'A metal machine, powered enough to go at the speed of a bullet.'

Rumours of-course, that's what people said, those that blink on the dusty roads, with favour from the embellished wave of heat that is produced, filtered from the raw energy of the sun. Things are different now. Tire tracks lodge themselves into the dirt of Chicago's soil - with only a breath of ingenuity, and the roar of the Hardcases engines with the members at the helm. Encroaching on it's populous - Joey Olbose, Scratchy and Arakis ride through the cold seeded air, embedding themselves into Chicago's history and making the attempt to rise into the top. 

A leather jacket, coating the upper torso - memorabilia and trinkets flail - with each members customised thread and pattern, yet all the same patch sown into the back and left shoulder creating union between them all. Leaving the arms to breath, the restriction for the swing of the bat or the throw of a punch elevates for it's full force, leather crunched with every movement. Helmets coated in black, and boots collectively dirtied by it's endeavours, with a kick and a rapid turn of the gas, Joey extends his arm, and shouts to his brothers:

"LETS MAKE SOME NOISE"