[The Speed Freeks tore across the wasteland in a roaring pack. Beating them in their own race was entirely possible.]
[The cruelest punishment you could inflict on an enemy wasn't killing them. It was crushing them in the one thing they were best at.]
Datch stared at the popup notification for several seconds… then burst out laughing.
"Alright. Time to show off my god-tier driving skills again."
He vaulted onto his hoverbike, seized the grips, and twisted the throttle wide open.
The engine's low growl exploded into a thunderous roar. The bike lifted off the ground, spitting a three-meter tail of brilliant blue flame that scorched twin black lines into the dirt. Then it shot forward like a railgun round. The ruined landscape blurred into streaks on either side.
Wind screamed past his ears. The broken earth raced beneath him at suicidal speed.
Datch's grin stretched from ear to ear.
This was what a man was supposed to do.
Out in the wasteland, Shadaka led his Speedsters in what they considered life's greatest joy—racing.
The leader of these speed-obsessed madmen had an almost religious devotion to velocity. Most Greenskins were addicted to killing and big explosions, convinced those were the only true pleasures in existence.
Shadaka thought that was boring as hell.
What was so satisfying about squashing shrimp? Blowing up tanks? Please.
The real rush was the wind howling in your ears, the engine shaking your bones, and the entire world falling behind you.
Speed was the only honest joy left in this galaxy.
Shadaka's ride was the flashiest in the entire warband—a steel monstrosity built around a massive engine salvaged from a crashed Imperial fighter. He and his boys had somehow turned it into a motorcycle. A seat of scrap metal and mystery leather was welded on top. Behind it rose a fat exhaust stack that could belch flames five meters high. Iron plates, nails, and skulls decorated the sides. Pure class.
Right now Shadaka sat in the saddle, throttle pinned, roaring "Waaagh!" at the top of his lungs.
Twenty-plus Speed Freeks thundered behind him, each bike customized with its own personality and battle cries.
"Charge! Crush the shrimp!"
"Boss is fastest! Boss is most Waaagh!"
"Wait— I can't keep up—!"
The last voice ended in a distant crunch and a fireball as the unlucky boy and his bike slammed into a rock pillar.
None of the others even looked back. Dying in a race was an honor. Dying fast was an even bigger honor.
Then Shadaka caught a flash of light in his peripheral vision.
A streak of silver and blue came screaming in from the side, trailing a long ribbon of flame. When it pulled alongside, Shadaka finally saw the rider clearly.
A shrimp. A human. On a hoverbike.
The machine was sleek, predatory, and moved like lightning.
Whoa… that's fast. That's really fast!!
Every Speed Freeks thought the exact same thing.
"Uwaaaagh!" Shadaka howled and opened the throttle, charging straight at the intruder. The rest of the pack followed like rabid dogs, weapons waving.
The human didn't run.
Instead he matched their speed, then pulled ahead, slowed down to let them catch up, then blasted past them again—teasing them.
Twice.
Shadaka finally understood. This shrimp was provoking him.
"Damn shrimp!" he bellowed. "I'll show you real speed!"
He twisted the throttle harder. The massive engine screamed. Flames roared from three meters to five. The whole frame shook so violently it felt like it would shake apart, but the speed kept climbing until even Shadaka's fangs rattled in the wind.
"Uwaaaagh!!! See?! That's real speed!"
The other Speed Freeks redlined their own machines. Some spat fire, some vomited black smoke, some threw sparks. An insane high-speed chase tore through the wasteland.
Shadaka had been certain no shrimp could ever beat him.
Reality disagreed.
The human—Datch—was faster. Much faster. And far more skilled.
The broken landscape was full of canyons, gullies, and treacherous rock pillars. One wrong move at this speed meant instant death.
Provoked beyond reason, every Greenskin pushed harder to catch the shrimp.
Exactly as Datch expected, green bodies and crude bikes began slamming into walls and pillars in spectacular explosions.
Shadaka had started the chase full of swagger.
Now doubt was creeping in.
He had the throttle pinned. The engine was howling and throwing sparks. Still the shrimp pulled away whenever he wanted… then slowed down to wait for him again.
The teasing was driving Shadaka insane.
A sharp S-curve appeared ahead—narrow passage between sheer rock walls.
He had run this stretch many times. He always slowed down here.
Not today.
Because the shrimp didn't slow down.
Datch's hoverbike carved a perfect arc, body tilted so far it almost kissed the wall as it slid through the turn.
Shadaka bared his fangs, twisted the throttle, and charged in.
Too fast.
Way too fast.
Metal screamed against stone. Plates tore loose. He barely made the first curve. The second one was waiting.
He lost control.
The right side of his bike slammed into the wall in a shower of sparks.
BOOM.
The engine detonated.
Shadaka was flung through the air, tumbling seven or eight times before smashing into a rock pillar and finally stopping.
He lay there, mouth full of dirt, body covered in cuts and bruises, one tusk broken.
Datch drifted his bike in a perfect, arrogant circle right in front of him… then rode away without a word.
Shadaka knew exactly what that meant.
"Damn shrimp!!" he roared at the sky. "Why is his racing skill better than mine?!"
He struggled to his feet, staring at the distant blue flame trail, and howled.
He was going to find that giant machine fabricator. He was going to upgrade his bike until it was faster, smoother, and more terrifying than that cursed shrimp's ride.
...
[Congratulations! You have defeated the leader of the Racing World's Speed Freeks! You are one step closer to becoming the fastest Racing King in the galaxy!]
[You defeated them using their own specialty tactics and gained a large amount of WAAAGH value. Collect enough WAAAGH and you will become the strongest, most Waaagh leader the Greenskins have ever known.]
Datch stared at the notification in stunned silence.
"…What the hell?"
He could actually become the leader of the Greenskins?
This game was completely broken.
He turned his bike and gunned it toward the distant spires of the Hive City.
As he approached the hive capital, Imperial forces immediately locked onto him. A stern warning demanded he stop for inspection.
Datch calmly transmitted his Inquisitor's seal through an encrypted channel.
Twelve seconds later the weapons stood down.
A very nervous voice came over the vox.
"Respected… Nameless One. Our deepest apologies. We did not realize it was you."
"There is currently a rebellion in progress. Normal routes are blocked. Please proceed to the designated landing zone. We will arrange safe passage."
Datch hung up mid-sentence.
He twisted the throttle and shot straight into the city at full speed.
Follow proper procedure? Did these idiots even look at the minimap? It's covered in exclamation marks! With this much loot and experience on the line? Not a chance.
...
Vigilant Star's underhive was enormous.
Endless towers rose like colossal pillars, stacked and overlapping until they vanished into the smog-choked clouds. Industrial smokestacks belched black fumes. Residential hab-blocks looked like honeycombs. Neon signs flickered with sickly light.
The city was divided into sealed districts separated by high walls.
Datch was heading for the Deadwood District.
The moment he entered, he saw the corpses.
Civilians. PDF troopers. Unidentifiable remains. Blood ran in dark rivers toward the drains. The air stank of death and despair.
Using his Inquisitorial authority, Datch quickly pulled the full report.
Other districts had rebellions influenced by Chaos or Genestealer Cults.
Deadwood was different.
This uprising was completely spontaneous.
A few days earlier the main water supply had been poisoned. Everyone who drank it died… then rose again as zombies.
The local nobility's solution? In the Emperor's name they seized every water tank, every purification unit, and every water truck. They hoarded the clean water inside their fortified enclaves while the people outside died of thirst.
Inside the walls: parties, flower gardens, private pools.
Outside the walls: cracked lips, dying children, and rising fury.
When the people finally broke through the gates, the nobles reported them as Chaos-tainted traitors and ordered the PDF to open fire.
Some gangs saw profit in the chaos. They took over the few working secondary filters and sold clean-ish water at extortionate prices. People sold everything they owned—furniture, jewelry, even family members—just to survive.
A side quest appeared in Datch's vision.
[Quest: Suppress the riot in the Deadwood District and restore order.]
The citizens of the Imperium, driven mad by hunger and thirst, had no choice but to rebel. Please resolve this crisis so they may live.
[Rewards: 1500 EXP, 1500 Points, +500 Reputation]
Datch opened the game store, searched "Minecraft," and bought A Bucket Full of Water.
The square iron bucket appeared in his hand.
He summoned Overlord Zarhulash, had the flying servant carry the bucket high into the air, and poured.
Clear water fell in a perfect square column before breaking into a sparkling waterfall. Droplets glittered like diamonds in the sickly light.
The starving crowd froze.
Someone reached out, caught a drop, and tasted it.
"…Water. Clean water."
The dam broke.
People surged forward with every container they could find—bottles, helmets, boots, helmets. They drank, they cried, they laughed, they hugged each other while water ran down their faces.
"They are the Emperor's messengers!"
"The Emperor has not abandoned us!"
"A miracle!"
Datch allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
But water alone wasn't enough.
He traded a loaf of relatively clean bread for a bottle of Boosting Liquid, dripped it onto the bread, and watched it multiply at terrifying speed. Soon there were two small mountains of fresh bread and the smell of baking filled the air.
Starving people rushed the piles, stuffing bread into their mouths, hiding loaves in their clothes for their families, some choking but still reaching for more.
Then the local water gang arrived.
Their bald, tattooed, prosthetic-armed leader saw the endless water and growing bread mountains and grinned greedily.
"That guy can make water and bread. If we grab him we'll be rich."
He and his men drew weapons and advanced.
They never reached Datch.
The bald man's head flew off in a fountain of blood.
A black-clad assassin stepped out of the shadows. Fully armed guards poured from every alley and quickly subdued the rest of the gang.
The officer in charge looked at the corpses with mild pity.
From the moment Datch had shown his Inquisitor's seal, he had been under constant high-command protection. The Nameless One was considered a living miracle-worker by most senior Imperial officers on Vigilant Star. They weren't entirely sure the Emperor was divine… but they knew the Nameless One could perform actual miracles.
So whenever he wandered into trouble, the assassin and special forces quietly cleaned up the mess and paid the necessary compensation afterward.
Datch, of course, had no idea any of this was happening.
He simply continued handing out water and bread while the city's gangs were about to experience a very sudden and very thorough purge.
After the immediate crisis was handled, he changed into his detective coat.
Time to find the source of the water poisoning and end this properly.
…
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