Bobby leaned in closer as Mic activated a holographic display, projecting a shimmering map of London into the cramped confines of the Starling's Gearshift. The gnome's stubby fingers danced across the controls, zooming in on their current location and then panning out to highlight their destination.

"Right here," Mic said, tapping a spot that pulsed with a red glow. "That's where we're meeting the Kra'zak merchants."

Bobby squinted at the map, his brow furrowing as he calculated the distance. "Mic, that's clear across the city. There's no way we can walk there in three hours."

Mic's bushy eyebrows shot up. "Walk? Oh no, no, no! We're not walking. That would be suicide with all the rifts and nasties out there."

Bobby felt a twinge of frustration. "Then how are we supposed to get there? Your ship isn't exactly flight-ready, and I haven't seen any working vehicles since... well, since all this started."

The gnome's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Bobby, my boy. We might not have a spaceship, but we've got the next best thing."

Mic scurried over to a corner of the ship, rummaging through a pile of what looked like junk to Bobby. After a moment, he emerged triumphantly, holding up what appeared to be a small, metallic disc.

"Behold!" Mic proclaimed, his voice filled with pride. "The Gearswizzle Mark III Personal Transport Device!"

Bobby stared at the object, unimpressed. "It looks like a frisbee, Mic."

"Oh, ye of little faith," Mic chuckled. "This beauty can, err… zip us across the city in no time flat. Well, as long as we avoid the major rifts and, um, don't attract too much attention from the locals."

As Mic began explaining the intricacies of his invention, Bobby found his gaze drawn back to the holographic map. The pulsing red dot of their destination seemed to mock him, a reminder of just how much his world had changed. He couldn't help but wonder what other surprises this transformed London had in store for them.

Bobby watched with growing skepticism as Mic activated the disc. To his surprise, it hummed to life, hovering a few inches above the ground. The soft blue glow emanating from its underside cast eerie shadows across the cluttered interior of the Starling's Gearshift.

"Impressive," Bobby admitted, eyeing the device warily. "But how are we supposed to stay on that thing?"

Mic's face fell, his moustache drooping. "Ah, well, that's the tricky part." He deactivated the disc with a quick tap, scooping it up under his arm. "Come on, let's head outside. I'll show you how it works."

Bobby ducked through the ship's hatch, following Mic into the dilapidated warehouse. Musty air hit him like a wall, a stark contrast to the ship's filtered atmosphere. Sunlight streamed through holes in the roof, illuminating swirling dust motes.

Mic set the disc down on a clear patch of floor. "Now then, the Mark III is designed for gnomish proportions, but with a few quick adjustments..." He trailed off, fiddling with something on the disc's surface.

Crossing his arms, Bobby watched the gnome work. "I hate to break it to you, but I'm not exactly built to balance on a dinner plate."

Mic's eyes twinkled with mischief as he looked up. "Oh, yeah, I see. But just watch and learn, my tall friend."

With a flourish, he pressed a button on the disc. It whirred to life, expanding outward like a blossoming flower. In seconds, it had transformed into a platform large enough for both of them to stand on.

Bobby's eyebrows shot up. "Well, I'll be damned."

"Ha!" Mic scrambled onto the platform. "What did I tell you? Now hop on, we've got some Kra'zak to deal with!"

Bobby's face fell as a realisation hit him. "Shit, Mic. We forgot something pretty damn important."

The gnome froze, one foot already on the hovering platform. "What? What did we forget?"

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"The collars," Bobby pinched the bridge of his nose. "They're still in the ship. And don't you need to lock up or something?"

Mic's bushy eyebrows shot up, his mouth forming a perfect 'O' of surprise. He slapped his forehead. "Oh dear, that's... yes, I'll go get them."

Shaking his head, Bobby fought the urge to laugh at the absurdity of their situation. Here they were, about to zoom across a post-apocalyptic London on a floating disc, and they'd forgotten the very items they were meant to trade.

Mic hopped off the platform, his face scrunched up in thought. "Right, right. We can't negotiate without the goods, can we?"

Bobby watched as Mic scurried back into the Starling's Gearshift, muttering under his breath about "rookie mistakes" and "getting too excited." The gnome's enthusiasm was infectious, but it often led to overlooking crucial details.

A few moments later, Mic emerged from the ship, his small frame struggling under the weight of an oversized bag. In his other hand, he clutched the two collars they'd taken from Malformed Mike and his raider girlfriend. The sight was almost comical - the bag was as big as Mic himself.

"Jeeze, Mic," Bobby called out, rushing over to help. "You trying to give yourself a hernia?"

Mic's face was red with exertion, his moustache twitching as he panted. "Just... thought we might... need options," he wheezed.

Bobby reached the gnome and lifted the bag, surprised by its weight. He peered inside, recognising his weapons from the pub - the modified fire axe, his crossbow, and various other improvised tools.

"Good thinking," Bobby admitted, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "But next time, maybe we pack a bit lighter, yeah?"

Mic nodded, catching his breath. "Right you are. Now then, shall we be off? Those Kra'zak won't wait forever, and trust me, you don't want to keep them waiting."

Bobby glanced at the hovering platform, a mix of excitement and apprehension churning in his gut. "Alright, let's do this. But if we end up splattered across half of London, I'm blaming you."

Mic chuckled, climbing onto the platform with surprising agility. "Oh, ye of little faith! The Gearswizzle Mark III has never let me down. Well, except for that one time in the Andromeda galaxy, but that was a completely different situation."

Bobby raised an eyebrow but decided not to ask. He stepped onto the platform, his added weight causing it to dip slightly before stabilising. The hum of the device intensified, vibrating through the soles of his feet.

"Right then," Mic said, his hands hovering over a control panel Bobby hadn't noticed before. "Hold on tight, and whatever you do, don't look down!"

Bobby's stomach lurched as the platform rose higher, the warehouse floor shrinking beneath them. A cool breeze whipped around them as Mic guided the disc towards a gaping hole in the roof. The gnome's fingers danced across the control panel and the device on his wrist, his face a mask of concentration. As they cleared the warehouse, the full expanse of the transformed London sprawled before them, a maze of ruins and twisted landscapes. Bobby barely had time to take it all in before Mic grinned wickedly and pushed the throttle forward.

"This is bloody insane!" Bobby shouted over the rush of wind.

Mic cackled, his voice almost lost in the rush of air. "Isn't it wonderful?"

They weave through the skeletal remains of buildings, debris whizzing past in a kaleidoscope of rust and decay. Bobby's heart hammered in his chest as they avoided a collision with a dangling steel beam.

"Watch it!" he shouted, ducking.

"Oh, pish posh," Mic replied, not even glancing up. "We had loads of room!"

A flock of mutated pigeons scattered as they burst through, their twisted forms screeching in alarm. Bobby swatted at his face, spitting out feathers.

"Blimey, Mic! Can't you slow down a bit?"

The gnome's response was lost as they plunged into a yawning chasm that was once an underground station. Darkness enveloped them, punctuated by flashes of eerie bioluminescence. Bobby glimpsed something large and serpentine slithering just out of view, its scales scraping against concrete.

They emerged into daylight with a lurch, Bobby's stomach doing somersaults as they disturbed a pack of feral dogs who gave chase, their mutated forms a blur of teeth and matted fur. Mic banked hard, sending them spiralling up the side of a crumbling skyscraper.

"Err, hold on tight!" Mic shouted gleefully. "This next bit's a doozy!"

Before Bobby could protest, they plummeted back towards the ground. The world spinning around them, a nauseating mix of sky and rubble. At the last second, Mic pulled up, skimming so close to the pavement that Bobby swore he felt feel it scraping the bottom of the disc.

They zipped through the remnants of a shopping area, weaving between overturned cars and piles of debris. A shimmering rift appeared in their path, crackling with otherworldly energy.

"Mic!" Bobby shouted in warning.

Mic jerked the control, sending them into a barrel roll that avoided the rift's grasping tendrils. They righted themselves just in time to dodge a lumbering creature with too many limbs, its bulk just visible through the haze of a fetid swamp that was once a park.

As they careened around another corner, Bobby saw something massive moving in the distance. Its silhouette dwarfing the surrounding buildings, each step sending tremors through the ground.

"Mic," Bobby said, his voice tight. "Please tell me we're almost there."

The gnome glanced at a device on his wrist, then grinned up at Bobby. "Oh, we're making excellent time! Just, err, few more minutes. Then we should be… as you say… as right as rain!"

Bobby groaned, bracing himself as they plunged back into the chaos of London's transformed landscape. The Gearswizzle Mark III humming beneath them, carrying them ever closer to their rendezvous with the Kra'zak merchants.