Flavour Story - Mishkin
The British city of Coventry had been targeted heavily during World War II, and history had repeated itself during the Martian invasion. The city centre had been abandoned but the old industrial estates on the outskirts had become an unlikely hive for death race teams, lured by the prospect of salvage.
One of the many teams trying to make it big called themselves the Dynamos. They had built a reputation off the back of a fleet of rugged ex-construction vehicles, able to take a pounding, stay in the race and then claw their way ahead with a variety of tricks from nitrous-powered crane rigs to EMP harpoon guns. And because they weren’t stupid, they kept their location in the ruins near an old sports stadium a closely guarded secret.
Not as closely guarded as they’d have liked thought Nestor, the lanky man with the shock of blonde hair leaning back in his seat as the convoy of 3 blacked-out SUVs left the relative safety of the main roads and drove down the rubble-strewn dirt track.
Eventually the vehicles reached their destination, an old storage warehouse. Half armed with long rifles that glowed blue, half carrying an assortment of document cases and folders, the group of 10 all wore immaculate business suits as they dismounted and the lumbering Bolus hammered on the main door. Nestor had enough time to look over the superficially damaged but still extremely solid garage doors and the marks in the mud that showed tracks had been hidden before the door was swung open. Gun barrels pointed out as the Dynamos made contact with their visitors.
“Who the f*ck are you?” a voice demanded from the inside.
Nestor stepped up and produced a document from his pocket, which he gave to the stocky woman in the filthy overalls who seemed to be in charge.
“We are agents of Andriy Mishkin. And he has a proposal for you” he said simply, before leading his team into the garage. As it always did, the Mishkin name caused enough uncertainty that nobody ever opened fire. “I would like to speak to your mechanics and your team principal.”
The woman trailed in their wake, her eyes never leaving the eerie glow of the weapons the Mishkin group carried.
“Hey Dave” she bawled. “You and Fish need to get down here!”
The garage itself was a total mess. Tools and scrap metal littered the floor and on a raised platform at the back were the bunks where the men and women slept. The place stank of mechanical engineering and human toil. It was a smell Nestor had come to find reassuring, as he cleared one of the benches by sweeping everything off it with the rigid tube he then opened.
Dynamo mechanics had assembled behind him, and they let out the breath they’d been holding when the plans and schematics were unrolled and laid out on the bench.
“These come from the desk of Andriy Mishkin himself” Nestor said as they pored over the drawings. “He sees great potential in your team.”
One of the Dynamos, a nervous-looking man with a dangerous spark in his eye, grabbed one of the plans and disappeared under a mobile crane unit. There was a tinkle as bolts were hurriedly unscrewed and dropped to the hard floor.
“You really expect us to believe you’re from Mishkin? Bet you those drawings don’t actually mean anything.” A heavy set man had wandered down from the bunk beds with a shotgun in his hands. Somewhere in there was a face but he was mostly dirty black beard and blue overalls.
“Nope!” The voice was high-pitched and echoed from under the crane. “I hadn’t even thought to harness the generators like this! If we switch the shafts and change up the transfer box…Yes, this will definitely work! He’s a genius!”
Nestor looked up at the man with the shotgun.
“Your colleague would beg to differ” he said dryly. “Now. I have contracts for you if you wish to consider Mr Mishkin’s very generous sponsorship offer…”
One of the many teams trying to make it big called themselves the Dynamos. They had built a reputation off the back of a fleet of rugged ex-construction vehicles, able to take a pounding, stay in the race and then claw their way ahead with a variety of tricks from nitrous-powered crane rigs to EMP harpoon guns. And because they weren’t stupid, they kept their location in the ruins near an old sports stadium a closely guarded secret.
Not as closely guarded as they’d have liked thought Nestor, the lanky man with the shock of blonde hair leaning back in his seat as the convoy of 3 blacked-out SUVs left the relative safety of the main roads and drove down the rubble-strewn dirt track.
Eventually the vehicles reached their destination, an old storage warehouse. Half armed with long rifles that glowed blue, half carrying an assortment of document cases and folders, the group of 10 all wore immaculate business suits as they dismounted and the lumbering Bolus hammered on the main door. Nestor had enough time to look over the superficially damaged but still extremely solid garage doors and the marks in the mud that showed tracks had been hidden before the door was swung open. Gun barrels pointed out as the Dynamos made contact with their visitors.
“Who the f*ck are you?” a voice demanded from the inside.
Nestor stepped up and produced a document from his pocket, which he gave to the stocky woman in the filthy overalls who seemed to be in charge.
“We are agents of Andriy Mishkin. And he has a proposal for you” he said simply, before leading his team into the garage. As it always did, the Mishkin name caused enough uncertainty that nobody ever opened fire. “I would like to speak to your mechanics and your team principal.”
The woman trailed in their wake, her eyes never leaving the eerie glow of the weapons the Mishkin group carried.
“Hey Dave” she bawled. “You and Fish need to get down here!”
The garage itself was a total mess. Tools and scrap metal littered the floor and on a raised platform at the back were the bunks where the men and women slept. The place stank of mechanical engineering and human toil. It was a smell Nestor had come to find reassuring, as he cleared one of the benches by sweeping everything off it with the rigid tube he then opened.
Dynamo mechanics had assembled behind him, and they let out the breath they’d been holding when the plans and schematics were unrolled and laid out on the bench.
“These come from the desk of Andriy Mishkin himself” Nestor said as they pored over the drawings. “He sees great potential in your team.”
One of the Dynamos, a nervous-looking man with a dangerous spark in his eye, grabbed one of the plans and disappeared under a mobile crane unit. There was a tinkle as bolts were hurriedly unscrewed and dropped to the hard floor.
“You really expect us to believe you’re from Mishkin? Bet you those drawings don’t actually mean anything.” A heavy set man had wandered down from the bunk beds with a shotgun in his hands. Somewhere in there was a face but he was mostly dirty black beard and blue overalls.
“Nope!” The voice was high-pitched and echoed from under the crane. “I hadn’t even thought to harness the generators like this! If we switch the shafts and change up the transfer box…Yes, this will definitely work! He’s a genius!”
Nestor looked up at the man with the shotgun.
“Your colleague would beg to differ” he said dryly. “Now. I have contracts for you if you wish to consider Mr Mishkin’s very generous sponsorship offer…”
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