The puller traversed a wasteland that smelt of burning chrome and sulfur, a flimsy box radio blaring a strange mix of static and jazz attached to his waist by a thin length of leather twine. Modern day cowboys they where called, traversing dangerous lengths of uninhabited land hoping to strike it rich with whatever old world technology or scrap they could dredge up.

This one in particular was named Kegan Messer, Puller handle “Abstract”, he wore a tight fitting jump-suit colored black with brown plates of metal covering the vital areas, the rest armored with similar plates of hardened leather that raced up his abdomen and down the fronts of his thighs. At his side he carried his side arm, a hand-gun that threw thermite slugs at twice the speed of sound, designed to penetrate armor up to three inches thick. A proper hand-cannon, but still considered standard issue as far as the Pullers where concerned.

It was early in the day, the air still filled with a dull, gray haze. His radio went quiet for a moment before an electronic voice sang brightly, “ITS A GREAT MOOORNING, 555 MARS RADIO” before being replaced by a husky man with a rough, foreign accent.

“Dis is a great morning today indeed!. 555 Mars radio broadcasting across ze cosmos and…and…in two hundred separate languages it's me Captain Blaster doing whatever I want whenever I want to do it…gracias to ze man upstairs for sponsoring our station.” he paused, sighed sarcastically.

“So, those of you who do ze dig 'round on Earth had betta watch-out, meteor storms are…expected around noon an-” distortion broke the connection and the radio fell silent, solid, black shapes advancing over the horizon, Kegan leveled his hand-cannon, and soon followed with a hailstorm of bright orange shells.

The End

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