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“Feeling peckish? No harm in it! Go for Pam's royal biscuit!” - was what Leopold had been reciting for the past five years as he posed on the streets of Clint City, dressed as a prince and doling out samples. Suffice to say that his job was slowly driving him up the wall and coming in contact with Xantiax gas wasn't about to improve his situation. To think he had once made up his mind to resign after this one last mission right on the corner where stood the Red One Motel; he's now decided that there is no way he is letting go of his paper crown... A couple of extra kilos of muscle and a few loose screws have driven him to delusions of grandeur, in which one had better let him dwell for fear of getting one's teeth knocked out!
