Black Iron and Three Hands

(Thanks to Spear of Shilana for the donation bonus chapter 1/5)

Elsewhere, in a desert dozens of kilometers from the Hive City ruins, a rocket seat had crashed here and shattered into pieces.

Our good friend, Black Iron the King Who Wouldn't Die, lay in the sand. With no arms or legs, he was stuck amid metal scrap, unable to move. The blazing sun had already baked him senseless.

Who knew how long passed before the dehydrated Black Iron seemed to hallucinate. He saw a figure approach, drag him out of the scrap heap—it was Three Hands.

Three Hands had landed more than forty kilometers from Black Iron. He had installed a tracker on Black Iron, spent half a day modifying a little motorcycle, and rode over to pick up his cup.

Seeing the cup delirious with dehydration, Three Hands picked up some chilled engine oil and poured it down him.

Black Iron gradually regained his senses. Three Hands was tying him onto the motorcycle's back seat.

Black Iron was stunned for a moment, then flew into a rage.

"Did I lose? I lost again!!"

Three Hands looked grim too.

"Yeah, you lost. I lost too. My Big Mech couldn't beat Old Fart Li. Old Fart Li played dirty—cunning, real cunning!"

Black Iron panted heavily, raging helplessly.

"AAAAAAAHHHHH!!! OLD FART LI!!!"

Three Hands tied Black Iron to the motorcycle's back seat and headed north.

The motorcycle sped through the desert all the way, while Black Iron howled all the way. Once he finally quieted down, he asked:

"What are you gonna do next? We gotta get revenge!!"

As Three Hands rode, he said:

"I'm starting over. I'm building better mechs, with even more awesome weapons this time, then I'm going back to smash those humie shiny-mechs to death!

I'm the