Power surged through his armor. His thrusters ignited, sending a wave of heat through the bar. In a blur of feathers and metal, he launched himself into the air. He wasn't just a bird anymore—he was a localized storm of high-explosive ordnance.
Goose didn't blink. He reached out a yellow webbed foot and pulled the shard toward him. With a swift HONK , he activated his arm cannon, the blue glow reflecting in his cold, black eyes.
He wasn’t there for a drink. He was there for the "131072 Protocol."
By the time the smoke cleared, the cantina was silent. Goose stood amidst the wreckage, adjusted his neck-guard, and waddled toward the exit. He had the code. He had the upgrades. And the Void King was about to find out that his reign was officially out of date.
As he rained down heavy machine-gun fire and tossed grenades with pinpoint accuracy, the pig-guards realized their mistake. You don't try to pirate a hunter's data. And you certainly don't get between a goose and his mission.