"Rollin' down the street, smokin' indo, sippin' on gin and juice..."
POS sat at a workstation, singing to himself as he worked on his special secret project of doom. It required an expertise in a field to which his knowledge was somewhat cursory, but he was getting the hang of it. Fenris was screaming in agony behind him, several droids holding the hobo down as one cauterized some neural link circuitry into his brainstem.
"Laid back... with my mind on my money and my money on my mind..."
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Either you're dead or my watch has stopped.
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