Dark smog fills the horizon across endless torrents of acidic rain and a backwash of toxic atmospheric sludge and mercurial starlight. It's the brink of day, the twilight eve on the vast, dark and utterly alien world. As an alien to it, I cannot say I'm moved, but I know of none other. Salty smells proliferate in my aroma sensing cavities, as filled with the smell of cigarettes as they may be. Across endless empty barren fields and fruitless unforgiving deserts I travel, bringing me here to this cliff. I shake my fists at the heavens for sending me here, but the heavens don't give a single plea back. They are unforgiving heavens indeed.
I shake my head and turn back.
I get on my black motorcycle.
Driving against the sunet.
I am Mad Mike, and this is my story.
