Texty: Graf Orlock. Destination Time Tomorrow. A Waste Of Ammo.

What's in fucking side of me? There's a monster in your stomach, they hi-jacked your cryotube, and sold you to him. Then put an alien in you, in a few hours it will poke its way through your chest, and you'll die, any questions? Isn't there a process? Can't we stop it? I'll do him good, back of the head, painless. A parasite, a foreign element, a parasite. Oh god you bastard. The aliens bleed molecular acid. I saw that, so did I. Fuck that, I'm shooting them. We'll make better time if we ditch the cripple. Muster a squad to search for survivors. fuck no, fuck you