>>6110464It takes you a few minutes of pathetic groping, but eventually you scurry like a crab up into the driver’s seat: a plush, well-worn number made of some kind of rough-hewn cloth or hemp! Pretty itchy, but still better than walking!
As you get cozy, you bump a device that, upon further inspection, reminds you of one of the water guns your sister used to torment you with when you were young.
Yea… you have a sister… <span class="mu-b">DYLAN-</span>
“I want to get to Crossroads <span class="mu-i">today</span>, so let me just dispel some of the mystique for you:” Begins Oti, his impatient tone yanking you away from memory lane, “Fire the paste stream where you want to go. Don’t splash yourself unless you want to be a Strider Snack. Simple enough?”
He doesn’t have to tell you twice–the paste shifting around inside the ‘gun’ reeks like old tuna and the clicking you keep hearing from the unseen beasties below you are reasons enough. As you locate the business end of the <span class="mu-b">TUNA LAUNCHER,</span> you’re joined up front by…
>Volka!>TT!>Oti!>S-Salty Suutz!?>No one! What are you, a chauffeur? 