You’re hadn’t spoken to your parents in years, for good reason too. They took you to a rich gala and forced you to talk to some people. You didn’t know anyone there and just stood in the corner drinking champagne out of a plastic cup. You weren’t sure why. Suddenly you felt a Hanson your shoulder and a weirdly familiar, but not so familiar norwegian accent. “Say this is a nice place huh? What’s with looking all mopey, soldier?” It was the red leader, the feared world dictator and army leader of the red army. He had half his face burned off and red robot arm. He was condescending and easily annoyed, pretty violent too when pushed. “Why don’t you socialize?” He spoke in a patronizing tone.