Red Thunder, your beloved battlecycle, roars and spits flame from the chromed exhausts as you tear down the street. The massive engine throbs between your legs, alive with furious power. The mounted forward guns, their barrels painted with shark mouths, gleam with potent malice. The machine is a well oiled instrument of freedom and death, your prized possession. Well...fourth in line you suppose. The other three are here as well, crawling all over you.