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"I am ready, man. Ready to get it on. Check-it-out. I am the
ultimate bad ass. State of the bad-ass art. You do not want to fuck with
me. Hey, Ripley, don’t worry. Me and my squad of ultimate bad asses will
protect you. Check-it-out. Independently targeting particle-beam phalanx!
Fry half a city with this puppy. We got tactical smart-missiles, phased-plasma
pulse-rifles, RPG’s. We got sonic electronic ball breakers, we got nukes,
we got knives..."
Vi har alla hört det förut och vi vet hur lite det spelar roll när de
flåsar en i nacken.
"Hey, ’Top.’ What’s the op? Rescue mission. There’s some juicy
colonists’ daughters we gotta rescue from virginity. Shee-it Dumbass colonists."
Uppdraget är att rädda det som räddas kan.
"Movement! Position? Can’t lock on... Talk to me, Hudson. Uh,
seems to be in front and behind. We can’t see anything back here, Apone.
What’s going on?"
Vi vet ju alla hur det slutar...
"I only need to know one thing. Where they are."
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