Not that I've done so, but it would be amusing to fly around in an... Emalgha Fighter.
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I'm getting sick of coming back to hangar ninety six, but there is no avoiding it. This is what my existence needs.
My existence is the demise of many others' arms and legs. The world is not a good place, nor is there innocence for me
to hide in. Seven hundred and sixty one pairs of eyes look around the room aimlessly, and mine join the crowd. I see
these bodies, massacred, immobile. For all the carnage here, the stench of decay is non-existent.