Standing by his bike in the ramshackle dropship, Evil Sunz Speed Freek Rolla' "da Bikespike" Kwikktoof was cleaning the exhaust. It wasn't born of any real concern for the bike's functionality - he believed in his bike more than the sisters of battle believed in the Emperor - but because he knew a clean exhaust made more noise. For the occasion of this battle, he had used even more red ribbons than usual, hoping to fly by the imperial guardsmen like naught but a red stripe. With the recent addition of rocket thrusters to the bike, it was far from unlikely. After cleaning, he addressed the rest of the Speed Freeks in the dropship with a grin.<br/><br/>"'Ey, Boyz! Da pinkskinz be waitin' below, wit deir beamy shootas an' deir tiny choppas. Dey be all over da place, like lil' pink Gretchinz. We be orks, so A know I ain't gotta tell ya' twice - hell, nut even wunz!" The short speech was met with a patchwork of warcries and revving engines. A sudden jerk in the dropship shook everyone awake, and Rolla' straddled his bike with a big, fat grin, and revved his engine. "Alright, boyz! We all put a toof down as a wager - da wun wit' da 'eaviest killin' spree win da pot!" All the orks in the room then yelled in unison: "AN' IT'S GUNNA BE ME!"<br/><br/>The doors of the dropship then opened, several seconds before the craft actually hit the ground. This death-defying deployment was one Rolla' was familiar with. The doors opening meant there was a steep slope below. He released his handbrake, and sped out of the craft alongside his fellow members of the Kult of Speed. Soaring through the air for a moment,  Rolla' spotted the slope he was supposed to land on. He shifted his weight on instinct and revved his rockets, correcting his trajectory. Landing on the slope, the suspension of the heavy bike groaned, but held - as he knew it would. Out of the twenty-two Speed Freeks who made this descent, three crashed and burned. The other nineteen all managed to hit the slope with varying levels of success - two more fell off their bikes but survived. They would surely join a group of Ork Boyz later on, but seventeen bikes sped ahead to face the guardsmen protecting the planet.<br/><br/>Rolla' saw a group of them almost immediately after the slope leveled out. A platoon of guardsmen had holed up in a ferrocrete bunker, spewing lasgun fire and bolter rounds into other fragments of the strike force. Rolla' designated their target with a simple gesture - namely flipping the target bunker off. The team made a wide arc around the bunker to get at it with some level of surprise - as much as their loud engines could accomodate, anyway - and as such, when he came from behind, his team had yet to be fired at.<br/><br/>Now came the "trikki" bit. First, Rolla' engaged his breaks to get a controlled turn. HAH! Not fucking likely. Actually, Rolla leant to the side and turned the front wheel slightly to the side, revving his engine as he fired the Dakka mounted on his bike. The recoil caused the bike to turn sharply to the side and skid across the ground, the bike's hull paralell with the guardsmen's firing line. Then, once the bike passed the bunker's side, Rolla' engaged the bike's rocket afterburners, surged forward, and threw a stikkbomb into the bunker, obscured as a target by his ribbons (which he wasn't clever enough to realize) and travelling at jinking speed (because 'fast iz gud'). Well-equipped and crazy fast, Rolla' performed the maneouver with contemptous, instinctual ease. His somewhat poorer equipped greenskin brethren took some casualties, but only four were killed by the bunker's fire or wayward stikkbombs in the team's attemt at replicating Rolla's attack. The death-defying stunt left the garrison of the bunker shredded by explosive force and shrapnel. Rolla' laughed. "Take dat, ya' filthy pinkskin pansies! Rest in pieces!" The surge of speed was getting to him, and heedless of danger, Rolla' sped ahead to the nearest area of intense conflict.<br/><br/>Right now, he was happy.