We gaze up in equal parts wonder and fear at the giant sphere that has appeared above our city. It contains the dead husks of our aspirations in the form of hilarious nostalgia. Awk-waaaaard!
His eyes black. His body in repose. Staring at an infinite horizon forever. Never dying or even aging.
Remember bees? They are not dying out, their queens had led them to the safety of the sphere. They will be preserved through the coming tumult.
We're not going to solve gun massacres with bad manners, people.
The guns are gone. Now what happens to all those paper targets? Don't tell me you forgot about the paper targets. The ones hanging from little clips on fancy clotheslines at shooting ranges. With no guns to destroy these legions of paper bastards, they go unchecked.
A sign proclaiming "BACTA: DA FUTURE" marks the town's medical clinic
1998: I upload dave.pcx, and change the course of history
Set goals for yourself, and fulfill them. Absurd! Only in video games!
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