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About Dundalk

So, I’m dodgin sketchy humans, all “R2, ya little git, help me!” Streets smell like piss and regret—lovely, innit? Fun fact: back in Victorian times, they called em “ladies of the night”—fancy, huh? None of that posh crap now, just straight-up “yo, how much?” vibes. I’m ragin, cos some sleemo tries rippin me off—50 credits for a quickie? Mate, I’m a droid, I don’t even—ugh, humans are gross! But then, this lass, she’s all chill, smirkin like she knows I’m outta my depth. “We’re a team,” she says, like in the movie—cracked me up, cos I’m like, “Team? I’m a flippin protocol droid!”

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Finally, I head to the workshop on the outskirts of town. It’s on the old industrial estate, you know, where all the magic happens. I’m working on this massive lathe, and it’s a beast. I’m talking serious machinery here. But then, outta nowhere, the power goes out. Just my luck, right? I’m standing there, covered in grease, and I’m like, “Great, just great.”

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