[h2][center][b]Merry-Go-Round[/b][/center][/h2]

The ride back was mostly quiet in the [i]Merry-Go-Round[/i]. Sure, they’d scored a solid victory in the pass, but that was what Merry did, [i]she won[/i]. The sideshow lance of Crimson Fists they had put down were just more tally marks to be scratched on the hull. Merry had clipped bigger game plenty of times, many of which the crew had long forgotten about. Takka drummed his fingers on the side of the column as he drove. He thought it was amusing how the mech jocks thought she needed to be “defended” because the Crusader was packing some inferno warheads. They didn’t need to be saved, particularly not by that bullet soaker Ramrod or crackpot pirate Ziska. At least Marit was easy to look at, but her boyfriend in the [i]Marauder[/i] could eat a bag- they [i]definitely[/i] didn’t need his help. His lip turned up indignantly as he thought about the rest of the Knights. Everyone wanted to throttle Raven, but the true subject of Takka’s ire was dancing merrily ahead in the [i]Phoenix Hawk[/i] oblivious to the young ginger’s hateful stare. Jumping in the way of Merry’s gun barrel wasn’t healthy for most and that clown’s dimwitted interference was gonna cost him, just like it had cost Merry. By the time they had reached Uncle Mack’s, he had worked out what he was going to do and justified that whatever punishment came down as a result, was just going to be worth it. He grinded his teeth together in a lopsided grimace of restrained glee and sadism.

Right under his feet was the crew escape hatch. It had never been used because neither they nor Merry retreated from shit, but it had a bank vault style lever meant to be kicked by the driver in the event of a bail out. Making sure that the hatch was functional was part of his pre-op checklist as the driver, so he knew that it would work and as long as Merry was parked and completely shut down, no alarm would sound. As they crawled through the scrapyard out of the tunnel, he watched Tarak ease his mech into its assigned bay and where he normally would have pulled straight into the [i]Von Luckner[/i]’s “reserved” space, he instead stopped and reversed in so Merry’s nose was pointed directly towards the mechbays. “Thought I felt a little vibration from the drive again, Cap.” He said to Aroxy over his shoulder, daintily engaging the tracks in the opposite direction and craning his neck at the backup camera like an old lady backing in a [i]Rotunda[/i] at Discount Dan’s. “Just gonna park her so the tech pit has an easier time.” He heard Aroxy grunt a tired approval while Helma groaned at having to spend an extra minute inside. Ansel seemed to be nearly asleep. Everything was set.

As soon as he heard the main hatch creak and turn over with its usual thud against the hull, Takka jammed his boot against the emergency door lever, hiding its metallic release with the sound from overhead. As the rest of the crew wearily climbed out, he was already on his feet, sprinting like a shot across Uncle Mack’s. Like some feral creature, it had only taken him one or two seconds to bound out from under the tank and as they had drove along he had been quietly alternating his feet on the pedals, keeping them as stretched and limber as he could. He didn’t want to cramp up and now it was paying off. He wasn’t even tired and his feet carried him with a hate-fueled quickness that nearly surprised him. He could see Tarak and his entourage of misfits happily high-fiving and rejoicing in his return and he ran harder, leaning into it. Someone shouted and he could hear the attention shifting towards him, but it didn’t matter. He was nearly on top of them when one of Tarak's followers finally noticed him. The little girl was holding some ridiculous pink boombox, but in her shock at seeing him bearing down on top of her, she dropped it right in his path.

Unable to stop and running far too fast to avoid it, Takka desperately lifted his stride to clear the radio with his next step and he probably would have made it if it weren’t for the restriction of his heavy winter pants. His booted toe clipped the pink box just barely, but his second footfall clamored right over it, switching it on and sending him lunging directly into Tarak like a linebacker. 

In a flurry of rabid cursing, sweat and spit... 

The brawl was on.

And from one of Tarak’s cursed mixtapes, stuck inside, the volume jammed high from impact- [url=https://youtu.be/azuSxl9sHmc?si=piwCv3GQjuey1iHf]The radio played…[/url]