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A solar surface-burst vomits up black hole polkadot arrays that have cryptically damaged Robot Land Labs, all 12 top secret underground levels.
Synthetics run amok, mutant creatures slither around, dysfunct droids morph into simulations of lab staff. My female lab assistant, Patti Smarch, may not even be human anymore.
What was I doing, when the super-colliding sunspot erupted? Working on some routine deteriorating spectral summits. My virtual lasso fell into a malicious loop and many hungry mutants started feasting on Russian technicians.
Find out if I can unravel this mess, or will shame myself in a weakly designed and miserably uncertain attempt.
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