Okay, fine. Thanks, Dad. I'm sorry I turned out too much like you to make you happy, but not enough like you to make you proud. Gotta go, work to do, buh-bye.
Where do we stand on the wrecks, TAG? More targets for me to vent my frustrations at?
The last two derelicts are out. I've slung them around in collision courses with each other. You can shoot them, or watch them crash, or both.
You love me. You really love me.
Happy Birthday, sir.