“Wait!” you cry, backing up as the trundling stink-bot bears down on you. “Don’t hurt me! I’m not creeping around, I just got a bit lost..!” “Lost, eh? A likely story! Yer after me dung, innit, tryna get yer thievin’ mitts on me precious droppings? Well, ye picked the wrong droid to mess with, sonny!” The filthy machine jabs its shovel-like hand forward and pokes you in the gut, sending waves of pain rushing through you as you lose your footing and hit the ground. “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...” The robot glowers down at you, gigantic metal teeth chomping frighteningly... Then, all of a sudden, it stops...and sniffs the air. “Mmmm...” it says. “Now there’s a smell to stay a sewer-droid's fury. You sure know how to get on my good side.” You get a whiff of what the robot is smelling and realise with horror that this new odour is coming from you...specifically, your trousers, which you have shat in the heat of the moment! “Oh God,” you moan, hanging your head in shame. “Not to worry, guv,” says the suddenly amiable robot, helping you up. “Nothing that can’t be fixed. Tell you what, drop your kecks, bend over, and ol’ Rojaws will clean you up good as new, won’t leave a nugget... I’ll let you be on your way if you indulge an old sewer-bot... What do you say...pal?”
Do you...
Indulge an old sewer-bot and do as you are told, or...
Explain about the party and show your invitation to prove you are entitled to be here?
