about her brother, that he’d gotten himself in this mess, Gore’s stomach still twisted at the image of Bones subjected to a gang leader’s whims. Bad enough to pay protection money but to become property? Gore shuddered.

  “All the more reason to win the Toretto Trials. Feels like everyone’s in debt nowadays. You just gotta find ways to cope. Or don’t play the game at all, which has its own problems,” muttered Aunt Iron Tusk, inspecting the truck. “Well, that’s everything. You guys stick on the back. Make sure nothing falls off.”

  “Yes, Ma’am!” barked both siblings as they hopped onto the back of the truck.

  And tried their damnedest not to fall off during the ride back to Gore’s apartment.

  “Wait… you smell that?” asked Gore, sniffing as she entered her apartment. “Blood…”

  Bones sniffed the air as well and drew his Dakka out from his coat, saying, “Yeah… lots of it. Wait, a moment, isn’t Debbie supposed to be waiting with her cousin’s parts here?”

  “Yeah…” growled Gore. She reached into one of her vases, past a bundle of wilted flowers, and grabbed a metal pipe. She breathed in deep, trying to stop her body from shivering, to control her rage.

  If any happened to Debbie…

  “Come on… follow me,” whispered Gore as she activated her scryer light and crept through the all-too-silent apartment. Shadows jumped out at her, long claws creeping across her face. She sniffed the air again, filling her lungs with blood. Not orc blood. Or dwarf. Or even elf…

  What could it be?

  Sweeping through each room, the siblings found nothing but silence and dust waiting for them. Until only her bedroom remained. Pausing in front of the door, Gore looked at her brother as they closed their eyes and listened. Muffled murmurs echoed from within. Bones raised an eyebrow but nodded. Unlocking the door and stepping into her bedroom, Gore snarled and narrowed her eyes as she raised her scryer’s light up.

  A dragon jumped out of the darkness at her, opening a cavern of long fangs.

  “Blight!” snarled Gore as she ducked low and unleashed a right hook.

  Knocking the dragon head off her bed and onto the floor.

  She blinked.

  “Oh shit…” Gore stumbled back.

  Then someone burst out of her closet.

  Bones raised his Dakka.

  “Wait! It’s Debbie!” cried Gore, slamming down the Dakka’s barrel. “It’s Debbie! Wait… Blight! It’s Debbie!”

  Her breath rushing out of her chest, Gore’s eyes opened wide as she crouched in front of her friend. Miles of rope wrapped around the dwarf. A dirty rag stuffed her mouth. Eyes wide, Debbie shook her head and attempted to scream around her gag.

  “Hold on,” murmured Gore, trying to open Debbie’s binds with trembling fingers. Blight… Tremors worse than an behemothquake ran through Gore’s fingers. Gore swallowed and took a deep breath as she grabbed the gag and ripped it out of Debbie’s mouth. “You’re all—”

  “Gore, behind you!” roared Debbie, lunging forward and slamming Gore into the ground.

  A machete whistled just an inch above Gore’s face as she fell. Time crystallized into eternity for the briefest of instances. Gore’s reflection stared at her for that single instant in the swirling steel, stained with blood. Then Gore smashed into the rotted floo
rboards.

  Blight.

  Bits of wood stabbed into Gore’s skull.

  “Jagd!” shouted Bones as he fired the Dakka. The whole room lit up. Though not just from gunfire.

  Embers fluttered through the air, cast off from cracked skin. Like the brands cutting across Bones’s flesh, but instead swords and spears and gears twisted together into tattooed bands, forming three skeletal orcs. All three lunged at Gore from the dark. She cursed. There was only one gang who bore such marks.

  The Warboyz.

  “Witness!” roared the one closest to Gore as he raised his machete again.

  Anyone else, would have pissed their pants in fright at the sight of three screaming, burning orcs. But Gore took one look at Debbie. And her blood ignited.

  “Shut up!” Gore roared back as she lunged forward and grabbed the hilt of the orc’s machete, twisting the blade to the side while she rammed her forehead into the Warboy’z nose.

  “Jagd!” the Warboy screamed, falling back, stumbling through the room then out the window.

  Gore didn’t have even a tenth of a second to relax, however. A Warboy stepped in from the right, whipping a ripperball bat around his shoulders at Gore’s head. Gore ducked, the baseball bat smashing into the wall behind her, and tackled the Warboy, throwing him into the other wall. The Warboy bounced away with a roar, scrambling to take Gore’s back.

  Bones snarled and fired the Dakka, hitting the Warboy in the shoulder with a trio of bullets.

  The Warboy spun, blood spurting out, across the floor right into Gore’s fist. Bone and cartilage crunched under her knuckles as Gore threw her entire body weight into the punch. The Warboy fell out through her other window.

  One last Warboy…

  Raising dual machetes, the massive orc paused a moment, wary after what happened to his brothers.

  Smiling and pounding her chest as she charged forward, Gore roared and stomped her boot into the floor. Ready to annihilate the poor bastard.

  Screaming like a little girl, the Warboy jumped out of the last window.

  “Yeah! You jagders! This is Momma G’s territory!” crowed Bones, hopping up and down while Gore shuddered and shook off her rage.

  Then Gore and Debbie looked at each other. After a moment, they laughed.

  “Forge Master… you saved me again,” muttered Debbie as she collapsed onto the floor.

  “And you saved me,” chuckled Gore, slumping down next to her.

  “And I saved everyone with my massive muscles,” laughed Bones. He shook his head. “Damn… Gore… you nearly took off that Warboy’z head off. Hehehehe… You can take the orc out of the fight but you can’t take the fight out of the orc. Good thing too…”

  Gore sighed and glanced down at her hands. Orc hands. The hands of a warrior, not a smith. But useful nonetheless…

  She shook her head and asked, “What were Warboyz doing here? I thought we had another week before the collectors came.”

  “Might have been trying to take us out of the race,” murmured Bones as he lit his pipe. He turned to Debbie and asked, “Did they say anything?”

  “Something like that. Maybe. Though I only caught a little. I don’t speak any Old orc,” muttered Debbie, looking away. Gore frowned. A shadow passed over Debbie’s face. Gore gulped, looking away, eyes draining of red. She’d never done well with emotions.

  “Oh good…” chuckled Bones, sucking in deep.

  Gore shook her head and growled, “We should…”

  What to do? If she raced, she would most likely die. If she didn’t get the money, the Warboyz would come back. And if she fought back…

  Damned if she did. Damned if she didn’t.

  Then Gore closed her eyes and gripped her fist tight. The fires flickered within her. She growled, “Yeah… that’s a good sign.”

  “Why?” asked Debbie, raising an eyebrow.

  Gore and Bones glanced at each other. They both grinned.

  “It means the Warboyz think we have a chance.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Interlude

  The Orc adjusted the hidden camera in his coat as he strode into the ancient temple buried underneath the Narrows. A temple once dedicated to the peace between all races, now completely forgotten, covered in the refuse of countless years. The main chamber consisted of a small circular chamber with statues depicting the five founding members of Old Tao Ein at the edge. Elf. Dwarf. Halfling. Dryad, the forgotten race. And, of course… Orc. The forbidden race. The Orc sniffed the air. Smelled like shit. Like the shit running through the veins of the city.

  His eyes turned towards the criminals surrounding the table at the center of the temple’s main chamber. Representatives from every gang in Tao Ein and beyond, ready to negotiate. The Squirrels. Iron Breakers. Even a shambling revenant from the Corpse Crawlers. And a few whose names escaped him at the moment.

  The Orc probably shouldn’t have downed a line of pixie dust before coming.

  No matter.

  Everyone of the criminals looked at him with a strange mix of contempt and fear. A familiar look. One every orc learned to endure from a young age, even from each other.

  “Good of you to join us. We were waiting,” growled the Warboy at the head of the table. He fiddled with a song-hammer, a tiny copy of the ancient relic the Warchief lugged around. “You’re the representative of Momma G, correct?”

  The Orc nodded as he pulled out a shard of melted iron from his coat. It was emblazoned with the symbol of Momma G’s family, the rose in a whirlwind of flames and chains. Rusted blood ran through the grooves in the shard. The Orc slammed the shard into the table, joining the other shards in front of the gang members.

  “Hmph…” The Warboy raised a eyebrow as he glanced at the shard. He sniffed. “Smells real enough. Dipped in the blood of all hundred gangs in Tao Ein as ordained by the Warchief… good. You may join the council.”

  “Momma G appreciates the recognition,” murmured the Orc as he bowed and clutched his stomach. Good to know his efforts were not in vain. The pieces were falling into place…

  “Where is this Momma G? Why didn’t she come instead? Some of us are starting to doubt whether she exists,” growled a Iron Breaker as she toyed with her glint-hatchet. Sparks flew off the blade. “Or is she just too cowardly to show her face around real warriors?”

  “Too busy killing your men,” quipped the Orc, picking his nose. “Pathetic really. I had more trouble with Davi darters.”

  “You bastard,” growled the Iron Breaker as she hefted her hatchet.

  The Orc aimed his rifle at her face.

  Everyone else pulled out their weapons as well.

  “Enough!” growled the Warboy, slamming the song-hammer into the table. A melody forgotten by history but remembered in orcish children songs rang through the air. “We will have time for bloodshed later at the ordained place. But for now, leading up to the Grand Prix, the Warchief will have peace in his city.”

  Everyone glared at the Warboy. Then they lowered their weapons. Slowly.

  “So… the Toretto Trials?” asked the Orc, once the silence had run its course.

  The Warboy nodded and growled, “The Warchief has decided the time and place for this year’s Torretto Trials. Follow these instructions with your shard to the temples and dead drops. You may assemble your best riders for the slaughter. Don’t forget your entrance fee of nine hundred slivers.” The Warboy pulled out a stack of iron plates. He slid them across the table to the other criminals. One for each gang. “Don’t waste this chance.”

  As he grabbed his iron plate, on which instructions were engraved in coded runes, the Orc glanced about at the microcosm of politics around him.

  The Iron Breakers fell into line behind their leader without a word, little cogs in their machine, turning in endless circles as they headed out the door. The Orc never understood how easily dwarves could submit to authority, how they could bow their heads to anyone who showed the slightest signal of dominance. Perhaps it was
just in their nature. The Orc just laughed at their submissive nature.

  Meanwhile the Squirrels, squabbled amongst each other like the direwolves they were, hissing and biting as they fought for a glimpse of their alpha’s prize. So arrogant, the Orc laughed. Always trying to one up each other. Always trying to be the best of them all. Always thinking that they were special. The Orc just laughed at their arrogance.

  And of course, the Warboy stood impassive, heeled but with barely concealed aggression. Nothing more than a pawn for his lord and god the Warchief. A weapon that did nothing except rest inside its sheath when not used. A hound that was only truly alive when let off its leash to hunt. The Orc just laughed at the pup’s bark.

  How easily living, breathing beings became something less when they became part of something more.

  Perhaps the drug addled Orc was onto something. Perhaps not. All he knew was that he needed some more Blight bug.

  The Orc chuckled and left the temple, juggling the iron plate in the air.

  Everything was set. Now all Gore had to do was survive the coming slaughter.

  Were it so easy…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Prep Time

  The night before the Toretto Trials, as Gore lay beneath the Magnum Orcus, making last minute adjustments to the new parts, Debbie knocked on her garage.

  “Knock-knock,” murmured the dwarf, footsteps ringing on concrete. From the sound, Gore guessed she wore steel-toed boots. Huh, that’s new, Gore noted as Mr. Dragon crooned. Gore’s lips curled up so slightly.

  “Who’s there?” asked Gore, reaching out for a socket wrench. Her hands fumbled across the concrete, claws scraping against around fifteen nuts and bolts before her hands seized around a handle. Gore brought the wrench to her face and scowled. Wrong size.