Lance Hardcheese cruised around, the Challenger gliding through the streets like a black hearse carrying death. On either side he could sense the trash and disease that festered in the gutters. A fire was rising and soon it would cleanse this town. The war would go on.

The car pulled into the parking lot of a local diner. Even if he was the tool of their destruction, he was still only a man. Zipping up his jacket, he stepped out, locking the door behind him. Inside were a pair arguing and fighting. It was a lover's spat, no doubt. Lance shrugged, and went to the counter, ordering a beef bowl and some coffee. Even a foreign place like Japan knew the value of meat and grains. As he waited for his food to arrive, a mug of steaming black liquid was filled up before him. Still, he found himself grinding his teeth as a trio argued to his side. Some punk was trying to weasel his way into a free meal, and the other two were far too indirect to solve this. At least the woman had no patience for his games, but she was using words. Game Warden knew that words never mattered. Not in the war.

Standing up, he picked up a nearby stool. Walking at a brisk pace, he shifted the weight of the furniture around, then brought it in a downward arc towards Dancing Jack.