Cream Can Junction, Idaho, Tuesday Afternoon.

"Yeah, I'm doing fine, sorry to leave without notice, just you know..."
"..."
He laughed, slapping the payphone, "yeah, I know, nothin but rocks and turds up in there, I know, how's Maw?"
"..."
His laughed harder this time, "yeah, yeah, still fat."
Wind kicked a fine skin of dust across his boot. He stepped back from the payphone, staring off into the lanes of juniper that led off to a mountain in the distance. A cloud skimmed across it's southern flank.
"You know I can't tell you that Paw, Carter's men are bound... Paw? Paw?"

He tried placing another credit in the phone, punching the numbers in with a grumble. It rang five times before going to an answering machine. He hung up the phone before spitting on the wall. The grumpy son of a bitch was just sore he wouldn't share the haul right away, scrap it off and take an early retirement. Nah, with a sweet bird like this, it was best to hold onto it use it for investment, Montana reassured himself.

Stepping back into the lounge, he sat back down with his beer. He stared at the dirty bar length mirror, hand and elbow popping out from between green and clear dust covered bottles in the reflection. He bounced his toothpick between his teeth a bit as his gaze rotated to the ceiling fan overhead, cobwebs wobbling in its breeze. A pulsing noise filled the room, as the bartender finally scored enough points on the bartop arcade to show off the pubic hair of some long dead model. He sighed deeply before taking a deep swig of beer.

"Ya'll ever think about cleaning around here?"
"Shut the fuck up, Wyoming," the bartender grunted without looking up from the screen.

White Horse Village, Utah, Sunday Afternoon

"Whaddya think of the sermon, Montana?"
"Well, jeez Dylan," he paused for a moment as they ambled downtown, "you know how I am about the doom and gloom stuff."
"Heh."
"I just wanna get out of church and maybe grab a beer or two, I did my pittance for the week, gave Padre Carter my payment. Christ, his uncle owns the half the mountain range, I don't know what he needs the money for."
"That money's going to the Lord, Montana."
"Is it? Seems kinda funny that Uncle Carter's paying me to strip his mountain, then I gotta go pay Padre Carter back ten percent of my earnings, and then Uncle Carter's gonna run off and stake a claim on ten percent more of the mountain range. You hear the rumors about Flathead Butte?"
"Yup."
"Seems soon folk like us ain't gonna have much more stake in this town."
"Starting to sound like a perversive type there, Montana."
A clod of dirt kicked off of Montana's heel as he made an abrupt stop.
"Awwww jeez, I'm just saying, I'd like to take a little look around there before that greasy Uncle Carter starts sending me over there on his time."
"Wouldn't we all."
"Shiiiiit," he started walking again, eyes meandering over to Flathead Butte hanging in the distance, "let's grab a beer, Dylan. I need to sin again."

White Horse Village, Utah, Late Sunday Evening.

"Cooler's over there, Montana," Dylan burped as his Workloader swiveled to the right, it's lights stopping on a classic red and white cooler. Montana lurched towards it, grabbing a plastique charge and a pint of beer. He motioned towards Dylan to turn the lights off, Dylan burping a sorry over the speakers.

Walking back to the seismic surveyor, the hiss of his can opening poured through the forest, followed the dead clink of metal as he fed the explosive into the unit. He pressed a few buttons, entering into and cancelling out of screens using these things half in the bag was always a challenge, then twisted himself away pressing one pinkie into his ear while slurping from his beer.

"FIRE IN THE--" the surveyor discharged it's round, the shotgun blast ringing through the forest valley. The surveyor screen faded to black as it retrieved the data, the underground schema of the forest, roots, rocks, and burrows, loading onto the screen in a slow crawl. Montana impatiently took another long draw from his beer, staring down the valley at the village below. The loading began to speed up, the glow of debris casting a pale green warmth over the forest. His eyes started to widen.

"Hooolllllyyyyy shiiit."

White Horse Village, Utah, Early Monday Morning

"Hooolllllyyyyy shiiit," he whispered into his beer can, leaning over the hole Dylan had dug. A cockpit door had become visible after the last bucket load of dirt had been removed. A network of severed roots served as Montana's ladder as he scurried down into the beam of light that Dylan cast down. The door opened with the hiss of pneumatics unperturbed by years of burial, pushing a small mound of dirt up the edge of the hill, some small clods rolling back down into the cockpit. Montana slid into the cockpit, pulling the door shut behind him.

He pulled a small led lantern from his pocket, accidentally clicking it twice and unleashing a strobe effect before dropping it out of reach. Grumbling in between the bursts of light, he started to boot up the suit's computer. He took an awkward sip from his can, his lateral position causing a trickles of beer to run down his cheeks and behind his ears.

"Uh... Montana?"
"Shhhhhh Dylan, I told you our radios ain't exactly--"
"That you Prancer?!"
"Shiiiiiiiit."

The screen flashed green, a schematic of the suit coming up on the other end of Montana's beer can. It was Uncle Carter, he recognized the voice. The screen flashed again, a prompt instructing him to place the scanner upon his head. His eyes narrowed, a small utterance of what the fuck escaping his lips as he reached back and pulled the crown over his mullet.

"Prancer! I recommend you exit that there suit i-mead-iat-ly!"
Zero System Engaged. Battle recommendations: K I L L E V E R Y O N E
"The fuck?"
E S P E C I A L L Y D Y L A N

Cream Can Junction, Idaho, Tuesday Afternoon.

The door behind him opened, carving a wide arc of sunshine across the bar. Men groaned in a few deep corners of the bar as they were disrupted by the burst of light. Montana's shoulder's tensed for a brief moment before he recognized Dylan's shape. He twisted around with a smile that quickly sunk away as he saw the state of Dylan's face. Worked over heavily, Dylan's face had the color, shape and texture of an heirloom tomato. He grimaced a smile before sitting down next to Montana.

"Awwww jeez cousin, you know I didn't mean you to come to no harm."
"I know, I know, 'tana, ya just the way you are, Carter's just the way he is," his words were slurred.
"They sure went to town on ya, let you go, though."
"Yup, figure he'd lend me an ounce of pity."
"Awful nice of him."
"Yup, sure was."
"..."
"So what's the plan, 'tana?"
"Wanna have a beer Dylan?"
"Nah, I'm good. How about we go check out that suit I dug up."
"We dug up?"
"Yeah, sure. Let's go take a look at that."
"Sure cousin, lemme just finish this beer."
"Take your time cousin."

After a discussion-free two hour drive across a juniper lined road, they pulled into a narrow box canyon that narrowed around them before disappearing into a concrete shaft that angled down into the earth. Dylan turned the lights on the truck and smiled, seeing the form of the Wing Zero strapped to a transport truck. His smile disappeared as he pulled the gun strapped to his leg out and shot his unsuspecting cousin Montana in the head.

White Horse Village, Utah, Early Monday Morning

"The fuck?"

He wasn't sure how long it had been. He was covered in sweat, every muscle screaming in agony, rigidly locked around every bone and organ in his body. His throat ached as if it had been screaming but he wasn't sure if he had been screaming. The screen still blinked K I L L E V E R Y O N E E S P E C I A L L Y D Y L A N. He was finally catching his breath. The display flashed over to an overview of the battlefield, though warning that ninety percent of it's visual sensors were obscured or offline. He could see two icons for suits that sat behind Dylan.

"Damn it Prancer! This is it, ya got till the count of five or we're gonna shoot Dylan."
"God damnit 'tana, they ain't joking around this time," Montana could hear Dylan's voice crack.
"One."
"Please Montana, the hell are ya thinking about? Give up the goddamn suit."
"Two."
He began to warm up the thrusters.
K I L L E V E R Y O N E E S P E C I A L L Y D Y L A N
"Three"
A gunshot rung out over the intercom. Montana winced as he heard Dylan scream.
"Woops, sorry son, just a misfire. Your boy's ok, let's pick up where we left off."
K I L L E V E R Y O N E
"Four."
E S P E C I A L L Y D Y L A N
An alarm for the thruster began to squeal. Montana licked his lips.
"Five."

Jamming the lever forward, the suit was pushed out of the ground disrupting the aim of the countdown. The sudden jarring of the earth caused Carter's man to shoot Carter in the shoulder, distracting the two enough for Dylan to make a break for it into the woods. The suit transformed into Neo-Bird mode before shooting out over the mountainside, leaving the small town of White Horse Village, Utah behind him.

Cream Can Junction, Idaho, Early Tuesday Evening.

After a discussion-free two hour drive across a juniper lined road, they pulled into a narrow box canyon that narrowed around them before disappearing into a concrete shaft that angled down into the earth. Dylan turned the lights on the truck and smiled, seeing the form of the Wing Zero strapped to a transport truck. His smile disappeared as he reached for the gun strapped to his leg only to be interrupted by a click.

In a moment, the cabin of the truck was filled with smoke, light and blood. Montana reacted calmly, dropping the pistol before reaching over his cousin's body to open the door and push him out of the moving truck. Within a second, he was behind the wheel of the pickup now, stopping it inches before it struck the mobile suit transport.

"Fuckin' worm," Montana muttered before getting out of the truck. He figured Carter would not be far behind.

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