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We find ourselves in the dank lair of the slightly pixilated Dr. Squirrely...
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| Why, whatever is the matter, my lovely machination of destruction? | |
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| Oh, father! I'm so confused! Why did you fuse my circuts with photosynthetic diatoms which would provide me with limitless natural power... | |
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| ...only to imprison me in this silver hell, so far away from the precious, life-giving sun? | |
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| Oh, cursed be the day I decided to replicate organic sentience in a machine! | |
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