El Chivo has RISEN.


Dust on the Horizon. Air under his tires. A streak of silver chases a flash of yellow. General's hero falls by the wayside, seven soldiers stumble in the wake. On, on, on. . .screaming into the Mohave fog. Miles to seconds. Seconds to Second. Is it over? WHY does it have to be over? WHY? El Chivo has found his wings. Crouches in darkened hollow. . . waiting for the dawn of his reign. El Chivo will rise. For now, he waits.