Everyone worth talking to is dead and everything that makes my job easy is apprently destroyed. The crew haven't come back yet, so, they are either freshly dead or currently dying. The GIANT, FUCKING, SPACE CHEST that just smashed into us appears to have destroyed the PRETTYPOWERFULPROGRAMMING CONCEPTCUALCREATIONATOR or as the lower classes call it for short: the PC.
I should probably do something before the management notes that I am not taking on my responsbilities as the resident SCREECHER by attempting to help and consequentially demote me.