Prongseat

Fuck these pricks and all who straddle their cursed fires. Suckflies, they call 'em, the suicidal tools that run recon for boarding parties. The sardonic twist lies in the fact that it requires a lifetime dedicated to the obtuse craft of skillfuly wrangling these jittery missiles to tame them into compliance. More oft than not, the muckbrain pilots render themselves nothing more than a warm-blooded guidance system, delivering ordinance directly to its unintentional target. Now, same parcel to outlaws, the Fringe be full of industrious and wholesome folk and I've heard tale of the valiant and clever use of the scooter in the noble enterprises of defense and rescue. But in large part my unfortunate encounters with the well-monikered Prongseat have been the sites of tragedy, laden with powdered shreds of metal, adrift in The Void.