“Wait!” you cry, backing up as the trundling stink-bot bears down on you. “Don’t hurt me! I can explain!” “Explain what, guv? Why yer sneakin’ around trying to get yer thievin’ mitts on my droppings? Ye picked the wrong droid to mess with, sonny!” The filthy machine jabs its shovel-like hand to poke you in the gut, sending waves of pain rushing through you as you fumble in your pocket for the invitation. “My mate Mek-Quake will rip you apart! He’ll skin ya alive, rip yer limbs off, pulverise yer innards, play table-tennis with yer bollocks...” “There’s no need for all that!” you exclaim, producing the invitation. “Look, I have an invite to the party!” The droid snatches it from you and brings it up to its face for a proper look. “I won it,” you lie, “there was a competition...” “Is that so?” the robot mutters, examining the invite carefully. It hesitates and calms down, and you relax as it seems to be buying your story. Then, out of the blue, the robot lashes out with its shovel-hand and whacks you on the head. As you fall, dazed, to the ground, the robot wheels away from you and makes for the outhouse. “Thanks, sucker! Tharg wouldn’t give me an invite coz he was afraid I’d stink the place up! Well, ol’ Rojaws has a ticket now and he’s gonna use it! Watch out morons! Here comes the whiff of the party!” With that, the strange droid scans the ticket at the outhouse door, gaining access and vanishing inside. Before you can say or do a thing the doors have shut behind him and Rojaws - along with the invitation and the chance of a lifetime – is gone, leaving you with nothing to look forward to but the long and lonely journey home.
The End.
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