the smell of cigarettes. That ashen fury that engulfs the nostrils. It's the arrogant insistence of it. You just can't think about anything else until you've gotten rid of it.||
The brass needed to know about the Wrath's new heavy armor productions, but they couldn't fuel our man's bird for both ways of the trip. Of course, background radiation distorted his transmission like it always does over those distances. When that happens, we go in.||
We need something to take their mind off of what we're really doing. Since we can count on any attack being met with the same response, a relentless assault until the problem's gone, with a cigarette we can fuck up their mechanical senses long enough to dive in there. ||
