The comic opens with a rift in an ashblown wasteland. It forms a great spine through the landscape, blasted walls curling like ribs over one another. The wreck of a tank shambles along the edge, inner workings exposed to reveal amorphous lumps of organic tissue that have fused with the machine’s innards, apparently compelling it to move. It is accompanied by a squad of soldiers in power armor, who have suffered a similar fate—part armor, part ambling flesh. They’re apparently searching for something, or someone.
In the shadow of the rift hides an aircraft. It looks sort of like a cross between a helicopter and a jet, but with much chunkier armor. From inside the craft, someone speaks:
R.A.: What’s better than this!
The frame pulls into the cockpit of the aircraft. Piloting the craft is a soldier who’s built like a brick wall. Her much twiggier research assistant sprawls across the divider, kicking off her boots.
R.A.: Just you, me, the shambling husks of your fallen comrades…
The frame pulls out for a better look at the cockpit. The R.A. makes a brittle smile at the camera and indicates the figure next to her, MarkOS. He’s a rangy construct with a respirator and hooded cloak concealing his features, carrying a formidable-looking rifle in his mechanical hands.
R.A.: And the surveillance unit that the empire uses to monitor our every movement.
He waves bashfully.
MarkOS: I do my best ^^;
The R.A. loses the façade.
R.A.: At least pretend to be insulted, dude.
Before MarkOS can respond, something in him short circuits with a loud KKSHAPP. The R.A. blanches.