In space, no one can hear you scream . . . or belch, or swear, or cry like a little girl when you're about to be taken down by merciless interstellar bounty hunters who want that mysterious idol you swiped from that hot chick who inexplicably gave you the tip of a lifetime (if you know what I mean) when you showed up at the wrong hotel room with the pizza delivery. This assumes that 'you' are ne'er-do-well big-talker Quinn and explains-sort of-how 'you' hooked up (not like that!) with a big badass of a former galactic cop (and current mama's boy) by the name of Krunk, who is not your partner and not your buddy, got it? Oh, and by the way, the hot chick is hotter than ever (in the bad way) and she wants that idol back, and this time she's probably going to give you a different kind of gratuity, like with a laser ax or a plasma grenade or something. Try talking your way out of that one, spacehole!