The slayer runs his hands, caked with engine grease, over his massive red Mohawk before he tugs off his goggles.

“Ey, yew! I’m Malakai. Ah heard et frem the grape vine that yew gotch a noshun to jein meh expadishun. Well derz allus luts of room ahn bard da Spirit of Grungi. Hope yew ain’t afeared of heights!”