Alex simply grinned, eying the mechanic. “Just don’t let it explode when I am riding it. I am quite attached to these nuts.” He said, slowly turning around and walking back into the main section of the truck. The hulking behemoth was actually quite easy to read, its layout logical. In the back as the garage and vehicle storage, taking up a third of the space within the truck, it also happened to be the most protected place on the truck, extra plating on the side to keep any explosions within. In the front was the drivers seats and a small panel that controlled the two turrets at the top. The kitchen, living quarters, showers and crew quarters were in the centre. If the truck had been stationary and fully unwrapped itself it would grow in size, perhaps 2/5 more in space. Most of it would be expanding the garage, yet the living quarters would also get a few extra feet, allowing at least a good twenty people inside.<br/><br/>‘Home’ is what Alex liked to call it. The thing had saved his life, giving him family and a place to sleep where he wasn’t constantly keeping one eye open. As he walked back to the living quarters he could hear the questions being asked behind him. ‘Where are we going?’. His handler usually took care of those questions. Alex knew they were headed to District Seven for the next race, yet no doubt his handler had another stop along the way. Deciding he was going to be helpful and contribute to the group he yelled, cocking his head to the side so the sounds would be aimed at the cockpit. “New Amsterdam! Frankie needs to get laid before she blows shit up.” He grinned as his incredible ‘witty’ and ‘mature’ comment. Sometimes he thought females did not understand humour. He had once made a comparison between a females period and broken exhaust pipe. He remembered making it to the leaking oil part before everything went blank, barely registering that wrench to the side of his head.<br/><br/>He’d wait in the living quarters, keeping a watch on the door that led to the garage. When his handler came out he would grumble out an apology and mutter something about doing the next interview. He had not seen Wiggy yet, no doubt buried behind a dozen computers and wires connecting to this way and that. “Oy! Nerd!.” He howled out, hoping his voice would carry far enough. That woman could work herself to death. People occasionally had to drag her out of there, let her inhale some fresh air. He himself would remind her today that constantly sitting behind a device will make her tits sag, as soon as she entered the living room, perhaps even going as far as to poke at them once or twice. You had to be quite clear with females, their brains usually not understanding the simplest commands. Heck!, most of the times he said something complicated, they simply stared at him with a confused expression, as if they did not recognise the words. Women!<br/>