NARRATOR: Command Deck...
TAGON: Attention, all hands!
We are about to fly into enemy-controlled space.
*over loudspeaker* At last count there were three thousand enemy missiles lying in wait for us.
*over loudspeaker, aside* Hmm?... Oh.
*over loudspeaker, aside* Well, good job, then.
*over loudspeaker* Sorry. There are six thousand of them. Bristlecone got a better look as we moved closer.
TAGON: *over loudspeaker* We've got our enemy figured out, though.
Or at least we've figured out what he's afraid of.
*over loudspeaker, aside* Bristlecone, stop that.
*over loudspeaker, aside* What?
*over loudspeaker, aside* Okay, fine.
*over loudspeaker* We don't know if he's a "he," a "she," or some all-new flavor of "it."
*over loudspeaker* And that's not the point.
TAGON: The point is that what's currently standing between us and obliteration is some gold tubes we've strapped to our hull as hostages.
*over loudspeaker* That might sound a little thin, but I feel good about this plan.
Our enemy is afraid of damaging these. In fact, even now most of the enemy units are pulling back, clearing our pa—
SFX: *interrupting* BOOOM