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Boss Mom leads The People into the mouth of Churnguard Industries…

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Post Churn-times junkheaps need fearless leaders. ‘Fury’ Rona Tier III spins, slashes and leaps onto The Fold with an all-new look, updated animations and furious effects.

Check Out Her In-Game Footage

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Skin Highlights:

• All-new animations: chainsaw flipping, crazy kicking, Red Mist spinning, critical attacking and base recalling
• Into the Fray: Smacks glowing skull-shaped cracks in the ground from which circular saw blades emerge
• Foesplitter: Turns on her chainsaws, causing flying sparks and blood-red effects
• Trophies from her fallen enemies: Adagio’s plucked feathers and SAW’s mask!
• Punk-rock, post-apocalyptic style

‘Fury’ Rona Alternate Fate: Finder’s Keepers

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“So what if the Bird Man has ownt it since forever?” sang Rona, way loud. The People crowded shoulder-to-shoulder, Cutters crouched by the chain-link fence chip-chopping away at it bottom-up, leaping back when they got buzzed. Beyond, Churnguard Industries was a shiny, chrome-shuttered fortress, the only thing that’d been fixed up after the Churn Times. “What’s our motto?”

“Finder’s keepers!” cried The People jammed up by the gate, holding whatever spiky-blasty-bangy-fireball weapons they’d created themselves in the Junkheap. Rat Rods idled at the fore, reinforced and decorated all over with spikes and scrap and superglued toys. Rona paced back and forth, a chainsaw in each hand. “Rumor is, the Bird Man has a buncha grunts to do his fighting for him. Boss Mom would never sit back and watch The People fight!” She yanked down both arms, hitching the triggers of the chainsaws; the ignitions lit and the rusty chains spun loud and the thick oily fuel fumes mixed up with the Rat Rod exhaust to wash over The People like a foul baptism.

“Finders keepers!” screamed Rona as the fences curled up to the coiled barbed wire above. She stomped her spiked boots through the nearest gate hole and ran into the yard, face contorted with joyful rage, tongue out. The Rat Rods bashed through the gate on either side of her.

A shell blasted through the windshield of one, blew it to smithereens.

One of the compound’s shiny garage doors was open. Square in the middle was a big grunt of a guy, all camo and muscle, wearing a pre-Churn soldier uniform and mask, big enough to hold a squad automatic weapon loaded with explosive shells on his shoulder.

BLAM! The weapon fired off again, took out another Rod. The grunt took the massive kickback with a little bend of the back knee. “Gotcher breakfast, love,” he crowed.

Rona sprinted, head-down-eyes-up, then jumped belly-first, smoking chainsaws making bright sparking arcs. She slammed full-body into the grunt, his gun held up under her arm. “Gotcher ego, darling,” she cooed in his ear. The gun coughed out its shells all worthless behind her. She kicked him down and sliced off his trigger arm.

Boss Mom wasn’t often given to quiet moments of contemplation but she paused over the downed grunt, staring at the metal and wire poking out of what should’ve been a mangled-up rotator cuff. Rona squatted way down, ripped off the grunt’s mask and squinted at the grunt’s blinking red and black eyes.

Another grunt, identical to the first, came out into the light. Another appeared, then another, all with big freaking guns on their shoulders, surrounding the Boss Mom with faces obscured behind uniform masks.

The People raced into position around the Rods that had made it through the shell bursts, clubs and guns and cannons and super-sharps aimed.

Rona wiggled her brows. “You robot boys have a new mama now!” she screeched, and behind her The People growled and cheered and spat loogies. “Finders keepers, popinjays!” screamed the Boss Mom, and she leaned back, spun like a nightmare ballerina, a joyful flurry of pain, the chainsaws held out wide, saw blades splitting the robots right down the middle. The grunts opened fire, blew each other apart across their circle.

“Boss Mom! Boss Mom!” chanted the front line as they jammed and stomped each other to get at the action, battering and slicing at grunt bot after grunt bot as they poured out from the Churnguard hangar. The air was an eardrum-ruining cacophony of bullet blasts and Rod engine revs and squad automatic weapon coughing, smoke stinging the eyeballs and torches lighting up spray paint in every murderous color of the rainbow until the grunts stopped coming.

Rona climbed the pile of half-metal, half-bloody bits that had been the Churnguard army and screamed at the sky. “Come out, Bird Man! This is mine now! I’m Churnguard Boss! I’m gonna sip tea from your skull and wear your pretty-pretty feathers in my hair!”

Another shiny chrome garage door opened, nice and slow, and The People cheered.