Welcome to the real first chapter of Generation Seven! I should probably put a note on 7.1 to skip straight here, but I’m lazy and selfish and would rather make you all suffer through what I had to. #sorrynotsorry
Either way, we made it! The spares are outta here and the hype is off the charts.
Siesta: Omg is it finally my turn??! Omg omg okay, I have so many plans ahhhhh where should I start?!?
7.11 Login Time-out
Ah, seven eleven! A harbinger of good fortune! A store of conveniences, and the source of all the kimbap and soju that keeps me alive!
If ever there was a chapter destined for greatness, it’s this one. Surely we can expect only good things to—
I’m sorry but this one really did me dirty. I left her to look after the grandkids while we were in China and didn’t even think to check on her when we got back. At some point I just noticed her icon missing and had to go looking for an urn. She must’ve been right at the 90-day mark because I was not ready. Evidently she returned to the ether somewhere on the path between the couch and the fridge, which is some small solace.
Bottom line though, playable ghost deaths are not cool. 0/10 will not be keeping Kip or Trance around long enough to experience this again.
Cal… enjoy your forever nap I guess.
7.1 I’m a teapot
Hello, and welcome back to the Langurds! For real this time – no more filler bullshit. If you don’t believe me, take a moment to breathe in the scent of decaying tofu dogs and evaporating brain cells.
Oh yeah, we’re back alright.
Turns out I remember zero things from last generation, but I do know that there was a terrible, awful, very no good heir poll and y’all panic-voted this box-headed fool into leadership. I think we will regret this soon, but for now it’s full steam ahead!
Commence the celebratory tea! (I hope she showed up on time)
Siesta: Hey Prototype, I’ve been thinking.
Prototype: God help us all.
Siesta: Since I’m in charge and stuff, I’m going to rename you Siri.
Prototype: Pray tell why?
Siesta: Don’t be silly, Siri. You answer my questions, not the other way around!
Prototype: You poor dense soul.