"The weather is killing me. Why do these operators only pick days like this to carry out their operations? If we keep doing this, we'll be dead before we even get off. It'll take ages to gather allies who don't even know where they landed."

"You knew that, but didn't you come out?"

"That's right. It might be okay for the Manhattan guys who always disinfect and go around, but it's the Slavs and Chinki bastards who don't even wash properly and are stuck in the northeast doing farm work. They're all just contaminants, so it's better to burn them."

"10 seconds left until landing! No abnormalities in the attitude control rockets!"

"Okay, let's go."

A Cleaner regiment that once warmed Manhattan and New York more than anyone else falls from the sky, cutting through the cold wind.

Even the strongest snowstorms that swept across New York were incomparable - it was hard to ignore them completely - dozens of tons of fire trucks. Covered in thick armor and filled with napalm instead of water, the agents of the fire god dropped down toward Hartford one by one.