2,000 years of western civilization has accomplished. Circled behind him and kicked open the armored flap covering his blubbery rear end. Humankind has split the atom, we’ve walked on the moon. Now three friends and I are readying our pretend guns to fire into a fat man’s exposed anus.
Bullet storm revels in its childishness. Kicked out of the super secret space army for questioning orders riotously drunk ex assassin Grayson Hunt seems to be aiming for some kind of accolade as the universe’s worst man. Stranded on a resort world overrun by murderous weirdos, his most uttered word seems to be cocksucker.
The sole female character is little more than another marine, burdened with the daddy issues ubiquitous to gaming women and dressed in a pair of breasts. I should turn the monitor off in disgust, and stalk from the room.