Dear Planet Earth,
Karter gave me a green bandana and told me to wrap it around my left arm. I noticed he too had a green bandana around his arm. He said it was so we could tell our own people apart from the mole men and the homies battling outside. He opened the rusty hatch that reminded me of a submarine and we were instantly propelled into a scene from a war movie.
Large plumes of smoke grew on all sides. Mortar blasts continuously pummeled groups of short people I had to assume were mole people. The steampunk towers creaked and melted from the constant volleys.
Karter lifted his rifle and started firing wildly at a troop of people clearly not wearing green bandanas. He yelled something back at me, but I had screams, explosions, and gunfire in surround sound. I followed closely behind him, crouched like a ninja, just as we did when we first tried to sneak into this tenth circle of hell.
We scrambled up the slope of a dune, climbing over the corpses of about a dozen mole men, the red eyes from their masks watching us all the way. We saw human bodies too, homies and our own people, if their left arms could be believed. I tried not to view too much of those images.
We made it to the lip of the desert bowl where we greeted by a familiar-looking boy. He was firing toward the battle below and quickly pointed his rifle toward us. The hardened look on his face swiftly changed to fear to shock to relief before letting us pass out of the contained war zone and into freedom.