As they drink from your puddle, you raise the javelin and kill one. Then another. Finally, the leader of group looks up. He's aware that he is a mutant, and accepts his fate. The monster whispers thank you as you bring down the pike one last time.
Alone, surrounded by death and covered with blood, you are unsure of what to do. Why were you so passionate about being in the Olympics? Was it worth the life of five mutants and one pervert? No, of course not. You think about calling the police, but decide listening to Limp Bizkit would be better.
And you thought women had one-dimensional script intros that treated them like sex objects. Ewoks have it even worse.
No one seems to like the new Doom box art. But it's still the same old Doom Guy under that space marine helmet. Right?
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