Warboss of Evil Sunz had always believed himself to be chosen by Gork and Mork.
Ever since he'd crawled out of the Orks' spore fields as a freshly born, happy Ork, Madwheel had been obsessed with the thrill of racing at breakneck speed.
In the middle of a high-speed charge, he could understand completely what a true Waaagh was.
And the ones Madwheel looked down on most were those Orks who only knew how to imitate Shrimp. They called themselves Orks, too?
Those fellows wore ragged uniforms they'd tidied up, human weapons they'd stolen at their belts, and followed that ridiculous discipline in everything they said and did. They weren't Orky at all. They weren't Waaagh!
He hated how unlucky he'd been to come into the world among the Blood Axe Clan. So Madwheel naturally changed his clan name to Evil Sunz and started selling all the Boyz on what real Ork style was.
Of course, with the Warboss turning a blind eye, Madwheel had managed to develop a high-speed motorbike squad.
But his experience in his previous battle had been anything but good.
On the great plains, he'd been racing across such perfect terrain for the first time in his life. He'd been so excited that he forgot everything else and charged straight into the killing field those cunning Shrimp had set up, losing most of his force in the process.
After that, Madwheel swore he'd get revenge on those Shrimp.
Just like now.
"Waaagh!!"
Madwheel roared as the motorbike beneath him shrieked. Gravel kicked up by its tires traced chaotic arcs behind him.
The onrushing wind poured into his tusked maw, and the rushing air stung his eyes until they bulged.
But the rage and exhilaration surging in his chest made Madwheel ignore it all.
Charge!
Kill!
Smash