Night, a disused corner of the Outback Stadium morgue.
With no one having come forward as of yet to claim the charred remains of Lugg, they've been moved from place to place as other races have brought new work into the facility. A odd crackle, and red light heralds the arrival of a . . . man? Something like it at least. Nearly invisible in the darkness he walks with purpose to the container holding what's left of the Bikebarian.
"I was truly hoping not to involve myself further in this until you'd drawn him out. I suppose the tweaks I made to convince you to steal the Firebreather from him must have affected your judgement in other areas too, a cigar thrown into fuel? Really? Oh well. You're better raw material anyway."
Again, the crackle and the red light. It emerges from the figure and envelops the container. Flashing brighter for a moment the container is gone, and in it's place the unmistakable figure of Lugg. Different though. The hand destroyed in the explosion replaced, his mane of black hair now a sickly shade, and his eyes, once filled with animal cunning and desire, now bottomless red pools.
"Here, wouldn't want to scare the kiddies too much." The figure says as he tosses a horned helmet Lugg's way. "I took care of your bike on my way in, and I'll get you registered for the next race too. . . . .hmmm . . . Devastator? . . . not bad, Destroyer? . . . .enh . . . . Ah! Lugg the Obliterator! He loves the bombast. With your new honorific, and what you'll do in the next race, well, he won't have any choice but to show himself will he?"
Behold Lugg the Obliterator. Behold your doom.
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