Q: What’s eight-feet tall, has an exoskeleton made of chitin polymer and laser-proof spider silk, and a cybertronic brain that, if possessing the IQ of a retarded oyster, nevertheless has sufficient teraflops to implement the prime directive DESTROY ANYONE, AND ANYTHING, THAT HAS THE TEMERITY TO INTRUDE INTO MADAME KITO’S LAIR?
A: One of Madame Kito’s antiquated, but highly effective, Russian-built, hunter-killer sentinels.
Q: What’s five-feet-four-inches tall, has a bottle-blonde mane, luminous green eyes, and a body that – if superficially that of a human girl’s – has been infected, and robotically enhanced, by a nano-tech virus, so that its humanity is compromised by the superhuman?
A: A mutant, cyborg, or – to cite the demotic nomenclature – a doll, such as our anti-heroine, Primavera Bobinski.
Q: And what battle royale may ensue when creatures such as these – as disparate as they are alike – go toe-to-toe and clash high above the information-thick stew of Bangkok’s teeming streets?
A: To this, and much, much more, read …
… DEAD GIRLS!
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