Cutlass-wielding youths in tweed suits prowl the dingy redlight
districts of Mars, intrepid colonialist explorers hunt giant squid
in the clockwork submarines of an alternate past . . . and Polluto
rises from the mists, casting ghostly phosphorescence through the
gloom, and calls you. It's time to reach out and take the fruit.
It's time to wind yourself up and escape. The toys want out and
they're hungry for knowledge
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