[hr][center][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjcyLmI3MzYzNi5TMGxPUnlCSFNWcGFRVkpFLjY,/punk-kid.regular.webp[/img][/center][right][b]Interactions:[/b] None.[/right][right][b][code]The Beach[/code][/b][/right][hr]

A long, weary sigh escaped the cockpit of King Gizzard. It was a bullshit little power move Corps liked to play. A favour for free under the table before they could get down to "business". He was about to call it for the political dick swing that it was but bit his tongue at the last second and settled for a longer-than-normal drag of his cigarette. He was on thin ice as it was and fucking up this mission, however idiotic it was, would likely be what finally brings him in front of a firing squad. Some of his fellow "Vultures" really needed the money anyway, so at least he didn't feel like he was taking it like a chump for nothing.

[Colour=Crimson]"System check lookin' good, one hundred percent, all systems go, et cetra."[/colour] His bored southern rasp informed down the radios, flicking his cigarette out of the cockpit before it closed shut with a metallic thud.

King Gizzard whirred to life as its pilot put his feet up on the control board - missing a few buttons that were no longer needed due to its piloting system. A hatch opened above the cockpit with a woosh and down came the guitar-shaped apparatus that controlled the shell, resting just above its pilot's lap. He inhaled and put his hands on the machine - 'Old Boy' as he liked to call it - and let his left hand run up and down the strings, quietly savouring the soft screech as his skin glided against the metal. He broke the silence with a hard downstroke and the shell took a step forward. While other pilots were busy selecting music, Gizzard was creating it with every step. A strum turned to a rhythm turned to a symphony as the machine made its descent from The Nest's hanger.

Despite its borderline ramshackle appearance, the shell glided through the air in an almost beautiful arc - momentarily resembling the very birds mimicked by the squad. When it landed, King Gizzard's momentum didn't falter as it deftly shifted to ground movement, weaving through the derelict shells and crumbling buildings and moving further away from the squad.

[Colour=Crimson]"Gizzard, movin' towards the nearest treeline. Gonna let 'em move in a little and fuck 'em up from behind. Should be easy pickin's for the firing support."[/colour] A rueful little smile spread on his face as King Gizzard blitzed into the vegetation and halted, crouching amongst the shadows. [Colour=Crimson]"Or, sit back and enjoy the show. I don't give a shit.[/colour]

As if in anticipation, King Gizzard's buzzsaw spun softly.