The Teenage Mutant Ninja Lizards and the Manhatin Lizbians stood in one horizontal formation, looking out over the sea from the Old Throne, the highest bluff on Isla Nublar. Facing them, front and center, was their coach, Serious Jest, in the foreground of a picturesque dusk, the likes of which could be witnessed nowhere else in the world. A light drizzle covered the mountainside at the moment. The weather on Isla Nublar could be so fickle.
Directly behind Coach Jest was parked a hulk of a motorcycle, a Harley Davidsaur: gunmetal black; a chassis broader than a kroxigor’s shoulders, with a Flaming Angel-Skink painted running across its left side and the face of a Ninja Skink painted on its right; custom Maimroller tires (not as big as a Deathroller’s, but about 3/4 as wide as the bike’s chassis); 5-foot spikes made of dwarven steel jutting out from the spokes; and its engine purring, providing a throaty bass chord for the featured orator of the evening. Everyone on Isla Nublar knew whose beautiful beast this was; not just because of the Lizbians’ and TMNL’s logos, but because Frau Farhissina and that bike had been virtually inseparable. It was the first thing she bought when she signed her contract with the Lizbians, and it was her only luxury possession. She used to say that she didn’t need much in life to be happy, but that Banshee, as she named it, gave her freedom like she had never felt before. Frau rode Banshee whenever she wasn’t playing Blood Bowl; taking it out on her own for long, soul-searching rides, or hoisting one of her revolving door of lizardwomen onto the seat behind her for an exciting date. She rode it to and from Jurassic Park every day for practices or for games. She once asked Coach Jest if she could ride it in games, but he didn’t want to risk her getting thrown out by the refs, who already hated dwarven Deathrollers.
It was only fitting that Frau had requested in her will to take her most prized possession with her into the afterlife. So here she was, donning a sleeveless leather vest and a glossy black helmet, and propped onto Banshee’s seat, held in place by chains that adorned both of them like warrior jewelry, overlooking their final destination.
“I couldn’t save her,” said Coach Jest, as he looked all of his players in their eyes and then shifted his stoic gaze to the other members in attendance. Frau didn’t have any biological family members left. She never knew her father, and her mother had been killed in a bar fight when she was young, but she had been raised and mentored by a kroxigor known as Kroxor Evil, who now stood with his arms crossed, amidst the harem full of young lizardwomen whose lives Frau had touched.
“We were literally getting ripped apart by orcs again,” Coach Jest continued, his voice growing louder, into a growl, “and she was our 5th casualty, not to mention the 3 knockouts that we had sustained. It wasn’t even halftime! She was killed taking on 6 orcs in a desperate attempt to stop a Turn 8 touchdown. She had more balls than anybody on the team…but I couldn’t risk using our medical supplies on an undeveloped rookie…not with another full half to go and some of our so-called ‘key players’ still on the field.”
Coach Jest paused. The TMNL players were looking shamefully at the ground now. “But I’ll tell you what,” he uttered through clenched teeth, “If this had been one of the last games of the season, I might have saved her and let one of you die instead.” The words cut through the rain, which was now starting to fall heavier on everyone’s shoulders. “Because this game…” With the passion in his voice, the fire in his eyes, the muscles protruding from his face as he clenched his jaw with the strength of a kroxigor, and the rain streaming down his face, this was the closest his team would ever see him to crying. “This game was the kind of game that makes coaches question if their team belongs in the Pros anymore…whether they have any heart left…whether those Division West jerkoffs are right, after all, when they say we’re throwing pillows over here.”
“I’m tired of going to funerals.” Coach Jest was in full evangelical mode now, his voice booming out from the cliff. “This is TMNL’s 5th in 5 games. And I just came back from Xtina Agiscareya’s.” Now the Lizbian players were looking at the floor, too. Coach Jest leaned forward, his gaze fixed on his TMNL players. “If you are ready to stop being punching bags…to fulfill the potential that the MML saw in us when we were knocking heads around New Zardsey…to smash some dirty rats next week…to defend our Wicked Forest title, join me in helping Frau ride off into the sunset the way she wanted, and next week, take the first step in making sure her sacrifice wasn’t in vain!”
Without hesitation, all of the players stepped forward and put their claws somewhere on Frau and Banshee. Coach Jest, who was holding one of the handlebars, unlocked the parking brake, and announced, “We’re missing a player.” Everyone looked around, confused. Coach Jest looked back over to the crowd, motioning toward a high elf and a saurus, in particular: “You all remember Killmono Dragon’s father and brother, Killip and Raarnold Drummond.” Killip, Bruce Lee Dragon’s former sensei, had adopted Bruce’s sons Killmono and Raarnold and raised them in New Orc City after Bruce and their mother were murdered on Isla Nublar. “Killmono was our best hitter, bar none,” Coach Jest declared as he cast a quick side eye at Tyrannosaurus Flex. “This team needs a shot in the arm. After much thought, Raarnold has decided to drop out of college and continue the legendary legacy that his older brother began here. Raarnold, please join us in saying goodbye to our young teammate, and in helping us to kickstart a new era of tenacity and toughness.”
“It would be an honor,” declared Raarnold, and then he charged full speed into the back of the motorcycle as Coach Jest hit the throttle. Frau and Banshee jolted forward as the teams ran with them, until the bike left the grasp of the last player, Spermadactyl, and flew out over the cliff. For a second, Frau and Banshee appeared to be soaring into the heavens, climbing the now-torrential, heavy droplets of rain toward the lightning that had begun to crack the sky.