There’s something hideously unfair about this “Heroing” business.
I mean, thanks to a Series of Unlikely and Confusing Events involving a pocket watch and an orbital laser guidance system I’m now somewhere in the region of seven feet tall, I can eat McTacos and lay in bed continuously for a decade and still look like I’m from a body builder’s magazine, and I get a magic sword (Well, I say magic. As far as I’m concerned it’s magic. It appears when I want it to, it disappears when I don’t need it. The fact that the Regs say that it’s a Science weapon is just pointless. Unlike the sword, ah-ha) and the ability to use it. Hero. Designed to save the world from the scum of the universe.
Who can, apparently, beat me up by sneezing on me.
I mean, really. They’re DEAD CORPSES. Well, walking, whining, sneezing dead corpses, which probably goes against all the standard definitions of both death and corpse. But still, I’m a super hero. How the hell can they be almost killing me by sneezing on me?
I feel slightly better now. Time to break up this conference, rescue the hostages and sod off back home. Sooner I’m out of these stinking sewers the happier I’ll be.