It wasn't until after I left the place that it dawned on me. Babble, Throat and Ricky worked for Delta Corporation. They had given up the post. Never trusted those fuckers anyway.

I loaded a fresh 150-round cartridge into my standard-issue M39 carbine, wiped the sweat off my brow and hit the control lever on the autoscoop. A slight cough from disuse; the machine then purred into action.

Bitches were going to pay. Shoulda killed me when they had the chance.

The one-man scoop lifted almost silently off the asphalt tarmac. The harsh noonday sun refracted in its pulse trail.

A moment later, it shot like a bullet towards New Japan � towards salvation. Towards revenge. Towards Delta Corporation.

Soon the only sound in the desert was the wind blowing and the sand beetles gnawing the flesh of dead comrades.

------------------

He had the cold, glazed eyes of a madman. Looking at him gave me a preternatural chill. Thank God the killer goat was locked up -- safely out of touch with the civilization he had once haunted during his bloody youth.