RT June 26, 2009 / IC Time June 26,2030 Razor Hills Jagged hills loom overhead, so badly damaged that they're nothing but ripped, rusty metal with still-sharp edges. The ground is covered with sharp fragments, deeply imbedded and impossible to drive over without shredding tires. On all sides are closely-spaced piles of fragmented metal, spires jutting like spears from every angle imaginable, an insane conglomeration of razor blades awaiting the unwary traveler. Fierce winds sweep down from the desert to the northeast, making odd sounds as they howl through the jumble of razor-edged metal. Sometimes it sounds like beautiful but eerie music, at others it sounds like a city of Transformers screaming in their death agonies.