"Yellow-white salt wastes stretch a thousand miles in every direction. The only signs of civilization among the dunes are pockmarks of ramshackle scarecrows with oil fire apexes and the trailing dust plumes of rust-razor buggies. One such vehicle stands apart, piloted by a legend of the desert. He tears through a rival rider's lifeline in the parched pavement. It's nothing personal, but he needs 600 scrap to afford the harpoon launcher that will let him pass into the scorched ebon around Gastown, where his true prize awaits."