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Wednesday January 22nd 2020 11:13AM EST 42 degrees Freedomheight Light rain wind gusting to 30 mph offshore Skies over Kingston Over the abandoned homes, squatters, and bold rebuilders that comprised Kingston now the rain fell in the kind of lazy drizzle that said even it didn't want to be out in this weather. Those too proud or too poor too flee the ruined suburb went about their days heads down and focused on the next step and getting in from the blustery wind and chill wet that coated the near empty streets. High overhead the clouds, or space itself twisted and through the rent between worlds something emerged unnoticed by those below. That wouldn't last long. The Unbreakable Kronk emerged from the twisting rift in the warpwold his transit beacon giving off a foul acrid smoke and letting out a high pitched keen before falling silent and still no matter how hard he tapped the display. Against the backdrop of the dark clouds the black and chrome of his wyldride was but a shadow for any soul who looked up. Of course dimensional transit by such crude means would have alerted many looking for such things or sensitive to the warp and weft of the terminus and the fallen worlds it left behind. The bulky rider looked out over the city trying to get his bearings and soon his eyes fell on the doomforge, apparently unguarded but for distant proles far below. With a wild whoop and bellow far below the hearing of most humans reverberating off the clouds above he charged the cannon mounted in his sidecar and gunned the engine of the inter-dimensional bike the repulsors leaving a golden afterglow in the skies above as he angled for attack, "EAT MOLTEN DEATH YOU GLORIFIED TIN CANS" Kronk boomed as he unleashed a blistering burst of charged particles from the scavenged ship cannon mounted at his side. With a crashing boom the sky was lit by the stream of energy as it crashed into the nihilor steel of Doomforge sending arcing lighting crawling the dormant buildings armored bulk. With a mad laugh the biker swooped past and turned about angling for a fresh attack heedless of the panicked proles below fleeing from his assault, "COME GET ME DRONES I GOT A FRESH SPOT JUST FOR YOU!" he challenged slapping the side of his bike where he'd meticulously painted miniature Omegadrones for each confirmed kill.
GM November 3rd, 6.45PM, Out the back behind Golden Calf casino, Southside, Freedom City Wherever the kids in the red bandana masks and 'C' letter jackets had gotten the energy gun, it knocked the armored truck clean over and blasted a body-sized hole through the back. The wrecked vehicle skidded across the parking lot on its side, bills blasted loose billowing out of the smoking hole, propelled into the air by a fire set to the bales of green cotton. The guards scrambled out of the cabin, shaken but unhurt as they drew their weapons, only to be driven off by an energy blast detonating the ground in front of them. Darting out of their hiding places, the C's swarmed across the parking lot and tore open the rear door, hauling out stacks of the cash intended for the Golden Calf towering and blazing with yellow lights above them. Money poured into duffel bags, the kids adroitly avoiding the burned or burning cash.Aside from the bulky, crude energy gun that looked like it had been made out of junkyard parts, for reasons any Freedonian could figure out they weren't armed. Besides the crowbars and fairly good upper-body strength. Archer could hear them laughing and joking below. They sounded younger than he did, for the most part. The only exception was the one carrying the energy gun, also the only one unmaked. He looked like he was in his mid-20's, stout and sober, keeping a careful eye on the gang's surroundings.