Yawning widely, the young Took went through his morning ritutal, adding a wet towel, his bathrobe, and the previous night's underwear to the mess on the floor. After shrugging into some clean clothes, he made his way through the kitchen on his way out of the hole that he shared with two Hobbiton University students. As usual, the refridgerator was nearly empty, except for some leftover take out food, and a half eaten, moldy pizza.
"Green Dragon," he muttered to himself, thinking of breakfast and a mug of their best. As was his custom, he slammed the fridge door shut and left an obnoxious note on the dry-wipe ink board for his roomies to go shopping. Satisfied that he had made the message annoying enough, he went out the back door to the brick and wood garage he had built into the side of the hill not far from the hole.
Lifting up the door, he grinned at the shining, polished, custom built, 1200cc lowrider motorcycle sitting in the middle of the structure. Pulling on the leather riding jacket he had snatched from the coatpegs near the kitchen door, he slid into the saddle, and kicked the machine into life. He relished the first few wiffs of the clean, smooth vapor that belched forth from the chrome tailpipes, adjusted the Splatterball gun he had mounted on the handlebars, and laid down a stripe of black, greasey rubber all the way from the backyard to the street in front of the hole.
The promotion had come only two weeks ago, and Vander was still feeling a high from it. The pay raise had helped a lot, considering that he paid most of the rent on the hole. Skidding into the last parking spot in front of the Inn, Vander stuck his tongue out at a car full of Sackville-Bagginses who had been jockeying for it.
This routine had become almost ritual, and Nob Gamgee, the proprietor and barkeep, had his breakfast waiting for him. As Vander scarfed down his food, he and Nob shot the breeze about current events, the weather, and the hottest super models to hit the big screen. Finishing his meal, he left the usual tip, got cursed for being a miser, and waved a "see ya later" to Nob.
Looking ahead to the Bridge, he saw a Troll shambling across it, its massive frame blocking the entire road.
"Stupid mook probly doesn't even have a greencard!" Vander muttered, and put on more speed. As he bore down on the Troll, he popped a wheelie and rode right up the creature's back, and took a flying leap off its flat, rock-hard head. Letting out an enthusiastic scream, Vander angled his Hog's back wheel to take the impact when it met the road....
Wheeling the Hog around, he took off in the opposite direction of the creatures, hoping he could out distance them. Taking a quick glance back, he saw that they were gaining. Cursing, Vander thumbed a button on his handlebars, and rocketted forward as the nitros kicked in.
Fleeing his persuers, the ground jounced and rattled him terribly as the nitros cut out. Looking back again, he saw that he had put a few yards between himself and the creatures. Gunning the throttle full open, he wemt flying over an unexpected drop in the earth, and went sailing through the air for almost thirty feet before crashing into the ground.
Once again, he found himself skidding wildly as he fought to maintain control of his Hog. In moments, the creatures were on top of him. One of them shoved its weapon through the spokes of his front wheel, and Vander went flying from the saddle and pitched face first in the turf.
Shaking his aching head, he shrugged himself onto his hands and knees, grateful that the soft earth had left him with very little roadrash. His respite didn't last long, as he was grabbed by the back of his jacket and hefted off the ground. opening his eyes, he found himself staring into the glowing red eyes of a demon.
"What?!" he shouted in terror, and began kicking with all his might. "Whaddayawant?! Putmedown!"
The demons began to chuckle maliciously, then the demon holding Vander suddenly lost its head. Dropping to the ground again, Vander went into a roll, coming to an abrupt halt in a sprawle position. Looking up from where he lay, he saw several humanoid forms racing toward his assailants. They seemed to fly through the air in a standing position, and appeared to be robots bearing large, shoulder-mounted guns. The battle was short, but fierce, as all the demons were slaughtered in rapid succession.
The newcomers surveyed the carnage, then two approached him. Shaking his head groggily, he got to his feet. Vander's legs were wobbly underneath him from all the bouncing about that he had been forced to endure, and he was most definitely saddle sore. Steadying himself, he faced his benefactors as they stopped in front of him.
"Oi, am I glad you blokes showed up. Another moment, and I'd've been a Balrog biscuit. What are them suits you're wearin'? Some kinda powered armour?""
Looking at each other for a moment, the two battlesuited interlopers pointed their shoulder connons at Vander.
"You have three seconds to tell us what you are and what you're doing here before we splatter your brains all over the landscape, D-Bee," one of them growled.
Ignoring the threat, Vander was captivated by their armour. Looking up the barrel of one of their cannons, he pulled a wire brush and a squeeze can of oil from a jacket pocket.
"Tsk. You guys really should take better care of your equipment." Vander admonished them as he began to clean the grit out of the cannon barrel. "Keep popping off with this thing in the condition it's in, and ye'll scatter your own brains all over th' landscape."
Fuming with the injustice of his new lot in life, he picked up a socket wrench and began tightening several bolts on one of the vehicles.
"I wonder if they'd notice if I missed a few," he asked himself, and 'accidentally' whacked a dent in the vehicle's oil pan.