Charon says, "You may not enter the Graveyard, Undead Soul."
You should have just let me mine my Citrine, process my Silicon Chips and putter to the nearest Starcity, but no, Mister Bandit. You had to give a Nun a hard time, and that's why you're bleeding out in the hull of my ship. I hope this Fyordor guy knows First Aid, because I don't and the nearest Police Station's a few sectors away.
I've started playing Flatspace again. My desire to play it stemmed from playing the second one as "Nue Houjuu" and piloting a Flying Saucer as the class "Abductor". However, being Nue just isn't any fun. The desire to play it fair and scavenge asteroids and such for crap which I process into better stuff is new, and really tedious. Bandits have a tendency of coming after me when all I wanted to do was mine.
Luckily, I've just purchased a Thanatos Artillery, which I imagine looking something akin to the gray blob sticking off my doodle.
Now I've just got to convince that Sex-Droid to put on a sailor-suit.
...Cooold lovin' in deep space.
I also had a bad dream today. I woke up in a cold sweat after I dreamt that I was employed by a delivery service. I was doing well at the job, and apparently I'd gotten the job more or less because of connections my Mother had, which is odd because she doesn't have such connections in reality. The job promptly fired me because of a trip I had to take, which I think had something to do with my family preparing to move.
I was very ashamed, and if I remember correctly, so were my parents. Particularly my mother, who had worked hard to get me the job. I guess things are pretty good, though, when your most recent concept of a nightmare is being fired from an imaginary delivery-job.
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