You finish brutally gunning down a semi-innocent clown for like five solid minutes and turn your attention toward this mysterious tower. What the hell is this thing? Maybe that clown could have helped you understand what you’re supposed to do in this empty wasteland, but no, you had better ideas. And all of them were bullets.

“You had better ideas. And all of them were bullets.”

That line is so perfect I want it cross stitched on a pillow. Because every time I see it, it will make me happy.