This is a robotic hawk with razor-sharp talons and beak. Sure, normal hawks have razor-sharp talons and beaks, too, but normal hawks can't shoot laser beams out of their eyes.

Let's all take a minute and think about how awesome that would be, though.

The death-ray self-destructs. Well, it doesn't actually explode this time, but it does start engaging in risky, self-destructive behavior. You leave it to play Russian Roulette with itself and head off deeper into the bowels of the ship.

You enter a room and see a roaring fire in one corner. You've never seen an open fire on a spaceship (apparently, you've never been on any caveman spaceships), nor have you smelled chestnuts roasting thereon, so the whole thing is a little disorienting.

What's even more disorienting, and more than a little nauseating, is that there are two cyborgs canoodling in front of the fire, both wrapped (thankfully) in an oversize blanket, their black rubber outfits carelessly tossed in a heap in the corner.

"It is settled then," one of the cyborgs says. "We shall face, unafraid, the plans that we made. As soon as the human known as Parson Brown comes to town, we shall be wed."

You inch out of the room as quickly and quietly as you can, stopping only to loot the pile of discarded cyborg-wear.

I <3 you Kingdom of Loathing.

Posted by: Jacqueline at 05:35 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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