Beck had come from the big city; the biggest in the country, at one point – Empire, along the gulf of Mexico, near Spain. The city had been hit by a nuclear blast in the third world war. It was among the oldest colonies in western America; over the Caspian Mountains from Germany and Spain. He saw little change in it from the start to the end of the second American civil war; all communism really was in practice was the government imitating capitalism poorly, wasting everything, along with endless corruption in the political and corporate world preventing any upward mobility.
Like those things didn’t already define the American way of life; for at least two or three decades prior to his own birth; the American dream wasn’t a lie, but political and corporate corruption had grown leaps and bounds after the 50s and 60s as America's cultural identity found itself under attack by the pseudo-intellectual educated.
Beck had dropped out in ninth grade, he wanted money; he wanted the safety the people inside the city’s luxury domes, had found; they were essentially microcosms of the colonies, he’d found he had a knack for refurbishing robots, and ended up committing more and more crimes with them; he rarely saw much jail time because of how ridiculous the crimes themselves were. He passed all over the country until he got mixed up with the Skulls in Rachel, a small town up north.
Mitsuo, their boss, had given him the opportunity to stay, and he took it; becoming part of their cute little color gang; a gang not about screwing over people, shooting up the opposition, and making money through drugs and prostitution. He took up shop in the town's junkyard, and started building mechas to sell.
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