A man who had long forgotten his name was driving down the twisting paths of the pinched barrens, his loyal dog at his side. He drove east, into the sunset, deftly piloting his mobile fortress; a custom Marauder, 69’, with a screaming red and black widow paintjob. He was on a mission, following reports of some free radical anomalous jackass terrorizing the good people of OKS and being a general eyesore. He cranked down the window and tossed out his cigarette. “How ‘bout that? It’s not often you see an anomaly in the wild is it, boy?” “I see,” responded Nine, turning to One. “Did you hear that?”