White blood leaks from the wound on its carapace. Its hat falls off from his head, revealing a pale, bald face with vibrant blue eyes. It shows no pain, no emotion. It looks at you. "Once again assuming," the Synth says, and an invisible force suddenly blasts you onto the rails of the train tracks behind you. It pries the staff out of its stomach, snaps it in half over his knee, and tosses it away. He looks at the other Punks, ready for battle. ((START BATTLE ON THE NEW POST))