[Well. RIP mannequins. Turns out when you blast something to absolute fucking bits, they cannot regenerate or continue to move like freaks. These things are mere piles of melted plastic and cloth by the end, and the cloth is, well, burning.
They don't have time to retaliate. They are merely puddles. It smells like burnt plastic. Delicious. Incredible.
Ain is laying on the couch inside watching the lightshow from the windows like ope, there he goes.]
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They don't have time to retaliate. They are merely puddles. It smells like burnt plastic. Delicious. Incredible.
Ain is laying on the couch inside watching the lightshow from the windows like ope, there he goes.]