That two weeks without S-M or Icrontic really sucked. I got a life outside of this place, a good one, but I used to just read Icrontic top to bottom. Then one day, POOF, gone.

I felt like a refugee, or a fugitive, stopping back now and then to see if any of my comrades had tried to make contact. Finally, word came thru the underground that we were gathering at Kanez' site.

We arrived, one by one, bedraggled and haggard. When I walked in, Prime was in the corner with Shorty, a set of crudely drawn plans in his hands, huddled together, murmuring, the only word I could make out...."Revenge".

Thrax was sprawled atop an ammo crate, smoking a well deserved cigarette, his young face told a story that no man could bear to repeat. General Keebler, he was back at HQ, coordinating our movements. They were dark days, days when we thought the fire of the resistance would go out.

But, go out they did not. Prime, Mediaman, Shorty, they were the ones, those brave soldiers of yore, who led us out of the smoking ruins of our despair, led us on to smite our enemies, to drive them before us, to hear the lamentations of their women, onward ONWARD ONWARD TO SWEET GLORIOUS GLORY!!! Victory was ours, our foes vanguished, we returned to the lands of our fathers, to bask in the glory of our deeds.

And then someone said "I'd hit it", and the whole thing felt shallow. So I drank a Fresca and went to bed.