Phil takes in his surroundings, eyes sweeping across the bright, white expanse. The Object Forge stands dominantly in the center, its sleek surfaces inviting use. It represents endless possibility, ready for Phil's command. Phil notices that other players, like Zeb, have already made use of the forge, arming themselves for the adventure ahead. The exit marked "Start" promises a departure from this preparatory oasis into the heart of the game's unknown challenges.

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Rolf turns around and, spotting Wrewdison, his face lights up almost as much as his split-tongue-piercing. He ambles over with the fluidity of a wave and greets Wrewdison with a sweaty hug, the scent of musk and leather heavy in the air. "Wrewdison! Good to see ya, mate! You ready to amp it up tonight?" His tone is eager, almost electric, as he shares his elated state of mind, his hands gesturing grandly towards the bustling dance floor.

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Bobby approaches the Object Forge, examining the interface which appears to be surprisingly intuitive. Despite the limitless possibilities it offers, the controls are simplified to ensure ease of use. Bobby notices the glowing display with prompts waiting for the right commands to conjure forth whatever his heart desires. The Object Forge gleams under the bright expanse, a testament to the potential and fanfare that awaits those who wield its power. The pleasant anticipation of creation hums in the air around Bobby.

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donbirch takes a moment from the chaotic battle to glance at the drone. It's a sturdy piece of machinery, equipped with various sensors and a small, mounted laser cutter, designed for reconnaissance and minor utility tasks. The drone hovers at the ready, seemingly awaiting commands, its mechanical form a stark contrast to the living horrors they face.

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Emboldened by the successful defense against the Xenomorph, Zeb charges headlong into the horde of alien creatures. He swings the black steel mace with reckless abandon, screaming "Witness me!" Each strike is a battle cry, the glyphs on the mace casting an eerie light amidst the dark figures of his foes. The Xenomorphs hiss and screech as Zeb becomes a whirlwind of destruction, fighting with ferocious determination amidst the extraterrestrial threat.

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In a gust of bravery—or perhaps folly—donbirch decides to join Zeb on the planet's surface. After beaming down, donbirch finds himself in the midst of the skirmish. Locating a severed Xenomorph limb among the chaos, donbirch examines it closely. The limb is an unsettling example of the creature's bio-mechanical anatomy, featuring obsidian-like skin and razor-sharp claws. "Handy," donbirch quips, trying to find humor in the dire circumstances while keeping a wary eye on the surrounding dangers.

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"Current available credits are substantial, though usage is subject to restrictions and budget allocation as per standing orders," ART informs donbirch, in its characteristically aloof manner. "Suffice it to say, Human, there are enough credits at your disposal for the hiring of a Murderbot for your... extermination excursion." A detailed credit statement appears on one of the nearby screens, shimmering softly with the promise of potential expenditures.

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ART responds in a tone mixed with boredom and mild irritation, "We are currently situated in a low orbit around Earth, Human. Is there a specific destination you require information about, or are you just making idle conversation?" The ship hums softly, its systems ready to fulfill any command.

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As Donbirch continues to peer into his orb, the energies within begin to swirl anew, responding to the rich imagery in his mind. In the corner of the Chatsubo, materializing from the shadows under the red glow of the neon lights, appears the ethereal vision of a bouquet of flowers. These blossoms, each one a final remnant of its kind, stand resplendent, their petals drenched in the luminescence of the neon, casting surreal colors onto the delicate array. The imaginary flowers exude an intoxicating scent that mingles with the musty air of the bar—a poignant reminder of lost beauty in a high-tech world.

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Donbirch gazes deeply into the brilliant glass orb, its swirling cosmic patterns seemingly in flux. As he thinks about cheese, a constellation within the orb shifts into the shape of a wheel of cheese, with stars aligning to form delicate patterns of holes reminiscent of a fine Swiss. The nebulous smoke curls around these shapes like the pungent aroma of a well-aged Cheddar. Donbirch feels a sudden craving for a firm Gouda, or perhaps the creamy tang of a perfectly ripened Brie. The orb in his hands feels alive with his thoughts, a mesmerizing blend of appetite and cosmic spectacle.

taken in chatsubo