Krull the dinosaur hunter was riding on the back of a recalcitrant T. Rex, which was charging through the jungles of Fredonia. He tightened his grip onto the dinosaur’s neck and brought his face closer to its ear.
“This is your last chance, Dino,” he said. “Either you give up dealing drugs to innocent Brontosaurs, or this is your last jog.”
“I have a name, Krull,” said the dinosaur.
“Like I give a fuck,” said Krull. “What’s your answer?” he asked, pressing the laser knife just a little deeper into the T. Rex’s throat.
* * *
Krull brushed T. Rex residue off his pinstripe suit and climbed into his Ultra-Cruiser. He set it on autopilot, and leaned back in his chair as the surface of the planet receded behind him.
He opened his eyes when the cruiser stopped. He looked at the environment display. There were around 30 space-pterodactyls outside, armed to the teeth with wing-guns.
“This was your last Dino, Krull,” said the ringleader, seated in his space-chair. “Tonight … no, today …” He shook his watch to see if it was working. “This moment, you die.”
Krull leaned forward in his seat and replied. “You might have had a chance down there where I was barely armed, but this is the Ultra-Cruiser, and there’s a good reason it’s called Ultra.”
He pressed a button and the Ultra-Cruiser deployed its sizzle ray. A moment later, the dinosaurs were all well-done, and ready to be collected.
Krull rubbed his hands at the prospect of picking dinosaur meat out of his teeth.