YOU save the entire Universe!
23:00 hours, downtown Gothic, the city is a cesspool. I hate life. I hate people.
You stalk moodily through alleyways, the dark soldier of justice. A lone soldier in a war society could never understand.
You see some young punk drop a coke can on the sidewalk. You know it's only a matter of time before he's selling crack and molesting old people. His sort of scum never sleeps. This city never sleeps. You raise a motor driven rotary cannon and level it at the punk's head...
B-B-B-B-B-BRAKACHOOM!
That's one punk-ass punk who won't hurt another innocent pavement with his sordid filth.
The night blurs into a blur of punks. Jaywalkers.... hookers..... shoplifters.... stray dogs... illegal parkers.... foul language....
But this night belongs to justice! This night belongs to the Revenginator!!!!
Hours (or is it days (or is it weeks)) pass in a miasma of punks, and you find yourself on the edge of town, near the research HQ of Wark Industries, a company that does vital defence research for Uncle Sam. Fighting the towel heads. And other foreigners.
Your attention is attracted by the huge explosions, gunfire, cop cars, riot police, helicopter gunships, and collapsing buildings.
Nothing gets past years of training in the toughest war in human history.
War is hell. This city is hell.
You stalk moodily through alleyways, the dark soldier of justice. A lone soldier in a war society could never understand.
You see some young punk drop a coke can on the sidewalk. You know it's only a matter of time before he's selling crack and molesting old people. His sort of scum never sleeps. This city never sleeps. You raise a motor driven rotary cannon and level it at the punk's head...
B-B-B-B-B-BRAKACHOOM!
That's one punk-ass punk who won't hurt another innocent pavement with his sordid filth.
The night blurs into a blur of punks. Jaywalkers.... hookers..... shoplifters.... stray dogs... illegal parkers.... foul language....
But this night belongs to justice! This night belongs to the Revenginator!!!!
Hours (or is it days (or is it weeks)) pass in a miasma of punks, and you find yourself on the edge of town, near the research HQ of Wark Industries, a company that does vital defence research for Uncle Sam. Fighting the towel heads. And other foreigners.
Your attention is attracted by the huge explosions, gunfire, cop cars, riot police, helicopter gunships, and collapsing buildings.
Nothing gets past years of training in the toughest war in human history.
War is hell. This city is hell.