We then try to fiddle with the controls so that we can reduce the dancespore generator output as well as cut in half the dancespore elixir being fed into Destructodance.
But alas, the controls are most likely DNA-locked to the recently-deceased Gianina Torbjorn, which is indicated by the buttons never activating and dials never turning, so we couldn't do anything with them even if we could.
And thus, we just shrug our shoulders and march on towards the office of the boss himself.
I just breathe in and out deeply as I let the card-reading machine read the access card that will unlock the main office's door.
This is it, man.
Once his butt's whooped, we should all accomplish this overarching mission of defeating the ultimate threat and go home at last.
And look at the head honcho's office.
Yeah, it's like the typical room of typical evil corporate presidents or CEOs found in many works from the eighties and nineties (and I consume some of them, for curiosity's sake).
