Somewhere in Nevada. The quaint deserted area, just sandy, dull red land, is empty. Until a slam of a street sign is seen, foreign metal noise in silence. Through the massive cracks on the floor, Tricky crawls through, hands and body shaking, not even a quiver, almost seizing-like. His mask hides his face— behind it isn't much of a face, just thick green skin and an unhinged, large jaw.

Tricky grunts, and plants the sign onto the floor, brute strength allowing the sign to dig into the rocky floor and standing up with just the tiniest tilt.