"I hope you've prepared, Brock," said the commander. "For this mission, you'll be up against a horde of crazed, rabid pastries."
"Pastries!" scoffed the battle-hardened mercenary.
"You feel confident in your abilities, then?"
Brock chuckled, tossing his cigar butt to the ground and crushing it out with his heel. "Commander," he said, "I eat pastries for breakfast."