The last Aussie Holdens all roll out, quietly, in resignation. Sad eyes follow, hearts fallen. The hushed applause starts to subside, giving way to introspection, memories... the workforce resigned, tears in their eyes as they come back to earth and reality. Minutes pass...

Suddenly the melancholy silence is broken by a mighty mill cranking to life, filling factory with fire and fumes. A big engine. A single, proud Holden engine, exhausts like cannons firing at a loping idle, blower whine, rattling the whole building menacingly from the depths of darkness behind those yellow roll-up doors. In an instant, the huddled masses know, just know, and their eyes water again not in sadness but in joy(and nitrous). A bell tolls. Again. Guitar. The unmistakable intro to Hell’s Bells... throttle blips in time, eardrum assault. The monstrous machine rises in pitch, a gear engaged, the noise reaching a crescendo accompanied by the smoke of tires, power of the last of the V8 Interceptors, guitars and drums, a howling voice in protest against this great injustice, the pride of Australia come back to life in fearful form. The roll up door rises... smoke, fire, and brimstone billow forth and a shape emerges, chrome glinting in the overhead lights, an orange HQ and noise and fire and fury and power and the pride of a nation launches forth, tires afire, to avenge this loss, sealed beam lamps ablaze through the smoke. The people of Holden, transfixed but knowing what’s to come, file out of the building to safety, to a better vantage point, for the final act is about to begin... Outside, an army of Holdens and Fords await, exhausts gunning for the sky together in shared love of the Australian automobile. The Utes arrive, loaded with cases of coldies, Tooheys for all. The people know what’s to come, what must come...

Kranky has come to burn this motherfucker down.