the smuggler’s bible

Huffer Ramjet

Listen, Huffer Ramjet would love to roll up on the mutant manifestations of humanity’s hubris and let it all off the chain. But he’s got a damn contract with the government and has to buy all his own missiles.

So he leads with the fists. Hammer the chin, then a gutshot to get them curled up like old newspaper. Finish with an uppercut. Before you know it, you’re brushing the dust off your mecha’s shoulder and dragging society’s aborted conscience into the surf for the navy to sink in a trench somewhere.

Missiles would be cooler, though. Nobody’s arguing that.