It's a satisfying amount of destruction, and Wayne's content to be on this little island for a while as the cartoonish mushroom cloud grows and dissipates.

The voice near his foot makes him jump a little, and in his hand a mallet materializes to swing down on top of the head in the sand.

"Doesn't he realize people'd wanna talk to him if he were actually pleasant?" he complains, scowling back at Crichton. "Like, yeah, I'd like to know things, but he's such a tool..."