Once we were hunters and gatherers. Then the creeping sludge of agries from the fertile crescent spread over our earth. The mechs are at least enough hunters enough that they have practiced population control on the agries. One day, the world will be a desolate wasteland and only the hunters will survive.
Does this seem inexplicaple to you? Perhaps you can extricate yourself from this predicament by explicating your reason for being here. Go hunt a Snark. Or something.
Angus Thermopyle, (pronounced: Thur-mah-peh-ley, unless you are Nick Succorso in which case it is Therm-oh-pile) is a villain's villain.
“I'm sorry, I thought you knew that trolls turn into stone when they see the sun.”