By Robert Hackett
I strap the universe to my face.
Accelerating out of an airlock, I hear staccato synth music pump through my spacecraft’s speakers; starlight studs the periphery, interspersed with splashes of mauve nebulae and interstellar dust. Neck movements control my ship’s steering, I discover. Around me: the cosmos.
However many shandies deep I am, I’m buzzed. I probably shouldn’t be operating spacecraft tipsy, I think. Nevermind. Got to focus. Dodging asteroids, I brandish my noggin like a turret, gunning down enemy spacecraft. adversaries erupt into satisfying, if unrealistic, fireballs à la Star Wars.
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