Darryl walked slowly towards the town message board, pulling his hat down to shade his face from the glaring desert sun. He adjusted his Crew Boss pin, which read the numbers "87785" in black, boxy letters. That pin meant he was aligned with Manson&Johnson, the company which owned the entire south of what used to be the United States. It meant he was one of the most powerful men in town, short to only the mayor and sheriff. He could feel their eyes on that pin, the urchins hiding in the alleyways and stalls, the hunters sitting outside and polishing their steam rifles and far to the distance, the Grand Trade Leagues Palace of Blimps, thousands upon thousands of giant balloons holding the behemoth of a city boyuant in the air. He wished he could be back in the office, with its cracked walls and broken air conditioner. In there he felt like the boss, felt like he could get things done. But out here in the town, who knows what could happen. "Shut up and get it done" he told himself and finally reached the center of town. He looked up at the battered board, the letters spelling "town message board" long stolen. Hastily he reached into his pocket and brought out a piece of faded parchment. He pinned it on the board and rushed backed to the office where he knew the stacks of paperwork and official documents were waiting, ready to be signed. The orphans crept out of their hiding places and rushed to the board, to discover their prayers had been answered. Those who could read shouted the words with glee as they turned and sprinted towards the office after the man. The words on the paper were "LARGE BLIMP CRASH 10 MILES SOUTH. SCAVENGERS WANTED. SCAVENGE RIGHTS GIVEN TO CREW BOSS 87785. SCAVENGE RIGHTS GIVEN BY MANSON&JOHNSON INC."