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Leoben

“Fall, Socialist Satans!” Randigrad shrieks through cavernous megaphones, unleashing another cannonade. Marxopolis rocks on its treads and spits back an electrostatic volley.

“Your epithets are inconsistent with rationality,” it trumpets. “Clearly your logic is as flawed as your elitist philosophy!”

“Eat alloy!” snaps Randigrad, and labors to bring its broadside to bear.

Deep in the sweating bowels of Marxopolis, Karl and Leoben heave at one of the thousand yokes that keep the gears turning, then brace for the shock of impact.

“Heard anything about what the infidel Objectivists use for power?” says Leoben wistfully.

“Pretty much the same thing,” says Karl.

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